Leaning to smooth his tongue over the lip I bit, Matt slides his hand under the skirt of my dress, touching the inside of my thighs with his fingertips. My breath snags in my throat when he caresses the damp spot in my panties.
His eyes flash when he realizes I’m wet.
“Lift your dress. I want to feel more of you.”
I start to lift my dress and part my legs as he presses his lips to mine, opening them so he can rub his tongue over mine as he eases one finger inside me.
“God, you’re addictive. Who do you want here, beautiful?” he groans, finding me soaked inside.
I moan into his mouth and link my arms around his neck, thrusting my hips out for his touch.
“You.”
“Who does this belong to?” He dips his tongue into my mouth and moves his finger in and out, in and out, driving me crazy. Crazy with jealousy, with desire, with want.
“You.”
“That’s right.” He smothers my moans with his mouth.
17
A WARNING, PLEASE
Matt
Lola slaps a newspaper on my desk the next morning. The headline reads, KISS OF THE AGES: PRESIDENT HAMILTON AND THE FIRST LADY STUN GUESTS WITH A PUBLIC KISS FOR THE HISTORY BOOKS!
“We need to talk about Charlotte.”
“No, we don’t.”
“We’ve created a million new jobs with your new clean energy program and it’s been overshadowed by your little stunt.” She stutters when she realizes what she’s said. “Mr. President. Respectfully.” She nods. “You could’ve warned me,” she hisses.
“No, Lola, I couldn’t.” I lean back and link my fingers behind my head. “The fact that our million jobs didn’t make the front-page news doesn’t diminish the fact that we are creating new employment. That number will look like kiddie play in a couple more months. Relax.” I lick my thumb and flip through one of the pages on my desk.
She exhales.
“I will give you a heads-up,” I add, pausing a moment. “I’m going to marry her.”
“Excuse me?”
“What I said. Thank you, Lola.” I dismiss her.
Our country is broken. Jacobs was a weak president. So many minorities have been ignored. The problem in the Middle East is raging full force.
I have other shit to do than worry about the media.
She’s wide-eyed and blanching. “How will I handle the press?”
“They don’t need to be handled. I’ll take care of it when the time comes. Make some calls. Be sure we get some features on what we’re doing. Besides me kissing the first lady.” I smirk.
She smirks back, then seems to catch herself and shakes her head. “Mr. President.”
And she excuses herself, while I gaze at the headline. There’s a photo of Charlotte in my arms, her hands on my shoulders—she was pushing me back but, oh, that mouth was definitely opening beneath mine.
Lola wanted a warning?
I didn’t even get one myself.
I want to worship this girl. I wanted to glide my hands all over her body. Hundreds of women were trying to catch my attention, and the only one it lingered on last night was her.
I really hadn’t planned to make a scene. Lose my shit. I’m used to being tightly controlled. Blame it on all those expectations. The expectations for me to carry on as a Hamilton, the whole world resting on my shoulders. With her, it feels like she wants me to be nothing more than I am, nothing less. Everybody else is asking questions, what my stance is . . . not Charlotte. I know she secretly loves it when I lose control, and I lost it well and good last night.
I went with it. I wanted her mouth—I wanted them all to see her, in my arms. Mine, mine, mine.
This girl has seen me, every side of me, and still she looks at me like a sun.
She’s concerned; she wanted me to take it easy. Now I feel like I can do anything but.
My father cast my mother into the shadows, and keeping Charlotte close yet far away . . . I cannot do that. I want her up in the limelight, with me. First lady, not feeling like a secret: a true wife. She deserves better than what she thinks she does.
I want more for her.
I want more for myself. Yeah, I want her more than ever. Her passion, her kindness, her realness, her ability to laugh . . . Her.
I’m in over my head for this girl. Once I thought I couldn’t do both, govern a broken country and have her. But I know now that I will die trying to do both. This is who I am. I’m the president and a man. She’s the girl I love and the woman I want to spend my life with.
Really, it can be as simple as that.
I toss aside the newspaper Lola dumped on my desk, then glance at my watch to check for my next meeting just when Portia announces, “Mr. President, Mr. Cox from the Federal Bureau of Investigation here to see you.”
I stand and button my jacket as Cox strides inside, extending his hand in greeting over my desk. “Cox,” I say, reciprocating. We both take a seat.
“We followed through, checked the scarf for fingerprints and traced the prints to a store in the D.C. area. The owner confirmed that the president’s wife was a customer of their store and that President Law frequently ordered them to choose his gifts for her.”
“He had this to give to my mother. Jesus.” I scrape a hand over my jaw as frustration gnaws me raw.
“We’re following every thread no matter how minor,” Cox assures me.
I level him a look. “Do that.”
18
WAKE UP THE PRESIDENT
Charlotte
After THE kiss of the decade, we’re watching TV the following evening as Matt steps out of the shower, a towel draped over his hips. He looks like God embodied in a damn dark-haired, espresso-eyed, edible human candy bar. I cannot believe he kissed me. With tongue. In front of hundreds of people and, it seems, the whole wide world.