Part 6 (2/2)

He stills, lips quirked.

I lean my head and press my lips to his. A thousand shots of lightning course through my veins when he parts his mouth. I lick into him, and his hands slide down the small of my back, grinding me to his hard c.o.c.k as he plunges his wet tongue into my mouth. He holds my a.s.s in both hands, and his touch sets the b.u.t.terflies off in my stomach. Memories of us threaten to drown me-every moment, every kiss.

I link my hands behind his neck, and though Matt isn't moving, I feel his power, his hold on me and my heart.

”Thank you for my gloves,” I say, breathless, as I ease back.

He smiles, s.h.i.+fting forward as I get up on trembling feet, his mouth red, his hair mussed. ”You're welcome. Thank you for putting in all that effort for our dinner.”

”I enjoyed it.” I exhale. ”I'd better go. We both need to be ready for tomorrow.”

He just smiles, watching me in silence as I leave.

The French president is holding a state dinner in Matt's honor, and all the arrangements to my schedule were automatically made to be sure I could accompany him.

I'm excited, nervous, and still aroused from that silly little kiss.

So excited and aroused that I just can't sleep. I know that Matt doesn't sleep, because the door to his bedroom never shuts all night.

8.

AIR FORCE ONE.

Charlotte The last time I crossed the Atlantic, it was to try to put distance between us. Today I'm crossing it by his side. We board Marine One on the South Lawn of the White House. The motorcade creates too much traffic for people's everyday commute.

Soon we reach the airport and are escorted to the long, open steps leading up to Air Force One, the American flag proudly on its tail.

The president motions me to go ahead, and my heart is pounding as I walk onto the biggest private plane I've ever beheld. It's beyond luxurious, tastefully decorated in beige tones and dark woods.

I wander down the hall and peer into the rooms and separate seating areas.

I can't believe we're on Air Force One. I'm sort of embarra.s.sed by how blown away I feel and how calm everyone else seems as Matthew's staff heads to the main seating area. I try to keep a grip as I walk down the plane aisle when I notice Matt two steps behind me. He's wearing a navy-blue bomber jacket with the presidential seal and I want to rip it off him.

”Big change from our days campaigning, huh?” I whisper, eyeing everything with admiration, gasping when the rooms continue. ”Oh G.o.d, it's like a hotel in the air, conference room, office . . .” I add. I open one door and gasp again. ”Bedroom?” I ask him over my shoulder.

”Yep.”

I walk in to see, and then I hear the door shut behind us.

I whirl around, and Matt is shrugging off his jacket.

I open my mouth but no words come out. The only things working really are my s.e.xy parts, the flood of liquid heat between my thighs, the hard beads of my nipples pressing against the soft cashmere of my sweater and the lace of my bra.

Matt sees.

He sees-my pointed nipples, poking in salute, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s feeling sensitive, my cheeks flus.h.i.+ng as I start to pant.

”I've got to get some work done. But nothing will get done until I do this.”

The whispers trigger a tremor down my spine as he approaches.

Matt tugs his b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt from the waistband of his slacks, and takes my hands and slides them up his chest. Then he steals his own under my cashmere sweater, pulling me flush to him-our fingers touching each other's bare skin. His eyes a whole world of fire.

”Your enthusiasm for all this affects me deeply, baby,” he rasps, rubbing his thumb over my lower lip.

I moan in antic.i.p.ation as he leans down and sets a kiss on my forehead. ”I know we said slow. So I'm going to kiss you. Very, very slow. Because when you ooh and ahh all over Air Force One, and all over elysee Palace when we arrive, I want you to have my taste in your mouth, and I want every ooh and ahh to taste like me,” he rasps, and his lips slide, ever so slowly, torturously slowly, down my nose. My breath catches, and Matt inhales deeply, as if breathing me in, prolonging my torture and his own, before he whispers, ”Now kiss me back, C, like you mean it. Like you miss me,” as he presses his lips directly to my mouth.

I shudder at the contact, parting my mouth. Flicking my tongue out. Pressing closer to him. His groan is about as drugging as his kiss.

And his kiss.

It's not just drugging. It's soul-shattering, chest-imploding. Wet and hard. My hands are on his shoulders. His arm is sliding around my waist, pressing our upper halves flush. Our lips are fusing, moving, Matt's so strong and hungry.

He runs his tongue around mine, then suckles me into his mouth.

We kiss for what feels like forever and at the same time, not long enough. We ease apart, but Matt remains too close, intently looking down at me. I run my tongue over my lips, and they feel swollen and sensitive because of his kiss.

His gaze is hot, and G.o.d how I miss him.

Matt is gazing at me with eyes that look very dark.

He clenches his jaw. He uses his thumb to rub my lower lip and part it from the top.

I meet him halfway; I reach up and grab his hair, parting my mouth and flicking my tongue out.

I sink a little into his body, into his kiss.

He holds my face in one hand until he tears his lips away, glancing at my mouth. ”If I don't stop now, everyone will know you've been kissed senseless.”

He looks at my kissed lips with male pride and not one bit of apology.

I swallow, out of breath.

He slips his hand up my back, under my sweater, touching my bare skin.

I moan and leave my hands on his shoulders for a bit.

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