Keeping my legs draped over his shoulders, he drives in deeper.

“Like that,” he rasps.

He fills me as if he doesn’t plan to leave. As if he belongs inside me. As if my body was made to fit every inch of his. He groans when he’s fully embedded, and I clench my legs around his shoulders, wanting more, wanting everything, my muscles gripping his hot length every time he drives in and even more so when he’s pulling out.

“How right you squeeze me,” he purrs, licking my lips. “Make room for me, Mrs. Hamilton. Take all of me.”

“Yes,” I pant. “I’m all yours.”

I cry out in pleasure and Matt watches me, making me come, letting me come, watching me with desirous eyes and a wolfish smile on his face—as if he couldn’t relish anything more than having me lose control.

He comes with me with a roar, his mouth capturing mine for a wild kiss as we climax together.

For the next minute, we lie tangled, our bodies naked and damp from making love. Matt goes to the restroom and returns with a tissue, running it between my legs. He cleans me, disposes of the tissue, then comes back to bed and looks at me as he stretches out beside me. There’s no hiding the blatant heat in his gaze as he takes me in. He curls his palm around the back of my head, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Can you take me again?” he asks, his voice gruff as he nuzzles my face with his and caresses my side.

He finds the tight pearl of my clit and starts rubbing as he kisses me.

“Can you take more, Charlotte?” he asks, switching his fingers on my clit from his index finger to his thumb—his index finger penetrating me.

I arch up and catch my lower lip to stop a sound of pleasure from leaving me. His scent drugs me, makes me dizzy with want. His finger exits and he rubs my clit again, getting my juices all over me. I start thrusting my hips up to his hand, desperate for more. He eases his finger back in, then out, once again rubbing my clit. I’m thrashing, tossing my head, fisting the sheets at my side, undone by the way he touches me.

“I want you,” I breathe.

He doesn’t make me wait for long.

He groans and squeezes my breasts, licking the tips, sucking them. I arch up to his hot mouth and clutch him by the back of the head, fistfuls of his hair between my fingers as I press him to my mouth and Matt fills me again, as deep as he can go, deep enough that I feel my soul leave me as I shatter for him.

The living room has a fireplace, and in the middle of the night, Matt gets it going.

Soon there’s a warm fire crackling.

He smiles and strokes his hand down my back, exhaling contentedly as we lie on the couch after another round of delicious sexual intercourse.

“So many nights I wished I could . . . feel you hold my hand”—I lift his hand and set my own against it—“and look at you without fear of everyone seeing what was written in my eyes.”

He holds me by the back of the head, his cock stiffening beneath my lap at my words, kissing me with his long, wet, roving tongue.

“Now . . . you’re my husband.”

He looks at me. “I love you.”

He takes my hand and licks my ring finger, from root to tip. Mmm. This man is going to be the death of me. I remember him doing that the day he told me little Matt was visiting the White House, and suddenly . . . light bulb moment!

“This is how you measured my ring? With your mouth? Mr. President, I’m shocked!”

He smirks. “You will be pleased to know there are other things I can do with my mouth.” He expertly eases me out of his white button-down shirt (which I slipped into to lounge around in) and nibbles on my bare shoulder.

“Oh, I bet. You’re very adept during press conferences.”

“My mouth is even more adept at finding warm, sweet locations to suck and taste.” He slips one hand under the blanket and caresses the skin of my stomach, then tugs the blanket downward and ducks his head to kiss one of my nipples.

I giggle.

He lifts his head. “You’re cute.” He smiles, his eyes so gorgeous I have trouble breathing.

“I wonder what the country would think of your fetish with the letter C,” I tease.

“That I’m commander in chief. And am allowed to enjoy any fetish,” he says thickly, “that involves my wife.”

I grin. “Your father, if he could see you now. His only son, the president, and doing a damn fine job.”

“He’d be just as happy knowing I’m settling down.”

“With me?”

“No, with Jack.” Matt just grins and runs his thumb along my jaw. “With you,” he says, his voice raspy now.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“He’d approve of me? Good pedigree? Daughter of a senator?”

“My father had great respect for your family—but you charmed him. And there’s no word for what you did to me.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m just getting started charming you, Mr. President.”

“Are you now?” He smiles, then frowns as he looks at me. “Did you tell whatshisname you’re taken?”

“He doesn’t need to be told. He knows all bets are off. He didn’t stand a chance against you ever since I started campaigning for you. Nobody does—did. Even before.” I raise a brow. “Did you tell all your groupie fangirls? Even the staffers have a crush on you the size no other president has ever enjoyed.”

“I’m taken. I’ve got a ring right here to prove it.” He taps his wedding ring with his thumb.

“So I heard through the grapevine . . .” I begin.