I shook my head. “Too many witnesses,” I said, my eyebrows going high on my forehead. I felt silly, for some reason—up for anything.
Xavier nodded, stepping closer to me. I half-expected his mouth to come toward mine, to engage in that kiss once more. Deep in my heart, in my stomach, I wanted it—I wanted so much more, as well.
But instead, he whispered in my ear. “Do you want me to take you home?”
I reared back for a moment, shocked at his words. He’d been such a president during much of dinner—with a loud voice, with a dominant personality. But this softer side forced me to nod my head, to lower my eyebrows, and to admit to myself that I very much wanted him to take me home. “Please,” I said, biting my lip once more.
He allowed me to accept his arm, and we walked out into the foyer, where we found the Secret Service men, including Dimitri. Dimitri looked at me with a vague, confused expression. He didn’t say anything, of course. Gosh, he’d been my friend for so many, many years. What would he think of me now?
“Gentlemen. I’m going to accompany Miss Martin back to her home. Dimitri, if you could drive us. I believe you know the way rather well,” Xavier announced, administering his president voice once more. I sniffed, lowering my eyes. I tried to become invisible—not a proud, dominant girl of the White House. Surely not her.
“Yes, sir,” Dimitri stated, his voice a bit harsh. I looked down at the ground, not wanting to see his assuredly shocked, angry expression. Sure, I’d known he liked me throughout all those years of friendship. I didn’t mean for it to be this way—for this start of a torrid affair hurt his feelings. It wasn’t meant to be like this.
Dimitri rushed to grab the car. Meanwhile, the other Secret Service men grabbed a few others, meaning to follow us, I suppose. Xavier and I stood together, my arm still through his. We casually sipped on wine and spoke of other things—not of the things we might do, in the back of that black, secret car. I wanted to smack myself, to allow myself to understand that this was all off-limits. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t do this. I would dance with him, hold his hand. I’d talk to him and play fantasies in my head. But no more.
Dimitri pulled up before the White House, allowing us to enter the back seat of the black vehicle. Xavier swept in after me, closing the door with an affirmative clunk. In the back, the intensity was heightened incredibly. Xavier’s face was inches from my own, and our lips were so close together, needing each other. I held my hand over his chest and I pressed my fingertips into his muscles, wanting to rip his clothes from his skin. Stop, I kept thinking. Stop wanting him.
Stop needing him.
Dimitri pulled up in front of the apartment building without my realizing that time had passed. Xavier turned toward me, his breath hot. “Do you want me to walk you up?” he whispered, his mouth so straight, so serious across his face.
I paused for a moment, my mind rushing. Perhaps this could be the only time? I nodded subtly, allowing it. I needed him so deep in me. My pussy called out for him, needing him. I wanted him to rip my clothes from me, to bang me into a wall. Anything, goddammit. Anything.
Xavier called up to Dimitri in the front seat. “Dimitri. Drive around the block for about an hour or so. Okay? I’ll call you when I need to be picked up.”
“Will do, sir. The others will come wait outside the door.”
“The others?” I asked Xavier then.
Xavier nodded. “I come with a slew of Secret Service every time I leave the White House. You’ll get used to it.”
What did he mean I would get used to it? I wasn’t sure I would. I panicked at the thought of even one person knowing about this, let alone many. But I stepped out of the vehicle anyway and found myself walking into my apartment building with the president’s arm around my lower back. My need for him overtook anything else. I couldn’t think anymore.
I rustled the key from my pocket and stuffed it into the door knob, pushing it open. Xavier darted in after me, closing it behind us. He gazed around my apartment, tapping his tongue against the top of his mouth. “Not bad, Miss Martin. Not bad.”
I stood at the doorway, trying to right my emotions and my inner self. I was in there somewhere. All my hopes and dreams had to overtake my sexual drive! I knew that I was being unruly—that my feelings for this man couldn’t come to fruition. Sure, he was the most attractive man I’d ever seen. His power was outrageous, and the way he kissed me made me swoon.
But I couldn’t allow it to continue. I cleared my throat. “Do you want some wine?” I asked him. I would change the conversation; perhaps I could ask him about his wife again.
He spun around and nodded. “I’d love some.” Thankfully, he kept his distance, standing over by the bookcase. “You have some great books in here.” He brought his hands into his pockets. I imagined them all over my body, rubbing at me. Forcing me to come to orgasm.
I nodded, pouring the glasses. “If only I had time to read them, you know.”
“Oh, I know. I’m saving all the reading for after the presidency.”
I didn’t want to tell him that if we were caught doing this—even just drinking in this apartment like friends—he wouldn’t make the next election. He would be on his back, reading paperbacks until the day he died. He would be known as another president who had a sordid affair with a White House employee, thus ruining both his career and hers.
Mine.
“Me, too. After my presidency, of course,” I said, clinking my glass with his. I winked at him. “Cheers.”
His eyes flitted over me, over my breasts, over my waist. He shook his head, as if he couldn’t comprehend something.
“What is it?” I asked him, genuinely curious. I felt like I was on display, suddenly.
“I just—I can’t believe you exist.”
I tapped the glass on the table before me, and crossed my arms, my mind rushing. “We can’t, Xavier,” I whispered. “We can’t.”