Page 17 of Praise Me: President
I want her legs spread for my cock and I want it now.
But she’s drowsy and sated when I carry her into the presidential suite, a penthouse on the top floor of the hotel. A week ago, I would have been very concerned by how this must look to my team—the president carrying a slightly wine-tipsy twenty-something into his hotel room with the obvious intention of taking her to bed. And not to sleep.
I’m too fuck-starved to care anymore.
I’m too in love with this creature to water down my possessiveness. My need to be with her, touch her, care for her. She’smineand everyone better be aware of that.
At the entrance to the room, I kick off my dress shoes and continue across the living room to the separate bedroom, carrying her inside and gently laying her down on the bed, quelling the urge to hike up her skirt and take an inhale of herpussy. In my thirty-seven years on this earth, I’ve never tasted anything so sweet or felt anything so fucking tight, and I never will again. She’s the only women I’ll ever touch for the rest of my life.
My pounding heart confirms it.
I look down and realize I’m touching myself with long grinds of my palm against the bulge in my pants. She’s flat on her back, her dark hair spread out around her, those sexy tits barely contained within her dress. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—and I’m so hard from giving her head, I’m in physical pain. I could climb on top of her now and kiss her awake, tell her I’m hurting, and she’d give herself to me without hesitation.
I know she would.
She’s sleeping, asshole. Where is your honor?
Swiping the fine sheen of sweat off my lip, I stride back into the living room and approach the wet bar, pouring myself two fingers of bourbon, draining half of it in one sip. There is work I could do right now, not to mention there are ruffled feathers that need smoothing since I missed the senator’s gala. But I can’t concentrate.
I can’t think of anything but getting Eloise pregnant.
It’s almost like this obsession was implanted inside of me tonight, already teeming with intensity, and it started as soon as I saw her pussy up close. Smelled her. Fingered her. I’m almost sick with the need to seat myself as deeply as I can go…and leave behind everything inside of me. I want to stamp my fucking name on that thing. I want it known she’s my woman and no one else can have her.
“Mr. President?” Eloise murmurs behind me, the innocent note in her voice making my eyes slide closed. And when she comes up behind me and slips her hands up the front of my shirt, unbuttoning the garment slowly, popping the buttons one by one, I almost groan out loud with relief. Instead, I use the timeto get myself under control, as much as possible. I can’t simply impregnate her. Not yet. I’m losing my head. “I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she continues in her husky bedroom voice. “I don’t think I realized how locked up my body was, until it wasn’t anymore.”
“I’ll never let it get locked up like that again, angel.”
“Thank you, sir,” she says, peeling the dress shirt off my shoulders and down my arms. When she reaches my wrists, she has to come around the front of me and take the bourbon out of my hands, and I’m surprised when she looks me in the eye and drains the contents of the tumbler, her eyes glazing over like frost on a windshield. “For the pain.”
“What pain?” I ask, raggedly, ready to call ten doctors, if she requires them.
She doesn’t answer me right away, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sets down my glass and unfastens my cufflinks, arranging them near the wet bar. Once my hands are free of the shirt and it drops to the ground, she looks up at me earnestly. “Aren’t you going to take my virginity tonight, sir?”
“Yes,” I say, instantly winded. Weak in the fucking knees.
She waited for me. She waited forme.
Eloise steps closer, smoothing her palms down my bare chest and not stopping. No, she strokes down past the waistband of my pants, massaging my hard cock through the black material. “You didn’t think I forgot about this, did you?”
“I didn’t want to wake you,” I say in a hoarse rush.
“Mr. President, I’m yours whenever you need me.” She has my belt buckle undone, now she pops the button free at the top of my fly, sliding her hand into my pants and jacking me off through the cotton of my briefs. “Sleeping or otherwise.”
“Eloise.” My voice is uneven, strained, along with every muscle in my body. “I’m not feeling very in control at the moment.”
She goes up on her toes and whispers in my ear. “I know, Daddy. That’s why I drank the bourbon. In case you need to hurt me.”
I’ve fisted her entire length of hair before she’s even finished speaking, snarling, marching her toward the bedroom with it in my grip, a modern version of a caveman bringing a woman back to his cave to fuck. I want to reassure her that there won’t be any pain, but I find I can’t do that. I don’t know the animal she’s turned me into. Pulses clamor throughout my body, my vision is glitchy, like I’m in some kind of fever dream, my balls warm and heavy, the need to claim full ownership of this girl roaring in my blood.
As soon as we’re in the bedroom, I release her hair and unzip her dress, wrenching the garment down her body to her ankles. She’s in nothing but wet panties now, still soaked in the orgasm I gave her downstairs, and Christ, she’s a sight straight out of a male fairytale, standing there in high heels, a two-inch strip of white lace dividing her juicy ass cheeks, her eyelids at half-mast from the bourbon, liquor still shiny on her mouth.
“I have this fantasy,” she purrs, running her tongue along her bottom lip. “Do you want to hear it?”
“Fuck yes.”
She smiles slyly, seductively over her shoulder as she crawls onto the giant, king-sized bed, winding me with the view of her on all fours from behind, her thighs flexing as she crawls, her asshole and pussy visible through the pattered lace, taking herself all the way up to the headboard before flopping onto her side, stretching like a kitten in the center of the white comforter.
“You’re in your room after a long day of meetings and press briefings and running the country. And you’re stressed out. Overwhelmed.” She rolls over onto her belly, crossing her ankles in the air behind her, swinging them playfully, her earnest sex appeal the strongest drug in the fucking world. Cartels wouldmake billions if they could sell whatever she’s laced into my bloodstream. Infatuation. Starvation. Love.