Page 13 of Praise Me: President
First order of business?
Oral.
I’m pissed the hell off that I haven’t gone down on her yet and she’s made me bust twice, once down the back of her throat. This one-sided nonsense is not how a man operates and I’m balancing the scales tonight. As soon as we get through this gala.
I leave the bathroom and my security team automatically begins speaking into their earpieces about the fact that I’m getting ready to leave the room.
“Where is Ms. Rogers?”
“Still in her room, sir. Her security team is ready to escort her downstairs to meet us. They’re just waiting for my word.”
I nod. Continue nodding.
The last thing I want to do is attend a gala thrown by the motherfucker who made a pass at Eloise this afternoon. I saw the hungry look in his eye as he watched her depart the state house and it wouldn’t surprise me if he makes another attempt, even at the cost of his job. And damn, I get it. She makes a man want to risk everything.
Well, tonight—and every night hereafter—I want her to myself.
“I’m going to take Ms. Rogers out to dinner, instead,” I announce.
The five Secret Service members shift in their loafers, trading looks with one another. “You’re forgoing the gala, sir? Excuse me for being blunt, but won’t that offend Senator Stokes?”
My smile is tight. “Hopefully.”
A few of the men laugh, but the head of my security detail only looks stressed at the last-second scheduling change. “We’ll need time to secure a location, sir.”
“There’s a restaurant downstairs, right here in the hotel,” offers one of the men. “Michelin star. We could take the service elevator straight there.”
“Perfect. We’ll need a private table.” I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off Eloise for five seconds. “I’m taking the future first lady on our first date, so it needs to be nice. Candles. Flowers. Wine.”
My entire security team are battling smiles.
“Excellent, sir.”
“You look very dapper, Mr. President.”
“Thank you.” I’m getting restless without my girl in front of me. “Let’s go to Eloise’s room. I want to explain the situation in person.”
“Yes, sir.”
Everyone moves into formation around me and we’re heading into the hallway, my stomach heavy with some feeling I can’t name, because I’ve never experienced it before. Jesus, is it butterflies? I think so. This woman gives me butterflies. I’m kind of tingly and weightless and have the strangest urge to laugh as we round the corner and enter the hallway leading to Eloise’s room. I’m gratified to see four agents posted up outside of her room, looking like they’re on high alert.
A beat later, I’m knocking on her door.
She answers in a white cocktail dress, her hair in long, loose waves, her lips painted a deep, bold red and I simply forget how to speak. Legs.
My God, her fucking legs.
She’s wearing red high heels that flex her delicate calf muscles and make those lithe limbs appear even longer.
“Goddamn, Ms. Rogers.”
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she whispers, chewing her lip as she looks me over, her nipples turning to pointy outlines beneath her too-short dress. Watching me turn her on in real time is a gift I can’t ever imagine taking for granted—and this is one of the things I love about her. She’s honest about wanting me. She can’t help it, because she has no filter. What is she going to be like once we’ve started sleeping together?
Anticipation has left my mouth dry. “You think I’d bring you anywhere near the senator in that dress?” I ask, backing her into her hotel room and kicking the door shut behind me. “Not a fucking chance, angel. I wouldn’t bring you around a priest.”
“We’re not going to the gala?” she blinks.
“No.” I catch her hips in my hands and pull her close, so I can rove my mouth through her fragrant hair, feel the press of her tits against my chest. “We’re going to dinner.”