“Matt . . .”

“Hey.” He takes my chin, sober now. “Don’t think about it. We’re being careful.”

I close my eyes.

Rolling to his back, he exhales and stares at the ceiling. “When this whole campaign started, I had no idea.” He looks at me. “No idea about you, C.”

“C? Do you want me to call you M?”

“No, but I look forward to having a major hard-on the day you call me Mr. President . . .” He rolls back to his side and touches between my legs and I really can’t complain anymore.

“God, Matt . . .”

“I’m a man. I’m flesh and blood. And I want you. Have you been sent here to torture me? Sent by Jacobs or Gordon to ruin me?”

“You’re the one who’s got it in his head to be torturing me. Making me travel with you, always so close to you. What do you think it does to me? It makes my job difficult.”

“But it’s not just about me, Charlotte.” He glances at the window. “That—from the moment I decided this is what I want to do above all else. It’s not just about me.” He cups my face, some silent torture in his eyes even as he moves his finger inside me.

“I know.” I swallow, and my cheek burns under his warm palm as my hips rock involuntarily. “So take your hand away. The more I stay here, the more dangerous it becomes.”

He moves his other hand to the back of my neck, whispering as he rubs his thumb over my clit, “I will, after you kiss me. Tonight is about you.”

I close my eyes, raising my head. His breath bathes my lips. “You make me want to be the best version of myself I can ever be.” He licks my lips.

I kiss his mouth. I kiss his mouth and then roll him over and drag myself down his length. Lower. And lower. Kissing a path down the line of silky dark hair that travels down his chest, the smooth skin above his navel, and then down to the thickening mat of hair that leads to his cock. I take him in my hands. Full. Thick. The crown of his cock swollen to the max and dripping with desire for me.

I lick the drop.

Matt is watching me, a predatory look in his eyes as he cups the back of my head and tugs me closer—closer to his cock, until I grip the base with my hands and take him into my mouth.

36

MORNING

Charlotte

I slip into a comfortable gray sweatshirt that belongs to Matt as we have coffee very early the next morning. I’m curled up on the couch while Matt stands by the window, one hand holding his coffee as he stares thoughtfully outside. He wears only pants, and I can see a streak of nail marks down the back of muscled arms.

Did I do that?

“Are we still set to leave for the last campaign stretch on Monday?” I hear myself ask.

He turns to me then, his expression thoughtful. “All set.” He pauses, his voice gruffer. “Do you realize how difficult it is to give the last of the campaign my all when I know that if I win, I lose you?”

“You’d run again. If you lost.”

He clenches his jaw.

I quickly blink back the tears and strengthen my voice.

“Matt, I was on the sidelines for months, looking at a thousand and one strangers, and I realize we all have something in common. You. You’re like a part of this country’s history. You represent a painful moment, and the strength to go on and thrive. You inspire people just by being who you are. Matt.”

I walk over to him, and he sets his coffee mug aside. He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, kissing my fingertips. “In so many ways I ran for you.”

“What?” I laugh incredulously.

“Thinking you and people like you are out there. Deserving more.”

“Then give us more.”

His gaze slides to the window, face etched with thought. “How much more is enough? How many monsters will need to be slayed? How many dissident voices will need to be quieted?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll figure it out along the way.”

Matt clenches his jaw and lowers our hands, squeezing my fingers.

“Matt, if anyone is worthy of anything, it’s you. If anyone is worthy of leading our country, it’s you. Who do you want it to be? Thompson? Jacobs?”

“God, no, fuck, no.”

He turns to me, and I meet his gaze head-on, knowing this is goodbye. Knowing this is the last morning I let myself wake with him, and seeing in his eyes that he knows it too—even if he doesn’t like it.

I inhale shakily. “You’re two points away from the lead. Go out there and get it, Matt. Because you know what? I won’t be helping you next year.” I scowl then and push at his chest as if he’d bullied me into saying it.

He laughs then, grabbing my wrist and drawing me against the flat planes of his chest as he looks at me. “What’ll you be doing then? Next year?”

He watches his hand as he strokes his fingertips along my cheek, making me breathless. I swallow. “In a year? I’ll be living the American dream, because you’ll be my president.”

He clenches his jaw and whispers, “Come here,” wrapping both his arms tightly around me as he lowers his head.

“You cannot kiss me again, not anymore,” I halfheartedly protest.

But as I speak I go up on tiptoes and let him kiss me, slow, a goodbye kiss. I tremble when I think of it being the last time I feel his lips on mine.

“Are you crying?” His voice is a murmur.

I blink back the tears proudly, but he’s faster than I am and wipes them away.

“Charlotte . . .” His voice seems both surprised and protective. His eyes darken as he looks at me and he strokes a hand down the back of my head. “Fuck me, this isn’t goodbye. I could lose. I could fucking lose.”

“No!” I take a step back, putting some distance between us. “Matt, I want you to win this presidency.”

Determination flashes across his features. He fists his fingers into his palms, then growls, “And I want to win this presidency, Charlotte.”

I nod then, in this moment, both of us coming to an understanding. We both worked each other out of our systems for the last time. It’s over with. Done with.

So I step into his embrace and we just hug. Knowing this is goodbye. Not a goodbye as in me leaving the campaign again. But goodbye to . . . what could have been.

Politics aren’t simple, they are messy; there is always deceit and something lurking underneath. This time it is the fact that I love him, and I think he might have, in another time or place, come to love me, but you cannot do two things at once . . .