Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“I’ll be your wife,” I heave, my vision blurring with tears, a permanent notch forming in my breast. “I’ll be so much more than that.”
I catch the overflow of happiness and relief in his eyes a split second before he kisses me hard. “How much more could you possibly be?” he rasps, working me relentlessly against the lockers.
I bring his forehead down to mine, rubbing our wet mouths together. “I can be a woman who loves romance…and you give me that so well.” I lick us into a filthy kiss that makes him throb inside of me and I whisper against his panting lips, “But I’m also a good girl. I know when the president wants to fuck me like a little slut.” He sucks in a breath, his thickness jerking and growing even more between my thighs, his eyes flashing with something predatory. A side to him no one will ever see, except me. “Do it, Daddy.”
He upthrusts so deeply and with such naked hunger, my legs start to shake uncontrollably, his husky growls echoing in my ears for the rest of the day.
epilogue
. . .
Pierce
Four Years Later
I try not to make it obvious that I’m glancing at my watch, but I’ve been dressed in this Santa suit for hours and the damn thing is getting kind of itchy. A steady line of children has been filing through the crowded East Room at the official White House holiday party since 7 pm, eager to sit on “Santa’s” lap and tell me what they want for Christmas.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice thing do for the kids of my staffers, but I haven’t seen my own twin girls in a few days, as they’ve been in France on a diplomatic trip with Eloise, and I’m missing my family like hell. It was a long year campaigning for reelection, but thankfully I won a second term by an overwhelming majority.
Now, I want nothing more than to stop shaking hands and talking about myself and settle into a private Christmas with my girls.
Especially my wife. God, I miss my wife so much, I don’t even feel like myself.
“There are two more children eager to meet you, sir, then we’ll call it a night,” says Rodrick, one of the interns.
“Send them up,” I say, shielding a yawn with my forearm.
I’m expecting two strangers to approach me.
Instead, my three-year-old twins, Julie and Danielle, come bursting from behind one of several ten-foot Christmas trees lining the East Room, dressed in matching red dresses with big, white bows tying up their rich brown hair, so like their mother’s. They jump into my lap simultaneously and I scoop them up into my arms, the pressure in my throat catching me off guard. “Girls. My girls.” I hold them close, absorbing the sound of their laughter like the dry sponge I’ve become in the absence of my favorite three people. “When did you get back?”
“Today!” Julie shouts.
“Surprise!”
“I am surprised. You got me so good.”
They throw up their arms in an identical cheer.
“Dad,” Danielle whispers, pulling on my fake beard suspiciously. “Are you Santa Claus?”
“No,” I whisper back, trying to give them my undivided attention, even though my heart is fucking roaring in my chest, because if Julie and Danielle are here, so is their mother. My wife. I need to see her, so I can breathe normally again. “I’m the president. That’s all. Sometimes people pretend to be the real Santa Claus, because it’s fun to play dress-up. Like on Halloween, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Then let’s get you something to…” I completely lose my train of thought when a hushed murmur falls over the crowd and I know what it means. It means my wife has entered the room. And sure enough, there she is, parting reverent staffers like the Red Sea, glowing in a knee-length cream-colored dress that flares at the bottom, the neckline low and sexy, but tasteful, her hair up in some knot, pearl earrings shining quietly in her ears. Elegance personified.
In public, at least.
In private…
Well.
I swallow hard, knowing better than to think of my wife’s bedroom demeanor when I’m in a crowd of people. But as soon as we’re alone, it’s all I’m going to think about.
“Mama pretty,” Danielle says, smiling at me.
“Mama is the most beautiful woman in the world.” I scan the sea of adoring faces that watch Eloise McAlister pass, some people even wiping away tears. This is the reaction the first lady receives everywhere she goes, though it wasn’t like this at first. When we went public with our engagement, my approval rating dropped by twenty points, people upset with the power imbalance and the age difference, but Eloise in her earnest and effortless optimism quickly won them over. They were charmed by her staunch and uncompromising defense of me. Her pragmatism. Her grace. Her endless hard work to deploy more mental health resources throughout the fifty states.