Georgie—Six Months Later
The transition to life in the White House evened out a bit after Jameson and I had our blowout in the West Wing. I focused on my new duties as the first lady, and I found joy in certain aspects of my job. My priority became to finish hiring the rest of my staff. The demands of my new duties quickly overloaded Mallory. There was so much planning and preparation for the dinners that I loathed, but Mallory loved. We were the perfect team, but that team needed more members.
What I loved the most were the daily tours. Quite often, much to the dismay of the Secret Service, I dropped in on them to provide my own special tour. Jameson was still very much the “people’s candidate,” and I wanted to maintain that, even though the election was over. By interacting with the visitors who came to the White House, I showed them that we were still listening. These interactions invigorated me and helped me engage with the personal stories that I missed hearing. If I had to wait for Jameson’s green-eyed monster to disappear to become fully vested in our country’s plan for education reform, then I could focus my energies elsewhere.
At night, when Jameson and I had a few spare moments to rehash our days, I’d tell him about the things I wanted to do. Most of the time, I needed his approval. Even though I was the first lady, there were still things I couldn’t do on my own. These nightly talks strengthened our partnership. In Jameson, I found someone willing to listen to my ideas. He often knew people who could help or offered alternative suggestions if what I wanted to accomplish was too farfetched.
“You want to talk to Senator Aiello about that,” Jameson told me one night after I approached him with something that weighed heavy on my mind. I met a woman on one of my surprise visits, who had been trying unsuccessfully to get more resources for her town to help with addiction awareness. Her son had died from an overdose of prescription painkillers, and she found the city where she lived offered very few resources for those struggling with and recovering from addiction.
“Senator Aiello might seem like a dick, and he is, but his son is in recovery, so he cares,” Jameson informed me. “If she can’t get any help from the state, then Senator Aiello will help.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, jotting down his name in my notebook.
“I’m happy to see you so involved with these people. You’re doing amazing work.”
His feedback was welcomed and appreciated, but I was afraid to admit that helping random people sort out their issues wasn’t completely satisfying. I itched to do more, to be involved at a deeper level.
“Jameson, Max Edison asked me to join him for a few meetings. Is it all right if I attend?” Diplomacy was my only option, and even though I despised asking him for permission, I knew it was the only way to tame his rampant jealousy.
“What kind of meetings?” He sounded distracted, and I looked over at him to see him studying a file of information intensely. His brow was wrinkled, and his mouth frowned deliciously. He wore his thick black-framed glasses, which I adored, and his chest was bare; he wore only a pair of ancient West Point sweatpants. He was so delicious and handsome that I didn’t want this conversation to end up in an argument. I wanted it to end up…differently.
“He’s meeting with the presidents of the NEA and Teach for America to discuss teacher preparation programs. He believes that reform should start there, and I agree with him.”
“Max believes this? So are you constantly talking to him?” Jameson removed his glasses, squeezed his eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he looked directly at me.
I simultaneously felt both guilty and angry. The way Jameson was looking at me and the way he spoke to me made me feel like the back and forth communication that I’d been engaged in with Max was somehow illicit. But I was also furious because I should be able to talk to someone without feeling ashamed.
“Jameson, stop acting like a goddamn caveman and just say yes. Even though I’ve been here, planning state dinners and hiring staff, I’m still communicating with Max. I’m still involved in what’s happening. But out of respect for you and our relationship, I haven’t pushed for more.”
“I appreciate that, Georgie. I really do. And I don’t have a problem with you attending the meetings because I know that you put all that on the backburner while you settled into your new position.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes because, at this moment, I didn’t feel like his equal. I felt like his employee rewarded for a job well done. “Thank you so much for your approval, Mr. President.”
Next to me, Jameson groaned and rolled his eyes. “Georgie, don’t act like that. I didn’t know that you and Max Edison were in frequent contact. You don’t discuss it.”
“Maybe because every time I try to bring up the subject, you start acting like a jealous baboon.”
Jameson turned so that his entire body faced me. I had to look away; I couldn’t have this conversation with him shirtless and his muscles all sexy and tense. “Georgie, I’m not going to apologize for not wanting to share what’s mine. I almost lost you to one psycho asshole.”
“That’s…sweet, Jameson. I love when you go all alpha on me—”
“Don’t patronize me, Georgie. This is not me being some raging alpha. This is me protecting you. This is me not wanting to see you get taken advantage of by some ambitious prick.”
“If you don’t like Max, then why did you nominate him?”
“Because I promised you that I would. He was the best candidate, and I want the best working for me. It doesn’t mean I have to like him.”
I slid my hands up his naked chest and tossed a leg over his thigh so that I could straddle him. We were nose to nose, staring right into each other’s eyes. Aquamarine and emerald.
“Jameson, I’m not going anywhere. You have to trust me.”
Jameson’s large hands skimmed my thighs and disappeared under the silky satin nightgown that I wore to bed. His thumbs grazed the insides, brushing against the edge of my panties, and I shuddered involuntarily at his touch. He tilted his head and nipped at my chin before kissing a trail down my neck.
“I do trust you,” he growled while freeing his cock from his sweatpants. He fisted it, stroking its full length until he was completely erect. He pushed aside my underwear and thrust himself, without warning, inside me. “I just don’t trust him.”
I tightened my grip on his shoulders and adjusted myself until I was fully seated on his cock. A few seconds passed while I adjusted to the fullness of him buried deep inside. And then I rode him. I rocked back and forth in a filthy erotic dance, grinding myself against him. And then I leaned back, supporting myself with one hand while stroking my clit with the other. Jameson let out a heavy breath.
“Fuck me,” he moaned.
“Oh, I am.”
Jameson batted my hand away and replaced it with his, flicking and rubbing my clit with his talented fingers. I supported myself with both hands and pumped my hips up and down. He used his free hand to grip my hip, holding me steady while I worked his length, letting him slide out all the way to the tip before plunging myself down to the base.
“When did you get so dirty?” he murmured, his voice rumbling and low.
“The moment you became a caveman.”
Jameson grabbed the hem of my slip and pulled it up and over my head, tossing it aside, and then wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me flush against his chest. He placed light kisses between my breasts and then over the swells until he made his way down to the nipples. He sucked one into his mouth, pulling it taut before letting it pop out of his mouth. He repeated this action until both nipples were rosy pink tips poking out proudly. He flicked them, increasing their sensitivity. He repeated this over and over until I started to squirm. Each time his mouth landed on me, a jolt of electricity surged right through me and straight to my core.
“Come on, darling, harder,” Jameson demanded, and the tightness that was building inside me wanted the same thing.
I tightened my arms around him and pulled my knees in against the outside of his thighs. We created a rhythm together; me rocking back and forth against him, and him somehow thrusting up at the same time. It was mind-blowing and earth-shattering and a million other clichés rolled into one. I remained still, letting my orgasm implode inside me while Jameson plunged deeply one last time. We were locked around each other, riding the waves of bliss until our heart rates and breathing returned to normal.
“Truce?” he asked.
“For now,” I replied.
* * *
The next day, Jameson and I sat down for our first interview together since the election. We’d been interviewed separately multiple times, but this was the first in-depth interview with the both of us. The interview was being conducted at the White House and part of that was to give the reporter, Judy Mendoza, a tour.
We were happy to take her through all the changes that we made, the personal touches we added, and some restoration projects that were happening.
“So you’re both settling in here,” Judy inquired while we were in the gardens.
“Yes, as much as can be expected,” Jameson answered. He took one of my hands and lifted it to his lips, brushing my knuckles with a light kiss. “Georgie has done a fantastic job hiring staff and getting tours running. She even surprises some of the visitors who come for a tour.”
“And what about working with Secretary Edison on education reform?”
I made eye contact with Jameson and then sucked in a breath. “Well, that was put on hold until I figured out what it meant to be first lady. I really want to be involved with policy. Now that I have a handle on things here, I can start working with Secretary Edison more.”
“And how do you feel about that, President Martin?”
Jameson played it cool even though, deep down, I knew he hated the idea of Max and me working together. “I support Georgie in whatever she wants to do. She gave up a career for me and made it known to me early on that she expected education policy and reform to be her platform. She is extremely passionate about making America’s schools the best in the world.”
It was wonderful to hear him discuss me and my work like that. I couldn’t contain my blush, and when I looked up to meet Jameson’s gaze, the smile he gave me was genuine. I could never doubt Jameson’s pride. He wanted me to succeed; he just didn’t want Max Edison to be a part of that success.
“And marriage? Many in America are eager for a White House wedding. When will we hear those wedding bells?”
Judy looked pointedly at Jameson, her brown eyes scrutinizing him. I glanced at him too, interested to hear his response. “Uh, well, we haven’t really talked about that. We’ve both been focused on our new positions and getting settled in them. I think trying to plan a wedding right now would be a little too much, in addition to everything else.”
“And Georgie, how do you feel about that? Don’t you want to get married?” It was my turn in the hot seat, and I felt mighty uncomfortable. I searched my surroundings for a way out, but there wasn’t one. I couldn’t just run away and ignore her question. For one, that would be rude. And two, there was a camera right in my face.
“I agree with Jameson. We’ve both been busy, and honestly, I haven’t actually thought about it.” That was a lie; a really good lie, though, because she bought it. Truthfully, thinking about the wedding was a daily occurrence. I constantly wondered when Jameson would finally talk with me about it. When would we set a date? Where would we have it? Who would we invite? What would I wear? I thought about all those things, and then I buried those thoughts because I knew Jameson wasn’t ready.
“But don’t you want to get married?”
“Of course, I do! What girl doesn’t dream about her wedding? But I’m also the first lady of the United States. I have a lot of other items that need my attention.”
“Can’t you just have someone help you plan it so you’re not inundated with the details?”
Jesus, this lady was persistent, and I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. It was almost as if she was pushing me, hoping I’d cave, and I was so close. One more inch and the tears would begin to flow.
“Judy, we just got here. There’s plenty of time to figure all that out,” Jameson interjected, and I finally breathed a sigh of relief. He gave her one of his panty-melting smiles, instantly distracting her with his dazzle and charm.
The rest of the interview was a blur because I was lost inside my own head. I was cognizant enough to answer appropriately, but it was hard to ignore the disappointment that I felt over Jameson’s evasive answers to questions about getting married. He was right when he said there wasn’t a rush to get married. We hadn’t officially been engaged that long anyway, but my desire to be his wife was palpable, and it stung to see him blatantly reject that.
When Judy Mendoza left, I retreated to the private residence. Jameson found me in the Queens’ Bedroom, where I sat in a chair in front of the fireplace. I liked the Queens’ Bedroom because its regal femininity reminded me of past first ladies. It inspired me. But now, I wanted to be alone, to contemplate my future as the first lady and whether or not I would be Jameson’s wife.
“You disappeared as soon as Ms. Mendoza left,” Jameson stated. He stood just in the doorway, his body language telling me that he was hesitant to enter without permission.
“I was tired. I hope she didn’t think I was rude,” I replied.
Jameson shifted on his feet, his impatience getting the best of him. I signaled for him to enter, and he sat down in the chair opposite mine. “I don’t think she noticed. Is something bothering you?”
“No, not really. Just a lot on my plate, as usual.”
He nodded in understanding. “Do you know when those meetings with Edison are?”
“Umm, yes.” I reached for my phone and flipped through the calendar. “All next week. There are quite a few. One with both of the presidents of NEA and Teach for America, and then one with the governor of California.”
“That’s only two days. Who are the other meetings with?”
I placed a hand on my forehead. “I don’t remember, Jameson.”
“Isn’t it on the calendar?” He pointed toward my phone, his voice incrementally louder. What got him so worked up all a sudden?
“No, it’s not. Sorry. I just added it as a meeting with Max.”
“Well, I need to know.”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because you’re the first lady.”
“Then I’ll have Mallory fax over my weekly itinerary to Sean.”
“Georgie,” Jameson warned.
“Jameson,” I countered.
“Don’t push me on this.”
“I’m not pushing you on anything. I informed you that I would be attending meetings next week with Max. I’ll have Mallory send over my itinerary to Sean. Isn’t that good enough?”
“No, it’s not good enough.” His voice was low and dangerous.
“Why not?” I was in unchartered waters, pushing his buttons.
“Because you’re my wife!” Jameson roared, slamming his fist down on the arm of the chair.
“No, I’m not, and you made that abundantly clear today when you told Judy Mendoza that we were too busy to plan a wedding.”
“So is that what this little sulk is about? You’re upset about what I said? You said the same thing.”
I stood abruptly. “Fuck you, Jameson. I don’t need your condescending bullshit. Of course, I agreed with you! What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to tell a complete stranger all about how I spend every goddamn day thinking about the day we can finally set a date? Or that I’ve already secretly tried on a dozen dresses? Is that what you wanted me to tell her? ’Cause it’s all fucking true.”
Jameson’s mouth hung open. He wasn’t expecting me to lay all that at his feet.
“Truce is over, asshole,” I muttered as I walked past him and out of the room.