The President's Wife - Kathy Myme Page 0,49

and closer to where I want them to be most. To the part of me that needs him and only him to touch me.

“There are consequences to your actions.” His voice is hard. “This is your punishment.”

There’s no hesitation, not like when he was stroking my inner thigh in the restaurant. His hand explores the folds of my dress until it’s laying flat against the outline of my underwear, cupping me.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he exclaims, shock flooding his voice. “So fucking wet for me.”

Maybe if I’d given it any thought I might be embarrassed or shy, but David gives me no time. His fingers rub me in that same maddening circular pattern, separated only from my naked sex by a piece of flimsy cotton.

I can’t control myself. I press myself against him, enjoying the friction of his fingers against my clit.

“Tell me you submit to me,” David orders me. But underneath the sternness of his words, there’s something pleading about his voice too. “Tell me just how much you need me to fuck you right here.”

I need him. “Yes, Mr President.”

It’s like pulling a secret switch. If I’d thought he was desperate before, now he’s unstoppable. David’s hands peel off my underwear, picking it up and throwing it far away.

I hate that he stops touching me, even for just a moment. But my entire body shudders with anticipation as he unzips his trousers. For a second, his hand lingers over his leather belt as if he might undress, but it’s vetoed almost instantly. Instead, his hands reach through his underwear to pull out his cock.

He pins my wrists down onto the desk, locking them in place there.

And then the tip of his cock, bare and already wet with pre-cum, pushes itself up against my entrance.

In a fluid motion, he thrusts forwards and fills me. My mouth drops open into a perfect little ‘o’. It’s not painful exactly, but a lot bigger than what I’m used to. Of course I’d felt Trevor whenever we’d slept together. But I’d never felt dominated like this, stretched to the inner core.

A voice in the back of my head wants to panic: slow down, Veronica. What are you doing? He’s not wearing a condom? You’re fucking the President on a desk?

But her cries are drowned out by how fucking right this feels.

Once David starts moving, I know with certainty that no force in the world could get him to stop. And there’s nothing in the universe that would make me want him to.

I’m overcome with a primal need, fueled by his every thrust. I can faintly feel the edge of the desk digging into my back, but the pain is non-existent. The only thing in the world that matters is the movement of his body against mine.

“You’re going to come for me.” David grabs me by the hips, pulling me onto him. It’s another order.

That’s all I need. I obey the President’s orders and come as he fucks me, feeling my body unravel itself in absolute pleasure. I am undone.

“Fuck-” His breath is short and ragged. “Fuck, you make me-”

He slams into me, the tip of his cock pressing up against my deepest parts. When he comes, I feel it: hot and warm, exploding inside of me.

Fuck.

I close my eyes. The entire world reels around me. The only thing that grounds me is the feeling of him still inside of me. The warmth of his spent body against my own. His hands are still clutching my hips as if he needs me there.

When I look again, he looks wild. His dark curls hang loose around his face, dampened by a light layer of sweat. He’s watching me with a hawkish intensity, eyes trained on my face. When he swallows tightly, I watch every muscle in his throat tense up.

When he steps backward and zips up his trousers, I remember to breathe again.

We both stare at each other, thinking the same thing: who’s going to be the first to break the silence?

When David manages to speak, his voice is hoarse. “I-” He breaks our locked stare. “I have to go.”

I flinch. “W… what?”

“I have to go,” he says, more firmly this time. He runs a hand through his curls as if he can hide the blatant sex hair.

“Sorry? You have to go?”

We need to talk about this. Whatever just happened… has to mean something.

“I have meetings to get to.” He’s stepping backward. Retreating. He’s leaving and I can’t stop him. “I’m sorry for… well, all of