White House: Commander In Chief Part 6

GLOVES.

Charlotte I received a book with the pictures and names of everyone working in the White House-it's a security measure, I was told, in case I spot someone who seems unfamiliar-and I've been poring over the book to be sure I know them all.

I'm eyeing it a second time the next morning when I hear Clarissa's voice at my East Wing office door.

"The president sent this."

She's holding a silver box with a white ribbon.

I feel my lips part involuntarily.

I resist the urge to tear into the package. That's just not how a first lady would act. So I stand up and accept the box, then set it on my desk and open it carefully, removing the ribbon, unfolding every corner of the wrapping, and lifting the lid.

Inside are two beautiful elbow-length white satin gloves.

In all seriousness?

I've never been so turned on. It's not the fact that he sent a gift that is s.e.xy in itself, but the fact that he wants me to feel like I belong here. As his first lady.

I'm done. I'm a goner. Is it possible to fall in love with a man all over again? I think I just did. Even when I've never, for a moment, stopped loving him.

I spot him later that day as I head down the hall, trying to memorize where everything is and personally greet the staffers by name.

The sight of the tall, dark-haired man walking with an entourage of four men around him makes my heart stop in my chest.

He stops walking when he spots me, then plunges a hand into his slacks pocket, gives a half smile, and starts forward.

He's wearing his gla.s.ses.

My mouth is dry and the part between my thighs, way too wet.

"Charlotte. I'd like to invite you to dinner in the Old Family Dining Room tonight. If you wouldn't mind looking at the menu."

Our eyes meet, and I'm hot all over. "If I can find the dining room," I say.

Under the rim of those gold-rimmed Ray-Ban gla.s.ses, the smile touches his eyes. "Someone will make sure you do so."

"I know. They always do." I smile and glance around as the men wait in standby, and the staffers continue bustling past and carrying out their respective duties. "I'm actually supposed to go meet the chef this afternoon-I'm to review the menus for the week."

"That's very considerate of you, Miss Wells."

I know he's teasing me-and it feels good. I miss him. I want to flirt more. To talk and hear about everything he's doing. But now is not the time. "I feel so bad having so many people wait on us," I whisper.

His gaze turns somber. "They're trying to make our lives easier, get the little things perfect so we can focus on the big ones."

I nod, smiling. "I'll see you tonight."

He nods and heads to the West Wing.

The Old Family Dining Room, it turns out, is the smaller dining room in the White House, and I'm grateful to be seated at a normal-sized table that seats up to six-one from Matt's personal, more modern furniture collection. He sits at the head, my place setting to his right, and we dine on the White House chef's version of a personal favorite meal of mine.

"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I had them make Mom's special quinoa, which my mother and Jessa had made for you and your dad. The first time we met."

"I remember. You were a cute little thing. Full of fire."

"Full of fire for you," I mumble, rolling my eyes.

His eyes widen in surprise over my comment, and then a laugh rumbles up his chest, but that delicious laugh doesn't last long, and then he's frowning darkly. "You were too young, baby."

"With big feelings awakening," I groan, shaking my head over the pain he caused me and my "awakening" years.

He shoots me a chiding smirk, his gaze dropping to my lips.

"Matt ..." I breathe, recognizing the look in his eyes.

He leans forward, our eyes inches apart. His voice is so rough and raw it cuts me up on the inside. "I miss you. I miss touching you. I want to be able to kiss you anywhere, anytime I want."

My thighs press together under the table. "I want that too, but this is such a big change for me."

"Do I get a kiss for the gloves, at least?"

My body keeps tightening with yearning, but I manage to control myself and say, "Yes, but not here. Tonight when we're alone."

His eyes darken intensely. "Mmm. I look forward to that." He scoops an especially large forkful of quinoa into his mouth.

After dinner, we sit in the Yellow Oval Room on the second floor for drinks. He nods at Wilson in some sort of silent indication, and we get the privacy that we want as the agents scatter. I turn to Matt on the couch, his posture relaxed, but his gaze about as relaxed as an inferno in full blaze.

"Don't move," I warn. "It's just a little kiss. If you move then I won't be able to control myself."

His raspy laugh surrounds me. "Baby, I can't control myself when you look at me like that ..." He strokes his hand down my cheek, his stare crackling with raw intensity.

"Shh. Close your eyes."

I straddle him, and Matt slides his hands to cup my b.u.t.t rebelliously but closes his eyes. And oh, how close I feel, how safe I feel, how hot I feel.

I look at his face and I feel like exploding from the inside out and imploding from the outside in. I love him so much. I trace his lips with my fingertip. He bites me. "Don't," I giggle.

He groans, his eyes still closed.

"Stay still," I say.

He stills, lips quirked.

I lean my head and press my lips to his. A thousand shots of lightning course through my veins when he parts his mouth. I lick into him, and his hands slide down the small of my back, grinding me to his hard c.o.c.k as he plunges his wet tongue into my mouth. He holds my a.s.s in both hands, and his touch sets the b.u.t.terflies off in my stomach. Memories of us threaten to drown me-every moment, every kiss.

I link my hands behind his neck, and though Matt isn't moving, I feel his power, his hold on me and my heart.

"Thank you for my gloves," I say, breathless, as I ease back.

He smiles, s.h.i.+fting forward as I get up on trembling feet, his mouth red, his hair mussed. "You're welcome. Thank you for putting in all that effort for our dinner."

"I enjoyed it." I exhale. "I'd better go. We both need to be ready for tomorrow."

He just smiles, watching me in silence as I leave.

The French president is holding a state dinner in Matt's honor, and all the arrangements to my schedule were automatically made to be sure I could accompany him.

I'm excited, nervous, and still aroused from that silly little kiss.

So excited and aroused that I just can't sleep. I know that Matt doesn't sleep, because the door to his bedroom never shuts all night.

8.

AIR FORCE ONE.

Charlotte The last time I crossed the Atlantic, it was to try to put distance between us. Today I'm crossing it by his side. We board Marine One on the South Lawn of the White House. The motorcade creates too much traffic for people's everyday commute.

Soon we reach the airport and are escorted to the long, open steps leading up to Air Force One, the American flag proudly on its tail.

The president motions me to go ahead, and my heart is pounding as I walk onto the biggest private plane I've ever beheld. It's beyond luxurious, tastefully decorated in beige tones and dark woods.

I wander down the hall and peer into the rooms and separate seating areas.

I can't believe we're on Air Force One. I'm sort of embarra.s.sed by how blown away I feel and how calm everyone else seems as Matthew's staff heads to the main seating area. I try to keep a grip as I walk down the plane aisle when I notice Matt two steps behind me. He's wearing a navy-blue bomber jacket with the presidential seal and I want to rip it off him.

"Big change from our days campaigning, huh?" I whisper, eyeing everything with admiration, gasping when the rooms continue. "Oh G.o.d, it's like a hotel in the air, conference room, office . . ." I add. I open one door and gasp again. "Bedroom?" I ask him over my shoulder.

"Yep."

I walk in to see, and then I hear the door shut behind us.

I whirl around, and Matt is shrugging off his jacket.

I open my mouth but no words come out. The only things working really are my s.e.xy parts, the flood of liquid heat between my thighs, the hard beads of my nipples pressing against the soft cashmere of my sweater and the lace of my bra.

Matt sees.

He sees-my pointed nipples, poking in salute, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s feeling sensitive, my cheeks flus.h.i.+ng as I start to pant.

"I've got to get some work done. But nothing will get done until I do this."

The whispers trigger a tremor down my spine as he approaches.

Matt tugs his b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt from the waistband of his slacks, and takes my hands and slides them up his chest. Then he steals his own under my cashmere sweater, pulling me flush to him-our fingers touching each other's bare skin. His eyes a whole world of fire.

"Your enthusiasm for all this affects me deeply, baby," he rasps, rubbing his thumb over my lower lip.

I moan in antic.i.p.ation as he leans down and sets a kiss on my forehead. "I know we said slow. So I'm going to kiss you. Very, very slow. Because when you ooh and ahh all over Air Force One, and all over elysee Palace when we arrive, I want you to have my taste in your mouth, and I want every ooh and ahh to taste like me," he rasps, and his lips slide, ever so slowly, torturously slowly, down my nose. My breath catches, and Matt inhales deeply, as if breathing me in, prolonging my torture and his own, before he whispers, "Now kiss me back, C, like you mean it. Like you miss me," as he presses his lips directly to my mouth.

I shudder at the contact, parting my mouth. Flicking my tongue out. Pressing closer to him. His groan is about as drugging as his kiss.

And his kiss.

It's not just drugging. It's soul-shattering, chest-imploding. Wet and hard. My hands are on his shoulders. His arm is sliding around my waist, pressing our upper halves flush. Our lips are fusing, moving, Matt's so strong and hungry.

He runs his tongue around mine, then suckles me into his mouth.

We kiss for what feels like forever and at the same time, not long enough. We ease apart, but Matt remains too close, intently looking down at me. I run my tongue over my lips, and they feel swollen and sensitive because of his kiss.

His gaze is hot, and G.o.d how I miss him.

Matt is gazing at me with eyes that look very dark.

He clenches his jaw. He uses his thumb to rub my lower lip and part it from the top.

I meet him halfway; I reach up and grab his hair, parting my mouth and flicking my tongue out.

I sink a little into his body, into his kiss.

He holds my face in one hand until he tears his lips away, glancing at my mouth. "If I don't stop now, everyone will know you've been kissed senseless."

He looks at my kissed lips with male pride and not one bit of apology.

I swallow, out of breath.

He slips his hand up my back, under my sweater, touching my bare skin.

I moan and leave my hands on his shoulders for a bit.