“It’s very serious.”

He kisses my sex lips with a languorous, wet tongue. I buck, but he stills me with one hand on my hip bone. He eases his thumb over my clit and starts rubbing in circles as his tongue dips languidly inside me.

My clit is getting rolled in delicious little circles by the pad of his thumb, and I’m biting down on my lower lip to keep from moaning too loud.

My breath comes in a fast, choppy rhythm as Matt shifts back and strips his jeans with fast, powerful jerks of his hands—I see all of him, golden skin and muscles, and I salivate in silence.

He’s well delineated, athletically built and perfectly proportioned, and I want every inch of the guy. He rolls on a condom. He’s so big and thick, I lick my lips, screaming silently in anticipation.

“This is what you want, Charlotte.”

And then he pushes in.

He’s so thick and he moves fast, taking me by surprise with the delicious stretching sensation in my sex.

I go off.

“Oh god, Matt!”

My orgasm gains intensity, a curling, twisting, tightening rope, stretching from the tips of my toes to the tips of my fingers.

I groan one second, and the next, I’m experiencing the most intense, breathtaking, body-shaking, soul-shattering orgasm I’ve ever had in my life, caused by Matt’s thick cock inside me. I’m bucking beneath him, the pleasure almost agonizing, clutching onto his shoulders for dear life.

He grabs me by the hips and moves inside me, faster, deeper, and shouts as he releases.

He holds me against him as he comes, really hard, his cock jerking several times inside me, bringing me to a second orgasm.

Cursing under his breath, he continues rocking his hips as he brushes my hair back behind my face, prolonging the pleasure, gazing down at me until the convulsions in my body turn to tremors and then to lingering little shivers. Then he rolls to his back and brings me with him, brushing one stubborn wet tendril of red hair back again.

I’m panting against his neck. I’m sweaty; we both are.

I shut my eyes, not certain that just happened and not certain that I don’t desperately want it to happen again—even if it shouldn’t.

My body throbs from the way he just fucked me. My nipples feel sensitive.

I stroke my finger up his chest.

I’m curled against his side. My mouth is probably red. I love that his mouth is red from my kisses too, his hair is rumpled, and even in this state, he looks like he could take on the world.

And then I’m reminded that soon, he will.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand, wanting time to stand still. Wishing we could stay in this moment. For our lives to be different. Him just a guy. Me just a girl. The two of us just here, with no expectations from anyone but each other. No campaign. No media scrutiny. No guilt for knowing our actions affect not only us but those around us—the team. My parents. His mom . . . the country.

“Your mother isn’t thrilled that you’re running, is she?” I ask, stroking my finger up his chest as the tips of his fingers feather my back.

Matt peers into my face, looking puzzled and amused that I chose to ask him something about the campaign rather than what just happened. “How do you know?”

“She has avoided every event and isn’t speaking about it.”

He drags his hand over his face, then curls his arm behind him as he slides his hand under his pillow. “She worries.”

He tightens his other arm around me and I curl closer, craving his warmth.

Matt is staring at the ceiling, thoughtful. I know they’re close, he and his mother. And I really feel for his mother. Her husband was brutally killed. Matt is all she has; of course she’s concerned. But I can see Matt wouldn’t be a man to back down for anything. “Matt? When you told me about your biggest fear?” I pause for a moment. “Mine is to disappoint my parents. To fail to be whatever it is they wanted me to be, somebody great, responsible, respectable. Look at me now.” I groan.

He peers into my face, thoughtful. Just a bit concerned. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” He runs his fingertip down my nose. “America’s playboy and America’s sweetheart.”

I grin up at him, still breathless. “They may have thought you were just a gorgeous face, but they take you seriously now.”

“I take them seriously. And I take you seriously.” He strokes his hand down my face, his gaze so very warm and endearing. “I don’t want you hurt. This shouldn’t even be happening. I shouldn’t have my hands on you.” He strokes a path down my body with those hands, the most delicious hands. Then, he ducks his head and adds, “I definitely shouldn’t do this.” He cups my sex in his hand and grazes a kiss along my cheek.

I grab his jaw and pull him to my mouth, whispering, “Yes, you should.”

He shifts above me, all stealth and muscles. “I can’t get enough of you, beautiful. I just can’t get enough.”

He’s so hard he immediately rolls on a new condom.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he drives slowly in, as if I’m precious. Or as if he knows I’m a little sore.

He moves inside me. I groan and relish it, clawing my nails down his back.

I move beneath him. I know that it’s crazy, dangerous, terrible for both of us. And I know that it’s also exciting, inevitable, and nothing I could even contemplate denying myself.

I cannot deny myself him. If I want to stop crushing on him, even after eleven years, he will be the only antidote.

Linking my hands behind his thick neck, I raise my head and set my lips on him. I’m hungry, moaning as Matt grabs my face to hold me still and tongues me.

23

SHIFTS

Charlotte

When I arrive at campaign headquarters early Monday morning, I’m not entirely certain if I should be feeling dread,

anxiety,

uncertainty,

fear,

arousal,

bliss,

or plain just happiness.

All I know is that I can still feel him between my legs.

Visions of Saturday flutter in my mind throughout the day and serve as beautiful, fleeting reminders of a night I will never forget.

There is a visible shift, invisible to anyone other than Matt and me. Every time we lock gazes there’s a silent understanding that we now share something special.

Every time I hear the sound of his voice direct his staff or make campaign-related decisions, I remember it whispering dirty things in my ear, moaning my name, groaning in release. Multiple times.