by Gage Grayson
Her full breasts heave as her eyes trail down my body. I release her hands, and she doesn’t move, just watches as I push my pants and undershorts down my hips and step out of them. The throbbing length of my hard cock is now prominently on display.
Now the only thing separating us is that flimsy bit of lace. I see her shiver again—this time, in anticipation. I grab her face, kissing her red, swollen lips, before I make my way to her breasts, sucking one into my mouth as I cup the other, running my thumb over the rosebud nipple.
“Fuuuck, Henry,” she moans, her head falling back against the wall.
I love the sound of my name on her lips. She pants it out as if saying it will give her some sort of release.
I switch to suckling her other breast and slink my other hand to her pussy, pushing aside the soaked thong.
“Fuck,” I groan.
She’s dripping. I bring my fingers to my lips and taste her. She tastes like honey and pomegranate—delicious.
Then I’m so fucking ravenous that I drop to my knees and rip away the fabric keeping me from my feast. Beatrice readjusts, widening her stance to give better access, and then I lick the juice from her.
I gently suck her swollen clit, and she cries out, her body shuddering as she does. I feel her knees start to buckle, so—though it’s almost impossible for me to do so—I tear myself away from her wet pussy.
I pick Bea up and carry her across the suite to the bed. She wraps her legs around me, kissing and biting my neck.
Then she licks along my ear before she whispers, “I’m going to need your dick soon, Mr President. It’s a matter of national security.”
My cock throbs, but I huff out a laugh. “Oh, really? How’s that?”
“Because if I don’t get you inside me soon, I might kill you. And assassinating the president is frowned upon.”
I bark out a laugh, and somehow, it makes me want her even more.
I throw her onto the edge of the bed, all set to resume my leisurely devouring of her sweet pussy, but she scrambles up. And before I know what’s happening, she’s deep throating my cock.
I run my fingers through her hair and feel a growl reverberate up from my core and slip between my clenched teeth.
Bea has every muscle in my body clenching and wanting release, but I absolutely refuse to give in and see this end too soon like some inexperienced frat boy.
Though that becomes increasingly difficult when she pulls back and starts sucking my balls and licking up and down my shaft like it’s an ice cream cone.
“Beatrice,” I growl.
“Hmm?” she hums around my dick; it jumps at the vibrations.
“Come. Here.” She gives my shaft another long, slow lick.
“Is that an order, Mr President?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, in that case.”
She makes her way up my body, kissing as she goes, the weight of her breasts crushing against me. I palm them, and she moans again, pulling me against her mouth. My cock slips in the slick warm folds of her cunt, and I can’t fucking take it.
I throw us both down on the bed, desperate to slip inside.
I move back down, teasing her lower lips open with my tongue as I move my fingers into her tight, throbbing pussy.
“Oh, god! Yes...Henry. Fuck, yes!”
I’ve got her wound so tight she’s about to explode. But then, so am I.
Her hips buck up, and I use my other hand to hold her still while I keep licking her clit as I finger fuck her over the edge. And when her release comes, I almost lose it myself.
But then, she’s tugging at my hair, trying to yank me up, her body still trembling from her orgasm.
“Oh my fucking god, Henry. You better get your ass up here and fuck me now.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I’m up, bracing myself over her, and she grabs my cock and guides it inside her. She’s warm and slick, swollen with desire. One stroke, and I’m as deep as I can go.
Her juices flow down my shaft like honey.
And as she whimpers and moans and pants out my name as I bring her back to the edge, I let myself go.
My body betrays me and succumbs to its need. My knees begin to quake like I’m on a ship in the middle of a rough sea, and the muscles in my thighs and stomach begin to clench on their own accord.
That growl from my core rises up and through my lips once again as I fill her to the brim with my need and six long years of regret and pent-up desire.
It’s feels like the Fourth of July fireworks in Washington—well worth the wait.
Chapter 20
Beatrice
Every muscle in my body aches, like the day after a big workout, in protest as I stretch out along the comfy bed.
The sun peaks through the curtains, and its warmth brings a smile to my face.
My head rolls over to the side, and I see the empty space beside me.
A moment later, I hear the muffled noise of a shower from across the room.
The shower? Oh, god! What have I done?
It feels like a bolt of lightning has struck my ass, and I jump out of the bed.
I spin around and look about the room, expecting to see someone from the Secret Service watching me.
What were you thinking, Beatrice? What if someone catches you?
Before I even try to think of a plan, I need to get dressed. Neither I nor Henry can afford for me to be found like this in his room.
I wrap the top sheet around me, just to be safe, and I begin my frantic hunt around the room in search of my clothes from the night before.
My body tells me to lie back down and relax.
My head tells me to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.
My heart tells me to go jump in the shower with him and pick up where we left off—well, maybe it’s not just my heart that’s saying that.
The only one I can afford to listen to is my head right now. Listening to my body and my heart is what got me into this situation to begin with.
It’s not that I regret it—I don’t. Last night was everything I had hoped and imagined it would be and then some.
But this isn’t some fairy tale. There are real-world consequences here.
I find my panties first and slip them on under the blanket. Luckily, my bra is right there with it, and I throw that on next.
The blanket falls to my feet, and I nearly trip myself in it when I go to grab my dress off the floor.
I wiggle into the black satin as the impending dread of my walk of shame looms over me like a raging storm cloud.
My fingers wrap around the door handle to leave when it hits me.
“My shoes!”
Spinning around in a mad panic, I manage to catch sight of one shoe by the desk—but it’s only just the one.
When I lean down to pick it up, I see its twin under the bed. On my hands and knees, I reach under the bed to grab it.
I’m so wrapped up in getting my shoes and leaving that I don’t even realize that the shower has stopped, nor do I hear the click of the door to the bathroom opening.
It’s not until I hear the sound of his voice that I’m snapped from my frantic haze.
“Ummm, Beatrice? What are you doing?”
I pop up from behind the bed, and what I see has my heart thumping and my head telling me to never listen to it again.
Before me is President Hardbody wrapped in a white towel, steam rising from his body, as droplets of water slide along the grooves of his muscled body.
His azure eyes look at me with amusement—matched by his sexy, lopsided grin—and I bite down on my lower lip without even realizing.
“Bea?” he asks again with a small chuckle.
“Huh? Oh, I’m grabbing my shoes. I can’t just go back to the room naked, you know. It’s bad enough people will likely see me coming out of your room as it is. And I still have to get ready for the flight back home.”
“Oh, well, don’t worry about that.”
“I already had a staffer grab your clothes and toiletries for you.”
His eyes turn away from me toward the desk no more than three feet away from me. I turn to look and see my bag and clothes already sitting there, waiting for me to take them.
“Oh...”
He makes a soft laugh, which draws my attention back to him—and his half-naked body.
God, I want to rip that towel off so badly.
“Look, why don’t you grab your stuff and take a shower? I’ll get dressed and wait for room service, and we then can have breakfast together. Okay?”
I nod in agreement as I get up off the floor.
That sense of frantic madness and dread of being caught coming from his room is gone.
Partly because it’s too late—people obviously know—but also because that smile of his puts me at ease.
I grab my clothes and toiletries and start off toward the steamy bathroom when I feel his strong hand grab my arm. I turn to face him just in time to catch his tender lips against my own.
Such a simple thing has me feeling as weightless as a feather.
“See you when you get out,” he says with a wink.
A smile forms on my lips as I nod.
“Looking forward to it.”
The second the door closes behind me, I lean back against it.
My smile grows wider as I’m flooded with memories of last night.
I strip down and take a moment to wipe away the fog clinging to the mirror. My eyes meet my own, and I can see them gleam with all the excitement that I feel in my stomach right now.
I wonder if he noticed it, too. But then, how could he not?
The hot water feels amazing against my muscles. I can almost hear them thanking me for the massage.
The water pressure is unreal. It outclasses my shower back home in every way. I almost don’t want the shower to end; it feels so good.
People always underestimate the effects a good shower can have on a person.
The sound of rushing water is quickly replaced by the muffled sound of Henry singing from the next room.
He’s not very good at it, but he’s at least very enthusiastic.
I open the door quietly and take a peek into the main room as Henry is setting the table for us.
“In a cradle all night. It swings, woo woo. It jives, woo woo. It shakes all over like a jelly fish...”
I close the door and put my hand over my mouth to muffle my giggle further.
Of course, he’s singing Queen.
It doesn’t take me long to put myself together when I get out of the shower. My hair is still a little damp when I put it up into a ponytail, but it’s nothing that the warm climate of Italy won’t correct soon enough.
When I step out of the bathroom, he’s lifting the tops off the trays of food.
And, as horrible as it sounds, I’m actually disappointed that he isn’t singing anymore.
“So, what did you order?”
He looks up from the trays and pulls my chair out for me.
“I got us some crespelle. They’re the Italian equivalent of crêpes. I got them rolled up and filled with strawberries, bananas, and Nutella.”
“All of which are my favorites.”
Henry gives me a shrug as his lips curl upward into a knowing grin.
I shouldn’t be surprised that he knows this stuff, but I’ve never had anyone go out of their way like this for me before, let alone the president of the United States.
He pushes in my chair as I sit down, and he takes his seat across from me.
“So, I was thinking we should talk about last night.”
There’s a bit of trepidation in his voice.
It makes my stomach tie itself into knots, and I feel like my heart is caught in my throat.
“You regret it, don’t you?”
“Regret it? God, no. Far from it,” Henry exclaims as he reaches across the table to take my hand in his. “If anything, I want to do more of that...for a long time.”
His hand squeezes mine affectionately, and I squeeze back in response.
I can’t even begin to describe the sense of relief that I feel overwhelm me at his words.
“It’s just that...it’s a precarious situation.”
“I understand that.”
“I don’t want this to stop, Bea, truly. And as amazing as last night was, I think it would be best to slow things down a bit.”
“I agree. We did kind of jump in head first, didn’t we?”
He nods and laughs in response.
It makes me smile and untwist those knots in my gut.
“So, we take things slow then?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, we take things slow. Something this good isn’t worth rushing into and potentially going down the drain because we acted recklessly.”
“Slow it is then.”
There’s a brief moment where I feel elated, but it quickly gives way to shock and awe.
I have just agreed to date the president of the United States.
Chapter 21
Henry
My chin rests against my fist as I look at the starry sky through the window.
Each star sparkles wondrously, and I wonder if there’s anyone else out there looking up at these same stars in awe—and with love.
I don’t want to rush things so quickly and say that what I’m feeling for Bea is love. To do so feels like it would jinx what’s growing between us.
But, admittedly, I’ve never felt this way about a woman before.
My life has changed the moment I first laid eyes on Beatrice, and our night together has intensified that change.
So, yes, I don’t want to say it’s love, but it’s hard to think of another word that accurately describes what I’m feeling for her.
I turn away from the window to look over at Bea.
She’s sleeping soundly in bed, still in her clothes from today, and I can’t help smiling.
I get up from the desk and leave the room so that she can sleep peacefully.
I’m halfway to the galley when Lawrence finds me in the corridor.
“About time I found you.”
“Sorry, I was meeting with Beatrice. We were going over the trip.”
“Which is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Alright. I’m on my way to the galley. Care to join me for a late-night snack?”
“You know, a bologna sandwich sounds real good right now.”
My longtime friend smiles, and I pat him on the shoulder as we start toward the galley.
Bologna sandwiches have been a staple in our diets for a long time. I’ve lost track of all the countless nights we’ve stayed awake going over policy, campaign tactics, or whatever other crisis that showed up.
There were times where it felt like that’s all we ever ate.
And now it’s become a sort of tradition for us to enjoy a bologna sandwich whenever we need to talk shop.
“Mr President, umm...hello, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?” one of the surprised galley attendants asks.
“Just point me toward the bread and sandwich meats, and we’re good.”
“They’re just over there, sir.”
“Perfect, thanks.”
“Mind giving us a bit of privacy?” Lawrence asks the cook.
The man nods, and the few remaining staff leave the kitchen area so that Lawrence and I can talk privately.
“So, down to business?” I ask, grabbing the loaf of bread.
“Yes. When we get back to Washington, we’re going to set up a small conference so that you can talk about how successful the trip was.”
“I’m guessing the press is just chomping at the bit to get my opinion on how the meetings at The Hague went.”
I start laying out the slices of bread as I hear Lawrence ruffle around in the fridge.
“That’s putting it lightly. But the Normandy trip is another big one. European magazines and
newspapers were quite impressed with you during the trip. Ah!” He’s found the bologna. “And I’m thinking we can spin it to give some extra oomph to our foreign relations and image.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Lawrence retreat from the fridge with the lettuce, tomato, and mayo in hand like some treasure hunter who found the Holy Grail.
“Well, given how my predecessor’s administration tanked our global image, any boost we can get is a good thing. We need to step up our global image and show the world we aren’t the bullies they all think we are.”
“Not an easy task.”
“No, but you know me, Lawrence. I always love a good challenge.”
“Which is why you ran as an independent.”
“And I won, didn’t I?”
“That you did,” he says as he looks at me with a crooked grin.
The two of us turn our attention to our double decker bologna sandwiches. The first layer is mayo, lettuce, and meat. The second layer is tomato, meat, and mustard—a sandwich worthy of a president.
“After that, we need to deal with that immigration bill. Both sides of the House are still going back and forth on it.”
A heavy sigh slips through my lips.
I may be president, but Democrats and Republicans still run the Senate. While I have the advantage of belonging to neither party, it’s also a disadvantage when dealing with each party as they always accuse me as leaning one way or the other.
It’s truly frustrating and maddening at times.
“Drink?” I ask as I set my sandwich down.
“Please.”
I go to the fridge and grab bottles of water.
I toss one across the room to Lawrence, who catches it with ease.
“I’m dating Beatrice now,” I blurt out like a kid who got caught sneaking in their room after curfew.
My sudden declaration almost has Lawrence choking on his sandwich.
He cracks open his bottle and quickly takes a drink to wash down his half-chewed sandwich.
“You’re what now?”
“Well, after we got back to the hotel, things got physical between us, and we decided to take things slow over breakfast.”
“Do I need to tell you how bad of an idea that is?”
Lawrence gives me his patented dad look. It’s one I used to get plenty of times early on in my political career when I made mistakes.
