Page 3 of Praise Me: President
Maybe that’s why I don’t dismiss her when I know damn well I should.
“If I recall correctly, your primary cause is mental health, as it pertains to our young people.”
She brightens, visibly pleased I remembered. “Yes, sir. Under your guidance, of course, I plan to create easy and recognizable government resources for struggling youth. I want us to be synonymous with 9-1-1 for emergencies.”
“It’s an ambitious plan. That’s why I liked it.”
“Thank you.” She shifts side to side in her shoes, ducking her head briefly—and the fact that I can see her part of her hair only highlights how much taller I am. If I picked her up right now, her feet would dangle in the vicinity of my knees.
And I really shouldn’t have thought about picking her up.
Whether or not she’d wrap her thighs around me automatically.
Or if I’d have to use my general’s voice to order them high and tight.
Something in her smoky, blue eyes tells me she wouldn’t need to be told, though.
Fuck. What is going on here?
“I hear you’re leaving for West Virginia in the morning,” she says. “To meet publicly with the senator and the coal miners who were rescued last week.”
Yes—and thank God. It will be good to get some distance from this girl. She’s a temptation and I need to rip this attraction off at the root, before it consumes too much of my focus. “That’s right.”
“One in five girls aged twelve to seventeen experience depression in West Virginia,” she says, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. “The statistics aren’t that different from the rest of the country, but it’s one of the states where I thought the administration would be open to my initiatives.”
“Then you should come with me and speak with the senator,” I hear myself saying, like the biggest fool on the planet. Fly with this beautiful girl to another state, stay overnight, spend more time getting to know her? It’s on par with my worst ideas, yet I’m immediately relieved she won’t be here without me. If she doesn’t already have a love interest, someone is going to nail her down within the week. And I’m not going to worry right now about why that pisses me off so fucking much. “There will be atight schedule, not to mention the gala he’s throwing in honor of the visit, but there should be time to catch his ear. Can you pull together some talking points in time? We would be leaving at 0-800, Ms. Rogers.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” she breathes, her whole face lighting up. “Thank you.”
Is my fucking pulse racing? I…yeah, I think is it.
I haven’t lived a comfortable life. I grew up on a ranch, busting my ass every morning from the crack of dawn until sunset, seeing combat immediately after enlisting. Compared to a ground war, campaigning to be the president is a pleasure, but it’s not easy by any stretch of the imagination. I haven’t stopped toiling in decades. Burning my energy until it’s sapped, determined to make a difference on this earth if it kills me.
But right now, all I want to do is stand still and stare at this girl.
It’s bad. It’s very bad.
I’m pretty sure the public would frown on me taking up with a fresh-faced twenty-something—over whom I have the utmost authority—romancing her when I’m supposed to be running a country that frankly needs a ton of work.
Pull your head out of your ass.
Resolved to keep things professional between us, I lift an arm to gesture at the door, indicating she’s free to go, but to my horror—or delight, I’m not sure which—she mistakes it for a hug. Her eyes widen a little in surprise, her distracting lips parting on a breath. And then she all but throws herself into my arms, wrapping me in a hold that is akin to an electrocution. My heart flies into overdrive and my muscles flex, the pleasure of this soft angel in my arms almost more than I can bear after years of nothing but hard. Rough. Work.
There’s nothing in the world that could stop me from closing my eyes, laying my cheek on the crown of her head andsqueezing her tight. We stay like that for a few seconds, until her warm breath on my throat and her palm sliding up beneath my jacket, up my spine turns my dick into an iron fucking cannon.
I have no name for what comes over me when I fist her hair and pull, turning her face up to mine, memorizing the sensual bow of her upper lip, the rosy texture of her skin, those ridiculously long eyelashes. “Do you live somewhere safe, angel?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispers, trembling a little, but not out of fear. No, she is all but rubbing herself against my erection like a cat on a Persian rug.
“Who lives there with you?” I rasp, dying to grab her ass and yank her closer, but no. No, if I’m ten feet over the line now, that’s the point of no return.
“My roommate, Catherine. She’s interning at Veterans Affairs.”
“Okay.”Back off. Do it now. She works for you. The goddamn president.The abuse of power here is so obscene, I don’t even recognize myself. “You need to go now, Eloise.”
“Yes, sir.” Swallowing audibly, she disengages from my hold, both of us realizing at the same time that she must have dropped the clipboard without either of us noticing. She stoops down to retrieve it, looking up at me from her kneeling position on the floor, the blue carpet spread out around her, her face flushed from our contact…and she looks directly at my distended cock, pushing so urgently against my zipper. Her rapt and fascinated attention causes my balls to squeeze and I grind my molars together to keep from coming in my pants. Right there in the Oval Office. Inches from her face. Dear God. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she says quietly, rising and backing toward the exit.
I nod stiffly, knowing I’ll have to relieve myself in the bathroom as soon as she’s gone. Especially now that I’ve seenher from behind. Eloise Rogers has an ass that begs to be bent over my knee and swatted simply for existing. For being so firm and young. That skirt accentuates the tight curve of her cheeks, a demure split running up the center of her legs. I’d rip it straight up the middle with my bare hands if given half the chance, wouldn’t I?