Praise Me: President (Praise Me Daily)
Praise Me: President: Chapter 2

No fucking way this is going to work.

That was my initial thought when I found out this…girl in her tight skirt and wide, innocent eyes is my youth council secretary. She’s a distraction of the highest order. One that I definitely don’t need when the eyes of the entire free world are locked on me, waiting with bated breath to see what I’ll do with my first hundred days.

So why am I asking her to remain in the Oval Office post-meeting?

Last time I checked, I wasn’t a masochist.

No, I’m the opposite. A survivalist.

But as this young brunette with swollen lips and pink cheeks marches back toward my desk, I don’t see how I’m going to survive close quarters with her. When I decided to run for president, I swore off sexual flings of any kind. My war record has earned me a lot of leeway with the American public—they know I’m not some squeaky-clean robot who spouts a bunch of political jargon and expects everyone to swallow it whole. But I do have a responsibility to the people who voted me into the highest position in this country not to be a goddamn lecher. Ms. Rogers…my God, she makes me feel like one.

And that’s not her fault.

She can’t help that she’s a knockout, all long legs and perky tits.

A face that puts angels to shame.

Jesus, she’s probably a decade younger than me.

“Yes, Mr. President?” she says, stopping a few feet away, the toe of her right foot turning inward, as if suddenly shy. Is this the same girl who appeared to be undressing me with her eyes during the debrief? Maybe I only dreamed the way her eyes turned a molten blue, roaming over the front of my pants.

Definitely a dream.

Had to be. The girl standing in front of me now has her pen poised above her clipboard, ready to take notes, her demeanor professional to a fault.

For the second time, I clear my throat out of necessity, doing everything in my power to keep from asking her if she has a boyfriend. I’m recalling more and more about her vetting process and there’s no husband to speak of. Still, there could be someone she’s seeing in an unofficial capacity. Not that it’s any of my business. “I was wondering where you’ll be working. Where is your official post?”

“Downstairs, sir. I share an office with the Secretary of Education.” She smiles, showing off a row of perfect, white teeth. “You designed it that way, don’t you remember? You thought the youth council should work hand in hand with education.”

“Right. It’s all coming back to me now.” Chagrined, I rub my chin, expecting to encounter my beard, but feeling smooth skin, instead. Damn, I’m never getting used to this new life. Working in an air-conditioned office, instead of the desert. Talking around a problem, instead of getting to the meat of it for efficiency’s sake. I only vetted Ms. Rogers thirty days ago, but I’ve gone in countless directions since then, every choice I make affecting millions of lives. That reality sits on my shoulders like ten tons of bricks. “Decisions I made a month ago feel like they were made over a decade ago.”

“You’re making hundreds of them every day, sir. That’s understandable.”

I grunt, refusing to give myself the out.

“Take the excuse,” she whispers to me, winking. “It’s okay. You’re working hard.”

Yeah. Already, this relationship feels inappropriate, and I don’t know when or how it happened. Perhaps I’m just inappropriately attracted to Ms. Eloise Rogers, thus every word out of her mouth feels like she’s whispering it to me across a pillow.

Dismiss her now.

Get back to work.

I will. In a minute.

I just…can’t remember a time when someone’s presence cut through all the noise like this. I’ve been trapped in a whirlwind of chaos while campaigning. Now I’ve been sworn in and the mayhem still hasn’t stopped. I’m presented with a sea of faces and voices every day, yet she stands out over all of them. By a goddamn landslide. I can’t explain it.

Maybe that’s why I don’t dismiss her when I know damn well I should.

“If I recall correctly, your primary cause is mental health, as it pertains to our young people.”

She brightens, visibly pleased I remembered. “Yes, sir. Under your guidance, of course, I plan to create easy and recognizable government resources for struggling youth. I want us to be synonymous with 9-1-1 for emergencies.”

“It’s an ambitious plan. That’s why I liked it.”

“Thank you.” She shifts side to side in her shoes, ducking her head briefly—and the fact that I can see her part of her hair only highlights how much taller I am. If I picked her up right now, her feet would dangle in the vicinity of my knees.

And I really shouldn’t have thought about picking her up.

Whether or not she’d wrap her thighs around me automatically.

Or if I’d have to use my general’s voice to order them high and tight.

Something in her smoky, blue eyes tells me she wouldn’t need to be told, though.

Fuck. What is going on here?

“I hear you’re leaving for West Virginia in the morning,” she says. “To meet publicly with the senator and the coal miners who were rescued last week.”

Yes—and thank God. It will be good to get some distance from this girl. She’s a temptation and I need to rip this attraction off at the root, before it consumes too much of my focus. “That’s right.”

“One in five girls aged twelve to seventeen experience depression in West Virginia,” she says, a small line appearing between her eyebrows. “The statistics aren’t that different from the rest of the country, but it’s one of the states where I thought the administration would be open to my initiatives.”

“Then you should come with me and speak with the senator,” I hear myself saying, like the biggest fool on the planet. Fly with this beautiful girl to another state, stay overnight, spend more time getting to know her? It’s on par with my worst ideas, yet I’m immediately relieved she won’t be here without me. If she doesn’t already have a love interest, someone is going to nail her down within the week. And I’m not going to worry right now about why that pisses me off so fucking much. “There will be a tight schedule, not to mention the gala he’s throwing in honor of the visit, but there should be time to catch his ear. Can you pull together some talking points in time? We would be leaving at 0-800, Ms. Rogers.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” she breathes, her whole face lighting up. “Thank you.”

Is my fucking pulse racing? I…yeah, I think is it.

I haven’t lived a comfortable life. I grew up on a ranch, busting my ass every morning from the crack of dawn until sunset, seeing combat immediately after enlisting. Compared to a ground war, campaigning to be the president is a pleasure, but it’s not easy by any stretch of the imagination. I haven’t stopped toiling in decades. Burning my energy until it’s sapped, determined to make a difference on this earth if it kills me.

But right now, all I want to do is stand still and stare at this girl.

It’s bad. It’s very bad.

I’m pretty sure the public would frown on me taking up with a fresh-faced twenty-something—over whom I have the utmost authority—romancing her when I’m supposed to be running a country that frankly needs a ton of work.

Pull your head out of your ass.

Resolved to keep things professional between us, I lift an arm to gesture at the door, indicating she’s free to go, but to my horror—or delight, I’m not sure which—she mistakes it for a hug. Her eyes widen a little in surprise, her distracting lips parting on a breath. And then she all but throws herself into my arms, wrapping me in a hold that is akin to an electrocution. My heart flies into overdrive and my muscles flex, the pleasure of this soft angel in my arms almost more than I can bear after years of nothing but hard. Rough. Work.

There’s nothing in the world that could stop me from closing my eyes, laying my cheek on the crown of her head and squeezing her tight. We stay like that for a few seconds, until her warm breath on my throat and her palm sliding up beneath my jacket, up my spine turns my dick into an iron fucking cannon.

I have no name for what comes over me when I fist her hair and pull, turning her face up to mine, memorizing the sensual bow of her upper lip, the rosy texture of her skin, those ridiculously long eyelashes. “Do you live somewhere safe, angel?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, trembling a little, but not out of fear. No, she is all but rubbing herself against my erection like a cat on a Persian rug.

“Who lives there with you?” I rasp, dying to grab her ass and yank her closer, but no. No, if I’m ten feet over the line now, that’s the point of no return.

“My roommate, Catherine. She’s interning at Veterans Affairs.”

“Okay.” Back off. Do it now. She works for you. The goddamn president. The abuse of power here is so obscene, I don’t even recognize myself. “You need to go now, Eloise.”

“Yes, sir.” Swallowing audibly, she disengages from my hold, both of us realizing at the same time that she must have dropped the clipboard without either of us noticing. She stoops down to retrieve it, looking up at me from her kneeling position on the floor, the blue carpet spread out around her, her face flushed from our contact…and she looks directly at my distended cock, pushing so urgently against my zipper. Her rapt and fascinated attention causes my balls to squeeze and I grind my molars together to keep from coming in my pants. Right there in the Oval Office. Inches from her face. Dear God. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she says quietly, rising and backing toward the exit.

I nod stiffly, knowing I’ll have to relieve myself in the bathroom as soon as she’s gone. Especially now that I’ve seen her from behind. Eloise Rogers has an ass that begs to be bent over my knee and swatted simply for existing. For being so firm and young. That skirt accentuates the tight curve of her cheeks, a demure split running up the center of her legs. I’d rip it straight up the middle with my bare hands if given half the chance, wouldn’t I?

No. It can’t happen.

Get yourself together, McAlister .

“Oh, and sir?” Eloise pauses in her retreat, standing about ten yards away in the silent office, framed pictures of past presidents lining the wall behind her.

“Yes, Eloise,” I say, struggling not to adjust myself.

She wets her lips. “I’ve been following your career since you were fresh from duty, wounded, but still finding the strength to community organize in Wyoming. You’re an inspiration, sir, and the reason I got into politics in the first place. You’re a man of honor and I truly believe you’re one of the few politicians who believe what they’re saying. That’s why I’m here.” My entire being seizes up as she saunters over to me, her shyness gone, replaced by passion for what she’s saying. “But every man needs a break from being good sometimes.” She reaches out and traces my belt buckle with her index finger, come beginning to leak from my pressurized tip into my briefs. “I can be here for that reason, too. This is a hard job with lots of frustrations and setbacks. You’re going to need somewhere…or someone…with whom you can let loose.”

The very top of her finger slides down, tracing the aching ridge of my cock, and it happens. I can’t fucking believe it.

I unload right there in my pants.

I grit my teeth and grip the desk behind me, grunting through wave after wave of intense pleasure rippling through my sex, my undercarriage, my belly, soaking my zipper while she continues that featherlight stroke, her breath shallow with excitement. I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve come harder…or at a less opportune time. In a less appropriate place.

“You’ve been working so hard,” she leans in to whisper against my jaw. “Taking care of everyone and everything.” She cups me fully, gripping, urging another spurt into the damp material of my briefs while I half-gasp, half-groan. “Someone has to take care of you.”

I can do nothing but reel, attempting to make sense of what this angel has done to my body. How she commandeered it so quickly, so effectively, when I’ve never been capable of letting down my guard with anyone. Not without a concerted effort and letting myself go without sex for long periods of time, pushing myself to the edge of deprivation so I’ll have no choice but to release my pleasure with a person I don’t trust…because I’ve only ever trusted myself.

An hour in the company of Eloise Rogers and I’m lost.

My body wants to be in her care…and I want her body in the care of mine.

Now.

God help me.

“See you tomorrow, Mr. President,” she says, kissing my chin.

Rocking me, mind, body and soul.

She strolls out of the Oval Office, leaving my hunger to multiply painfully, an obsession with Eloise Rogers already manifesting. Leaving me to count the seconds until I see her again.

Despite the hundreds of reasons I need to keep my hands to myself.

And I will.

Starting right fucking now.