“You like that? You like when I fuck you like this?” Xavier murmured in my ear from behind.
I brought myself up on my four limbs, allowing him to mount me, doggy style. All the while, I felt like I was going crazy as his dick dipped further and further into me, forcing my eyes closed. “Yes.” I felt an initial orgasm shudder through me. I fell onto the bed, blasting at my breasts and feeling as my pussy pulsed around his dick, feeling like the orgasm was going to be the end of my life, the end of everything. And that was okay.
After a few moments, I opened my eyes. I spun around, groggy eyed, still feeling the pleasure course through me. I brought my fingers up, toward his buttons, and began to forcefully remove his taut, muscled body from his presidential gear. “Get naked for me, Mr. President,” I whispered in his ear. I placed my hand on his cock, stroking it, making it hard once more. “Come on, Mr. President.”
He helped me remove his clothes hurriedly, dropping his pants to the ground. I was beneath him, then. I placed my hands over his taut chest, feeling his heart beating so fast. I shook my head, allowing my eyes to falter as he thrust his dick back into me once more. “God. You feel so good,” I murmured.
He brought his mouth around my nipples, thrusting, holding my body close to his. It felt like, there on the Lincoln bed, we were one person, one organism. We were united. His eyes dipped into mine; the eye contact was almost too much for me to bear. I felt like I could see into his soul.
Suddenly, he ripped me from the bed, holding me tightly against him so that our bodies didn’t come apart. He pushed me against the wall and began thrusting himself into me, so powerfully, so strongly, that we couldn’t separate. Not even for a moment. I allowed my nail to dip into his back; I allowed my voice to call out over the room. “Yeah. Fuck me harder,” I called to him. “Harder!”
His eyes peered up at me, so lost and yet so sure. “Baby. I’m ready to cum. I’m going to cum.”
I placed my hands on either side of his face, feeling the dark, clustered hair on his cheeks. “Cum for me, baby. It’s just us, now. It’s just us.”
He closed his eyes, then, as he held me poised, up against the wall. I felt as his dick pulsed into me; I felt as the pulsing penetration of his cock pushed my body into another orgasm. I closed my eyes, feeling my brain grow crazy as I rode the amazing waves rollicking in my stomach, through my eyes. I gasped, clutching his neck so tightly. After many lost, rolling moments, we were finished, together.
Xavier brought me back to the bed. He tucked me into the covers. I watched his careful movements through my half-open, fatigued eyes. He tucked his body in beside mine, and he brought his arm around my neck, allowing me to come closer to his naked, steaming body. Our legs were entwined.
“That was beautiful,” I whispered, my eyes gleaming up toward him.
Xavier nodded, kissing my forehead. I could tell he was about to fall asleep, that I was losing him. I had to act fast. I had to tell him my last piece, rather than allowing it to die at our feet, never to be spoken of (and resulting in problems down the line.)
“Baby,” I began. He turned toward me, his face open to whatever I had to say. “I just wanted to tell you that I love you. I want this relationship to bloom, to grow.”
Xavier nodded, kissing my cheek. “Me, too.”
My mind tried to calculate what I should say next. I cleared my throat. “If this is going to grow appropriately, then we need to work out a schedule. We need to care for this relationship, like people care for animals, for plants, for jobs. We need to treat this relationship appropriately. Otherwise, it could falter.”
Xavier frowned. He leaned up on his elbow, gazing toward me. “You don’t actually think it will falter, do you?” He breathed.
“I don’t even want to give it a chance,” I answered, considering his question. “I want it to be beautiful, to last a long time. And I don’t think that means we can continue to sneak in and out of White House passageways. I don’t think we can continue having meetings that involve—both sexual elements of our relationship as well as what some campaign donator is doing in California.” I sighed, trying to rally my thoughts. “I just think we need better communication, better organization. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy.”
Xavier nodded, considering my words. “I understand. And I agree. I think we need to give this time to sort itself out, time to develop a plan organically. But we can agree to no more relationship things during work hours?”
I nodded, my eyes brimming. “That’s a start,” I whispered. I smiled at him.
“Although, you can’t blame me if I occasionally set a wayward meeting, just so I can talk to you. Just so I can be next to you. Days are long, Amanda,” Xavier said, laughing.
“I know. I know,” I murmured. I kissed him once more. “But that goes the other way, as well. No work talk during relationship time.” My eyes were large, serious.
Xavier held his hands up to me, nodding supremely. “Of course. Of course.”
We took a moment to laugh with each other. What a silly thing we had to do—plan our relationship around our all-too-serious running of the greater American people. But it was what we had to do in order to survive, to live with greater sanity. I brought my hand up toward Xavier’s ear and played with it lightly, feeling its delicate hairs.
Xavier’s eyes had grown serious, as well. “Baby, listen to me.”
“Hmm?”
“I want to tell you how happy I am. I can’t remember a time in which I felt happier. I have you in my life, and I am incredibly grateful for that. I wish—I wish I could help you understand. You’ve changed my life for the better in nearly every single way.”
My heart leaped as he said the words. In many ways, I felt the same. Suddenly, he wrapped his naked arms around me, bringing my body close to his. We kissed with such passion, such drive. I felt my body prepare for him once more. We descended into a night filled with lovemaking, with champagne, with good conversation.
In many ways, this was the first night on the road to the rest of our lives.
EPILOGUE: 5 YEARS LATER
I sat in the back of the taxi as it coursed across town, my suitcases filled beside me. I cleared my throat, directing the taxi driver, who had made a wrong turn a few roads back.
“I am so sorry, Miss,” he declared, gesturing with his hands.
But I laughed evenly. “It’s okay. I usually get lost on my way out here. Don’t worry about it for a moment.”
He pulled up outside of the grand house. Brick, old, with this sort of other-century charm. I smiled at it, bringing my fingers to the glass. Home.
The taxi driver stood outside, helping me gather my suitcases, my boxes.
“You don’t have much stuff,” he said, shrugging. “You are moving here?”
I nodded, bringing my hair around my ear. “This is when I can start accumulating stuff, I suppose,” I said, laughing.
“All right, Congresswoman,” the taxi driver said. “I suppose you know best, no?”
I laughed, reaching into my purse. I paid the man double, thanking him for his assistance with my bags. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I turned toward the grand home before me, breathing evenly. I couldn’t believe the day had finally arrived.
He appeared on the front steps, then. He was clad in jeans, a sexy V-neck t-shirt. He looked so casual, so primal before me. I hadn’t seen him without a suit in what seemed like years.
Outside of the bedroom, of course.
He brought his hands around my neck and kissed me, there, in front of the house. He sighed, his eyes large. “The wait is over, Amanda,” he whispered. “It’s finally over.”
I smiled, knowing how grateful I was. The past five years had been a struggle.
Xavier began helping me with my bags, bringing them up into the house we would now share together: the house he and his wife, Camille, had purchased nearly fifteen years before. “She never liked it anyway,” Xavier had declared months ago, when he’d proposed th
is final addition to our plan. “I don’t think she’ll miss the place.”
But already, the brick mansion was stealing my heart. The interior was well-lit, with this remarkable, stone fireplace in the center. Because it was winter, a fire was brimming in the fireplace, such a greeting after the winter chill had escalated throughout my body. I rubbed my hands next to it as Xavier brought in the last of the bags. He set them by the winding staircase and tapped the couch beside him as he collapsed.
I sat next to him, gazing at the fire. It felt so good to be natural beside him, without feeling that everything was about to fall apart—as it had, several times throughout the previous five years. The press had nearly gotten wind of it a few times, especially during the election season. They were continually asking us questions about each other, trying to get us to slip up. But we never did. We were professionals.
Of course, after Xavier won the election, I had to move forward with my career. He understood, and he supported me—without helping me, which had been essential for my procedure. I outlined the reasons why I was essential to Congress, how I had helped the president through every element of his campaign trail. And I’d been voted in—incredibly—as a thirty-one-year-old woman, still a bit bright-eyed, with big, brimming ideas. I’d made great strides since my arrival.
Being at Congress meant that I still saw the president during the day. However, it had never been enough. We would pass each other, our eyes locked forward, still feeling the heat from each other’s bodies. It nearly drove me crazy some days. But most days, I understood: this was our agreement with Camille, his wife. We weren’t to ruin her First Ladyship. This was her only asking.
And, all in all, she’d been a remarkable First Lady. She’d made great strides with younger elementary education programs, working alongside Xavier as he altered the education program of the entire country. With a few minor hiccups along the way—and with me working Congress tooth and nail to get the bill passed—Xavier was able to make great changes. It had been beautiful. Already, people were remembering this president for his achievements. And Xavier’s incredible, bountiful presidency had actually paved the way for another democrat, a member of his own party, to churn into the White House seat. I’d clapped heartily at his inauguration, of course, knowing in my heart that it wasn’t yet my turn. I was only thirty-four years old. I had so much learning, so much living to do.
“How was it when Camille left?” I asked Xavier there, as we sat on the couch.
Xavier turned toward me, his eyes a bit far away. “She told me she would have left me anyway, even if we didn’t have this deal.” He laughed a bit at these words. “I thanked her for staying, for keeping my presidency together. I know, of course, that she has to feel that she wanted to leave me. Otherwise, it would feel wrong—it wouldn’t feel like her choice. But I know that she has a boyfriend in New York. I know that she has plans to move on, to have a life of her own.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say. It was strange, the way people came together. It was strange, the way they came apart.
“But now. I have you,” Xavier murmured, kissing my cheek.
“How should we tell everyone?” I whispered. It had been over a month since the inauguration of the new president, which meant it had been four months since the election. God, it seemed that time was moving both too fast and too slow, all the time. Once, I had been a young and bright twenty-nine-year-old. And now, I felt my limbs aging, every day.
Xavier thought for a moment. “I have a PR guy on it. He says it’s tricky, but it can be done. It surely won’t hurt your career, either. We were very careful. I never gave you a single recommendation.” Xavier laughed, shaking his head. “I remember a reporter once asking me if I didn’t like your policies, if I didn’t like your ideas on the bill. I wanted to scoff, to tell her everything. But I knew you’d kill me.”
I smiled. “I wanted it to feel like I’d worked my way to the top, on my own.”
“You never needed my help,” Xavier murmured. “You never needed anyone’s help.”
I bowed my head. “I need you, though. I need you more than anything.”
We sat in silence, brimming with the knowledge that we could finally be together, out in the open. We could go to brunch together, to the theater together. We could go out on double dates. I could introduce him to my family, if I wanted. Everything was different. He wasn’t the president, and I wasn’t his campaign manager. We were just people, struggling to survive and finding something particularly special along the way.
Xavier snapped his fingers, then. He stood up, leaving me still, on the couch. “Do you want to make a toast? I have this aged bottle of red. I’ve been saving it.”
I nodded, standing up before him. “Of course,” I murmured, a bit sleepy. Something about making these big, overarching decisions seemed to conk me out.
Xavier was gone in an instant, rushing down toward the cellar. He left me alone, to my own devices, for several minutes. I began to roam the house by myself, gazing at the beautiful artwork. I wondered if the place had been decorated with Camille’s tastes in mind; I wondered if I could change anything, personalize anything to my taste.
I imagined the grand parties we would have at this place. The friends—an non-friends, the political socialites—would gather in the foyer, kissing each other on the cheeks, calling out to each other, eating hors d’oeuvres. Perhaps we would have my campaign party here. I imagined myself, then, ten years down the line. A presidential candidate. The first woman to rule the office, poised with Xavier by my side. I shivered at the mere thought of it.
For a moment, I allowed my mind to shift back to my old life. Immediately after Jason—that terrorizing brute who I’d heard had accepted a job in the state of Illinois, for some political agency in Chicago—had been revealed by Xavier, I’d moved back into my apartment. Rachel had grown quite serious with Michael in the months after they met, and I knew that I needed to get out of their way, to bring myself back to the place I belonged. I remembered their wedding—the bright, outdoor ceremony the summer before Xavier’s second election. I remembered standing by her side at the helm of the ceremony, feeling myself brimming with such joy for her. My best friend in the world, finally meeting her happiness, head-on.
Suddenly, the cellar door creaked open. I stood, face-to-face with Xavier once more, in the kitchen. My fingers passed over the cold, beautiful countertop. My eyes met with Xavier’s. In that moment, a bit of tension flitted through the air. I swallowed, unable to breathe.
In Xavier’s hand, he held a bottle of aged wine and two wine glasses. He walked forward, his eyes still on me. He tapped each glass on the counter, and the sound rang throughout the air. He uncorked the wine and poured it, allowing it to breathe for only a moment. And then: he passed the wine to me.
I didn’t say anything. I waited as he pushed his wine glass into the air, as if he were about to make a toast.
He began.
“Amanda,” he said, his voice soft. “You have been a constant joy in my life. You’ve guided me through two presidencies. You’ve held my hand during difficult times. You’ve waited for me, until this final day when we can finally come together and be free with each other, find love with each other, without prying eyes. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for it.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say. My heart had begun to swell in my chest.
He continued. He brought his hand into his pocket and revealed a small, black box. He sent his wine glass back to the counter. I noted that his hands were shaking. He bent down on one knee, allowing his dark, penetrating eyes to look up toward me—so deep, so full of wisdom, so full of love, just as they’d been all those years ago, when this all had begun.
“I want you to be my wife, Amanda. I want you to be by my side through thick and thin, and I want to do the same for you. I love you.” He opened the box, then, revealing this stunning, immaculate diamond ring.
I brought my hands to my face, feeling the tears riding hot, f
ast down my cheeks. My mind knew my answer. I brought my left hand toward him, and he drew the engagement ring over my finger. I watched as it glowed in the subtle candlelight of the beautiful kitchen. I nodded, with passion, with zeal, unable to form the words.
Xavier understood, just as he always had. He brought his body up, toward me, and he kissed me, bending me over the countertop in the new home we shared together. Our lives were joined, then. We were united: at the helm of the country, our hands linked and our eyes locked together. Nothing could tear us apart.
The End
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
Power #5 (The Power Romance Series - Book #5) Page 6
