Chapter Eleven
Xavier pushed himself up from the table, a bit uneasy on his feet. He smiled at me in that crooked way. I was falling in love with him in each passing moment. But I didn’t want to admit it to myself.
“Did the wine go to your head?” I asked him, teasing him. I felt a lightness about myself as well.
He reached out his hand to me and I accepted it. We stood there together, in the shell of the candlelight. I couldn’t help but gaze into his eyes, feeling such a weight in me. Every time I was with him, the world around us seemed to calm; I seemed to forget every element of my responsibilities, of my dreams. I could just be. There was a freedom in it.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked me then, his words a bit sloppy.
My eyes coursed toward the doorway, where I could see the Secret Service walking and talking, a bit anxious to go home.
I shook my head. “Too many witnesses,” I said, my eyebrows going high on my forehead. I felt silly, for some reason—up for anything.
Xavier nodded, stepping closer to me. I half-expected his mouth to come toward mine, to engage in that kiss once more. Deep in my heart, in my stomach, I wanted it—I wanted so much more, as well.
But instead, he whispered in my ear. “Do you want me to take you home?”
I reared back for a moment, shocked at his words. He’d been such a president during much of dinner—with a loud voice, with a dominant personality. But this softer side forced me to nod my head, to lower my eyebrows, and to admit to myself that I very much wanted him to take me home. “Please,” I said, biting my lip once more.
He allowed me to accept his arm, and we walked out into the foyer, where we found the Secret Service men, including Dimitri. Dimitri looked at me with a vague, confused expression. He didn’t say anything, of course. Gosh, he’d been my friend for so many, many years. What would he think of me now?
“Gentlemen. I’m going to accompany Miss Martin back to her home. Dimitri, if you could drive us. I believe you know the way rather well,” Xavier announced, administering his president voice once more. I sniffed, lowering my eyes. I tried to become invisible—not a proud, dominant girl of the White House. Surely not her.
“Yes, sir,” Dimitri stated, his voice a bit harsh. I looked down at the ground, not wanting to see his assuredly shocked, angry expression. Sure, I’d known he liked me throughout all those years of friendship. I didn’t mean for it to be this way—for this start of a torrid affair hurt his feelings. It wasn’t meant to be like this.
Dimitri rushed to grab the car. Meanwhile, the other Secret Service men grabbed a few others, meaning to follow us, I suppose. Xavier and I stood together, my arm still through his. We casually sipped on wine and spoke of other things—not of the things we might do, in the back of that black, secret car. I wanted to smack myself, to allow myself to understand that this was all off-limits. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t do this. I would dance with him, hold his hand. I’d talk to him and play fantasies in my head. But no more.
Dimitri pulled up before the White House, allowing us to enter the back seat of the black vehicle. Xavier swept in after me, closing the door with an affirmative clunk. In the back, the intensity was heightened incredibly. Xavier’s face was inches from my own, and our lips were so close together, needing each other. I held my hand over his chest and I pressed my fingertips into his muscles, wanting to rip his clothes from his skin. Stop, I kept thinking. Stop wanting him.
Stop needing him.
Dimitri pulled up in front of the apartment building without my realizing that time had passed. Xavier turned toward me, his breath hot. “Do you want me to walk you up?” he whispered, his mouth so straight, so serious across his face.
I paused for a moment, my mind rushing. Perhaps this could be the only time? I nodded subtly, allowing it. I needed him so deep in me. My pussy called out for him, needing him. I wanted him to rip my clothes from me, to bang me into a wall. Anything, goddammit. Anything.
Xavier called up to Dimitri in the front seat. “Dimitri. Drive around the block for about an hour or so. Okay? I’ll call you when I need to be picked up.”
“Will do, sir. The others will come wait outside the door.”
“The others?” I asked Xavier then.
Xavier nodded. “I come with a slew of Secret Service every time I leave the White House. You’ll get used to it.”
What did he mean I would get used to it? I wasn’t sure I would. I panicked at the thought of even one person knowing about this, let alone many. But I stepped out of the vehicle anyway and found myself walking into my apartment building with the president’s arm around my lower back. My need for him overtook anything else. I couldn’t think anymore.
I rustled the key from my pocket and stuffed it into the door knob, pushing it open. Xavier darted in after me, closing it behind us. He gazed around my apartment, tapping his tongue against the top of his mouth. “Not bad, Miss Martin. Not bad.”
I stood at the doorway, trying to right my emotions and my inner self. I was in there somewhere. All my hopes and dreams had to overtake my sexual drive! I knew that I was being unruly—that my feelings for this man couldn’t come to fruition. Sure, he was the most attractive man I’d ever seen. His power was outrageous, and the way he kissed me made me swoon.
But I couldn’t allow it to continue. I cleared my throat. “Do you want some wine?” I asked him. I would change the conversation; perhaps I could ask him about his wife again.
He spun around and nodded. “I’d love some.” Thankfully, he kept his distance, standing over by the bookcase. “You have some great books in here.” He brought his hands into his pockets. I imagined them all over my body, rubbing at me. Forcing me to come to orgasm.
I nodded, pouring the glasses. “If only I had time to read them, you know.”
“Oh, I know. I’m saving all the reading for after the presidency.”
I didn’t want to tell him that if we were caught doing this—even just drinking in this apartment like friends—he wouldn’t make the next election. He would be on his back, reading paperbacks until the day he died. He would be known as another president who had a sordid affair with a White House employee, thus ruining both his career and hers.
Mine.
“Me, too. After my presidency, of course,” I said, clinking my glass with his. I winked at him. “Cheers.”
His eyes flitted over me, over my breasts, over my waist. He shook his head, as if he couldn’t comprehend something.
“What is it?” I asked him, genuinely curious. I felt like I was on display, suddenly.
“I just—I can’t believe you exist.”
I tapped the glass on the table before me, and crossed my arms, my mind rushing. “We can’t, Xavier,” I whispered. “We can’t.”
He tapped his glass next to mine and took a step forward. With each step, I felt myself take another back. Back and back and back, like my kitchen went on forever. “Please, Xavier,” I whispered. My voice pleaded with him, but I knew my eyes gave me away. They wanted him. God, I wanted him.
Finally, I was against the door. I could feel my spine wheedle into the wood. His body was so hot against mine. He whispered into my ear: “What is it we can’t do?” His voice rasped with such sensuality.
And then I nearly fell into his arms. He kissed me so passionately, rubbing his hands against my breasts, against my thin waist. I kissed back with such earnestness, as well. I felt my knees give out, and I sighed into him, feeling my hands begin to unbutton his shirt. I ripped open the thing, allowing a few buttons to course wildly through the kitchen.
His immaculate, muscled chest gleamed in the light from my kitchen. He removed his shirt, allowing his upper arms to pulse with each movement. He placed his hands on my neck and began to unzip my dress, slipping it down around my ankles. He revealed me in just my tights; just my bra.
“God. You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
And then, he was on me once more, bringing his hands around my back and unhooking my bra, leaving me to gasp before him, my breasts bouncing into his open hands. He brought his mouth around the nipples, coursing his tongue up and down, over and over. I felt my pussy become so wet in my tights.
He gripped my waist, then, and carried me toward the couch. He sat down and swept me over him, allowing me to straddle him. He grabbed my tights and ripped them all the way down the leg, leaving me to gasp with delight. He separated the lips of my pussy and placed his hand on my clit, making me call out with such pleasure. I closed my eyes, seeing stars.
I reached toward his waist and undid his belt, stripping him naked on the couch along with me. I knelt down and placed my mouth around his huge, pulsing dick and rolled my tongue around and around, hearing his gasps and sighs as I did it. I couldn’t believe I could make the president orgasm; I couldn’t believe I could make him feel this good.
But then, he pushed me down onto the couch, making me giggle a bit, even as my breasts bounced on my chest. “What are you doing?” I laughed at him, giving myself over once again to emotion.
“You look fucking great,” he said, thrusting his dick into me and bringing my feet up around his stunning face. He fucked me like that, with my legs vertically in the air and my head and back arched. Each penetration made me roar for more. He reached down and clamped my nipples with his strong fingers—the very ones he’d used to sign such important documents, to declare his oath to the presidency. And now—and now—
Each thrust shuddered the couch into the wall, making the entire apartment creak. The neighbors would hear, I knew; but they wouldn’t know who was making the noise. They wouldn’t dare say a thing.
After he nearly crushed the couch into the heaping brick wall, he wasn’t done. He removed his dick from me then, leaving me gasping. He brought me up onto the table. I stood on all fours, allowing him to enter my pulsing, dripping pussy from behind. “Yeah, baby,” I said. “Yeah.” I rubbed my clit from the front, feeling my orgasm revving in me, pushing all doubts of my love for this man aside. “Don’t stop!” I cried to the air around us. I felt like I was going to cry; I felt like this was the culmination of all my lack of feeling over the years. I’d had nothing for too long.
“Come for me, baby. Come for me,” the president said over and over. His hand reached around and helped me rub my clit, over and over again. Finally, I did; I came, allowing my muscles and my head and my thoughts to come free from the constraints of the past several years. I fell to the table in a fit of stars, of feeling. Xavier placed his hand on my ass, allowing me the comfort of coming down from such passion.
Xavier knelt down before me. His face was so serene. Nothing of the leader of the free world was portrayed upon it. I cooed at his face and placed my finger on the tip of his nose, on his mustache. “That, my friend, was brilliant,” I whispered to him, my eyes filled with light.
He knelt and kissed me once more. I could feel the passion digging into my gut. I wanted him to stay; I wanted to continue fucking him, to have him continue fucking me. I reached up and brought my arms around him, and he carried me into the bedroom, tucking me beneath the covers.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to him, my words so sleepy, so disoriented. “Where are you going?”
He was pulling his pants on, buttoning his shirt. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” he whispered. “My gorgeous, gorgeous secret.”
I bit my lip and hid beneath the covers for a moment, barely believing what I’d just done. I’d fucked the President of the United States. And I felt my heart falling for him, harder and harder with every single passing second.
What was I going to do?