Page 4 of Praise Me: President
No. It can’t happen.
Get yourself together, McAlister .
“Oh, and sir?” Eloise pauses in her retreat, standing about ten yards away in the silent office, framed pictures of past presidents lining the wall behind her.
“Yes, Eloise,” I say, struggling not to adjust myself.
She wets her lips. “I’ve been following your career since you were fresh from duty, wounded, but still finding the strength to community organize in Wyoming. You’re an inspiration, sir, and the reason I got into politics in the first place. You’re a man of honor and I truly believe you’re one of the few politicians who believe what they’re saying. That’s why I’m here.” My entire being seizes up as she saunters over to me, her shyness gone, replaced by passion for what she’s saying. “But every man needs a break from being good sometimes.” She reaches out and traces my belt buckle with her index finger, come beginning to leak from my pressurized tip into my briefs. “I can be here for that reason, too. This is a hard job with lots of frustrations and setbacks. You’re going to need somewhere…or someone…with whom you can let loose.”
The very top of her finger slides down, tracing the aching ridge of my cock, and it happens. I can’t fucking believe it.
I unload right there in my pants.
I grit my teeth and grip the desk behind me, grunting through wave after wave of intense pleasure rippling through my sex, my undercarriage, my belly, soaking my zipper while she continues that featherlight stroke, her breath shallow withexcitement. I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve come harder…or at a less opportune time. In a less appropriate place.
“You’ve been working so hard,” she leans in to whisper against my jaw. “Taking care of everyone and everything.” She cups me fully, gripping, urging another spurt into the damp material of my briefs while I half-gasp, half-groan. “Someone has to take care of you.”
I can do nothing but reel, attempting to make sense of what this angel has done to my body. How she commandeered it so quickly, so effectively, when I’ve never been capable of letting down my guard with anyone. Not without a concerted effort and letting myself go without sex for long periods of time, pushing myself to the edge of deprivation so I’ll have no choice but to release my pleasure with a person I don’t trust…because I’ve only ever trusted myself.
An hour in the company of Eloise Rogers and I’m lost.
My body wants to be in her care…and I want her body in the care of mine.
Now.
God help me.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. President,” she says, kissing my chin.
Rocking me, mind, body and soul.
She strolls out of the Oval Office, leaving my hunger to multiply painfully, an obsession with Eloise Rogers already manifesting. Leaving me to count the seconds until I see her again.
Despite the hundreds of reasons I need to keep my hands to myself.
And I will.
Starting right fucking now.
three
. . .
Eloise
The presidential motorcadeshowing up at my apartment was not on my bingo card, yet here I am, standing on the steps of my building, an overnight bag slung over my shoulder, watching as around nine Escalades roll up, like it’s no big deal.
I pop out my AirPod slowly, positive this is a mistake. I was contacted by the Secret Service last night and instructed to be at the White House no later than 7am. But it appears the White House has come to me. All nine SUVs roll to a halt at the sidewalk, men with earpieces, mirrored sunglasses and dark suits popping out, moving in all directions, speaking into their dangling microphones about who-knows-what.
What Idoknow is that someone can knock me over with a feather as I watch President McAlister alight from the fourth Escalade and button his navy blazer while striding toward me. “Ms. Rogers.”
It’s ridiculous, but my first incoherent thought is,oh my gosh, he remembered my name, which is utterly ridiculous considering what transpired between us in the Oval Office yesterday afternoon. Every time I think about it, I have one of two reactions. I slap my hands over my face in humiliation for coming on so strong. For making my borderline unhealthy attraction known within an hour of meeting the man.
For being so wildly unprofessional.
My other reaction is a lot more NSFW. It involves my fingers and a lot of moaning.
The first man I’ve ever made come was the President of the United States.