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Fuck, what a way to blow it. Twenty-four hours ago, I wondered how I was going to behave myself around Brennan, now that I’d acknowledged and absorbed the truth of my head-over-heels fall for the man. How many minutes has it been since I stepped off the elevator?
The definition of behave doesn’t include pressing the president against the fridge and kissing him.
Brennan is breathing hard, fingers locked in the fabric of my polo. What is he thinking? God, he’s really shaking. His tremors run right through me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Brennan, I’m sorry.” I’ve fucked up, bad.
A groan, and then his arms snake around my neck. I’m taller by an inch, but right now, it seems like an important inch as he pulls me down and slams our lips together again. It’s unexpected—him, kissing me?—and I have no explanation or rationalization for this sudden change. I’m boneless in his arms, stunned as his lips move over mine, as he draws me close, as one of his legs twines around the back of my thigh.
My mind ricochets, snapping between speed and stillness. Moments hang and then blur, and I’m dizzy, trying to keep up.
Brennan’s tongue tangles with mine. He growls and sucks my lip into his mouth, nibbles on my skin. Someone—me—cries out. My head falls back, and his teeth scrape along my neck, bite down on the angle of my jaw.
This time, I’m the one being backed up, until I hit the kitchen island with a grunt. Brennan’s touch is everywhere, hands gliding over my arms, across my shoulders, down my chest, over my waist and to my belt—
A tug, and a pull, and then my belt is undone and Brennan Walker, the president of the United States, is on his knees in front of me, pulling my pants and boxers down.
“Bordel de merde.” What do I grab? The granite behind me or Brennan? Do I stop this or go for it? Half a second ago, I would have sworn on the Bible that my fantasies were nothing but ridiculous imaginings. But, fuck, here he is, looking at my swollen cock like it’s the one thing he wants most. Not world peace, but to get his lips around me and suck me to the bone.
Brennan nuzzles my belly. Exhales, and closes his eyes. Naked desire bolts across his face. His hands are shaking as they grip my thighs.
He buries his face in my crotch and licks, one long, slow glide of his tongue that ends with his eyes looking up and into mine.
“Merde…” I can’t look away. My hands are going to crush this granite countertop.
Heat. Suction. Brennan’s mouth around me, going down, down, all the way down. Jesus, he’s done this before. He’s really fucking good at it, too.
I keen, one leg locking, the other collapsing, and only my grasp on the counter keeps me standing. Everything is quaking—my arms, my legs, my mind. My muscles clench and release, fighting a primal need to buck, to chase this glory, to thrust into Brennan’s mouth over and over and over—
He’s in control, though, and he’s got me wrapped around his fingers. He runs his tongue up my underside, swirls it around my head. Hollows his cheeks and hums, his gaze locked on mine on every deep dive. He sucks until my eyes roll back, until I forget to breathe, until I’m gasping and groaning.
“Brennan— Mon Dieu— Merde, mon cher—"
His eyes flare. Black lightning crashes. His fingernails dig into my thighs, his cheeks hollow, and he sucks me all the way down, his lips and his nose buried in the tangle of my pubes.
I tear my hands from the counter and sink my fingers into his hair—the president’s hair—as I try to smother my roar.
Don’t trouble the president.The rule flashes a moment before my orgasm hits, and I frantically try to pull him off, my fevered brain firing impossible thoughts like, Don’t make the president swallow your come.
But he wants it, apparently, because he fights my hand from pushing him back and tangles our fingers together.
Looks me in the eye.
I come apart with his name on my lips. We stare at each other through the whole thing, as I tremble and shiver, as he swallows, and then I fall to my knees in front of him and press an open-mouthed, panting kiss to the side of his face.
He’s quiet and still, like the hesitating air in front of a storm. He lifts his hand to wipe his mouth. When I lean back, he draws away, collapsing like he’s folding himself into origami. A minute later, he drops his head into his palms.
I need to speak, to say something, but he’s sucked my brain into another dimension. There’s a cataclysm happening, dreams and truths colliding. I kissed Brennan Walker. Brennan Walker kissed me. Brennan Walker—
Realizations are rattling inside me, but what’s happening inside him? Those were not the fumbles of an inexperienced man. Brennan Walker is a man of secrets, and, months ago, I wanted to dig them up, unearth each from the ground and inspect the building blocks of his soul. Here’s a secret I didn’t expect to find, but, mon Dieu.
I look at him—
The delirious joy I’m wandering in isn’t what Brennan seems to be feeling right now. Regret is a sinkhole opening within him.
I tuck myself back into my cargo pants and then slide across the floor. I wrap my arms around him, my hands gliding up his back, fingers dancing over the knobs of his spine. My knees are outside his, and every inhale he takes brings his chest against mine. I nuzzle him until we’re forehead to forehead, nose to nose, lip to lip, and then cradle his cheek in my hand again, a mirror of our first kiss.
“Hey,” I whisper.
