CHAPTER SIX
Bridget
I stumble into my apartment, my knees wobbly and weak because I can hardly believe what just happened. I booked a male escort who turned out to be our Commander in Chief, the magnetic and handsome Robert Carter. Not only that, but I had filthy sex with the alpha, letting him touch me anywhere he wanted, putting his dick in both my holes and loving every moment.
But that’s the thing. What happened was so unreal that I can hardly process it. Because Robert Half turned out to be a placeholder for the real thing, and boy, it can’t get more real than Robert Carter himself. The man is absolutely mouthwatering and my pussy clenched a bit from the memory. He’d made me get down on the carpet after our first session, and ridden me bareback, erupting with cum multiple times in my body.
And now, as I stepped into the shower, a giant glob of semen trailed down my thigh. I’d say it was from my pussy, but it was actually dripping from my ass and with a finger, I scooped it up, looking hungrily at the pearly jism. Because oh god, he tasted good, and although I’d drunk liters of this stuff already, I raised my finger to my lips for another taste. Oh yeah, this was Robert’s virile spunk and I absolutely loved it.
But what was going to happen next? Was this a one-night stand? Did I have to book him again to reach him? Could I call Gold Medallion and speak with his secretary? None of this made sense, and my head whirled, unsure of what to do next. Still dizzy from the experience, I got into bed and fell asleep, the darkness overcoming my mind.
But the next day at the Star Gazette, I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. Multiple times, I gazed into the distance, looking at nothing, or even staring at my cube wall like a moron. I was tempted to call Renee and confess everything, but something stopped me. What had happened was too precious, and I didn’t want to just blab everything without having some time to mull it over first.
Focus, said the voice in my head sternly. They’re not paying you to sit here like a bump on a log. You need to produce some work, otherwise you’re gonna have some serious problems making rent next month.
Jolting upright, I stared at my computer screen. Of course. Just because I’d had sex with the President didn’t mean that I no longer had bills to pay. I needed to do some work and be a good employee deserving of my paycheck.
So with a determined shake of my shoulders, I tried to do some work, including proofing the newest article on creamy versus matte lipsticks. Blegh. But it’s okay. Copyediting is easy for me, and I carefully read each sentence, marking up the text with my favorite red pen.
Once finished, I stretched and yawned a bit, looking at the clock on my computer. Dang. Two p.m. already. I must have lost myself in the article because several hours had passed without me realizing it.
Suddenly, my cell pinged. I glanced at the screen. Unidentified number. I wasn’t going to pick up, per my usual MO. But suddenly, my hand jolted forwards and grabbed the handset, jamming it against my ear because last time, Gold Medallion had called from an unidentified number, and look where that went.
“Hello?” I murmured hesitantly. “This is Bridget.”
“Hello Bridget,” said a smooth female voice. “This is Gold Medallion. We’re calling to book another date for you with Robert Half.”
“Um yes,” I stammered. “I’d love to go.”
“Perfect,” said the disembodied voice. “Are you available this weekend?”
What a question that was! Because of course I was ready to see President Carter again. Frankly, even if he’d been just a normal businessman, and not the most powerful man in the world, I’d have been ready. So I nodded furiously even though the woman couldn’t see.
“Yes, I’m free,” was my reply. “Saturday night?”
“That would be perfect,” the clipped voice said. “We’ll pick you up at seven p.m. for dinner at eight. Please wear cocktail attire.”
“Certainly,” I said quickly. “I’ll be ready.”
But before clicking off, the voice spoke again.
“By the way, are you afraid of heights?”
I was silent, nonplussed. Why would it matter?
“No, not really,” was my murmur. “Is there something I should be prepared for?”
The woman didn’t even hesitate
“A helicopter ride,” she said smoothly. “We’ll be escorting you to Washington D.C., where Robert lives. Marine One will be available, so please dress warmly.”
And then she was gone. I stared dumbly at the phone in my hand. I was going on a helicopter ride to meet the President? He was inviting me to the White House, where we’d have dinner together? Suddenly, my body flushed with anticipation, creamy curves going hot. Because this was going to be the best date ever, and honestly, I didn’t even care that Robert was president. All I wanted was to see the dark man again … who’d swept me off my feet on our first date.