President Daddy: A Dark Daddy Romance

by Hamel, B. B.

  “Same, except I did awful. I’m not great at that.”

  “You’re lucky then. Roger might leave you behind next time.”

  “I hope so.”

  He laughs and I can’t help but smile. It’s so strange to be on the phone with the President right now, just talking like normal people.

  “Listen, I meant to see you sooner,” he says softly. “But I’ve been busy.”

  “I know. I read.”

  He hesitates. The Pakistan thing’s been all over the news. People are praising his daring rescue mission, particularly since it went well.

  Although some people are saying it was a dangerous gamble. I don’t know all the details, so I’m trying not to judge.

  “That’s not my favorite part about being President,” he admits.

  “Do you have a favorite part?”

  I can practically hear his grin. “Just teasing young female staffers.”

  “Oh, yeah? Teasing many?”

  “Just one’s enough for me.”

  “I doubt it. You’re a pig.”

  “What can I say. I’m the President.”

  I groan. “Don’t be gross.”

  “Don’t be jealous.”

  I sigh and sink deeper into the water. There are bubbles floating on the surface from a bath bomb I dropped in just before turning on the water.

  We talk for another twenty minutes, mostly about nothing. He asks about how the job’s going, he vents a little about his stress. It’s surprisingly normal, surprisingly comfortable.

  “I should go,” he says finally. “Lots of important presidential work to do tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up the phone.

  I drop mine onto the floor and dunk my head under the water, trying to come to grips with this strange relationship that I’ve found myself in.

  * * *

  Almost exactly twelve hours later, I find myself standing in front of the President, a binder in my hands.

  The last time I spoke with him, I was dripping wet and naked. Now I’m wearing a black business outfit, my hair pulled back into a tight bun.

  Oh, and we’re surrounded by almost his entire inner staff.

  There are probably twenty people in the room, and all their eyes are on me as I read out our latest polling data. We did a quick dive into the Pakistan incident, and found that mostly people think it was handled well.

  I can see the relief on Adam’s face. “Most respondents believe the President did what he had to do,” I tell the gathered crowd. “If you look at your binder, you’ll see the exact breakdown by gender, age, and location. The heartland always supposed military action, so that’s pretty normal, but the coasts are behind this as well.”

  I glance at Adam, but I don’t linger. I try not to watch him too closely.

  I want to talk to him. I want to touch him. I want to feel what I felt last night, in the tub, on the table. Both normal and excited.

  This affair, or whatever we’re having, is dangerous. But it feels so freaking good.

  As I finish the Pakistan numbers, Adam raises his hand. I stop speaking.

  “Healthcare?” he asks, face serious.

  I nod, flipping a few pages. “This is just preliminary, but so far…” I take a breath. “It’s tight, Mr. President. The country is split.”

  He nods, looking concerned. “Split how?”

  “I believe many people don’t fully understand Medicare For All. They think it would be more expensive, lead to worse care, long lines, all the usual excuses.”

  He grunts. “How do we educate them?”

  One of his staffers speakers up. I stand by while they spitball for a few minutes, but slowly the President gets them under control.

  “Okay, okay,” he says. “Ms. Thomas, can you look into some of these ideas? Find out what people think?”

  I frown. “I can try.”

  “Good. Get it done.” He stands, indicating that the meeting is over.

  People shake hands, making quick small talk as they leave. The President approaches me.

  “Well done,” he says softly, taking my elbow with one hand and shaking with the other. “Thank you for that data.”

  I feel him slip something into my palm. I grab it, slide it in my hand, cover it with my thumb.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Get back to me when you can.”

  I nod and turn away. I don’t want to linger.

  I leave the room and start back toward the office. I have to duck into a bathroom because I can’t wait.

  I hop into a stall, sit down, and unfold the piece of paper in my hand.

  Thinking of you.

  I stare at those three words. That’s all the tiny note has room for, just three words.

  Thinking of you.

  What the hell am I doing?

  He’s the President. He’s twice my age.

  And here I am, letting him pass me notes like we’re in school.

  I love it. I hate to admit it, but I love it. I have butterflies every second of every day.

  Butterflies and terror.

  8

  Adam

  Another week passes as I go to a big conference abroad.

  I think about Maggie pretty much every day. I don’t call her, since I know I’ll be under scrutiny during my first big international trip, but I have her in my thoughts. I hope she knows that.

  This is what being President means, though. I have to push my desires aside sometimes for the greater good.

  And god, do I desire her.

  As soon as we’re back in the States, I go back to work like nothing’s changed. It’s a Wednesday, but there isn’t too much going on. Some meetings, some briefings, nothing intense.

  I retire to the residence as early as I can. I spend the evening eating dinner and reading and finally, when eleven rolls around, I call Maggie.

  I’ve been looking forward to this all fucking week. It’s childish and crazy but I can’t help myself any more. I’ve put it off enough.

  “Hello, Mr. President,” she answers.

  “I haven’t heard your voice in too long,” I say softly.

  “I was beginning to think you forgot about me.”

  “Never. I was elbow-deep in French cheese.”

  “Sounds awful.”

  “It really was, Maggie.”

  She laughs lightly. “You called at a good time. I’m in the bathtub again.”

  “Convenient. Sounds like you’re always in the bath.”

  “I was thinking about you, you know.”

  I can hear the subtext, the hint in her voice.

  I bite my lip. “You don’t have to imagine,” I say softly.

  She hesitates. “How?” It comes out almost whispered.

  “I’ll send a car.”

  “Now? For me?”

  “Right now.”

  “The press will be all over it.”

  “Maybe. Fuck them.”

  She hesitates again. I know what she’s wrestling with. I’ve been wrestling with it myself.

  But I keep thinking about what Ramirez said. I deserve to have a life, even if I have to hide it.

  “Okay,” she says finally.

  “Good.” I hang up the phone and go find Ramirez. I order him to send a car to get Maggie, but to be as discreet as he can.

  He nods. His face doesn’t betray a thing.

  I sit back and wait.

  Every minute is practically an agony. I haven’t felt this way in so long.

  I have to fix myself a drink just to calm my nerves.

  My hand’s practically shaking. I know this is a huge risk, bringing her into the White House like this. Reporters are practically always watching like hawks, trying to spot anything that could be remotely newsworthy.

  I have to trust my agents. That’s all I can do.

  There are ways into the building, secret ways. They’re heavily guarded and protected, and I doubt anyone that isn’t a Secre
t Service agent or a former President even knows they exist. Maybe some chief of staff from an old administration is aware of them, but I haven’t told Charles.

  They’re old passages for diplomats to move through the halls of power unseen.

  Lies and more lies, nesting dolls of deceit. That’s how the government works.

  I hate it. I wish I could be out in the open about who I am.

  But that’s just not possible.

  Forty minutes drag past like lava. Ever second burns me, but eventually, Ramirez appears at the door of the West Sitting Hall, which is basically my private living room.

  He nods at me. “She’s here, sir,” he says.

  “Was she…?”

  “No,” he says simply. “We were discreet.”

  Relief floods me. “Thank you, Ramirez.”

  “Sir, if this is going to become a regular occurrence…” He trails off.

  Fear spikes through me. “Yes?”

  “We’ll need to clear her and establish protocols.”

  “Do what you need to do, agent.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Ramirez steps aside. My heart beats twice, and Maggie appears at the door.

  I step toward her. She enters my living room, looking around.

  “Wow,” she says. “The President’s private room.”

  I laugh a little. “Amazing, right?”

  “It’s smaller than I expected.”

  “I know,” I say. “I always imagined that the private residence was amazing, but…”

  “It’s just any other living room.”

  “Except all this stuff has history, of course.”

  “Of course.” She walks through the space, touching a chair, an end table, a lamp. “Did you decorate at all?”

  “Not really,” I admit. “I actually had a lot of stuff removed.”

  She nods. “It looks simple.”

  “That’s what I wanted.”

  She takes a breath and turns to me. “So. A booty call from the President.”

  I grin at her. “Doesn’t happen every day, does it?”

  “Not at all.”

  I shrug and move over to the little bar I have set up in the corner. I pour her a drink and offer it to her.

  She takes it. “Thanks,” she says, taking a sip. “Your security detail is intense.”

  “I know. But they’re loyal.”

  “Do you get along with them?”

  “Hard to say,” I admit. “They’re never exactly smiling.”

  “I think that’s in the job description.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me one bit. Although the head of my security seems okay with this… arrangement,”

  She raises an eyebrow. “This is an arrangement now?”

  I sigh. “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.” She sits in a chair and I sit across from her. “I don’t think I know at all.”

  I set myself, meeting her gaze. “Don’t pretend like you’re not here of your own free will.”

  “Like I could say no to the President?”

  I sigh. “Where’s this coming from?”

  She bites her lip, looks away. “Just, being hustled in through this crazy tunnel, it felt…”

  “Dirty,” I finish for her. “Cheap.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t know that’s what would happen.”

  “I know we need secrecy. I understand that. But it just felt wrong.”

  “We won’t do this again.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What are you saying then?”

  “It felt dirty.” She takes a breath and lets it out. “But, I don’t know. Maybe I liked it, a little bit. The sneaking, the suspense. It was a little bit… exciting.”

  I laugh softly, eyebrows raised. “I knew you were dirty, Maggie. But I didn’t know how filthy.”

  “Cut it out.”

  I stand up, rolling up my sleeves. She watches me, and when I’m finished, I help her to her feet.

  “Come here,” I say softly, leading her over to a small piano set up against the far wall. “This was put here by Bill Clinton. Pretty cool, right?”

  “Sure. Looks nice.”

  I grab her hips and boost her up onto the top of it. “Fuck this thing,” I say. “Fuck Bill Clinton, too.”

  She laughs, wrapping her legs around my hips. “You know, sitting on a piano is like the worst thing you can do, right?”

  “I know,” I admit, coming closer to her. “I want to break the fucking thing.”

  I kiss her deep and slow. She kisses me back, hands in my hair.

  I rock her forward, getting her closer, chest to chest. I can feel her breasts against me as my hands grab her hips, moving down to palm her ass. She groans softly into my kiss, taking a sharp breath.

  I can feel myself slipping. I can feel myself sliding into her, into the desire for her. That’s all I need, all I want.

  The pressure, the terror, it’s all melting away. I don’t need any of it. All I need is her body against mine.

  I kiss her deep and slow before tugging at the hem of her shirt. I lift it up over her head, cupping her breasts over her simple black bra. She groans as I unhook it, slide it forward.

  She’s fucking beautiful. I can feel my cock react instantly, getting hard in a rush. Her breasts are full and her nipples are pink and perky as I cup them, teasing her nipples with my fingers.

  I kiss her neck, her chest. She groans, hands in my hair. I bite a nipple, making her gasp, as my hands work at unbuttoning her jeans.

  They come off easily, sliding down her skin. She’s so fucking sexy in nothing but a bra and panties. I spread her legs wide, pressing myself against her, cock between her legs. I can practically feel her pussy dripping wet already.

  She reaches down and takes off my belt. I let my pants slide down my legs and step out of them. She unbuttons my shirt while I kiss her neck, bite her ear.

  “I’m glad you came,” I whisper to her. “I needed this.”

  “I needed it too,” she admits. “Daddy.”

  I let out a groan. She gets my shirt off, and I love the way her eyes drift over my muscular chest. I smirk and slide my hand down the front of her, finding her wet pussy as she reaches for my cock.

  She rubs me over my boxer briefs and I rub her over her panties. She’s dripping wet, already coming through the thin cotton.

  I’m fucking hard as hell and getting harder.

  She strokes me as I pull her panties off. I kiss her stomach, lick her clit, kiss her again. I slide my tongue in her mouth, make her taste her own pussy, as my fingers tease her clit.

  She’s writhing, naked on this piano. Her breasts are perky, firm, her pussy fucking gorgeous and wet. She gets my briefs off and wraps both hands around my cock, stroking me like that.

  “Shit, Mr. President,” she whispers. “I had no clue you were so…”

  “Endowed?”

  She nods. “Big.”

  I smirk. “I’m your big Daddy then.”

  I kiss her again as she strokes me, both her hands barely wrapping around my cock. I can’t wait to find out if she can fucking take me all the way or not.

  I think she can.

  I slide my fingers inside her, fucking her with them. She’s rolling her hips, moaning, leaning back now. I kiss her breasts, bite her nipple, my cock hard as fuck.

  I pull her down off the piano. I can’t take this anymore. I spin her around, push her hands forward, pinning her there.

  I slap her perky little ass. It’s firm and thick, a perfect little bubble. I slap it again, leaving a handprint.

  “Fuck,” she gasps. “Be gentle, Daddy.”

  “You want gentle?” I laugh, teasing her pussy with my cock. “I think you’re with the wrong man.”

  She groans as I grab her hair and rub her clit with my hand. I press my cock against her wet pussy, just teasing her with it, waiting for the right
moment.

  She groans, rolls her hips, shimmies a bit. I push her forward, down onto her elbows. I slap her ass again, pull her hair, rolling my fingers around her clit. She’s moaning, saying my name. “Fuck, Daddy,” over and over.

  I press my cock against her. I hear her take a sharp breath.

  I slide myself inside.

  She groans. I spread her nice and wide, get her legs wide open, as I slowly sink my cock inside. She groans, half in pain, half in pleasure. I let her take a second to get used to my size.

  Slowly, I press myself deeper. She takes me just like I knew she would. I sink deep between her legs, filling her up, the warmth of her pussy flooding around my hard cock.

  It feels so fucking good. She’s tight as a fucking vise. I slowly start to fuck her, slapping her ass again.

  I love this view. Her big, round ass under my hands, her tone body bent over this historic fucking piano.

  I want to fuck her on every surface in here. I want to make her sweat and moan and come so hard, her orgasm will haunt this room forever.

  I fuck her faster now. I can’t help myself. I feel like a fucking animal. She looks over her shoulder, full lips parted, face concentrating.

  “Fuck, Daddy,” she pants. “I don’t know.”

  “You can take it,” I say, leaning over her. I bury myself inside, kissing her lips. “You can handle it.”

  “Oh, fuck,” she says. “Well, when you say it that way.”

  “You want to come on this big cock, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  “You want to come for your President? Make your country proud?”

  “Oh, god,” she moans. “Yes.”

  “Then you’d better get to work, citizen. Your President Daddy needs this tight pussy.”

  She groans and starts to move her hips. Slowly at first, she moves in circles, my cock buried deep inside of her.

  I love the way she moves her hips. She makes it look easy, sliding in slow circles. She moves forward, sliding me out, and back, sliding me in. I let her take over, teasing her clit with my fingers, feeling her breasts, her nipples. I slap her ass as she starts to move faster.

  I love the way her back muscles tense and tighten. Every inch of her is so fucking sexy to me. She moves faster, rolling her hips, bucking back and forth.