A glint of light touches his eyes. “You, worrying about everyone.” He shakes his head. “Worry about yourself and our child.” He pecks my lips. “It’s a date tonight. Wife.”

We end up having a picnic in the most secluded area of the gardens, under the trees. I had the chef make sandwiches for us, and vegetable chips—healthy leader, healthy lifestyle—and we then lie down and look at the stars, our bodies sort of naturally fitting together, our hands slowly roaming, our lips slowly finding each other’s.

“I want you to take it easy, Charlotte,” he says, nibbling on my lower lip.

I kiss him back. “I can’t take it easy. I’m starting the Kids for the Future campaign to inspire children to step outside the box and use their talents.”

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.