I kiss his jaw and rock my hips to coax him to touch me. He complies, first stroking his finger along the folds of my sex. I can hear a wet, slick sound as his index finger trails up and down, up and down. Then he eases the tip inside me.
“God . . . Matt.”
“Say it again. Say it again just like that,” he says, kissing his way to my other breast and taking the nipple. Sucking. Licking. Laving. Tasting.
My voice cracks. “Matt.”
He grabs my hair and keeps me in place as he drags his mouth lower, his shoulders flexing, the candlelight making love to his muscular chest as he starts kissing me between my legs. He runs his tongue along my folds and I groan, his tongue dipping inside of me.
I move urgently beneath him as he works my body into a frenzy, works me into a frenzy.
The pads of his thumbs stroke over the tips of my breasts, caressing my nipples. I groan deep in my throat again. He curses low in his throat, eases back, and strips the rest of his clothes off fast—never taking his eyes off me.
God, his cock is so thick and long, so huuuge. . .
He crawls over me and I’m panting, our eyes holding.
His fingers curl around my hip, holding me still. And then with a slow but powerful rock of his hips, Matt thrusts inside me.
I nearly come when he drives all the way in, every inch of his cock caressing every inch of my channel. I gasp, clutching my limbs around his body as my sex clings to every inch of him.
We’re not speaking. Leaving unspoken the fact that we are stealing, flat-out stealing this moment, and we both seem to want to savor it with our every sensation. Sight, sounds, touch, taste, scent.
I move with him as he drives forward purposefully. I’m writhing and twisting, kissing and touching him as much as possible even as Matt kisses and touches me. Exquisitely does what any living, breathing, red-blooded man would do with a girl like me.
My eyes hold his, cling to his, widening as I take him inside me—long, hard, pulsing with life. He won’t take his eyes off me. They’re heavy and so male, and looking at me as if I’m some living Mona Lisa, a breathing Statue of Liberty. There’s not enough air in the world to fill my lungs right now. He’s breathing just as hard.
He rocks his hips and keeps entering, watching me. My body contracts with aching need, and every time I feel him rock—so hard, so big, so close—I get wetter and wetter, absorbing everything. The soft sucking motions of his mouth on my nipples arrow down to my sex, which keeps squeezing around him.
I run my fingers up his chest and let my own mouth wander, tasting, tasting, tasting. He’s warm, sweaty, and salty. He groans and thrusts back inside, pulling my head back, watching my neck arch, and he tells me to keep making those sounds, that they’re driving him crazy.
I’m the one who’s losing my mind now. I’m loving the way he groans, looks at me, feels, tastes, as we move without control.
He drives into me again, deep and hard, his hands holding me by the hips, our hips rocking, our bodies arching, and our mouths twisting around each other.
“Are you with me? Charlotte, are you with me?”
I answer him with a whisper, just “yes” as my body thrashes in orgasm.
He presses a kiss to my earlobe, tensing his body as he comes as well.
We’re breathing hard as we turn on our sides, facing each other. He props himself on one arm. I don’t have the energy to do that. But in our eyes, we’re both communicating.
“Matt . . .”
“Hey.” He takes my chin, sober now. “Don’t think about it. We’re being careful.”
I close my eyes.
Rolling to his back, he exhales and stares at the ceiling. “When this whole campaign started, I had no idea.” He looks at me. “No idea about you, C.”
“C? Do you want me to call you M?”
“No, but I look forward to having a major hard-on the day you call me Mr. President . . .” He rolls back to his side and touches between my legs and I really can’t complain anymore.
“God, Matt . . .”
“I’m a man. I’m flesh and blood. And I want you. Have you been sent here to torture me? Sent by Jacobs or Gordon to ruin me?”
“You’re the one who’s got it in his head to be torturing me. Making me travel with you, always so close to you. What do you think it does to me? It makes my job difficult.”
“But it’s not just about me, Charlotte.” He glances at the window. “That—from the moment I decided this is what I want to do above all else. It’s not just about me.” He cups my face, some silent torture in his eyes even as he moves his finger inside me.
“I know.” I swallow, and my cheek burns under his warm palm as my hips rock involuntarily. “So take your hand away. The more I stay here, the more dangerous it becomes.”
He moves his other hand to the back of my neck, whispering as he rubs his thumb over my clit, “I will, after you kiss me. Tonight is about you.”
I close my eyes, raising my head. His breath bathes my lips. “You make me want to be the best version of myself I can ever be.” He licks my lips.
I kiss his mouth. I kiss his mouth and then roll him over and drag myself down his length. Lower. And lower. Kissing a path down the line of silky dark hair that travels down his chest, the smooth skin above his navel, and then down to the thickening mat of hair that leads to his cock. I take him in my hands. Full. Thick. The crown of his cock swollen to the max and dripping with desire for me.
I lick the drop.
Matt is watching me, a predatory look in his eyes as he cups the back of my head and tugs me closer—closer to his cock, until I grip the base with my hands and take him into my mouth.
36
MORNING
Charlotte
I slip into a comfortable gray sweatshirt that belongs to Matt as we have coffee very early the next morning. I’m curled up on the couch while Matt stands by the window, one hand holding his coffee as he stares thoughtfully outside. He wears only pants, and I can see a streak of nail marks down the back of muscled arms.
Did I do that?
“Are we still set to leave for the last campaign stretch on Monday?” I hear myself ask.
He turns to me then, his expression thoughtful. “All set.” He pauses, his voice gruffer. “Do you realize how difficult it is to give the last of the campaign my all when I know that if I win, I lose you?”
“God . . . Matt.”
“Say it again. Say it again just like that,” he says, kissing his way to my other breast and taking the nipple. Sucking. Licking. Laving. Tasting.
My voice cracks. “Matt.”
He grabs my hair and keeps me in place as he drags his mouth lower, his shoulders flexing, the candlelight making love to his muscular chest as he starts kissing me between my legs. He runs his tongue along my folds and I groan, his tongue dipping inside of me.
I move urgently beneath him as he works my body into a frenzy, works me into a frenzy.
The pads of his thumbs stroke over the tips of my breasts, caressing my nipples. I groan deep in my throat again. He curses low in his throat, eases back, and strips the rest of his clothes off fast—never taking his eyes off me.
God, his cock is so thick and long, so huuuge. . .
He crawls over me and I’m panting, our eyes holding.
His fingers curl around my hip, holding me still. And then with a slow but powerful rock of his hips, Matt thrusts inside me.
I nearly come when he drives all the way in, every inch of his cock caressing every inch of my channel. I gasp, clutching my limbs around his body as my sex clings to every inch of him.
We’re not speaking. Leaving unspoken the fact that we are stealing, flat-out stealing this moment, and we both seem to want to savor it with our every sensation. Sight, sounds, touch, taste, scent.
I move with him as he drives forward purposefully. I’m writhing and twisting, kissing and touching him as much as possible even as Matt kisses and touches me. Exquisitely does what any living, breathing, red-blooded man would do with a girl like me.
My eyes hold his, cling to his, widening as I take him inside me—long, hard, pulsing with life. He won’t take his eyes off me. They’re heavy and so male, and looking at me as if I’m some living Mona Lisa, a breathing Statue of Liberty. There’s not enough air in the world to fill my lungs right now. He’s breathing just as hard.
He rocks his hips and keeps entering, watching me. My body contracts with aching need, and every time I feel him rock—so hard, so big, so close—I get wetter and wetter, absorbing everything. The soft sucking motions of his mouth on my nipples arrow down to my sex, which keeps squeezing around him.
I run my fingers up his chest and let my own mouth wander, tasting, tasting, tasting. He’s warm, sweaty, and salty. He groans and thrusts back inside, pulling my head back, watching my neck arch, and he tells me to keep making those sounds, that they’re driving him crazy.
I’m the one who’s losing my mind now. I’m loving the way he groans, looks at me, feels, tastes, as we move without control.
He drives into me again, deep and hard, his hands holding me by the hips, our hips rocking, our bodies arching, and our mouths twisting around each other.
“Are you with me? Charlotte, are you with me?”
I answer him with a whisper, just “yes” as my body thrashes in orgasm.
He presses a kiss to my earlobe, tensing his body as he comes as well.
We’re breathing hard as we turn on our sides, facing each other. He props himself on one arm. I don’t have the energy to do that. But in our eyes, we’re both communicating.
“Matt . . .”
“Hey.” He takes my chin, sober now. “Don’t think about it. We’re being careful.”
I close my eyes.
Rolling to his back, he exhales and stares at the ceiling. “When this whole campaign started, I had no idea.” He looks at me. “No idea about you, C.”
“C? Do you want me to call you M?”
“No, but I look forward to having a major hard-on the day you call me Mr. President . . .” He rolls back to his side and touches between my legs and I really can’t complain anymore.
“God, Matt . . .”
“I’m a man. I’m flesh and blood. And I want you. Have you been sent here to torture me? Sent by Jacobs or Gordon to ruin me?”
“You’re the one who’s got it in his head to be torturing me. Making me travel with you, always so close to you. What do you think it does to me? It makes my job difficult.”
“But it’s not just about me, Charlotte.” He glances at the window. “That—from the moment I decided this is what I want to do above all else. It’s not just about me.” He cups my face, some silent torture in his eyes even as he moves his finger inside me.
“I know.” I swallow, and my cheek burns under his warm palm as my hips rock involuntarily. “So take your hand away. The more I stay here, the more dangerous it becomes.”
He moves his other hand to the back of my neck, whispering as he rubs his thumb over my clit, “I will, after you kiss me. Tonight is about you.”
I close my eyes, raising my head. His breath bathes my lips. “You make me want to be the best version of myself I can ever be.” He licks my lips.
I kiss his mouth. I kiss his mouth and then roll him over and drag myself down his length. Lower. And lower. Kissing a path down the line of silky dark hair that travels down his chest, the smooth skin above his navel, and then down to the thickening mat of hair that leads to his cock. I take him in my hands. Full. Thick. The crown of his cock swollen to the max and dripping with desire for me.
I lick the drop.
Matt is watching me, a predatory look in his eyes as he cups the back of my head and tugs me closer—closer to his cock, until I grip the base with my hands and take him into my mouth.
36
MORNING
Charlotte
I slip into a comfortable gray sweatshirt that belongs to Matt as we have coffee very early the next morning. I’m curled up on the couch while Matt stands by the window, one hand holding his coffee as he stares thoughtfully outside. He wears only pants, and I can see a streak of nail marks down the back of muscled arms.
Did I do that?
“Are we still set to leave for the last campaign stretch on Monday?” I hear myself ask.
He turns to me then, his expression thoughtful. “All set.” He pauses, his voice gruffer. “Do you realize how difficult it is to give the last of the campaign my all when I know that if I win, I lose you?”
