He’s over me the next instant, hungry. So hungry.
He suckles my nipple and draws my legs apart with his hand, caressing the inside of my thighs as he heads upward.
I’ve never wanted to devour another human being the way I want to devour him.
I kiss his jaw and rock my hips to coax him to touch me. He complies, first stroking his finger along the folds of my sex. I can hear a wet, slick sound as his index finger trails up and down, up and down. Then he eases the tip inside me.
“God . . . Matt.”
“Say it again. Say it again just like that,” he says, kissing his way to my other breast and taking the nipple. Sucking. Licking. Laving. Tasting.
My voice cracks. “Matt.”
He grabs my hair and keeps me in place as he drags his mouth lower, his shoulders flexing, the candlelight making love to his muscular chest as he starts kissing me between my legs. He runs his tongue along my folds and I groan, his tongue dipping inside of me.
I move urgently beneath him as he works my body into a frenzy, works me into a frenzy.
The pads of his thumbs stroke over the tips of my breasts, caressing my nipples. I groan deep in my throat again. He curses low in his throat, eases back, and strips the rest of his clothes off fast—never taking his eyes off me.
God, his cock is so thick and long, so huuuge. . .
He crawls over me and I’m panting, our eyes holding.
His fingers curl around my hip, holding me still. And then with a slow but powerful rock of his hips, Matt thrusts inside me.
I nearly come when he drives all the way in, every inch of his cock caressing every inch of my channel. I gasp, clutching my limbs around his body as my sex clings to every inch of him.
We’re not speaking. Leaving unspoken the fact that we are stealing, flat-out stealing this moment, and we both seem to want to savor it with our every sensation. Sight, sounds, touch, taste, scent.
I move with him as he drives forward purposefully. I’m writhing and twisting, kissing and touching him as much as possible even as Matt kisses and touches me. Exquisitely does what any living, breathing, red-blooded man would do with a girl like me.
My eyes hold his, cling to his, widening as I take him inside me—long, hard, pulsing with life. He won’t take his eyes off me. They’re heavy and so male, and looking at me as if I’m some living Mona Lisa, a breathing Statue of Liberty. There’s not enough air in the world to fill my lungs right now. He’s breathing just as hard.
He rocks his hips and keeps entering, watching me. My body contracts with aching need, and every time I feel him rock—so hard, so big, so close—I get wetter and wetter, absorbing everything. The soft sucking motions of his mouth on my nipples arrow down to my sex, which keeps squeezing around him.
I run my fingers up his chest and let my own mouth wander, tasting, tasting, tasting. He’s warm, sweaty, and salty. He groans and thrusts back inside, pulling my head back, watching my neck arch, and he tells me to keep making those sounds, that they’re driving him crazy.
I’m the one who’s losing my mind now. I’m loving the way he groans, looks at me, feels, tastes, as we move without control.
He drives into me again, deep and hard, his hands holding me by the hips, our hips rocking, our bodies arching, and our mouths twisting around each other.
“Are you with me? Charlotte, are you with me?”
I answer him with a whisper, just “yes” as my body thrashes in orgasm.
He presses a kiss to my earlobe, tensing his body as he comes as well.
We’re breathing hard as we turn on our sides, facing each other. He props himself on one arm. I don’t have the energy to do that. But in our eyes, we’re both communicating.
“Matt . . .”
“Hey.” He takes my chin, sober now. “Don’t think about it. We’re being careful.”
I close my eyes.
Rolling to his back, he exhales and stares at the ceiling. “When this whole campaign started, I had no idea.” He looks at me. “No idea about you, C.”
“C? Do you want me to call you M?”
“No, but I look forward to having a major hard-on the day you call me Mr. President . . .” He rolls back to his side and touches between my legs and I really can’t complain anymore.
“God, Matt . . .”
“I’m a man. I’m flesh and blood. And I want you. Have you been sent here to torture me? Sent by Jacobs or Gordon to ruin me?”
“You’re the one who’s got it in his head to be torturing me. Making me travel with you, always so close to you. What do you think it does to me? It makes my job difficult.”
“But it’s not just about me, Charlotte.” He glances at the window. “That—from the moment I decided this is what I want to do above all else. It’s not just about me.” He cups my face, some silent torture in his eyes even as he moves his finger inside me.