Power Surge: Power Play Series Book 4

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  “You,” she whimpers against my lips. “I want you.”

  Fuck yes.

  One-handed, I undo my slacks, allowing them to pool at my feet.

  Dark hair fanned against the white duvet, cheeks flushed, eyes hooded, she looks like a sex-starved angel. My breath catches as I grip and stroke my aching cock, taking in all of her laid out like a damn present.

  Her whimpers at the loss of my fingers fill the room. The wetness coating my digits smears along her skin as I slide my hand beneath her backside, lifting her hips to the perfect angle. Knee to the bed, I slide just the tip of my swollen head inside.

  “Fuck,” I hiss. Every cell in my damn body screams to shove in deep and take what's fucking mine. My muscles tremble with restraint as I ease inside her, careful to not jostle her too much.

  Our gazes lock. I skim the fingertips of the hand not holding her hips along her injured leg, stopping at the knee. Cupping it at the bend, I raise her leg until it's hooked over my shoulder.

  “Really? You're multitasking?” She chuckles.

  “Hmm, I remember you wanting to be gagged.” Her eyes widen to the size of golf balls. Thumb to her lips, I breach the edge and push past her teeth. “Suck.”

  My hips jerk at the feel of her lips engulfing my thumb, her tongue dancing across the pad. The soft suction of her lips breaks the thin grasp I've held on my restraint. I slam deep, and she bites down on my knuckle as her harsh breaths pant against my skin.

  Skin slapping against skin turns the erotic scene beneath me even hotter.

  My thumb pops from her mouth as her head thrashes along the bed, her moans and whimpers the most beautiful fucking music I've ever heard. With a sharp cry, her lids slam shut, her whole body tenses as release shocks through her system.

  Skin slick, my grip slips on her hips. The soft muscle molds beneath my fingers, and I hold on for dear life as her pussy clamps around me, shooting me over the edge. All the pent-up anger, uncertainty, and every other damn emotion she invokes barrel out of me with a string of muttered curses as my hips jerk in an unsteady cadence.

  Trails of sweat slide down my bare chest, droplets gathering at the edge of my hairline as my shaking arms hold my weight above her. A relaxed, happy smile splits across her face with a content sigh.

  “That was exactly what I needed,” she says, those hazel eyes scanning my face.

  I huff, the small movement making my softening dick twitch inside her, readying for round two.

  Her eyes widen.

  “What makes you think we're done, baby?”

  The responding gasp urges me lower until we're nose to nose.

  “I promised I would fuck you till you forgot your name. And I always keep my promises.”

  A light vibration has me arching a brow.

  “My phone,” she says, still smiling from her postorgasmic high. Blindly, she pats the bed, searching for the discarded phone. It's still vibrating with an incoming call when she slips it between us to read the screen. A thin line forms between her brows. “I need to get this.” With a bit of work, she maneuvers her arm around my own. “Hello?”

  Confusion and then surprise registers on her beautiful face. Palm pressed to my chest, she gives me a soft push, urging me off her. With a frustrated groan, I slide out of her and carefully lower her leg back to the bed. The bed jostles, making her naked breasts shake with the movement as I drop to the bed beside her.

  An attention-grabbing cough pulls my attention from her chest. Annoyance laced with humor covers her features as she rolls her eyes, telling me she full-on caught me ogling her tits. What can I say? She's beautiful with clothes on and without. And I'm a guy, and she's naked, so yeah, of course I'm fucking distracted.

  “Are you sure?” she says into the phone. “When?” Rising to her elbows, she shoves off the bed to sit up. “I have other things in play that need to happen at the same time as what you’re suggesting. I’ll have more information tomorrow on a timeline. Let’s book a meeting with you, me, and one of my military advisors first thing.”

  The phone slips from her hand, falling to the bed. Concern shoves the last drops of need from my mind. I push up to sit beside her, putting us shoulder to shoulder.

  “Mess?” I say, wanting to pull her unfocused gaze from the floor to me. Worry eats at my gut when she doesn’t respond. “Randi, come on, talk to me. What was the call about?”

  “It's over,” she says. A single tear glides down her still flushed cheek. She turns to face me, a wide smile bunching her cheeks. Additional tears stream down her face; she doesn’t bother to wipe them away before they drip off her jaw. “That was the director of the CIA. They’ve located everyone. They identified the group running it all and can take them out at my call. There are seven men and one woman, located around the globe. They found them… all of them, Trey.” The bed bounces beneath us as she hops, clapping her hands in childlike excitement. I’m completely unprepared when she lets out a squeak and launches herself on me, wrapping both arms around my neck.

  “And?” I ask.

  “At my word, once the Delta Force is in place, they’ll be brought into custody or… well, you know. It's over, Trouble. In a few days, it’ll all be over. Everything Kyle put into place, everything he dragged us into, will finally be fucking over.”

  Another high-pitched squeal echoes around the room as I flip us, putting her beneath me once again.

  Her happy tears wet my lips as I kiss each one away on my way down to her neck.

  “Well, then, we should celebrate.”

  Hope fills every cell. Happiness races through my veins, making my own happy tears build.

  The shit Kyle left behind for her, for our country, is over.

  Now we can focus on our future.

  Together.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Randi

  June

  The stillness of the night offers a soothing caress to the constant anxiety and worry that have been my relentless companions the past few months. Next to me in his large bed, Trey sleeps soundly, his soft breaths deep and even against my bare shoulder. A thin strip of light beams under the bedroom door from the illuminated hallway where I know two beta team agents wait. The darkness surrounding us is a comfort, but only because of the man beside me. For a while, the dark was something I feared because of the unknowns and enemies lying in wait there. But now it provides the peace and serenity I don't have with my overwhelming responsibilities as president.

  With the scandal Kyle left behind over, the men and woman responsible in custody or dead, I can breathe a bit easier. Delta Force lived up to their notorious name and took out the few insurgent strongholds with zero casualties on our end and left enough survivors for us to gain information on other terrorist cells. The only regret I have regarding the military force is that I didn’t do it sooner. Vlad and I have spoken, on several occasions, to help me identify other areas where I’m weakest and need additional advisor support. The CIA came through as they said they would. At the end of it all, three of the masterminds were detained, AKA still breathing, and have spilled their knowledge on the scandal helping us ensure we detained/killed everyone involved.

  But even with that handled there are more issues and incidences and policies to manage in a day than I have energy to handle.

  Add in being a doting grandmother and wanting to spend every moment with that little cuddle bug and there is never enough time in the day. I’m overwhelmed, overworked, and in desperate need of a full night’s sleep. But these nights, the few a week I sneak to Trey's condo for a few blissful hours, have kept me sane—well, sane-ish. It is still me, after all.

  On top of everything else, next year is an election year, which means I have a decision to make: to run again or endorse someone else for my party. The deadline for my decision ticks closer with each passing day, but I can’t decide.

  I have no clue what I want.

  The moon peeks from behind the clouds. The few soft rays filter through the thin blinds,
highlighting Trey's handsome face.

  He's why I haven't made the decision yet.

  I hate the job, but I'm doing well, which makes me want to run for another term.

  But I also want him. All to myself. Every minute, every second, us together without any worries or interruptions. If I decide to run again and get elected, then the crazy schedule I keep now will continue another four years, leaving little time or energy for him.

  Sighing, I relax back against the pillow and shut my eyes.

  The sneaking around would change if we went public with our relationship. Which we could, but at what cost to his life? If we announce our relationship, it either needs to be all or nothing. I can't imagine me introducing him to the country as my boyfriend and then having to come back here at the end of every shift. The media swarm would engulf him daily.

  No. If we decide to do this, I have to be all in.

  Which I am. Who knows why I'm holding back from saying yes to the question he didn't really ask so many months ago. There's no doubt in my mind he's waiting for an answer. Waiting for me to be ready. Trey hasn't brought it up since that night. Which makes me love him more. He's offering me time, even when he's the one paying the price for my indecisiveness.

  The sneaking around, watching me from the sidelines, it's getting to him.

  I want to say yes.

  Every piece of my untrusting heart begs me to scream yes.

  So why haven't I?

  “I can feel you thinking.” Trey's soft lips move along my tattooed skin before pressing a quick kiss to my bicep. “What time is it?”

  “Almost three,” I say on a sigh. “Which means it’s time for me to get going.”

  The mention of me leaving shifts the comforting silence to something weighted with dread.

  “You know what I hate the most about all this?” he says, tucking his hands behind his head.

  “What?” I whisper. The long strands of his dark hair glide through my fingers. What I wouldn’t give to do this every night.

  “When you’re here, I can't fully enjoy our time together because I know it’ll end. You'll leave, and I'll wake up here alone.”

  “I know. Trey, I've been thinking—”

  A sharp knock at the bedroom door cuts me off. Trey leaps from the bed, gloriously naked, and takes the two steps to the door.

  It opens an inch, pouring more bright light into the dark room. “We need to leave, Madam President,” a muffled voice says through the small crack in the door.

  Trey smacks the heel of his hand against the wood, slamming it shut in the other agent's face.

  “Stay,” he says without turning. “Just tonight, stay.”

  Pursing my lips, I shuffle along the sheets and reach to the floor for the clothes Trey ripped off me a couple hours ago. The heavy silence stretches, making the distance between us feel farther than the few feet. Whipping my dark hair out from the collar of the gray T–shirt, I twist it up into a makeshift bun, securing it with a rubber band I discovered in the back pocket of my jean shorts.

  After sliding my flip-flops on, I shuffle to the door where Trey still stands, his forehead pressed to the wood.

  Both arms secure around his waist, squeezing tightly, I squish my chest to his bare back. Nose pressed to his spine, I infuse my lungs with the scent that's all him.

  “It wouldn't be any easier,” I whisper against his skin. “There isn't a good choice in this.”

  “Yes there is, you're just too scared to make it. I don't know what’s holding you back, Randi, but I wish you'd stop fighting it.”

  “I love you, Trey,” I say, tightening my arms in an attempt to mold us into one.

  “That's never been the issue, Randi.” Turning, he wraps his arms around my shoulders. For several moments, we hold on to each other like a lifeline. “I love you, Randi. I will always love you. And I'll wait until my last breath for you to be ready. Just know when you're done doubting, done debating the options, I'll be here.”

  “Ma'am,” says a deep voice from the other side of the door. “We need to leave now.”

  With one last squeeze, he releases me and reaches behind him to open the door. I blink past the bright light that spills through the room.

  “Trouble,” I say, my voice quivering. Each time I leave, it's been harder to say goodbye. Tonight is the worst yet because for the first time, he’s asked me to stay.

  “Go, Randi. I'll see you tomorrow. We're good.” With a quick peck to my lips, he urges me out the door with a hand to my lower back.

  What am I doing? Why do I think I have to choose? Men have been married, had relationships for years as president, so why can’t I? Why do I feel this strange sense of needing to prove I’m capable on my own because I’m a woman?

  Yes, I can do this on my own. I’ve done this thing called life, living and working, all on my own. I put myself through undergrad, I worked my ass off through Harvard, and I passed the bar in Texas.

  And I’m so tired. Exhausted from proving to everyone that I can do this on my own.

  But behind me is a man. A man desperately trying to show me I don’t have to. That he won’t control me, won’t hold me back but instead challenge me and encourage me.

  I don’t have to do this alone.

  I slow my steps until I’m standing still in the hallway. The thin rubber of my flip-flops twists beneath my toes as I turn and race back to his room. Throwing the door open wide, I leap onto his retreating back, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders.

  “Ask me again,” I beg out of breath. “Ask me again, Trey. Right here, right now, ask me again.”

  Chin to his shoulder, he attempts to face me. Leaning forward, I press my cheek to his.

  “Ask me,” I whisper.

  “Marry me,” he murmurs. “Fucking marry me, Mess.”

  “Yes,” I say on a choked sob. “Yes, I'll fucking marry you.”

  My squeal bounces off the walls as he somehow untangles my legs and arms and swings me around. Our lips clash, tongues dancing like we're suffocating and the other is the life-sustaining air we need. His hands roam up and down my back, my own scraping along his scalp.

  A throat clearing breaks the spell we fell into.

  “Tomorrow.” My swollen lips slide against his. “I'll call a press conference to announce us, plus my decision for running next year, and then I want you to move into the White House with me.” My breaths come fast with the excitement racing through my veins. “I never want to fall asleep or wake up without you again.”

  “Tomorrow.” He presses his hot forehead against mine. “I'm coming with you tonight.”

  I shake my head, our foreheads rolling. “I want to tell Taeler alone, and I need to work on what exactly I need to say. But know this, Trouble: tomorrow starts our beginning.”

  “No, baby, we began that night in Central Park. This is just the next chapter.”

  “The best chapter.”

  “The chapter filled with me fucking you every night. With me waking up to you every morning. To us never being apart again.”

  With the hood of Trey’s black zip-up hoodie pulled low, I smile like a damn fool as the asphalt crunches beneath my feet. A hand between my shoulder blades guides me through the dark alley toward the awaiting town car. A deep glorious ache throbs in my cheeks from holding the face-splitting grin since we walked out of Trey's condo minutes ago.

  The flip-flops pop against my heels with each step, mirroring the click of the agents’ dress shoe heels. A few feet ahead, the door to the town car is swung open, an agent holding it for me as he scans the empty streets for threats. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, adding a small bounce to my steps.

  “You seem happy tonight.” I tilt my head just enough to keep my face covered but also to see who spoke. Agent Ponder's profile slides in and out of the shadows cast by the low streetlamp, his hand still on the open door.

  “You could say that,” I say, barely able to contain my excitement.

&nbs
p; “And why's that?”

  “Ponder, what are you doing here?”

  Turning, I look to the agent at my back. Agent Wright frowns as he takes in Agent Ponder's hand now gripping my bicep before shifting his gaze to the agent himself.

  Forgetting about the need for concealment, I tilt my face up for a better view of Agent Ponder.

  “I called the boss. He ordered me to meet up here before you escorted her back.”

  I furrow my brows, looking from Agent Ponder to Agent Wright. Neither looks very happy about the other being here. Which doesn’t make sense.

  “For fuck’s sake, call him if you need to, but we have to get her secure, not lingering on the damn streets.” He grumbles a string of curse words under his breath as he turns us toward the car. He urges me into the back of the vehicle and slams the door shut.

  Unease weighs in my gut. Nail between my teeth, I lean closer to the tinted window to see out. Whatever tension was building between the two men disappears as they slap each other’s backs. The agent who had been waiting in the front passenger seat relaxes back, his shoulders lowering as Agent Wright slides behind the wheel. The remaining agents pile into the lead and follow SUVs. When everyone is situated and I’m buckled in, we zoom off through the early morning darkness.

  I exhale deeply to ease the ball of dread restricting my breath. Whatever that was between the two agents was nothing. Agent Wright and Agent Ponder are freaking Secret Service, not bad guys. Everything is fine. I’ll get back to the White House, take care of a few emails, and work on the speech for tomorrow.

  Tomorrow.

  My ass vibrates with a text or call. Pitching forward, I pull it from the back pocket of my faded jean shorts and check the screen.

  Trouble: I love you. Can't wait to celebrate.

  Trouble: Ass play?

  I snort, distracting the agent up front from the low conversation he and Agent Wright were having. I wave him off and swipe the screen open to respond to my idiot boyfriend.