The President's Secret Baby

by Gage Grayson

  “Sure thing,” he says, as he knocks on the door frame before heading in to get the paperwork.

  I turn away for a second and let out a silent, shuddering exhale. The butterflies in my stomach are doing loop-de-loops at the thought of the look on Jaxon’s face when he sees me.

  “Hold on a sec,” the young guard says, jerking me from my reverie. “It says here inmate Covington had his session yesterday.”

  I give him a bland smile and nod to this. I came prepared. “That is correct. However, I’m attempting a new technique in the hopes of compelling a more genuine response.”

  I see his eyes glaze slightly, but his slight frown remains firm, and he hasn’t handed over the necessary paperwork yet. I’m not sure if I should throw around my authority or not.

  In an instant, I decide against it, because either they will deny me or they will have to seek permission. In either case, there is a very good likelihood it will be run by Dr. Gardner, and I don’t really want him sticking his nose in.

  Instead, I brighten my smile just a touch and give him a conspiratorial look. Then, I lower my voice so he has to lean down to listen. “I shouldn’t be discussing this with you, but I’m trying to insert uncertainty into the dynamic to elicit a truthful response to my patient’s trauma.”

  I pull away slightly, my eyes wide and imploring. I put a touch of anxiety in my voice. “I’m on a deadline. I need all the help I can get.”

  As soon as the word ‘help’ is uttered, he leans back with a smile.

  “Well, why didn’t you just say so? Just sign here.”

  I do as I’m told, and he initials next to my name. Then, with a word and a wave at the other guards in the station, he steps down next to me. “Here, I’ll escort you to him. He’s in gen pop, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you on the way there.”

  I smile blandly and mumble a thank you, and we proceed on our way.

  When we round the final corner to the main common area, his back is to me. I slow down and pause just at the edge to observe him.

  I’ve never really seen him in his natural habitat, though I don’t think prison is his natural habitat, either. What I mean to say is that I’ve only ever seen him in controlled environments when he knew to expect me.

  He knew I was watching and acted accordingly. This time, he doesn’t.

  No one has noticed me yet, so I gently grab the guard’s arm and put a finger to my lips. He winks conspiratorially, but pauses with me. We both remain silent so as to not draw attention.

  Jaxon slouches easily in a chair, back still to me, and looks, for all intents and purposes, like a king holding court.

  Though it’s surprisingly difficult, I shift my attention around the rest of the room to find all the inmates ebbing and flowing in the natural current of his charm. You can almost feel the gravitational force of his presence. They are rocks—dull lifeless hunks of planets while he…he is the sun.

  And then, just like the inmates I have just maligned, I find myself inescapably sucked into his space. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop myself. The pull is a deep ache low in my belly and groin, pulsing fire in my blood.

  Once again, time seems to slow as I walk towards him, and I realize I got it wrong.

  I am the sun—a swiftly rising star—and he…he is my black hole. I currently stand on the precipice, staring down the point of no return.

  My high heels click on the linoleum floor as I begin my slow stride. Here and there, I am catcalled.

  “Hey, hot mama!”

  “Nice tits!”

  “Oh, fuck me, baby, I’m yours.”

  “I’ll take you for a ride, princess.”

  The guard yells for everyone to shut up.

  Then Jaxon turns. His lips are puckered, as if he was about to wolf-whistle, but I’ll never know. His mouth flattens in an instant when he realizes it’s me.

  His face, for once, appears unguarded, and I note each successive expression with some of my usual detachment. Surprise, longing, anger, and frustration fly over his features before his face and body settle into positions of dominance.

  In a flash, he is up, his hand in the air calling for silence with the sheer authority of one who expects to be obeyed. The voices die out as if muted.

  His eyes flare with heat and hunger as he takes me in.

  For reasons known only to my subconscious, I left my kitten heels at home today. Instead, I wear my glossy black patent pumps with the four-inch heels—the surface so shiny I wouldn’t be surprised if you could see up my skirt. They’re the closest thing I’ve got to ‘fuck me’ pumps.

  I watch his face again as he quickly looks me up and down and then does a double take on my shoes. He gives me a once-over again, but this time the look is languid.

  His eyes rake over me with such force, it feels as if my nerves are tingling everywhere his eyes touch. As he makes his way up, I feel my nipples harden and my breasts grow heavy. Though I have nothing to reference, I do believe I’ve just been eye-fucked.

  It thrills me.

  However, we aren’t alone. We’re surrounded by other inmates and guards, and I am his doctor. No matter what’s churning beneath my skin, my outer surface must be calm, cool, and collected.

  I can feel my mask slip into place as I give him my blandest smile. “Mr. Covington.”

  “Dr. Hughes.” He inclines his head slightly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  I frown at him slightly, just to see what he’ll do.

  “Come with me,” I say, my tone clipped. There is the tiniest look of hurt and confusion on his place before it’s replaced with his usual sardonic smile.

  “Of course,” he says, eyebrow arched, before he bows slightly at the waist. “Lead the way.”

  I turn on my heel and head out, not bothering to check if he’s following me. I know he is—not because he’s submissive, but because he’s intrigued. Good.

  The sound of my heel clicks seem to echo too loudly in the still silent room. The chatter doesn’t resume until we leave and I notice, out of the corner of my eye, Jaxon giving a signal.

  We are halfway to my office before it dawns on me that everyone was waiting for his permission to speak.

  Jaxon

  She stares deeply into my eyes, and I can see her pull herself back together. It’s a visible act of will.

  It’s so goddamn sexy. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  “Jaxon. We need to actually find the root of your trauma. If we don’t, you will always be sick. I’m here to help you.”

  “I’m not traumatized.”

  “So you say. But you must have something behind the emotional trigger.” She looks through her papers. “For instance, can you give me more detail on how your father was abusive to you and your mother?”

  “No, not really. He was just a cunt.”

  “So, it’s true that he threatened you with changing your name on all the legal documents, forcing everyone to call you Jack?”

  “It might be.”

  “Your mother. What type of duct tape did she use to pin you to the wall?”

  I snort with laughter. “What?”

  “You said she used to duct tape you to the wall. What type of tape did she use?” I lean back and stretch, linking my hands. I crack my shoulders and knuckles.

  “No fucking clue.”

  Her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “Are you prepared to discuss your issues with the fairytale rhymes associated with your name?”

  “They’re just fairy tales. They don’t mean shit.”

  “You’ve mentioned it every time I ask you about your emotional response to being called ‘Jack.’” She looks at me as she says it, as if she can trigger me.

  It doesn’t. It’s not in context. She’s not disrespecting me.

  “You have some interesting books in here,” I respond. “Can I borrow some? The library cart has six different bibles, but no mysteries.”

  She sighs and slams the papers down on the desk. “Jaxon! You h
ave to help me, or I can’t help you! Don’t you know I’m under a tremendous amount of pressure here? Don’t you care?”

  I return my focus to her, lounging against my chair. I don’t give her the satisfaction of softening up or leaning towards her.

  “I appreciate that you have some level of stress regarding my case.”

  “Then please, help me to help you. Talk to me. Why do you hate being called Jack?”

  I’m staring off into space. Whatever is in front of me, I can’t see it.

  “It’s not my name…” I whisper softly.

  “What? Jaxon, I didn’t hear you.”

  I take a deep breath and pinch my nose as I sigh, leaning forward.

  “Okay. You want the truth? There was this kid in boarding school. He used to call me Jack-sprat. Yes, the fucking fairy tale thing again. It is true that Jaxon is a family name. Has been for awhile. We also have a considerable history at this school.

  “This little punk is from a rival family. We always donate millions to the school so we get our names on everything. Well, this little cunt went around in the night and anywhere the name ‘Jaxon’ appeared, he changed it to Jack. Just with magic marker.

  “Can you imagine? Plaques and wall hangings, trophies, certificates. My great uncle Jaxon and grandpa Jaxon would have been mortified.”

  I lean forward, looking at her earnestly. “He didn’t just deface history. He defaced me. My future and the future of our whole family. Generations worth of good standing, ruined by one dumb little prick and a magic marker in one night.”

  “But surely you understand that he didn’t actually deface the achievements? That that’s impossible. The kid only defaced himself. Made himself small by showing what a threat you were to his own personal security. Surely you understand that?”

  I look at her. Deeply. My eyes are locked on hers, and I’ve got that feeling again.

  Like we’re both outside of reality, and only our bodies are here, being socially acceptable. Our souls are somewhere else, dancing in the dark.

  “I never thought of it like that,” I say softly. “Thank you.”

  It’s all bullshit. Maybe she knows that.

  I don’t really care.

  “We seem to be making some headway now.”

  “Yes, I think we are.”

  “Jaxon…do you feel that you have violent tendencies? I’ve asked you before. You say you don’t, but you clearly react violently. You need to examine this.”

  “Is that line of statues on the bookshelf an original art piece? I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

  “Jaxon, I asked you a question.”

  I turn and look straight at her, palms on the desk. “And I asked you one. Have you forgotten our deal?”

  She laughs softly. “No, not really. But you are court-ordered to answer my questions.”

  “You think I give a fuck about that?”

  “You should. My assessment of you will determine what happens to you.”

  I can’t help it. I laugh out loud. It actually hurts my guts.

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “Yes. I really do.”

  “Do you think your money can get you out of anything?”

  “It has so far.”

  “I might add to my report that you are so deranged, your surroundings literally don’t matter to you. That your psychosis is so advanced, you see yourself as a god, even in prison clothes.”

  I smile coldly. She’s firing up. Trying to get a reaction out of me.

  The cool, calm doctor is fleeing, and the red-hot woman is coming out.

  “You certainly could say that.”

  “Jaxon! Take this seriously!”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Is your mental health a joke to you?”

  “Not at all. I think it’s vital to overall happiness.”

  She sighs, closing her eyes for a second, using both hands to rub at them. “You agreed to advanced psychotherapy.”

  “You agreed to answer my questions.” I’m feeling quite comfortable now. I can feel the balance of energy shifting.

  It’s happening.

  I’m getting the real Alison.

  While she tries to recover herself—unsuccessfully, I might add—I get up and wander around the room. I pick up the little crystal statues. They’re finely made in the shapes of animals.

  “Honestly, I have a taste for fine things, and I’ve never seen these. Where did you get them?”

  She looks up, exasperated. “A gift from my father. He meets all kinds of artists.”

  “Interesting.” I run my hand over the shelf. Looking at her books.

  “Jaxon, sit down.”

  “I’d rather stand.”

  “Why?”

  I turn and face her, crossing my arms. “Because I’m not running from my emotions. I can feel the heat between us, and I’m honest about it. Look at you, sitting there, going on about emotional discovery.

  “It’s a crock of shit. You can’t admit how you really feel about me. How the fuck do you expect to fix me when you can’t even be honest with yourself?”

  She stands up and strides towards me.

  Her cheeks are flaming. Her mouth looks red. Her eyes are blazing.

  “Shut the fuck up,” she hisses at me.

  Oh, lovely. She’s losing it.

  “Make me.” I lean my face towards hers.

  She looks furious. Her body is ridged as she glares at me, getting almost on to her tip toes.

  Maybe she’s going to slap me? The idea is incredibly arousing.

  I try to think of something provocative to say that might force her hand. She’s so emotionally tied down, I’m impressed to have gotten her this far.

  Then I see it. Her mouth twitches slightly, tongue coming to the edge of her lip. Her body seems to soften and bend towards me, even though she doesn’t move.

  She’s looking at my mouth. She’s thinking of kissing me.

  Again, I get that sense our souls are connected, outside of reality.

  “I’m just a puzzle to you,” I whisper. “A problem. I’m not even real. Not even a person. Not a man.”

  Her lips tremble. Her hands twitch. She wants to, I know, she wants to.

  I lean forward and kiss her. It’s like electricity as our mouths touch. I feel that soft bend go through her whole body, and I put one hand behind her head and grip her around the waist with the other.

  She moans, just lightly, into my mouth. A groan escapes me, and I push forward, losing my feet as I kiss her harder. Caught off-balance, she steps back, and we slam against the wall.

  Her hot tits slam into me, bouncing across my chest. She leans against the wall, head going back, mouth opening, back bowing, legs opening. Through our hot breath, she whispers.

  “Jaxon.”

  I run my fingers up her neck and into that wild, red hair as my other hand goes around her waist. I grind my hips into her, grabbing at her ass. She twists against me, moans coming out of her, sounding like sobs.

  Her body is alive and twitching with arousal. It’s like I can feel it in my own body, the tightness of her nipples, the heat in her clit, wetness of her pussy.

  My cock is raging hard—ridiculously so. I rock against her again so she can feel it, and she gasps, making needy little sounds. I see the drowsy blink of her gorgeous eyes, and I know I’ve got her.

  Emotion has finally come and swept her away, broken all those locks society forced on her. She’s all woman now.

  And she’s mine.

  Alison

  I’m pinned between Jaxon and the wall. The pressure of the cold concrete behind me and his hard, warm body in front of me is a contradiction of sensations. I’m inflamed from the bones to the skin.

  It’s like my pussy is running with electricity. I can feel tremors from deep inside myself.

  He kisses me hard and deep, and I can’t do anything but give myself up to it. The shaking is coming out into my extremities, and my fingers are tremb
ling as I run my hands over his hard shoulders.

  “Ali.” His voice is a whisper of breath onto my lips.

  I can feel myself shuddering to the core. I’ve never felt this kind of need before—yes, he wants me. But he also needs me in a way no one ever has before.

  It’s this, more than anything, that has me running wet like a river.

  As his hands roam down my waist, I can’t help but open to him, my hips rocking back and my legs parting from the hips.

  His hot lips delve into my own. Searching fingers grip at my breasts, at my hips. One hand goes to the small of my back and pulls me towards him as the other slides between my legs.

  I feel his fingers slip around the fabric of my panties and push against me, sliding on the wetness. My clit is burning as he pushes on it. All the ferocity of him that I have seen, that I have found so exciting, is now directed at me, solely at me.

  His fingers probe deeper and start to push inside. His mouth covers mine, and his hard hands pull me nearer as he desperately tries to get his fingers into my pussy. I feel a moment of horrible panic, and I struggle away against the wall.

  I get my face up and gasp for air breathlessly.

  “Jaxon, don’t!”

  Immediately, he stops. His hands trail gently over my waist. He’s breathing hard, his mouth so red. His eyes stare deep into mine.

  “Are you okay?” He kisses me—just gentle, sweet lips on mine. A sweet sixteen kiss.

  My head is swimming. I shake my head, but I don’t know if I’m answering the question.

  The burning in my nipples, the fire in my clit, and the deep, deep aching is ruining my thoughts. Panic is running like fire through me.

  But I don’t want it to stop. The lack of touch where his hands had been hurts worse than his firm touch. I feel empty and scared, like to stop him now would be to reject a very special gift.

  He needs me, I realize. He needs me in a way no one else can.

  I’m trying to think of all the reasons why I shouldn’t do this. I even look for the words in my mind.

  None of it makes any sense. Not the way his hands on me do. He leans in, and I respond to his kiss, reaching up for his lips and bending from the waist as his hands go around me again.