Chapter 4
Can’t stop
Present Day
“Ihate how much I want you.”
A hard body presses into mine from behind. The anger in the voice should make me want to run, but I can’t, and never could where this man is concerned. I want him more now than ever.
I just had a meeting with Grace, the First Lady. She’s adorably pregnant, and everything she wears goes flying off the shelves hours later. Most recently, a pair of maternity skinny jeans and a blouse from Target, of all places. She’s since had to trade in her signature Louboutins for a pair of eco-friendly Rothy’s flats, but she digs them, and so do shoppers everywhere.
I was walking through the offices when a firm hand grabbed me by my upper arm and pulled me into a dark office. He pressed my front against the dark wall and growled in my ear, “I hate how much I want you.”
“I know,” I tell him as I press my thighs together. I’m wet and wanting, and we both know it. I shouldn’t want him, but I do, and I probably always will.
“I can’t see you walk the halls and not feel my cock get hard,” he growls.
“I know,” I whisper, feeling his hardness press against the small of my back.
“I hate that I need you so much.” He skates his hands up the back of my thighs, bringing the hem of my skirt with him. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me like I want you.”
“I want you,” I whine as he pulls my panties aside, and I feel his fingertips brush against my opening. There is no denying how wet I am for him.
“That’s my girl,” he praises, but I’m not his girl, and I never will be again. I hear the clank of his belt buckle as he undoes the front of his pants and the tear of the foil packet as he protects himself. It’s another tragic reminder I can’t be trusted to bear his offspring.
I feel the tip of his cock against my pussy, and I arch my hips back to meet him as he thrusts deep inside. I press the palms of my hands flat against the wall and brace against the sting as my body stretches to accommodate him. I bite my lip to keep from calling out and revel in the low groan Rick lets out as it rumbles up my spine.
He places his hands over mine, holding me against the wall as he begins to move. The push and pull of his body in mine has the air seizing in my lungs. Gone is all semblance of tender emotions; there is no room for them here as Rick fucks me against a wall in a dark office in the White House.
I shouldn’t let him. I shouldn’t be here at all, with him, but where Rick is concerned, I’m weak. I’ll take any scraps he can throw me, even when I know I shouldn’t. I should walk away like I did nine years ago. It was better for everyone then, but now I can’t stop wanting him.
“I want to hate you,” he says, his mouth just barely touching the shell of my ear as he drives deep only to pull back and do it again and again. “Fuck. I want to hate you so much.”
“I know,” I repeat, my nails scraping against the wall as he pushes me closer and closer.
“But I can’t.”
“I know.”
“Make me,” he pleads as he plunges faster and faster. “Make me hate you, so I don’t want you so much.”
“I can’t!” I cry out. I tip my head forward so my face presses against the wall.
His movements become wilder as he loses his tight grip on his control. Each plunge and pull of his cock take me closer and closer to the edge. Just when I think I won’t be able to stop the scream that’s building with my climax, burning so far out of control that I can’t silence it, Rick clamps his palm over my mouth, muffling me as I come.
He drives deep once… twice… before pulling out as he comes.
The loss of him, his cock, his nearness, all serve to sever any connection we made, not matter how fleeting or how toxic. This is clearly a lesson in not having what you want. I want Rick and can’t have him. He wants answers I can’t give. And somewhere in the middle, we’re both left with nothing but wanting what can never be.
I keep my face pressed to the wall, unable to look at him as he slips off the condom and ties it in a knot before tossing it in a wastebasket in the corner. I hear the snick of his zipper as he does up his pants, and then he walks away.
But like I said, I’m weak, so I turn my head, my cheek still pressed against the wall and the back of my skirt tucked up over my hips. All while I watch his back as he walks away from me. That is, until he stops at the door just before he pulls it open, his hand on the doorknob. But he doesn’t turn back to face me while he speaks, even as he shatters both my heart and his to pieces.
“I hate how much I want you, and I want to hate you. And I can’t seem to stop doing either.”
And then he’s gone.
