Except this dream is too big for me to fail at. I want to be a great first lady; I want to be a great woman deserving of a great man. The man I love.

9

ÉLYSÉE PALACE

Charlotte

“Président Hamilton!”

We’re greeted by the French paparazzi piling outside Élysée Palace, and inside the gates and out on the steps, the President and First Lady of France await us with a grand welcome and give us a tour of the palace. I walk along the gardens with the first lady as the presidents head to do state business and talk about the mutual problems we’re facing—among them, ISIS. Once they’re finished, Matt meets me and an usher leads us to our bedroom before the state dinner they’re holding in his honor.

“President Hamilton, if you please, our grandest guest room.” The usher motions for Matt to step inside, and adds, “And First Lady,” nodding as he motions for me to follow Matthew, and then departs.

I feel the blood in my veins sizzle a little bit as the realization hits me.

Matt

Charlotte looks confused. She follows me inside and as soon as she walks in, I reach out with one arm and shut the door behind her.

“One room?” she asks.

“They don’t need to know the details of our arrangement.”

She scowls, possibly noticing how happy I am about this setup. I’m exhausted, but the thought of having her all to myself shoots pure adrenaline into my veins.

She changed on the plane. She’s wearing a prim ivory-colored skirt and jacket, and the gloves I sent. I peel the glove off her right hand, exposing her fingers, and lift them to my mouth. I take her middle finger between my lips and teeth. I taste her. Suck gently. Watching her eyes shutter and her breasts rise as her breath catches. “I want you. Tell me you want me. You want this.”

Her eyes glaze over.

“Tell me you miss this,” I press.

“I . . .”

I don’t let her find the words. Immediately I remove her other glove and lift her hand to my mouth. This time I drop a kiss in the center of her soft palm.

“You don’t miss any of it?” My voice is hoarse from my need. “Not even this?” I lick her palm, then kiss the inside of her wrist. Nibbling and tasting her skin.

Her eyelids become heavy. Her pupils dilate as she watches me drag my lips all along the sensitive skin on the inside of her arm. Against her skin, I whisper, “Maybe you just forgot. Maybe we need to figure out if you remember anything. Anything at all.”

I pluck open the top button of her jacket.

At this point she’s panting visibly. I like it.

Hell, I like it too much.

My own lungs feel constricted in my chest, and my cock is swelled to maximum capacity. One flick of her eyes in that direction makes her notice. And blush.

“I remember,” she says, swallowing thickly.

I undo the next two buttons and spread her jacket open. “What do you remember, Charlotte?” My voice has thickened. My own eyes feel heavy but I can’t take them away from her, from this girl—this woman, this lady. My first lady. “Do you remember this?” I ease my hand between her thighs, under her skirt, and caress her over her panties.

I find her wet for me—ready for me—and I feel my heartbeat accelerate. The need to feel her around me, to be inside her, make love to her, fuck this need inside of her simmers in my veins.

She swallows audibly.

I push up her skirt and look at her—swollen and wet, her panties tight over her sex, the fabric damp, and my eyes fucking hurt.

I lean over, my forehead touching hers, my eyes fixed on hers as I pull down her panties until they fall at her ankles. She steps away from them—closer to me. I insert one finger into her opening, seeking her depths. And god, she’s so snug. So wet she’s soaking me down to the base of my finger.

“Do you remember?” I press, doing nothing but touching her between her legs, watching her pant as I slide my finger in and almost out, deeper in and almost out. Her eyes drift shut as she fights this, fights me.

I use my free hand to undo the top buttons of the silk blouse she’s wearing under her jacket, part it open, and I duck my head. I coast my breath over the swell of her breast, the move designed to break her defenses, make her mine again. “Do you remember this?” I kiss the top swell of her breast.

She inhales and moves her hips to my finger. I move my mouth downward, to her nipple, and circle the tip with my tongue over the silk of her bra, marking the spot wetly. I suck her into my mouth then, fabric and all, and find her nub with my thumb. I circle it, watching the pleasure take her over—and I’m high on it. I’m high on her. High on the act of giving her pleasure alone.

“Tell me you remember this, baby,” I croon, unbuttoning the rest of her blouse. I lower the fabric of her bra so that I can take that hard tip of her nipple into my mouth and suck her, suck her like I need to. I groan when she shudders and her body softens against me.

I lift her and set her down on the side console, making room between her legs as I continue with my caresses, brushing my lips over hers.

“Matt, don’t . . .”

“That’s not the word I want to hear. That’s not the word you want to say to me—don’t tell me you don’t remember this, want this. Want me.”

She parts her lips and I slip my tongue inside, grabbing the back of her head and fitting my mouth to hers as I kiss her.

I’ve never been so gentle and so rough with a woman at the same time. I’ve never wanted to make love and fuck at the same time. She makes me want to do both—do her every way to Sunday, draw out every moan in her, every gasp, every breath, all of them mine, all of her mine.

She moves her body and tries to get closer, squirming, her lower lip trapped under her teeth as she bites down hard to keep from telling me.

I place a kiss on her top lip, softly, causing her to release her lower lip, allowing me to fit my lips on hers perfectly now. And she opens up and I’m drowning in the taste of her, the smell of her—so sweet and pure, she is. I’m here because of her. I’m trying to do my best because of her. Hell, I’m trying to do more—she’s opened my eyes, made me realize this isn’t enough. I want more. I want this. Her. And I want to do right by her.

I’m determined to make it happen at any cost.

Slowly, today, day by day, touch by touch, breaking down her walls—she’ll be mine again, her body first, her soul, and then her heart. I’m not letting her go.

“Open up to me, baby. Do you remember how you used to? Hmm? Tell me I’m still here,” I beg, cupping her breast, squeezing gently as I rub inside her. “And here. Tell me, beautiful. Tell me C is for Charlotte, my Charlotte, coming in my arms again.”

She goes off, breathing fast beneath me, clinging to my shoulders as if I’m all that holds her upright. “Oh god!” She presses her cheek to my neck, then pushes me back.

Then laughs. “Matt . . . you’re pretty good at this sort of thing. Seducing and pleasuring me.”

I lick my finger. “Hmm. At your service, Miss Wells.”

“Mr. President, you’re a cad.”

“I’m your cad.”

She swallows, her eyes wide. I pull her skirt down and lower her to her feet. “We need to get ready.”

“I can’t go without panties!”

“Live a little,” I say. “You’re a filthy first lady, a very wicked, naughty, hot first lady,” I say, raising her back to the console and ordering, “Part your legs.”

She does. I’m testing her; there’s no fucking way I’ll let her go anywhere without panties. I’m fucked up enough by the thought alone.

I ease the panties back up her legs, then lift her up and set her on her feet, kissing her leisurely as I tug them all the way up her sweet little pussy and round little ass.

Charlotte

We end up showering—separately. I don’t think either of us could take the heat of a joint shower, but I was still so aroused rubbing the loofah over my skin, thinking of Matt waiting outside the room.

I dressed while he showered, putting on a long blue silk taffeta gown with layers upon layers on its skirt, and I try not to drool too much when Matt walks out drying himself, fully naked, giving me a glimpse of everything I adore and want and miss as he gets dressed.