Romancing The President: Girl On Top by M.K. Moore

Author:M.K. Moore [Moore, M.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Flirty Filth Publishing
Published: 2022-03-30T23:00:00+00:00

four

Malcolm

Somehow, I manage to make it through that dinner. It was tedious. Every time I looked over at her she was schmoozing some old man, but then she’d look at me and all I could think about was finding some dark closet to drag her off to, but that wouldn’t have been enough. It’ll never be enough.

Back in the limo, she sits stiffly beside me, but that doesn’t last long. The partition rolls down, silently, filling the car with the sound of her agent Collins talking through his headset.

“Where to ma’am?” the driver asks, interrupting the tension-filled silence in the back.

“Please take me home, Aaron,” she says.

“Yes, ma’am.” The partition rolls back up. As soon as it does, my hands are on her again. I lay my palm flat on her belly, expanding my fingers until they touch the underside of her tit and her waist. I can feel her body heat through the black silk and I am instantly hard.

“Mal, please,” she whispers, and I snap. Twenty years of frustration and tension boils over and I couldn’t stop now.

“Larissa, fuck you are so damned beautiful. I hate that we’ve been apart all this time. Let me make it right. Let me make you feel good.”

Kissing her, I feel complete again. It's amazing how that can happen. After 9/11, I left Africa and was sent to Afghanistan, where I spent the majority of my career. I moved up in rank, never caring whether I lived or died, but I am glad I made it home. To her. My injury last month was friendly fire, a training accident but it ended my career.

Perhaps it was always meant to be this way. We needed to go our separate ways to become the people we were meant to be. To then come together when we could do the most good together. The whole time I was in Iraq and Afghanistan, I did my job but at night, my only thought was of her. It’s what kept me alive. I’m sure of that.

When we get to her house, I help her out of the car and lead her up the sidewalk. Our Secret Service agents stand outside as we head inside.

The door barely closes before our lips are locked together and her back is against the wall. She steps out of her heels and she barely meets my chest.

“I’ve missed this,” she breathes running her hands up my chest and pushing my jacket off my arms. She deftly buttons my shirt and pushes it away too. She gasps as she sees her name tattooed on my chest. It’s the only one I have. I got it in Marrakesh after drinking a bit too much. “Malcolm.”

“The time for talking has passed, baby,” I growl, lifting her into my arms. “Bedroom?”

“Upstairs, second door on the right,” she replies. I carry her upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Inside the bedroom, I set her down on her feet and spin her away from me. I place kisses on her bare shoulders while I slowly unzip her dress.

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