Stories for When the Sun Goes Down (Sexy Anthology) (2 page)

“Sorry to bother you but FBI say it urgent.” He hands me
the envelope as if it’s a time bomb and glances at John as though he’s a spy.
“It’s very sensitive information.”

“Thank you.” I frown and lay it on the desk

Drake makes no move to leave my side. He’s like an
overprotective big brother, normally I can put up with it, sometimes it’s even
sweet, but today I just want him to take a day off, go fishing, or play golf or
something.

“Is that all?” I ask with mounting frustration I can barely
hide.

“Yes, Madam President.” Drake takes the hint and heads out,
leaving us alone once again.

“Are you going to open that?” John asks, folding his long
frame onto the sofa and stretching an arm along the back of the cushions.

“Later. The FBI always say it’s urgent even if it’s run of
the mill stuff.” I grin and sashay over to him. “Labelled Top Secret too, it
makes it more exciting for the runners to imagine they’re responsible for such
hot information.”

John shakes his head and flashes me a grin. “I can’t
believe you really did it, Raine. You really are the President of the United
States. It seems such a short time ago you were ranting on about how you were
going to change the world and now you can.”

“You’d better believe it.” I shrug off my suit jacket and
sit down in the hook of his shoulder, desperately hoping to recapture the
serious neck kissing we were so rudely interrupted from. “I could hit that
button any time and cause a world war, you know.”

John laughs. “You’re such a pacifist, I bet you don’t even
know where the button is.”

“Of course I do.”

“Where?”

“Right here.”

“In this office?”

“No… it’s on me, at all times.”

He looks at me like I’m mad and then a knowing grin spreads
on his suddenly boyish face. “That’s not a war button, sweetheart, that’s a
lurve
button.”
He laughs and scoops my dangling necklace into his
hand, letting his knuckles graze the soft mound of my generous breast. “Which
reminds me...”

“What?”

“I’ve got you a present, but I’ll have to
show you later.” He stares at my nipple responding eagerly to his feathery
touch through the thin material of my blouse. “It’s not the sort of thing I can
give you in the Oval Office.”

“I have a private dressing room.”

“Tempting. I want you so much it hurts,” he says, his grin
dropping and his face becoming serious. “But it’s impossible to do anything
about it in here.”

“The private dressing room,” I say again with a note of
frustration.

A frown ploughs across his forehead and his mouth sets in a
tight line. The back of his hand switches to my other breast and the nipple
responds with similar speed.

“We’ll just say I’m showing you ‘round if anyone asks.” My
breath hardens with desire.

“Showing me your dressing room? I’m not sure how believed
we’ll be, Raine.”

“I’ll buzz and tell my secretary we mustn’t be disturbed.”

“Will that Drake guy take any notice? He seems pretty
intense around you.”

“He’ll be fine. Hilda can be pretty damn scary when she’s
doing something I’ve specifically asked of her.”

John closes his eyes for a long second as if weighing up
the risks. But I know he likes risk and feeds off an adrenaline rush. I’ve seen
him take chances before so we can be together. But today the stakes are high,
as high as they get, making love in the Oval Office, actually going for it here
and now when we’re supposed to be making important, world altering decisions,
while our countries tax payers and voters are out at work. Can he do it? Can we
do it?

Of course we can. Knowing how naughty we are, how
ridiculously inappropriate it is, is the biggest turn on of all.

I stand from the sofa, not wanting to leave his side but
knowing I must to put the final piece in place for our plan. I press the
intercom and tell Hilda in a stern voice that we must not, under any
circumstances, be disturbed.

I turn from the table expecting to see John still sprawled
on the sofa and needing gentle persuasion, but he’s already looming at my side.
His eyes are heavy with lust as he reaches for me and drags my body hard
against his. I feel the urgency of his need pressing into my stomach and catch
my breath as his lips find mine and hit down hungrily.

The gentle back-togetherness has gone and now it’s all
about getting satisfaction as quickly as possible before we’re rumbled.

He steers me towards a large panelled door to the right.

“No, no,” I breathe into his mouth. “That’s a file
cupboard, over there, that’s the dressing room.” I take control of our angle
and sidestep to the left. Our lips don’t part as we rush to the sanctuary of
the private dressing room.

I push at the door and we almost fall inside, breaths coming
hard and fast and our hands roaming all over each other’s bodies. We bash the
door shut. I flick the small brass bolt across then pause for the briefest of
moments to look at his frantic flushed face.

I break my mouth into wide smile, the sheer delight of
having the man I dream of in my arms, if only for a few minutes, makes me
bubble over with glee.

“What?” he says, matching my wacky grin.

“My present.” I put a hand up to his jaw
and cup his slightly scratchy cheek. “I want it.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and
pulls out a shiny egg, the exact same powder-pink as the blossom outside.

For a second I’m confused, but quickly he
fills me in. “It’s a remote control vibrator
—
the LoveHoney Dream Egg.”

“I didn’t know such things existed.” My
eyes widen as I stare at it.

“Oh yeah, and I’m going to start you
coming right now, and believe me baby, with this thing in afterwards, you’ll be
riding high all afternoon.” He slips it back into his pocket. “You’re gonna
stay up there, balancing on the edge of ecstasy until just before dinner when
I’m gonna need some more, very private, intimate time to go over a particularly
sensitive matter.”

I smile, knowing he’ll deliver his promise of ecstasy. “I
love you so much.”

“I love you more.” He presses his hand over mine and kisses
the end of my nose.

For a second I think the moment might switch to tender and
slow.

But we don’t have the luxury of time and our bodies are
crying out with lusty impatience. His chest slams into mine and I’m pressed
back against the door by his solid weight. My wrists are harnessed by his tight
grip as he locks them on either side of my head. His tongue explores and probes
into my mouth, chasing and finding mine, a crazy, urgent dance. Once again the
pressure of his straining erection shoves up against me and sends blood flowing
like lava to the very core of my being. Heat spreads from the pit of my
stomach, up to my breasts and seeps between my legs, pooling deliciously like a
heavy, greedy hole just waiting for him to fill.

He raises my hands above my head and bolts them against the
door with just one of his. I whimper a protest. I want my hands on his body. I
need to feel him, hold him. But he has other ideas and I’m at the mercy of his
brute strength pinning me into submission. It vaguely crosses my mind that if
one of the secret service guys saw this, me pinned to a door, John would get a
bullet in the back of his head, British Prime Minister or not.

He stoops and presses his forehead to mine, lets his
eye-line drop and watches his free hand slide down the hollow of my throat and
over the sheer material of my blouse. He pops open a button and delves inside
my delicate lace bra. The dense weight of my breast is instantly supported in his
hot palm and he circles the pad of his thumb over my nipple. It puckers and
tightens further, to the point of discomfort, and when he switches attention to
the other side I moan in unashamed delight.

“You feel so good,” he grunts into my now messy hair and suckles
my ear. “Just like I remember. Just like you always do.”

I wriggle to free my hands and he either takes the hint or
decides he needs both of his for the next item on the agenda. I make the most
of sudden freedom and tug at his crisp white shirt, eager to get flesh-on-flesh,
be together as one.

He slips his hands onto my thighs and rucks up the smooth
material of my skirt. Bunching it over my hips like a thick belt. The cool
air-conditioning hits the top of my stockinged legs and I wonder why I even
bothered with panties this morning. They’re hindering access, why didn’t I
think of that essential detail? I’m usually so organised.

I’m having little luck removing his shirt so I turn my
attention to his belt buckle. It’s a solid silver square that is manageable for
my fumbling fingers. I undo it with ease and it slides free. I look up at his
face, flick loose the button of his trousers and begin to drop the zip.

He pauses in his desperate attempts to shove down my
panties and stares at me. The flecks in his eyes sparkle like gold nuggets
glistening at the bottom of a stream. In the luxury of our paused second I
can’t help a naughty girl smirk, just to let him know exactly what I’m going to
do next.

He raises one eyebrow.

Have I really got the nerve? Here and now?

Oh yes!

I sink downwards with my back against the door and flex my
knees until my head is level with his groin. Only then do I finish undoing his
fly.

Impatiently, like it’s suddenly the best proposal in the
world, he shoves down his trousers and boxers and releases his bulging erection
an inch from my mouth.

I don’t mess about. We haven’t got time for preliminaries,
this is just a quick nod in the direction of foreplay. I go straight for the
kill and suck the glorious heat of him deep into my eager throat. His guttural
groan of pleasure rumbles above my head and I hear him bang his hands against
the door for support.

I’ve had some elegant dinners in my time but this is all I
ever really wanted. John. John in my mouth, the taste of him is exquisite,
exotic, erotic, musky and manly. Every flavour I ever wanted all wrapped up in
one delirious tastebud experience. I flatten my tongue against his thick head
and delight in its silken smoothness. Using one hand to slide moisture along
the shaft and the other to gently cup his cool balls I work him hard and fast.

His knees buckle and his breaths sharpen. I sense his
growing eagerness to come.

But not like this, I want him inside me. I push his hips
away and force my legs to stretch from their flexed position.

“You just get better and better at that,” he says with a
hard, tight swallow. His eyes are hooded and he looks drugged on lust.

“Glad you appreciate it.” I’m squirming with my own need
for satisfaction and finally manage to push down my knickers. They land over my
sensible patent blue heels but I only bother to kick out of one leg hole and leave
them abandoned around my other ankle.

His wandering hands run into the hollow of my back and
ripple over the dense ruck of my skirt. He splays his fingers over my bare
buttocks and swoops onto the backs of my thighs. Then, in one smooth movement,
he bends his knees and hoists me into the air. My hips draw level with his and
my face is the perfect height for kissing him again.

I wrap my legs around his waist, cross my feet in the dip
of his back and cling to his shoulders for support. My heart pounds and my
breath is hard to catch. His brute strength, his intense passion, it’s the
biggest thrill of my life.

The door is in line with my spine and he holds my weight
with ease. I feel him catch my bottom lip with his teeth. He nibbles a little
too hard and I whimper. He kisses the sore spot with a murmur as the head of
his thick penis prods at my waiting, willing entrance.

I’m open and vulnerable. He hasn’t the time to make a slow,
gentle entry and I force myself to relax because I know he’s big, bigger than
Clint. I urge my pelvic muscles to loosen. It’s been a long time.

But I have no chance to think because suddenly he’s in. One
hard, sharp thrust and he’s pounded into my depths.

“Oh, Jeez…” I gasp as I clamp my eyes shut.

“You okay?” he grunts at the end of his long entry moan.

“Yeah… just… just don’t stop.”

He withdraws a fraction and then rides back in right up to
the hilt. The head of his penis smooths past my G-spot, rubbing it wickedly.
His pubis shoves up against my aching clit and draws it from its hidden folds
of flesh.

He pulls nearly all the way out and I miss him desperately,
but then he heaves back in with a groan and my clit bursts into a wildly sensitive
bud of pleasure. My internal walls become a mass of swollen need, clenching and
juicing for him.

 Over and over he slams into me. Supporting me under
my thighs and kissing any part of me he can reach
—
my face,
my neck, my cleavage. The door rattles in its frame with our exuberant passion,
but I don’t even consider the consequences if someone hears. My mind is lost to
everything other than John making up for our twelve months apart.

I feel the first tug of orgasm. It’s building like a
skyscraper. Brick-by-brick, layer-by-layer, I know it’s going to be enormous.
It towers within me. I can sense his rising climax too. Each sharp breath he
hisses out, every dipped clench of his muscled buttocks, every grunt vibrating
through his chest tells me he’s getting close.

I drag my hands through his hair and pull at the remaining
short curls at his nape. “John… John…” I don’t know what I want to add to my
sentence, I just need to say his name while he’s so deep inside me. Moments
like these are so rare they’re as precious as life itself.

“I’m going to…” He arches his neck to the ceiling and his
teeth clench. The muscles around his mouth contort with a desperate need to
control his own body. “Hurry up… Raine, I’m going to come… any sec…” He sucks
the words through an inward breath and holds them, as if not daring to breathe
out again.