White House: Commander In Chief Part 17

Our eyes connect once again, and my heart somersaults in my chest. The vitality he radiates pulls at me, but the way his steady gaze bores into mine with silent expectation holds me in place.

"Were you thinking what I'm thinking?" I ask.

"We will have one of these in the White House."

I nod.

Standing less than a foot away, he glances down at me, his gaze admiring as a corner of his lips hikes up. "You'll make a great mother."

"You'll be the best dad."

He runs his knuckles down my cheek, and sparks ignite all over my body. "I look forward to making you my wife soon."

During the day, I don't see Matt much. He's been working nonstop and traveling occasionally too. He wants us to escape to Camp David for a few days after the wedding-a place where there will be no press, just us, and I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet.

Thoughts of our nights together keep filtering into my mind as I plan the wedding and make tour stops around D.C. and Virginia, visiting children and speaking to them about their futures-and how our future as a nation depends on them.

We've been running together on the White House grounds every morning when he's in D.C., though. Having dinner together, then spending the night closeted in his room.

Every time I see him step across the threshold of his bedroom, my heart grows giddy and I'm breathing faster. I know it's because we're in love, but it's also from the fact that we have never been openly dating each other until now, and I cannot get enough of him.

He cannot seem to get enough of me either.

It's as if his masculinity has grown tenfold, his testosterone at an all-time high. We have s.e.x multiple times a night. Shower s.e.x, sleepy s.e.x, morning s.e.x. I sometimes watch him get dressed with a look of disbelief, wondering if he's truly my fiance. Sometimes, when I'm the one in a hurry to get dressed, I catch him standing in his towel, watching me dress with the look of a man who admires his woman, who wants his woman, who plans to keep enjoying his woman anytime he wants.

Most especially, with the look of a man who respects his woman.

I could not be any luckier.

He leaves for Africa for five days, and I take advantage of those days to plan something special for him. I've been trying to think of something to give him as a wedding gift. But what can you give the man who has it all?

"Alison, I want to get something special for the groom, a wedding present. He once told me he wanted a portrait of me. Would you photograph me? I want it to be a small picture, maybe five by eight, and I want to wear my hair down, my shoulders bare, and maybe just something sleek and a little sheer around my torso. And I want to be wearing his father's pin."

Alison's eyes grow wide at my description. "I just fanned myself on his behalf. Whoa."

I laugh. "I want it to look intimate. This isn't for display; it's only for him to have."

"I'm your girl then. Where do you want to do the shoot?"

"I was thinking at my apartment. It's leased for another month. I want it to be in simple surroundings-because I'll always be the girl he met."

Alison is thrilled at the prospect, so a day before he's scheduled to arrive, after the Secret Service give us the green light, we head to my old apartment. I pull up a chair to the small window. There's hardly a view outside, but I like the window in the background, with a regular view . . . of a regular life.

I know Matt has always craved normalcy, regardless of the fact that he's the least normal man of all. Maybe that's why he craves it.

I wear my hair down, keep my shoulders bare, and wrap a gauzy shawl around my front, secured by his father's pin, making sure the fabric covers the dusky pink of my nipples.

"Perfect-now look at me as if I were him," Alison says.

My mind instantly gets transported to Matt-his arms, his voice when he's holding me, Matt asking me to be his wife-when there's a knock on the door, and Stacey peers inside.

"Charlotte. The president is on his way up."

"What?" My eyes widen, and Stacey nods.

"He must have finished early," I breathe, hurrying to remove the shawl and slipping back into the elegant day dress I was wearing while Alison hides her stuff.

"Did you get the shot?"

"I got like four great ones," she says, tucking everything into her duffel just in time for there to be a knock on the door.

Alison slings the bag over her shoulder and shoots me a look. "Enjoy, First Lady."

"Oh, I will," I a.s.sure her.

I hear her greet, "Mr. President."

"Alison." His tone sounds amused.

When he steps inside and looks at me, I want to cry because I missed him so much.

"Hey," I say.

"Heard you were here-decided to stop by."

"How was Africa?"

"Eye-opening." He looks at me like a thirsty man in need of water.

Matt looks gorgeous even after a full day of travel as he drapes his jacket over the back of a chair, removes his tie, and opens the top two b.u.t.tons of his white dress s.h.i.+rt, his eyes fixed ravenously on me as he does.

My body responds to his presence instantly. I want to give him something. I want to give this man everything.

"Come here," I whisper, but instead of waiting for him to move, I cover the distance between us.

I lower myself to my knees and reach up to his belt. I unbuckle him, hear the rasping sound of his zipper as I lower it. All the while my head is angled back so that my eyes can remain on his beautiful espresso ones.

I drop my gaze and pull him out, his erection thick already, a pulse beating there. Feeling a hot clench between my legs, I lean my head forward and kiss the crown. He groans and curls his hands around the back of my head, holding me there with a little pressure, silently asking me to take in more. I do.

I curl my fingers tight around the base. It throbs against my palm, hard and thick, velvety. My lashes flutter upward and I meet his gaze as I use both hands and my mouth to pull him inside my mouth. Matt watches me, jaw flexing, a glitter of pure l.u.s.t and hunger in his eyes.

I draw his c.o.c.k deep between my lips, and he thrusts. In. I groan, and the salty drop of liquid on his c.o.c.k makes me want more. I want everything from this man.

With a low, s.e.xy groan, he pulls out, holding my hair, his voice causing ripples down my body. "Look at me."

I raise my eyes again and suck him back in, twirling my tongue around the head and his length, admiring the hard muscles of his abdomen and chest, the fierce angle of his jaw.

I pull him deeper into my mouth, licking him slowly, and never once do I stop looking into his gorgeous face as I do this. It's the best part.

I grip the base of him and suck him deep, our eyes still connected.

Another deep sound rumbles up his chest as he touches the back of my throat, and I swallow, unable to stop making a noise of pleasure too. G.o.d, I love him so much, I want him so much.

I ache between my thighs, but I love touching him, having him between my lips, pleasuring him. I run one of my hands up his hard thighs and his abs, and he smiles a little.

"You're going to make me lose it," he rasps, moving his fingers in my hair, his fingertips caressing my scalp.

I pull back, easing back on his c.o.c.k so I can whisper, "Lose it."

He laughs a little, shakes his head, then narrows his eyes as I take him in again, and he's hard and he looks like he's doing everything possible not to lose it-so he can make it last.

He grips my hair in a fist and begins to thrust rhythmically. G.o.d, I'm the one losing it so bad. I sink him in deeper, watching him, stroking my hand along his ab muscles, unsure of whether he's the one setting the rhythm as he drives into my mouth or if it's my head, moving frantically up and down.

He lets a low sound loose and grabs the back of my head a bit firmer, and I'm so hot I feel myself s.h.i.+ver as Matt feeds himself into my mouth, not once taking his eyes off me, not even when he finally lets himself go, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng with pa.s.sion as he comes with a soft growl, driving in as deep as he can so that I'll get to drink every last drop in him.

He zips up when we're done, grinning. "Your turn." He grabs me by the hips and lifts me to his shoulders, carrying me to my bedroom.

I squeak, laughing, my arms going around his neck. "This is supposed to be about you."

"Oh, don't worry, it's about me." He smirks as he drops me on the bed and slowly starts pulling down the zipper on the side of my dress.

When we're done, we lie in my bed for hours, naked and spent. It's nighttime already, and I've been wanting to hear all about Africa, but I sense he's tired, his voice groggy, his expression thoughtful. He seems to be keener to talk about me and what I've been up to.

"What else but planning your wedding?" I frown. "It's not easy to plan a thousand-guest wedding in a month."

He smiles, running his hand over the back of my head, looking at me with that quiet possessiveness I've come to know so well.

"The team wants to know if we'll agree to have the wedding televised." I study his chiseled features. "What do you think?"

"I'm all right either way." His eyebrows furrow thoughtfully. "We can't hold a secret wedding-now that we've come out. I have no problem coming full out if that's what you want to do."

"I don't know. I know you like your privacy, but these four years, they don't come with that. Everyone is so excited." I shrug. "There's no reason why only the bad things need to make the news-we can put a good thing on the news too."

"Then let's go for it," he says easily.

"And the vows? Will we write our own?"

"No," he says. "The traditional vows say everything I want to say, and whatever more there is, I'd like them to be ours." He cups my face and rolls over on top of me, looking into my eyes. "If I want to say more, I'll tell it to you. In private. I might let the public enjoy you a little bit, but you're mine. Just mine."

He kisses me, and before we leave, we make love one more time.

I thought we were heading to the White House, and I'm surprised when the state car stops at a five-star steak restaurant, very well known in D.C.

Wilson tells Matt, "Everything is ready, sir."

And suddenly Matt is pulling me out of the car and into the restaurant.

A restaurant that seems to have been fully vacated for us to have dinner in private.

"What is this?" I ask, eyes wide as I look at Matthew.

"I can't marry you without an official first date. Now can I?" He pulls out a chair at a table by the window with a small candle flickering at its center, and I sit down and watch in awe as he takes the seat across from mine.

"I haven't even eaten and this is already the best date I've ever had in my life."

He rewards me with a delicious laugh.

And I remember the wink of a young man teasing a little girl, so many years ago.

"You do like every man's attention on you, don't you," he teases me.

"Not every man's, just the ones who capture mine," I joke.

"I'd better be the only one now," he says.

I smile, glancing at the engagement ring on my finger.

I slide my hand over the table, seizing his. "I love you," I say, breathless and swooning inside.

He places a kiss on the back of my hand. "I love you too, baby."

I move the index finger and thumb of my free hand an inch apart over the table. "This much?"

"Not that much."

"Matthew!" I chide, pulling my hand free with a playful scowl.

Soon, several waiters approach us with a bottle of their best wine.

"Mr. President, First Lady. An honor to serve you tonight."

While the waiter uncorks the wine, Matt looks at the menu. "Bring us all of the house specialties. Bring us each a different plate so we can taste them all."

"Absolutely, Mr. President."

We drink a light red wine, and once the plates are on the table, he looks at me, his espresso eyes piercing intuitively into mine. "How's your lemon sole?" he asks as we dig in.

"Oh, so good." And it really is.

He reaches out with his fork and steals a little piece from my plate, slipping it into his mouth. "Hmm, that is good."

I pick up a piece of cut steak from his plate and speak through the corner of my mouth as I savor. "That's good too."

He pushes his plate in my direction, takes mine, and brings it over to his side. I actually have no problem with that.

"I always seem to like what you're eating better than what I'm eating," I say, digging into his rib eye.

"You're a cla.s.sic case of gra.s.s-is-greener-on-the-other-side, Miss Wells."