Mr. President

She talks tough, but I can see that I'm having an affect on her, no matter what she says. Still, her walls are clearly up, but I know that I can get around them.

"How far are we from the restaurant?" she asks.

"We've only been on this ride for a few minutes; are you that desperate to get off?" I say with a wink.

"Very funny," she says, trying to act annoyed with the double entendre, but I can tell she found it amusing.

"We should be there soon," I smile. "I hope you're hungry."

"Downright ravenous," she grins.

"What's your favorite food?" I ask. "While we're here, I might as well find out as much about you as I can. You're my fiancée, after all."

"Fake fiancée,” she corrects me, and I realize now that's the second time I've been corrected for saying that.

She continues, "But if you must know … I'm a big fan of sausage."

"Is that so?" I say, smiling. "What kind?"

Then she lowers her voice into a purr and bats her eyes. "The longer the better."

"How long?" I ask, leaning in closer to her.

"Preferably anything 12-inches … or more," she replies with a devilish grin. "I can eat quite a bit … when I'm hungry."

As she says this my fucking cock starts twitching in my pants. It literally has a pulse of its own now.

I reach over and finger the delicate gold necklace draped around her neck. "This is beautiful," I say. "But it could be better, you know."

"How so?" she asks, grinning and enjoying this game.

"I think you'd look much better in a pearl necklace … if I'm being honest."

"And I think you'd look better if we loosened your tie … just a bit," she grins, sliding her small, manicured hand up my chest and resting it on the silk knot of my tie. She gives the knot a gentle tug, ever so slightly, and I can't help but feel my pulse quicken under her touch.

Just as the limo pulls up to Marcel's, I turn to Ashley and ask, "Why are you so cynical?"

But just then, the door opens and we are ushered out of the car, greeted by a mob of photographers. Flashbulbs are going off in every direction, and it's disorienting.

Realizing that we are now under extreme scrutiny, I turn to Ashley and give her a kiss.

She kisses me back, and then whispers in my ear, "This is why I'm so cynical."

Instead of responding, I smile because no matter what, I intend to make her a believer. One way or another.

Over dinner, we discuss everything, from the state of the country, to my campaign, and even why I want to be president. We leave no stone unturned. And despite myself, I find that I'm opening up to Ashley, just a little bit.

I wouldn't say that I trust her completely—but it's apparent that we see eye-to-eye on a lot of things.

"And what about your business?" I ask.

At first she seems uncomfortable that the conversation has shifted to her. Then she says, "I'm only exposing people for who they really are. You can think of it as my much smaller way of 'clearing the cave.'"

I smile at the reference, and I feel my respect for Ashley grow. She seems to be opening up a little more as well.

And while I'm getting to know Ashley Draper, I can't help but notice how stunning she looks. Her gold, diamond earrings keep catching the light of the restaurant, and glittering like stars, just out of reach.

I can't take my eyes off of that dark, cavernous trail of her cleavage, or the curves of her ass peaking out from under her dress.