Praise Me: President (Praise Me Daily)
Praise Me: President: Chapter 11

Crisis averted.

The United States’ show of solidarity with other countries and the threat of sanctions have caused the power-hungry nation in Eastern Europe to deescalate its threats to a vulnerable population and for now, peace has been restored. Air Force One is preparing to land and I’m counting the seconds, trying to judge when we’ll touch down based on the horizon and cruising speed.

I want Eloise now.

I want her right fucking now.

I was able to concentrate on strategy meetings and policy discussions for the last three days, but now I need a goddamn fix of her. I’ve been so busy and locked into crisis-mode that I haven’t been able to call her while I’ve been in London and I miss her voice so much, my whole being is under strain. I’ve demanded to be taken straight to the White House upon landing—and I’ve demanded that Eloise be waiting for me in the Oval Office.

I’m going to tell her I missed her so badly, breathing was an effort.

I’m going to ask her to be my wife.

And then I’m going to lay her down right there on the floor, in the center of the presidential seal, kiss her pussy and tell her how much I missed it, too.

If she’s not already pregnant, I’m going to remedy that before the plane engine has had a chance to cool down.

Finally, we touch down and I’m off the plane, striding briskly to the waiting convoy, answering reporters’ questions as I go, but I’m thinking of nothing but Eloise’s blue eyes, the trusting way they look at me, her optimistic nature and lack of cynicism. Her smile and warmth. The abandoned way she fucks, no holding back, no shame.

There’s an advisor waiting in the back of my SUV, and though I wasn’t expecting Eloise to be there, instead, I still grind my molars over the disappointment.

“Mr. President.” The advisor beam at me. “I’m here to catch you up to speed on everything that happened while you were away.”

The convoy is already pulling off the airstrip. “Great. I’m all ears.”

I listen and make mental notes for a few minutes, but there doesn’t seem to be news of great import, save a potential auto worker strike on which I’ve been asked to intervene—and though I’m already working on some ideas to reach a favorable outcome on both sides, I must appease my need to see Eloise first. I can think of nothing else.

“Has my meeting with Ms. Rogers been scheduled?” I ask, attempting to massage the tension from my own neck. “I need to see her first thing.”

One of my Secret Service agents is driving the vehicle and I notice a flicker of trepidation in his eyes, courtesy of the rearview mirror. With a frisson of alarm snaking through my midsection, I pin my advisor with a hard look.

“Yes or no. Has the meeting been scheduled?”

He hedges. “I wanted to wait until we were in your office to discuss this, sir. But the short answer is no. Your meeting with the youth council secretary won’t be taking place.”

“You better get busy explaining why the hell not.”

“She resigned, sir.”

It feels as though someone has driven a two-by-four through the center of my chest, then hammered it in for good measure. The world wobbles and spins, a sick feeling rising swiftly in the center of my throat. “What the fuck do you mean she resigned?” I shout. “Why wasn’t I notified about this? What the hell is going on?”

“She asked that you not be disturbed while dealing with the situation in Eastern Europe and the team agreed it was best to inform you upon returning.”

“It wasn’t for the best,” I rasp, rubbing the apparent rupture between my pecs. “I want to know what happened right now. Was she harmed in some way? Was she…oh God, is she okay? I shouldn’t have left her alone.”

“Sorry to speak out of turn, but sir, Ms. Rogers is fine. Physically,” responds the driver, causing my advisor to send him a venomous look. “The security team is still with her. They wouldn’t leave her side until you dismissed them directly.”

That reassurance does nothing to stop the panic shredding my insides to ribbons. “Where is she?”

A brief pause. “Philadelphia.”

I almost get sick, black, wavy spots flooding my vision. “Back to the airfield. Now.”

“I thought you might say that, sir,” smiles the driver, whipping into a U-turn.

I return my attention to the advisor. “You have ten seconds to explain what caused Ms. Rogers to resign and go back to Philadelphia.”

“It wasn’t my call,” he hedges.

“What wasn’t your call?”

“To approach Ms. Rogers about…your budding relationship with her. The way it might be perceived by voters as inappropriate. Clandestine, even.” He shifts in the seat. “Your cabinet members felt any further association with Ms. Rogers would reflect poorly on you and we simply communicated the sentiment. She chose to resign on her own.”

My stomach hits the floor.

No.

No, they don’t know Eloise. They don’t know she would set herself on fire before costing me a single vote. They don’t know she believes in me more than all my cabinet members combined and the possibility of jeopardizing my good name would have positively gutted the girl. I want to commit murder against everyone who made her feel that way. “Let me make this clear,” I say, voice pulled tighter than a violin bow sting. “I’m not running this country unless she’s beside me.”

It’s clear that my advisor doesn’t take the threat seriously. “Sir, I know she’s very attractive, but—”

“Attractive? That’s the tip of the iceberg of what she is. And that’s the last time you ever comment on her appearance. That’s mine to appreciate and no one else’s. Period. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You better hope she comes back to Washington with me,” I wheeze, starting to feel dizzy, the fact that she’s been gone for three days starting to sink in. “In the future, nothing this important is to be kept from me. I don’t care what is going on. Or where I am. If there is a matter that concerns the future first lady, I’m to be told immediately.”

“The future—” My advisor gulps loudly, his complexion ashen. “Yes, sir.”

All I can do is sit very still and stare straight ahead, afraid that if I move, I’m going to separate into a thousand pieces. Her gentle heart has been damaged. She had to have been terrified that she did something wrong. Until I have her in my arms where I can reassure her in person, I need to disassociate…or lose my mind. And if the trauma inflicted on her proves irreversible, everyone is going to pay.

Eloise

I’m standing behind the counter of my father’s crepe shop, a phony smile pasted onto my face as I take an order for two women. I’m not planning on working in the shop permanently, but I hoped the familiar, cheerful space would help make me feel normal.

Like my heart isn’t broken in nine jagged pieces.

Three days.

I haven’t seen or heard or touched my love in three days…and it’s going to be an eternity of this emptiness. I’ve done the right thing, though, haven’t I? I could have been selfish and chosen my own happiness over the sake of Pierce, the country, but I chose the harder path. When he returns to Washington, he’ll be angry with me at first. In time, he’ll understand why I left, though.

Sensing a presence behind me, I turn and find my father watching me with concern, his cheerfully striped apron covered with streaks of ingredients. “Honey, do you want to take a break? You look exhausted.”

I glance at my reflection in one of the stainless-steel refrigerators behind the counter and admit he’s right. My eyes are hugged on the bottom by dark half-moons, most of my ponytail having escaped the rubber band long ago, but I haven’t bothered to fix the mess. I’m the human version of a haunted house.

“I’m fine, Dad.”

He pats my shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened in Washington, I’m here, okay?”

Gratitude and grief join forces to clog my throat. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk about him.”

“Who is ‘him’?” He frowns. “Did someone hurt you, honey?”

“No. I stopped myself from hurting him. But it’s all over now—”

I’m interrupted by the sound of chopper blades. Loud ones. Close.

I’m trading a confused look with my father when a line of SUVs pull up at the perimeter of the park across the street, familiar men in black suits jumping out and clearing space on the expanse of green grass, and quickly, I realize why. The chopper needs to land.

Hope bubbles inside of me, but I shake my head.

Not a chance. The President isn’t going to miraculously land in the park.

It must be someone else. Someone is probably having a medical emergency in the park and this chopper is going to bring them to the hospital—

“The helicopter has the presidential seal on it!” someone shouts from the front of the shop. “It couldn’t be McAlister…could it? Why would he be in Philly?”

My heart fires up into my mouth, the crepe shop growing insubstantial in front of me, like a cloud about to dissipate. My legs struggle to keep me standing. I shouldn’t hope it’s Pierce, because if I see him, I’m going to run to him. Simple as that. The sacrifice I’ve made will be for nothing. All I can do is stand there, trapped between yearning and despair, watching in disbelief as Marine One lowers itself into the park.

No sooner has it touched down is it swarmed by Secret Service, the door opening and steps unfolding to the earth, Pierce McAlister appearing in the mouth of the aircraft to the resounding cheers of the park goers, his determined expression more ominous than a thunderstorm. He buttons his blue suit jacket hastily on the way down the stairs, his eyes locked on the crepe shop—and I’m surprised that my first instinct isn’t to run across the street and fling myself into his arms, as I expected it would be.

No, my first instinct is to hide.

The president is pissed.

“What is he doing here?” my father asks beside me, dazed.

“He’s here for me,” I say, breathless, my time with Pierce coming back to me in snatches of color. The candlelight dinner. Him defending me in front of the senator. Above me in bed, that wild light of possessiveness in his eyes, his growl releasing into my neck as he actively tries to get me pregnant. “I guess…I guess I was kidding myself thinking he wouldn’t come.”

“Did something happen between you and the president?”

“You could say that.”

“What—”

My father doesn’t have a chance to complete the question, because men in suits storm the shop, ushering customers out through the front door, half eaten crepes left behind. “Apologies, folks. We need the premises clear immediately. This is a national security issue.” My own father is hustled out from behind the counter, agents taking his elbows and dragging him toward the exit. “You’ll be allowed back when the president has departed.”

“This is my shop!” my father blusters.

“It’s a very nice shop, sir. Please wait outside.”

I stand wide-eyed behind the register, waiting to be directed to the exit as well, but knowing at the same time I won’t be asked to leave. I’m the reason Pierce has come. And a moment later, he arrives in a sea of black suits and chirping earpieces, the door closing behind him and silence gradually falling in the small storefront.

I gobble up the sight of him, my flesh growing warm, tingling everywhere. Everywhere. My breasts, my scalp, beneath my navel. My heart knocks persistently, awoken by the appearance of Pierce not ten feet away.

“Mr. President,” I whisper, noticing the crowd already gathering outside the shop. “What are you—”

“If you ask me what I’m doing here, Eloise, I’m going to fucking lose it.” His amber gaze is all over me. On my throat, my face, tracing the slope of my shoulders, and he appears to grow more overcome by the second. “Is there somewhere private we can speak, because I have no idea what’s going to happen when I touch you and I don’t think it’s wise to have an audience.”

Breath hitching, I nod, backing toward the combination office/storage room behind the swinging doors, lying just beyond the kitchen. Until I’m passing through the doors and two men in suits stride past me on their way to the front of the shop, I don’t realize the back of the store has been searched for security purposes. Good. I want my president safe.

Anticipation and nerves are making me short of breath, and by the time I’m in the storage room/office, I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, my heart hammering noisily in my ears. When the president walks inside and kicks the door closed behind him and we’re alone in the mostly dark room, his presence filling every corner of the space, my pussy dampens with such erotic vengeance, I have to support myself with a flattened palm on the desk, my thighs melding together to ease the ache, but only making it more intense.

Oh God. I’m shaking and he hasn’t even come close to me yet.

“Did you think you could run from someone who does that to your body, Eloise?” His voice is pitch-black silk as he comes toward me, unbuttoning his jacket, removing it and tossing it onto a nearby shelf, yanking at the knot of his tie while looking me over, starting at my ankle boots, higher along my stockinged legs to the high hem of my skirt. “Or more to the point, did you think I would let you run?”

“I had to leave.” I lean on the edge of the desk. It’s that or collapse under the strain of seeing him, but not touching. “We were going to attract all the wrong attention.”

“That’s the risk I’m more than prepared to take to have you.” He has almost reached me now, his fingers flexing at his sides, his eyes burning with an unholy light. Wanting to reach for me. I can feel it. Can feel his struggle. “I’d start a world fucking war to have you, Eloise. You think I’d balk over some bad press?”

“No, I think you’d stick by me, even if I was hurting you,” I breathe, imploring him with my eyes to understand. “That’s why I resigned.”

“Funny thing about resignations, they have to be accepted by your boss. And it’ll be a cold day in hell before I accept yours.” The material of his dress pants barely brushes my knees and yet, my core flexes so dramatically, I whimper, closing my eyes. “I came here intending to put you over my knee and spank you so raw, you never dared to leave me again, but now that I can smell you and see your beautiful face, all I want to do is kiss you.”

Those last few words are issued in an emotional rush and my heart responds with a rippling squeeze, a whisper of his name on my lips. I’m not in control of my body when I spring off the desk and wrap my arms around his neck, a sense of homecoming, need, terrible need, overtaking me and my legs climb his hips, his strong arms crushing me to his chest at the same time, our mouths panting and gasping against one another.

“Angel.”

“Pierce.”

“Angel.” His hands fumble with my ponytail, releasing my hair, so he can drag fistfuls of it to his nose, inhaling. “The way I miss you is inhuman.”

I hold onto him for dear life, absorbing his heat, his power, hot tears pressing behind my eyelids. “I miss you so much, too, but—”

“No. No buts. I’m bringing you home to Washington right this second. I know some members of my staff tried to scare you and there might be some bumps ahead, but if you ever trusted me before, Eloise…” He rolls his forehead right to left against mine. “Trust me again now. The nation is going to adore my wife.”

“I trust you more than anyone…” I trail off, his words finally sinking in and sending a beautiful rush of joy through my system. “W-wife?”

Pierce settles me down on the desk, but stays pressed in close between my legs, neither one of us willing to relinquish an ounce of contact. Still, he manages to unearth a ring box from his pants pocket, holding it aloft between us. “I need you at my side, angel,” he rasps, popping open the black velvet box to reveal a three-stone, princess cut diamond ring, the sight of it making me tremble. “Be my first lady.” He takes out the ring and slides it onto my finger. “Be my only lady, for the rest of time.”

“Are you sure?” I breathe with tears in my eyes, my attention traveling from the ring to the president. “Are you sure I won’t…be your downfall?”

“I’ve never been surer about anyone in my life.” He drops his face into my neck, laughing darkly. Taking my knees in each of his hands, he presses them open. All the way open. Before going to work unfastening the button and fly of his pants. Breathing hard, he leans me back on the desk and yanks aside my panties, pressing the tip of his shaft to my slippery entrance, tapping his hardness there, before sinking in deep, deep, deep, his hoarse moan drowning out my hiccupping sob of his name. “But if you were to be my downfall, little girl,” he says through his teeth, “I’d go with a smile on my face.”

I’m jerked upright and off the desk, impaled by Pierce’s thick intrusion. And holding onto his shoulders, I work my hips back and front, taking him deep with quick slaps of my hips, my movements eager because I’m looking right at his face as it transforms with open-mouthed euphoria. Coupled with the rapid, telltale swelling inside of me, I know my president needs relief badly and my sense of duty towards his pleasure takes over, my walls locking him in hard, my thigh muscles helping me deliver the tight bounces that make him groan like he’s dying, his hands holding my butt in a death grip, giving me even more leverage to please my president.

And oh, my goodness, yes, myself while I’m at it.

“Does that feel good?” I murmur in his ear, nipping it with my teeth.

“You have no idea,” he groans, surging forward to pin me against a row of lockers, rattling the metal locks with increasingly rough drives. “I’ve been craving you for over seventy-two hours. Don’t make me do it again, angel. Say you’ll be my wife.”

“I’ll be your wife,” I heave, my vision blurring with tears, a permanent notch forming in my breast. “I’ll be so much more than that.”

I catch the overflow of happiness and relief in his eyes a split second before he kisses me hard. “How much more could you possibly be?” he rasps, working me relentlessly against the lockers.

I bring his forehead down to mine, rubbing our wet mouths together. “I can be a woman who loves romance…and you give me that so well.” I lick us into a filthy kiss that makes him throb inside of me and I whisper against his panting lips, “But I’m also a good girl. I know when the president wants to fuck me like a little slut.” He sucks in a breath, his thickness jerking and growing even more between my thighs, his eyes flashing with something predatory. A side to him no one will ever see, except me. “Do it, Daddy.”

He upthrusts so deeply and with such naked hunger, my legs start to shake uncontrollably, his husky growls echoing in my ears for the rest of the day.