Page 5 of The President's Passion
The guilt. Make me forget all about the past and my duty.
“Jackie,” he rasps and when I don’t reply he murmurs, “you’re obviously under a lot of pressure. I’m going to kiss you now because I want you to relax.”
My eyes flare in alarm and I cry out, throwing myself off of him and my back hits the window. Went lets out a growl and he snatches me to him again with the speed of light. “Don’t kiss me,” I cry and he tenses.
His big body goes tight as if standing on guard and ready to slay any resistance. “Just not on your mouth then,” he says, almost as if speaking to himself, “only everywhere else...” Lowering his face, he kisses me on my naked collarbones. He moves on to my arms, silently worshipping me in the back of The Beast and my thoughts go dizzy. When he lifts up my dress, I don’t stop him, not even when he plants kisses on the inside of my thigh and it feels as if the car is sailing toward the sky, past the moon and the stars and through the universe.
I’m dazed. Soft like jelly and lava coats my womb, wanting something of his in there. A little secret, a little part of him...I must be getting harebrained and my eyes roll back when his kisses turn firmer and firmer. Desire attacks me from all corners, I gulp for air, longing stirring in me as if my womb is a cauldron in need for the president’s potent potion. “On the mouth, on the mouth...!” I helplessly cry.
He groans, pressing his lips against mine and I finally calm. “Yes...,” I pant and he purrs between his teeth,
“I knew you were the one who would give me the world.”
“You already have the world,” I gasp and his eyes flare with something dangerous, something atomic.
“I want us to create our own. Yours and mine.” He gives my belly a loving stroke before kissing it. “My pretty, little vessel.”
Vessel? How did I go from assassin to the president’s vessel?Jackie, Jackie, how you’ve fallen from purposeful heights and into the arms of a man who has reduced you to something purposefully...animalistic.
My eyes roll back in my head when I realize why he brought me here and what it is that he wants with me.
He wants me pregnant.
3.
Jacqueline
We get out of the car, Went’s grip firm on me again and I stumble toward the White House. It’s lit up in the night, a helicopter swirling on the helipad and I gasp at how breathtaking it all is up close. Agents dance around us, stressed out and nervous and an expression of shock colors their faces.
Welcome to the club...If there’s anyone who should be shocked it’s me. Wentworth Washington is such an impressive figure, indifferent, emotionless...the kind who wouldn’t tell you a single thing about himself it didn’t serve an agenda. It’s almost as if he’s turned into a Mount Rushmore carving before his time but he’s not like that anymore.
I have no idea what’s happened to him. He’s thundering ahead, his eyes filled with hotness and passion and his skin is so warm against mine that it feels as if I’m burning up. I’m going to come down with a fever before the day is over, I’m sure of it. Stepping through the front door, I whimper at the sight of the help who watch us with traumatized eyes.
“Is that the one?”I hear them whisper and I wince. “She’s smaller than she looks on TV...”
“You think she’s here to kill us...?“
“Don’t talk about her as if she’s not here!” Went snaps and I twitch when I realize he heard them. “You will show her the same respect you show me.”
He yanks me to him, cupping my neck as if he’s a barbarian presenting his woman to the tribe. “And from now on you will refer to this young girl as the First Lady.”
My knees go weak. Who did he just say that I am? I halfheartedly follow Went into a room that I only later manage to register as the Oval Office. I’m panting so hard I can barely breathe and reality is slowly catching up with me.
“Went...,” I gasp and he frowns, his eyes darkening and he catches me before I hit the floor. “Oh...,” I moan as the ceiling spins and Went picks me up, putting me down on a chaise. He kneels before me, his eyes filled with concern and he buffs at me with his head. When I don’t respond, he lets out a pained groan.
“What’s wrong, sweets,” he whispers, stroking me over the hair, “do you need me to call a doctor?”
How can a man as tyrannical as him suddenly be so compassionate?
“S...soda,” I whisper back, “I’m hypoglycemic...”
Minutes later, the soda arrives and Went helps me drink through a straw. He watches my lips clasp around the straw but doesn’t say anything, as if thinking this isn’t the time. I drink almost the whole thing and then I feel much better.
“Thanks,” I mutter, brushing hair away from my face and Went’s face hardens.
“Shame on you,” he snaps in a low tone and I gawk. “Look at you, there’s barely any muscle on those bones, you’re smaller than the average woman and now you tell me you’re hypoglycemic?” He shakes his head as if appalled. “And you thought it would be a good idea to come after me.”
He stabs his fingers through his hair. “You could’ve fainted and smashed your head. You could’ve died!” His lids flutter. “Thank fuck you didn’t...,” He buries his face in my stomach, “Thank fuck you didn’t, thank fuck...”