Commander in Chief
Page 36

He eases back, frowning, his eyes stern under drawn brows. “You control your schedule. Pace yourself.”
I don’t know how he does it. Even when it’s thick with arousal, he still manages to make his voice sound commanding.
“I’d hate to cancel.”
“I’ll cancel,” he says.
I laugh, loving how protective he is, especially now with me expecting. “By order of the president?” I tease.
And when he only stares at me with an unreadable and unrelenting expression, I simply kiss him, swooning when he firms the kiss and massages my tongue with his. Breathless, I slide my hands up his hard chest and feel his hand curving around my stomach, then around the small of my back, easing me to his lap.
My breath hitches as he guides my legs to straddle him and whispers, “Come here, beautiful.” I close my eyes, arching wantonly.
“Matt.” A plea.
“You want me, my love,” he says against my ear.
“So much.”
He moves his fingertips over the sides of my rib cage and into the front of my waistband. I inhale a shaky breath.
“Close your eyes,” he coaxes. “Let go of everything but this moment. Me. You. This.” He dips his fingers between my legs, where I’m wet and aching, and with his other hand, he draws me to him by the back of the head, kissing me senseless as he then swiftly unbuckles and unzips and lowers me down on him.
31
CHANGE OF PLANS
Charlotte
“Is he alone?”
“Yes, but . . .” Portia trails off as I walk in.
“I was ready to leave for my Kids for the Future campaign when Clarissa told me you gave her the order to pause until I looked at the schedule again,” I tell him.
He’s in the middle of picking up a call and says something unintelligible into the receiver.
Pressing my lips into a thin line, I spin around to leave.
“Stay,” he tells me as I cross the room for the door.
I inhale and turn around, staying in place, the presidential seal right beneath my feet.
His brow furrows as he listens on the phone.
Moving forward, I place my palms on his desk and lean forward. Scowling. I’ve been working on this event for weeks; I told him that yesterday. Does he not trust that I’ll be careful? He’s being so frustrating!
I wait for a moment. He’s still absorbed in his phone call, so I walk around the desk and then plant myself between him and the damn desk, hands on my hips as I give him my fiercest scowl.
A tug plays at the corners of his lips all of a sudden. He reaches out to pop a button of my shirt loose. I catch my breath, his eyes flaring.
“Absolutely, I concur that won’t be a problem at all,” he says into the phone.
He tugs me to his desk and props me up with one arm, parting my legs so he can slip his fingers under my skirt and pull down my panties.
My voice is hoarse. “Don’t.”
Enough for him to hear, but not the other person on the line.
I catch my lower lip between my teeth, breathing heavily as he strokes his index finger along my opening. He’s talking about some bill as he trails one finger over my sex, then eases it inside. I’m so wet that it slips right in. I moan and arch back.
He loosens my shirt until it parts. “Then we need to get on it, don’t we?” he says, looking at me meaningfully as he brushes my shirt aside, then tugs the fabric of my bra beneath the swell of my breast. My nipple is puckered, so hard even the air brushing across the peak hurts.
I gasp as he leans over and blows on it. Pleasure races down my nerves. He bites down on me, and I bite back a cry and fist my hands in his hair, grabbing him for dear life.
“Good. I expect that on my desk tomorrow.”
He stands as he hangs up, grabs me by the waist and leads me across the Oval to the adjacent sitting room, and kicks the door shut behind us and ushers me down on the couch, settling on top of me. Pulling my skirt up to my waist, I fumble with his zipper while he pulls my panties aside and then slips his finger back inside.
I pant. The fingers of his free hand trail down my temple.
My cheeks warm with eagerness.
“Lick off the taste of you,” he commands, raising his hand from between my thighs to tease my lips open.
I do.
He frees himself—then he’s inside. Deep inside, where I want him. Need him.
He starts to thrust, groaning as I do.
He trails wet kisses along my neck, fastening his mouth over my nipple, then stroking his hand along my small, rounded belly. The shadows of the trees outside the window fall over us, but I’m unable to focus on any one thing but him.
I tilt my hips upward, hungry for him—always hungry for him.
“Oh god,” I groan.
“Quieter, baby,” he hushes, tender as he plunges his tongue into my mouth, and he thrusts harder until he drives home, taking us where we need to go.
Afterward, I sit up and rearrange my clothes, and watch him for a minute. His hair rumpled by me, his mouth pink, and looking a little bit possessive, he’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. But I don’t want him to know this.
“I’m still irritated,” I mumble.
He stands and zips up. Then he takes my chin and leans over, kissing me, voice husky. “So am I. I know you know better, Charlotte.”
I groan, pushing at him as I straighten. Matt’s eyes drink me in as he’s straightening his tie and securing his cuff links, while I feel like I just got high on a drug called President Hamilton.
“I’m not canceling,” I warn him.
“I don’t want you to cancel,” he firmly retorts. “I want you to take it easier on yourself. Pace yourself. I warned you last night. I’m not fucking kidding about you or our child. You have years to champion your cause.”
“Matthew . . . the doctor said that I should continue with life as normal.”
“And there lies the caveat. You don’t live a normal life, Charlotte.”
He swings open the door of the Oval, striding to his desk, grabbing his glasses and slipping them on, his forehead scrunched as he settles back in his chair.
He scrapes his thumb across his chin, thoughtful, as he starts reading papers again.
“Matt?” I demand.
He lifts his head.
“I promise. Nothing matters to me more than you and this baby,” I assure him.
He nods curtly, voice calm. “Good. We’re clear then,” he says easily, back to work.
I just stare.
He looks up. “I lost my father too damn soon. I’m not going to lose you to exhaustion—or our child to extensive touring. It’s not worth it. Nothing is.”
My anger melts a little; I can’t seem to be able to get angry for long.
I know he’s frustrated the FBI hasn’t found any new leads into his father’s case. It’s an old case. What Matthew wants is near impossible. But he’s been pressing the Bureau to be better, do more, enhance their strategies, their intelligence, and their teams—he’s even strategized to get an increase of funding to both the FBI and CIA, to ensure the United States have the highest degree of competence when in search of justice.
The impossible for him does not exist.
And yet, chaos is the evildoer’s best friend, after all. And yesterday I leapt right into it without thinking—stirring Matthew’s frustrations anew.
I smile as I watch him read the thick document in his hand. “I love you and those silly glasses,” I admit.
My smile fades a little when he looks at me. He gives me a smile.
And he pulls his glasses to the bridge of his nose and eyes me across the room. “Don’t try to sweet-talk your way into working yourself to the bone. That won’t work with me.”
“I didn’t think it would,” I lie, taking myself to the door. “I know what works.” I mouth, Oral.
And I see the most adorable smile touch his lips before he leans back in his chair, looks at me soberly, and purrs, teasing me, “That’s right.”
I laugh as I leave, heading straight to Clarissa.
“Did you give the president a piece of your mind?” Clarissa asks with a twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, definitely.” More like a little piece of pregnant mama booty. I head to my desk and look over the schedule. “Do you agree with him that this is a hectic schedule?”