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ChapterSixteen
Reese
Then
Ishould leave, but I don’t.
We end up sprawled on the sofa in the West Sitting Hall. We draw our hands through each other’s hair, run fingers up and down each other’s arms, and listen to the rain clap a steady drumbeat on the walls.
We lie on our sides in a space made for one. My arms cradle him, and we gaze into each other’s eyes until sleep overcomes us, like we can’t bear to let this night end.
I kiss him awake Saturday before dawn and whisper, “I have to go.” He holds my hands and kisses my fingers, then insists on making me coffee before I slip down to the basement and across the empty East Wing to my SUV.
Less than eight hours later, I’m back, climbing the stairs to the Residence. Into his arms. Into the secrets we’re building between us.
Saturday is a dream built of gray skies and huddling together on the Truman Balcony.
We can’t stop kissing. I don’t ever want to stop. I roll him beneath me as we share a chaise lounge, and I capture his lips with mine until it feels like time has stopped. His fingers dart in and out of the waistband of my jeans. He cups my ass, runs his hands beneath my shirt, and follows the line of my lats up to my shoulders until he’s nibbling on the tender skin along my ribs and the swell of my pec beneath my nipple.
We’re both hard, and we’ve been making out for an hour in the foggy afternoon. It’s like there’s nothing beyond us, no world peering in, no consequences for these stolen kisses and caresses. We can’t even see the Washington Monument or hear the burble of the fountain on the South Lawn. This afternoon and these caresses belong to us and us alone.
His whimper belongs to me, too, as does the way my name breaks apart on a gasp when I take his cock in my hand through his jeans.
His eyes are wide open and locked on mine. Last night, he gave me one of the all-time best blow jobs I’ve had in my life, but after that, things seemed too delicate. Ultimately, I came and he didn’t, and that’s an imbalance I need to rectify.
I pop the button on his fly and drag his zipper down.
Brennan moans. I swallow the sound with a kiss and then wrap my palm around the heat of his cock. It’s the first time I’ve held another man like this. He’s so hard his thighs are shaking, balls already tight and hot against his body.
“I’m close,” he breathes against my lips.
“Yeah?”
He nods, quick little jerks of his head as he spreads his legs, tries to arch up into my agonizingly slow strokes. “You, like this. It’s perfect. God, Reese—” His eyes clench, and a shudder tears through him.
He’s so fucking gorgeous I can’t stand it. I want to burn this image into the backs of my eyes so I can see him like this every moment. I’m aching, so hard and hot it feels like I’m going to break something. I’ve never been this gone, never been this wild, for anyone. Again, he undoes me, all the way to my quick.
He bites his lip as he comes, as wet heat spills over my hand.
I kiss him everywhere. His eyes, his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, the tip of his nose. He’s slow like honey, his kisses soft and open-mouthed as he pants against my hair. He’s got one hand fisted in the fabric of my shirt over the small of my back, one leg wrapped around my thigh, holding me to him. “Reese…”
“Mon cher.” I nuzzle the side of his face, kiss the corner of his mouth. “Mon Brennan.”
Time rolls on, but we remain outside of it. I am his, and he is mine, while we are locked in this fog that crawls over the balcony and separates us from the world.
* * *
Returningto the detail Monday morning is strange.
To the outside, nothing has changed, but inside, everything has. My synapses are firing in all new directions, and every one points to Brennan.
I told Henry that Brennan and I would be running together when we returned to the White House, and that’s exactly what we do. Henry meets me on the Oval Office patio at six a.m., sipping his coffee and eyeballing me.
Does it show? Can he tell I spent the weekend cuddled up with Brennan? Is there something that screams I kissed a man for the first time?
Or does he know I’ve been at the White House since four thirty a.m.?
There’s a twenty-four-hour café out by Andrews that makes decent beignets, and I made the predawn run there and back so I could slip into the Residence and wake Brennan with a powdered-sugar kiss.
