The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,48
tapped into so easily.
“You’ll be fully attended by the Secret Service at all times from now on,” he says. It’s like he’s speaking only to himself. “Some external visits are unavoidable, but you will not leave my side unless it is absolutely necessary. You will not wander off or lose sight of me.”
My eyes widen in horror. “You locked Trevor up. There’s no need to be this extreme. I’m not your prisoner. I’m helping you out of my own free will.” I swallow tightly. “Look at me while you speak, David.”
“You agreed to assist this administration. If people think the President lets his fiancée remain vulnerable, even for a second, then that harms the administration.” Still no eye contact. His pupils look darker than their usual blue, almost black from where I’m standing.
“No.” I shake my head. “Is that all you care about? Protecting this administration?”
“What else would I care about?”
“I’m not your prisoner, David,” I repeat firmly. “I don’t belong to you.”
A second passes. I breathe in. And then he snaps.
His lips are on mine, needy and forceful.
“David-” I squeak, but he hushes me by pressing his lips to mine more hungrily.
It’s as if he’s an animal unleashed from his cage. I don’t know this man. The cool, reserved President I’m familiar with is nowhere to be found.
I’m not sure who loses balance first, him or me. But the next thing I know is that he’s spinning me around, pushing me firmly against the desk. His leg slips in between my thighs roughly, pinning me forcefully to the spot.
He’s still kissing me in a manner so wholly desperate that you’d think he’d die if he stopped even for a second. This is nothing at all like the kiss we shared in the restaurant earlier. That kiss was perfectly manufactured, so controlled and premeditated. He’d weighed out every inch of passion he’d put into it like he was rationing it.
This kiss is the furthest thing from that possible. It’s all need and desire and hot, flushed heat.
The way he touches me is almost animalistic. The way his palms explore the curve of my thighs and the contours of my body is violent and possessive. If I’m looking for tenderness, I don’t find any. There’s no room for slow, tender passion here.
“David,” I pant, somehow managing to speak against his lips. “What are you doing? We’re alone-”
We’re alone. We’re alone and there’s no need for him to be doing this to me.
Those words sink in slowly… as do their implications. Because if the President doesn’t have a convenient excuse as to why he is bending me over my desk and sticking his tongue down my mouth…
He’s doing it because he wants to.
He makes a low noise against my ear, almost like a growl. “Take it back.”
“Take what back?”
“You belong to me, Veronica.” His lips are on my neck, sucking and kissing and biting. Every press of them feels like an electric current going through me. “Do you understand?”
David Shepard, President of the United States. David Shepard, five-time winner of the New State Monthly’s ‘hottest celebrity eye candy’ competition. David Shepard, my boss.
The man who wants me.
The man who I want as well. It’s almost embarrassing how much I need him. The dull ache in the pit of my belly that I’ve always felt around him… it’s desire.
“Do you understand?” His voice is low and thrumming. Powerful.
“Yes,” I whisper back, softly. “I’m yours.”
He grabs me by the chin. “Say the words.”
“I belong to you.”
He moans fiercely. I have no idea why, but I’ve pleased him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “but I’m going to have to fuck you now.” He breathes shakily. “Hard.”
And then he presses himself against me. Presses his whole body against me. I feel what’s waiting for me as it rubs against my stomach through our clothes. Something hard.
His hands move down my body, hungrily roaming across every piece of me he can find. I can’t help the way I shiver as he moves his hands across my breasts.
When his hands slip under the straps on my dress and cup them through my bra, I moan. David makes an impatient noise at my reaction, slipping a thumb underneath the lingerie there. The tip brushes against my nipple.
“You must do it on purpose.” David coaxes the most sensitive parts of my breasts with circular motions. “Fuck, Veronica. Have you been sent here to drive me insane?”
I squirm, melting under his touch. “I-”
But he doesn’t let me finish. His hands move downwards, closer