by Claire Adams
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?
Chapter Twelve
I rose early, feeling the
pulsing headache emanating through my forehead. I brought my legs over to the side, leaning my head into my hands. Every limb throughout my naked body seemed to quake. What the hell had happened last night?
I stood, feeling my nakedness reveal itself to the sunlit room. The open window presented a chorus of birds’ songs that lifted my spirits so readily, making me jump to the coffee machine and begin the brew. I couldn’t believe the previous night had happened. I stood naked in the kitchen, doing a slight dance for myself, my eyes closed.
I took a quick shower and dressed for work, seeing myself in a whole new light. I knew that the president understood the secrecy of the previous night, and for some reason, I wasn’t worried. This was always going to happen. There was something in us that couldn’t resist each other. Why should we fight it?
I took a taxi to work, like normal, and found myself in a sea of phone calls, of flying papers. I smiled to myself, loving the chaos once more. I reminded myself that this was all for the man of my dreams: that each day of my life, I worked to propel his life forward. And in turn, he propelled me forward, as well. We were the perfect political team. Except, of course, that we were completely off the record.
I was sure it had happened before.
I was sitting at my desk, rifling through various memos, when I received the call. I grabbed the phone and sighed into it, knowing that even he couldn’t make me feel strange this day. “Hello, Jason.” I waited for my second-in-command to speak.
His voice was strained. “Listen, Amanda. I need you to come into my office.”
I grew a bit haughty in these moments, admittedly. “I’m sorry, Jason. That will have to wait. I have a phone meeting with Atlanta in 20 minutes.”
But Jason was persistent. “No, Amanda. This is very urgent. I need you to reschedule all of your phone calls for the day. Get in here. Now.”
I raised my eyebrow, growing angry. I was first-in-command; he was second. A solid second. But something in his voice forced me to agree. I gathered a few of my papers, wondering what had gone wrong. Perhaps some rating in Texas or Alaska had fallen. Something was always happening somewhere. We couldn’t control a group of people bigger than 25.
As I walked to Jason’s office, my mind dwelled on a million other Xavier-related things. The touch of his hand on my spine; the way his tongue had felt on my pussy, on my nipples. I bit my lip as I walked, feeling so horny, even there at the office. I wondered if I could just sweep off to his Oval Office, only for a moment—
I opened Jason’s office, and he stood up, his eyes brimming with anger.
“What is it?” I asked him, raising my eyebrow once more. I realized, in that moment, that I really didn’t like Jason. He’d asked me out, and he hadn’t taken my refusal well. He was a sore loser as both a potential partner and a second-in-command. “Make it quick. I still didn’t cancel those phone interviews.”
Jason stepped forward. “I have a few questions for you, Amanda.”
His voice was so harsh, forcing me into a seat in front of his desk. I’d never sat there before; in fact, I’d never been to his office before. I’d always assumed it was below my pay grade. One of those Big Mouth Bass singing fish sat on his desk with a big sign that said, ‘HIT ME’ on it.
“I’m sorry? You have questions for me? Because I think the only questions we need to ask are to the voters,” I stated, crossing my arms over my chest. His aggressiveness was outrageous.
Jason reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and leafed out a manila envelope. He tapped the edge of it against his lip. “What the hell is this about?” he asked. His voice was coy, almost excited.
I was tired of playing his game. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, obviously,” I said, smacking my hand on my lap. “You won’t give me a single hint. Is it—I don’t know. Ratings from the week?”
He shook his head, his eyes glowing. “Guess again.” His voice was brimming with laughter.
I shrugged once more. “Fuck. I don’t know. A picture of your new laser hair chest removal?” I hated that the words came out of my mouth, but there they were. I watched him flinch, but only for a moment. Why didn’t this bother him more?
“All right. Give me the envelope,” I stated, swinging my hand over the desk. I twitted my fingers a bit. “I’m tired of playing your game.”
“Oh, no. I’m certain the entire federal government will be tired of playing your game in time,” Jason said, his eyes dark. “How’d you do it, Amanda? You sleep with the head boss? With everyone’s fucking boss?”
I flung my body over the desk now, growing so hot and angry. All thoughts of my supreme happiness from the previous evening had fallen to the ground, and I now sat in a pit of rage. I grasped the envelope out of his hand and I brought it toward my chest, huffing. My nose flared. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Look at the goddamned pictures,” Jason said haughtily. He wrapped his hand around his throat, feeling at a red rash that was growing. Nerves, I thought.
I opened the envelope, noticing that my hands were shaking. I hated that I was shaking in his presence. I cleared my throat and I removed the pictures, one by one.
In my lap sat three photos. All of them were of Xavier and I, making love throughout my apartment.
My heart sank. I felt the tears forming in my eyes—tears of shock, tears of anger. I couldn’t believe this was happening. One featured him behind me as I was positioned on all fours, on the table. A look of supreme pleasure rested on my face, and my breasts were open, so wide to the camera. In another, we were featured on the couch, my legs up around his neck and his dick thrust deep inside of me. His mouth was open in fits of pleasure. In another, I was straddling him, placing his dick in my mouth.
I brought my earnest, angry face toward Jason. “Who gave these to you?” I rasped. I felt my heart beating so fast in my chest. “Where the fuck did these come from?”
POWER #2
Chapter One
Jason, in a supreme, suave motion, swept the photos back into a folder, looking pleased with himself. I felt a single tear rushing down my cheeks as I gaped at him. The silence emanated between us.
He raised his eyebrow. “I can assure you that I’ve kept these photos to myself.” His ruffled shirt was tucked into his pants half-heartedly, like he’d been too excited about proving to me that he was above me, that he had my number—too excited to even tuck in his shirt appropriately.
“Why did you keep them? You could ruin me. You could ruin him,” I whispered.
Jason scoffed. “Of course. And you think I want that? To completely ruin you?” He cackled, tossing his head back. There was something so slimy about his laugh—something that didn’t make me so fearful. Rather, it made me want to cover my nose, like he was something foul-smelling that had been stuffed down my throat.
I wasn’t sure how to argue with him—how to reason with him. I cleared my throat. “Then what’s your angle, here?” I asked him, gesturing toward the folder. “Why would you come to me with these photos?” The images were still burned in my head: the images of me on that table, of his body over mine. I shivered. The worst thing that could ever happen had happened: I’d had an affair with the president and I’d been caught on camera.
“You mean—why did I place cameras in your apartment to catch this sure, brimming affair between you and the president?” he asked me. He cackled once more, leaning over his desk. I could smell his breath.
“I could turn you in—“ I began, so angry. “I could turn you in for—for breaking and entering—“
He laughed again, sniffing. “You really are hilarious,” he cackled. “Brains, humor, and beauty. No wonder the president wanted to fuck your brains out.”
I felt like punching him, then. I righted myself, no longer feeling like a victim. I wanted to kick this guy’s ass. “If you want to verbally abuse me with these photos, then have at me and let me get the fuck out of here,” I said, my mind rushing. I knew that he had done thi
s only because I hadn’t agreed to go on a date with him; I knew that he’d done this only because I had power over him. He wasn’t comfortable with it. He was rogue.
But he shook his head, ruffling his hand over his chin. “No, no. I want so much more than that. Sure, a jab here and there. But I think that I can use you, Amanda. And here, all this time, you thought that you could use me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked him, my breath coming hot. I’d thought that Jason was a good worker; I’d actually been considering him for a promotion. I wanted to take him up with me. Xavier had stated that I would eternally have a job at the White House. And thus, I wanted to take all my people with me, to the top.
He leaned still closer to me. “I’m going to use you, Amanda. I’m going to use you better than this cunt president we have used you. I’m going to force you to take me to the top—to even push me ahead of you. You have the president under your thumb, so to speak. And I’m the only one who knows about it.”
My anger grew in me at an alarming rate. I felt myself push my hands forward and grab the folder from his hands. I brought those terrible photos into the light and I started to rip at them voraciously, feeling their vitality splinter away in my hands. I wanted to scream out, and I felt my throat so hot, so raspy. “Goddamn you,” I called to him.
This wouldn’t be the way he got anywhere. I could destroy these photos. I wouldn’t let him kick me to the bottom—not after all that I’d been through. I’d worked my way to the top for a purpose. I hadn’t worked so far just for fine dinners with the president, for raucous flings on my kitchen table with the most powerful man in the world. I couldn’t help what I felt for that man, but this had nothing to do with my need and desire for power.
I ripped and tore at the photos, flinging them to the trash can. I brought my hand into my purse and brought out a small matchbook. With my eyes on Jason, I snapped the match over the match box and watched the light spring up into the air. I dropped it into the fire, over the gleaming photos. Together, for only a moment, we watched the fire begin.
