Billionaire Baby Daddy

He nodded, laughing. “This is it. And I have a very special movie for us to watch today.”

My eyes brightened. I realized this was a date—a spontaneous date in the middle of the day, for the two of us to laugh, to cuddle, to eat. I needed this time of relaxation with him—to root myself in why I liked him once more. “What is it?” I whispered.

“Well. It goes with the theme of the food, of course,” he stated.

He led me to the large, luxurious movie theater chair and allowed me to lean back into it, holding my arms on the armrests. I sighed and closed my eyes, smelling years and years of presidential popcorn emanating from the seat. “This is beautiful,” I murmured.

He clapped his hand then, and all of a sudden the large wall to our right opened to reveal two waiters. One of them held a great big pot of steaming cheese, while the other held a large pot filled with breads, vegetables, and meats. I clapped my hand over my mouth and jumped up and down in my chair. “Fondue!?” I asked him. And he nodded ravenously, rubbing his hands together.

He leaned toward me and kissed my cheek as the server came toward us and poured us two glasses of wine. “I want this day to be special for you. I’ve sensed you’ve been a little bit—stressed out lately.” He shrugged. “Probably with the campaign and everything?”

I thought for a moment, remembering Jason’s lewd face, the way he’d looked at me with that dark expression. I wanted to tell Xavier in that moment. But I didn’t want to ruin it.

I began dipping the bread and vegetables in the cheese. I lifted a piece of bread toward Xavier’s mouth, and he chewed it gladly, closing his eyes. “God, that’s good,” he murmured, licking his lips slightly.

And it was. The cheese sort of molded over my mouth in this initial creamy, gooey texture. The cheese was stinky—French. Which linked so well with our movie.

“An American in Paris,” Xavier declared as the movie began—that old, 1940s classic. My mouth opened, and I started laughing, cackling a bit like a young girl. I couldn’t believe this was my life.

“They probably watched this movie in this very theater, all those years ago!” I whispered to him, turning toward him. My eyes were big. “Thank you, Xavier. This is the most beautiful day.”

“You make me very happy, Amanda,” he whispered then. “I want you to know that.”

The movie took off from there, and I leaned onto Xavier’s shoulder, getting caught in the magic of that faraway day. I imagined us, briefly, as husband and wife—traveling through Paris, through Rome. I imagined us gazing off into our future together, creating a life together that we made up as we went along. It was beautiful, so freeing from this stance at the White House. Constriction was everything here.

Suddenly, I felt Xavier’s arm around my shoulder. He leaned down to me and whispered in my ear. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

Confused, I furrowed my eyebrows and followed him toward the side room of the theater. An American in Paris continued his twirl, one twirl after another beneath the Eiffel Tower. The magic of it made my skin glow.

Xavier stopped before a long, blank wall. It was conspicuous, since so many walls in the White House were adorned with decorations. “What is it?” I whispered to him.

And he reached up then, and grabbed a small latch. He tugged at it slightly, allowing his muscles to tighten. And then, he pulled an entire bed from the wall.

My jaw dropped. He controlled it steadily, allowing the massive, king-sized bed to fall to the floor. It was made perfectly, with these silky, gleaming sheets. I sighed and laid on it, nearly on accident. “Wow,” I breathed. “What is this magical place?”

And he laid down next to me, stroking my face with his fingers. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. His eyes looked so lazy, so sexual. I leaned toward him and caught his lips with mine, instantly making my pussy so wet, wanting him so bad.

He pushed me on my back on the mattress then. He began to unbutton my dress, one, two, three, four—all the zippers. My breasts bobbed from my bra and he caught his mouth around the nipple, tapping his tongue against it. He tugged my tights from my legs, leaving me completely naked on the bed before him, even as he continued to stand in his perfect, presidential suit.

“Stand up,” he whispered.

And I did. I stood up on the bed as he stood beside it. He brought his hands around and caught my ass with his fingers. He tugged my pussy toward him and stuck his tongue inside it and then on my clit, pumping it against me and making my back arch, forcing my breasts to the sky. I called out, and grabbed his hair. And still, he wouldn’t stop. He put me through so many levels of pleasure, of play. Right when I was about to come, he pushed me back on the mattress. I grabbed my pussy with my hand and fingered myself roughly, with such sexuality, feeling my juices flowing as he undressed himself.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he said then. I allowed him to enter me from behind, and I wrapped my hands backwards, around his neck as he fucked me this way. I called out, imagining that the entire White House could hear us fucking, could hear this wall bed slamming around.

His dick was so wide, so hard, and it penetrated me precisely, creating unbelievable pressure. I sighed and allowed his hands to wrap around my breasts, squeezing the nipples so hard. My screams came in small spurts now. My mind was a rolling mess of ecstasy.

Then, he pulled himself away from me. I placed his dick in my mouth—rest for him, rest for me. And I rubbed my tongue against the babylike skin, loving the way his face changed as I blew him. I allowed him to rub my clit as I did it, and with every lick, I let out a long, high squeal. This man, this man was everything.

He caught his hands around my cheeks and watched me do it for a moment, watched the way my soft mouth held his wide dick. “God, baby. This is too good,” he murmured. “God, this is good.” His words were simple and his face was so youthful, so pure.

I fell back on the bed then—on my back. I opened my legs wide, showing him my pussy—so deep, pulsing before him. And he clambered over me, sticking his dick so deep inside of me, I could feel the physical passion of it deep in my spine. My nails inverted themselves into his back, and I called toward the ceiling. I felt tears fall from my eyes. I felt like the world was ending, but it was all happening at once.

He fucked me like this for a moment, allowing his eyes to penetrate mine. We were on the precise same wavelength in that moment; we were the only two people who had ever existed on the earth. Certainly, he’d never felt this with his wife. Certainly, I’d never felt this with any other person. My thoughts were nowhere else. They couldn’t belong to anyone else. They were solely rooted in his body, in his mind.

He jolted into me over and over. He grabbed my tits and he whispered in my ear, “Baby. I’m going to come.”

And I wanted him to. I felt his dick pulsing in me, like it was the end of something. I clutched his shoulders and told him it was okay. That this was his only chance. And he shoved himself in me with one voluminous crank.