FLIRTING WITH DANGER
Charlotte
I exhale and pull the zipper of my black sweatshirt up to my neck. I slip on a baseball cap, guiding my ponytail through the small hole in the back, and place glasses over my eyes even though the sun is already setting.
I’m in my D.C. apartment and it’s Saturday afternoon.
Ever since our “meeting” in that hotel room, and almost getting caught, I can’t shake this overwhelming feeling of dread. My stomach twists and turns in knots thinking of what I’m about to do.
I know that this is risky, beyond risky, going to his house on his one night off, but I need to talk to him. In private.
If I don’t do this one risky thing, we’ll keep doing a million risky things right up until Election Day.
I need to stop this before we get in too deep . . . to the point of no return. A part of me fears that we already have, and a part of my soul tells me that no attempt on either of our parts can really stop the avalanche of emotions now surging between us, present in every look, touch, smile, and kiss.
I need him to know that we can’t continue this dangerous thing we have started, because I would never forgive myself if I cost him his presidency. Presidential elections, and especially presidential campaigns, are very delicate things.
One wrong move, one wrong comment, one slipup can mean game over. And for Matt, an Independent candidate already having to fight against two long-standing parties with history, loyalty, dirty tricks, and a lot of money on their sides . . . he can’t afford a slipup.
I ask my parents if I can borrow their car for the night and say that I’m going out for drinks with my friends.
However, I drive toward Matt Hamilton’s house. I didn’t want to take a cab because I didn’t want anyone else knowing of my little trip.
When I roll up to his house, I feel my stomach turn and twist into a million knots. I force myself to open my car door and walk up the steps to ring his bell.
A couple of shaky breaths later, and a couple more thoughts of chickening out, Matt Hamilton stands in his doorway. Barefoot, hair rumpled, in black jeans and a dark blue T-shirt.
He inhales a sharp breath when he sees me, and rakes his eyes over my body before asking me in a gruff voice, “Why are you here, Charlotte?”
I smile, but I know it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
“Can I come in?”
He doesn’t respond, merely eyes me with curiosity and steps aside to let me walk past him. He moves just enough to let me go by, but not enough for me to do so without touching him.
My shoulder grazes his chest, and his scent envelops me.
He leads me to his living room, where I see the TV is on with the volume low. On his desk is a mess of papers and folders.
He sits across me and clasps his hands behind his head, his eyes never leaving mine. He sits in silence, piercing gaze on me, and I just take him in. Every fiber of my being telling me to go crawl into his lap and let his warmth soothe away any doubt or fear in my head, but I can’t move.
“I can’t do this, Matt. What happened in your hotel room . . .”
I meet his gaze, his eyes like hot coals, his jaw clenched tightly.
I gulp and continue. “We almost got caught. I can’t be the reason for you losing this presidency.”
“You will not be the reason for me losing. If anything, you’ll be the reason for me winning.”
I shake my head. “You know that we’re playing with fire. This is the Oval Office. The White House. I can’t let you throw it away for me.”
“I’m not throwing anything away, Charlotte.” He eyes me steadily. “Why are you so worried?” he prods.
“Why do you think? The whole nation has their eyes on you, Matt! The last thing you need is a scandal.”
“There will not be a scandal. I won’t allow it. You need to trust me.” He leans forward, his eyes scanning my features, his voice unwavering, hard and deadly serious. “I would never let anything happen to you. And even if something broke out in the news, I would protect you.”
“If anything happened, you know you would need to throw me under the bus. It would be the only way to salvage your image with the people and keep your campaign going.” My heart breaks at my words, because as much as it hurts, it’s the truth. He would have to place the blame on me, control the narrative in such a way that made me seem like a power-hungry girl looking to sleep her way to the White House, and make Matt seem like the victim. That’s just politics.
He stands up and starts pacing, and lets out a sarcastic laugh. “You really think I would do that to you?”
I stay silent, unable to speak.
“Jesus, I would rather lose the presidency than hurt you,” he growls, in a voice so low I wasn’t sure I heard him.
“That is exactly why we need to stop!” I plead.
He digs his hand into his hair in an exasperated motion.
“I don’t want to stop,” he says, looking at me with such conviction and desire in his eyes, it almost scares me.
“Neither do I,” I whisper, “but we have to.”
“Fuck, Charlotte—just let me have you! Let me have this!” His eyes pin me to my seat, his raw, unrestrained frustration burning bright. “I may be the next President of the United States! I’ll be damned if I don’t have what I want,” he growls, “and I want you. I not only want you, I need you. No matter what I’m doing, I’m thinking of you. No matter who I’m with, I would rather they be you . . .”
He stands there, his chest rising and falling with his every breath, his fists clenching at his sides, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
I sit there in shock at his outburst . . . at his words.
My heart is practically bursting in my chest at the adoration I feel for this man—and I let myself go. I let myself go to him. Because I want to.
I rise from my seat and his pupils dilate as I walk toward him, his fists still clenched at his sides. I see him fighting the urge to reach out to me.
I walk right up to him, our chests almost touching. Matt tips his head down to look at me, since he towers over me, and the turmoil in his eyes sets me on fire.
I wrap my arms around his neck and plaster myself against his body, and I start to kiss him with everything I’ve got.
I don’t care about more. I don’t care that there is no future for us if he wins. I won’t deny us both this moment. He said he needs me. And I need him.
I kiss him and in my kisses, I unleash all the desire, all the passion, all the need I had been so desperately trying to fight; and he does the same.
Immediately his arms wrap around my waist and I feel him lift me up. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist. His hands grip my ass, holding me against him, and he keeps returning my kisses with equal intensity.
He kisses the shit out of me. All memories of anything existing in the universe other than this man, this moment, completely disappear.
He growls against my lips and I feel him start to walk while kissing me.
He breaks the kiss for a moment to take me up the stairs, but I can’t keep my mouth off him—his jaw . . . down his neck . . . nibbling and sucking on his delicious skin.
He kicks the door open, and I think he just broke the hinges but I don’t care.
The room is dark except for one lamp next to his bed.
He sets me down on his dresser, the first thing he finds, and stands between my legs, his mouth back on mine—taking my breath away.
His kiss is drugging, his lips warm and soft yet firm. His tongue is warm too and every time he puts it inside my mouth, I feel tingles all over. It feels intimate and incredible. I sigh against him, but my sigh quickly turns into a moan as his hand travels down and unzips my sweatshirt. He pushes it halfway off my shoulders, the straps of my top following. He doesn’t even take my bra off, just yanks down one of the cups and takes my nipple in his mouth. I gasp and wrap my legs tighter around him, letting my head fall back because of how exquisite it feels.
“Matt . . .”
He sucks harder, twirling his tongue against my nipple, making me wetter and wetter by the second.
“I could do this all day,” he groans as he pulls down my other cup and takes my other nipple in his mouth.
Just as I get used to the warmth of his mouth on me, he pulls back, gaining a moan from me in protest.
He looks at me and reaches up to cup my face, giving me a slow, tender kiss before reaching between us and unbuttoning my jeans.
I feel my heartbeat get faster as I realize what he wants to do.
I quickly jump off the dresser and take off my jeans, my sweatshirt, and my top, leaving on just my panties and bra.
Matt yanks his T-shirt off, revealing miles of hard, strong male-ripped chest muscles.
He takes me in, standing in just my bra and panties, his eyes filled with admiration and lust.
I look back at him, silently begging him to take me to his bed already.
And he does.
He picks me up and lays me down on the bed, following close behind. He lies on top of me, kissing me senseless, his hands traveling town my torso and gripping my ass.
He sucks on my neck, licking and biting.
I rake my nails down his back and moan, rocking my hips against his hardness.
“Please . . .” I beg.
He chuckles against my neck, and then lifts his head to look me in the eye when he places his hand over my panties.
“What do you want? My lovely, beautiful, sexy Charlotte.” He continues kissing my neck and rubbing his fingers against my soaked panties.
Before I can answer, he pulls my panties to the side and slips his finger inside me, and I gasp in response.
My breath is coming fast and hard, and I’m out of control with want as I pull his head up so that he’ll kiss me again.
He doesn’t need to be asked. His lips fasten to mine without apology or restraint, then he swipes his tongue down my neck, kissing and nibbling my skin.
I’m high, absolutely high on him, on this moment. Matt drags his fingers along my stomach.
I stroke his pecs and kiss his nipple too. A groan of pure hunger and approval rumbles up his chest.
He leans over me again.
Matthew unhooks my bra and exposes my breasts.
He touches me.
My nipples harden under the feathery touch and I suck in a breath. I wait, my body tense, wanting. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the tip of my breast, sending a shiver down my spine.
“So responsive,” he says as he leans over and kisses the inside of my thigh. I squirm a little, and his laugh caresses my skin. “So sweet.” He moves his lips over my sex. Oh god. He trails his hand up my hip, to my breasts. My muscles contract deeply and a low groan leaves me.
He tugs my panties off and tosses them to the floor. His thumb circles my clit and passes over my wet slit, over my folds, then penetrates me. I clench my muscles, even my belly muscles. “Ohhh.”
He pulls on my breast with one hand.
He breathes in my skin and licks and laps my nipple. His warm tongue moves languidly over my skin, and my body beneath it is on fire.
He swipes his tongue over my belly and lower, to my sex again.
He’s so hungry. I’m so hungry.
I want to touch him. I reach out and run my fingers over his chest, his muscles visible in the city lights streaming through the window.
He kisses the inside of my other thigh. I squirm and thrust my hips up in a silent plea.
His tongue dips into my sex, tasting me.
I’m about to come. It feels so good. I’m so hot for him it’s not even funny.
“I can’t get over how good you taste. How gorgeous you are.”
His eyes look tender and wild as he kisses my sex for another minute, watching my reaction, and it’s an intoxicating combination.
I pull him up and kiss him. He kisses me back, tasting like me. Our tongues move, our hands searching, his exploring, mine kneading.
He grabs my hips and leans in to lick his tongue across my nipple. I gasp and thrust my chest upward, and his laugh again brushes over my skin.
“Don’t laugh at me—this is serious,” I groan.
“It’s very serious.”
He kisses my sex lips with a languorous, wet tongue. I buck, but he stills me with one hand on my hip bone. He eases his thumb over my clit and starts rubbing in circles as his tongue dips languidly inside me.
My clit is getting rolled in delicious little circles by the pad of his thumb, and I’m biting down on my lower lip to keep from moaning too loud.
My breath comes in a fast, choppy rhythm as Matt shifts back and strips his jeans with fast, powerful jerks of his hands—I see all of him, golden skin and muscles, and I salivate in silence.
He’s well delineated, athletically built and perfectly proportioned, and I want every inch of the guy. He rolls on a condom. He’s so big and thick, I lick my lips, screaming silently in anticipation.
“This is what you want, Charlotte.”
And then he pushes in.
He’s so thick and he moves fast, taking me by surprise with the delicious stretching sensation in my sex.
I go off.
“Oh god, Matt!”
My orgasm gains intensity, a curling, twisting, tightening rope, stretching from the tips of my toes to the tips of my fingers.
I groan one second, and the next, I’m experiencing the most intense, breathtaking, body-shaking, soul-shattering orgasm I’ve ever had in my life, caused by Matt’s thick cock inside me. I’m bucking beneath him, the pleasure almost agonizing, clutching onto his shoulders for dear life.
He grabs me by the hips and moves inside me, faster, deeper, and shouts as he releases.
He holds me against him as he comes, really hard, his cock jerking several times inside me, bringing me to a second orgasm.
Cursing under his breath, he continues rocking his hips as he brushes my hair back behind my face, prolonging the pleasure, gazing down at me until the convulsions in my body turn to tremors and then to lingering little shivers. Then he rolls to his back and brings me with him, brushing one stubborn wet tendril of red hair back again.
I’m panting against his neck. I’m sweaty; we both are.
I shut my eyes, not certain that just happened and not certain that I don’t desperately want it to happen again—even if it shouldn’t.
My body throbs from the way he just fucked me. My nipples feel sensitive.
I stroke my finger up his chest.
I’m curled against his side. My mouth is probably red. I love that his mouth is red from my kisses too, his hair is rumpled, and even in this state, he looks like he could take on the world.
And then I’m reminded that soon, he will.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand, wanting time to stand still. Wishing we could stay in this moment. For our lives to be different. Him just a guy. Me just a girl. The two of us just here, with no expectations from anyone but each other. No campaign. No media scrutiny. No guilt for knowing our actions affect not only us but those around us—the team. My parents. His mom . . . the country.
“Your mother isn’t thrilled that you’re running, is she?” I ask, stroking my finger up his chest as the tips of his fingers feather my back.
Matt peers into my face, looking puzzled and amused that I chose to ask him something about the campaign rather than what just happened. “How do you know?”
“She has avoided every event and isn’t speaking about it.”
He drags his hand over his face, then curls his arm behind him as he slides his hand under his pillow. “She worries.”
He tightens his other arm around me and I curl closer, craving his warmth.
Matt is staring at the ceiling, thoughtful. I know they’re close, he and his mother. And I really feel for his mother. Her husband was brutally killed. Matt is all she has; of course she’s concerned. But I can see Matt wouldn’t be a man to back down for anything. “Matt? When you told me about your biggest fear?” I pause for a moment. “Mine is to disappoint my parents. To fail to be whatever it is they wanted me to be, somebody great, responsible, respectable. Look at me now.” I groan.
He peers into my face, thoughtful. Just a bit concerned. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” He runs his fingertip down my nose. “America’s playboy and America’s sweetheart.”
I grin up at him, still breathless. “They may have thought you were just a gorgeous face, but they take you seriously now.”
“I take them seriously. And I take you seriously.” He strokes his hand down my face, his gaze so very warm and endearing. “I don’t want you hurt. This shouldn’t even be happening. I shouldn’t have my hands on you.” He strokes a path down my body with those hands, the most delicious hands. Then, he ducks his head and adds, “I definitely shouldn’t do this.” He cups my sex in his hand and grazes a kiss along my cheek.
I grab his jaw and pull him to my mouth, whispering, “Yes, you should.”
He shifts above me, all stealth and muscles. “I can’t get enough of you, beautiful. I just can’t get enough.”
He’s so hard he immediately rolls on a new condom.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he drives slowly in, as if I’m precious. Or as if he knows I’m a little sore.
He moves inside me. I groan and relish it, clawing my nails down his back.
I move beneath him. I know that it’s crazy, dangerous, terrible for both of us. And I know that it’s also exciting, inevitable, and nothing I could even contemplate denying myself.
I cannot deny myself him. If I want to stop crushing on him, even after eleven years, he will be the only antidote.
Linking my hands behind his thick neck, I raise my head and set my lips on him. I’m hungry, moaning as Matt grabs my face to hold me still and tongues me.