“I love you, Charlotte,” he says against my ear. He turns my head to look into my eyes. “I’m not going to lie, I’m scared too. I don’t want to leave this child fatherless. Worse, I don’t want to be my father—not to you, not to this child.”
I see the fear in his eyes when he says that, and I am reminded of his life growing up in the White House.
“I know you didn’t want a family while in the White House. I feel awful that you’ll be burdened—”
“It’s no burden. I want this baby as much as I want you.” He looks at me, then swallows. “Holy shit.” He chuckles.
He frames my face in his hands and looks into my eyes.
“I want it. I’m going to be here for you, and for this baby.” He sounds as determined as a warlord. “Jesus, beautiful. Come here.”
I push my fears aside as he pulls my face in closer to his and kisses me with a tenderness so beautiful and loving, I don’t know whether to smile or cry.
I guess people weren’t kidding when they say pregnancy hormones make you very emotional . . .
I laugh a little at that and he smiles back to me.
“Charlotte . . . I am incredibly turned on by the idea of you carrying my child . . . our child . . . inside you.”
His eyes hold mine as he says, firmly, “This is perfect. The timing. The woman. The baby . . . Please, I don’t want you worrying,” he warns, shooting me a stern look.
I nod, my fears assuaged as I look into his eyes and realize he is completely right. I have never been more in love. More committed to someone as I am to him.
I know he will try to make this work, somehow.
I realize I not only want to be his wife, I want to be his children’s mother, and I want him to be the father of my children. I want to have a family with this man. I want this baby more than anything and as I look at him gazing at my belly again, I know this is perfect, and that we’ll be okay.
It’s my turn now as I take his face in my hands and tell him, “Matthew Hamilton, I am so in love with you, I don’t know what to do with myself anymore.”
He smirks and kisses my lips. “You’re going to pamper yourself senseless, because I want nothing but the best for my baby and its gorgeous mother.”
I laugh and then groan. “Gorgeous? If I’m like my mother, I’m going to be a sight for the time of my pregnancy.”
He shakes his head, then his gaze travels down to my stomach again and he growls, “You’re going to look incredibly sexy, not to mention completely desirable. I won’t be able to keep my hands off you . . .” He trails his tongue from my navel to my panty line, and all of a sudden things take a very different turn.
I play along with his game and give an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know, Matt . . . I think you’ll want me to sleep in my room instead of with you because I’ll take up too much bed space and might not be too attractive.”
He looks up from where he was licking, to my dismay, but the look on his face makes me laugh because this man is completely serious. “The day I’m not attracted to you, I’ll be dead,” he says, as he unbuttons my pants.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim, excitement building both in my heart and somewhere else. I feign concern and say, “Are we having sex?”
“You can’t be serious! We’re having tons of sex,” he asserts, kissing along my stomach. “I’m not the kind of man”—he kisses again—“to deny himself his woman.” Another kiss. “I think it’s arousing as hell that you’re carrying my child and it makes me want to give you all kinds of pleasure.”
“Really?” I say. My heart practically combusted hearing his words.
“Yes . . . starting right now.”
I feel him pulling down my pants, and along with them my panties.
My breath catches in my throat. “Matt . . .”
“Shhh . . . let me,” he says.
I gulp and nod, unable to produce any words as his warm tongue slowly licks along my inner thighs.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I peep.
“I’ll go back to work as soon as you come. On my tongue, baby,” he croons, a low command, licking his warm tongue around and inside me.
He’s back in the Oval in twelve minutes flat.
I’m just that easy.
Or maybe the POTUS is just that good.
He calls the White House physician to come look at me, and he declares both mother and baby to be healthy and the delivery date to be early December. Now I’m visiting with his mother in the Red Room.
“When Matt called to tell me the news, I couldn’t believe I’d be a grandmother so soon,” she tells me, her expression animated, her eyes shining as she passes me a cup of tea and sits across the coffee table from me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Eleanor, please. Have you decided when you’ll announce to the world?”
I shake my head. “We haven’t discussed it. I suppose we can’t keep it to ourselves for very long.” I smile, spreading a hand over my jacket, right over the baby.
Her eyes cloud over, and she pauses midway to taking a sip of her tea. She sets her cup on the table, her expression sober, and almost surreally understanding.
“I know this lifestyle can be harsh, especially with a baby on the way. You feel watched, vulnerable, and like you don’t have the right anyone else does to make a mistake. It gets easier, but never too easy.” She smiles encouragingly, then says, “I could hear the concern in my son’s voice when he told me he was going to be a father. You know he worries he’ll do the same things his father did, make the same mistakes . . .”