Praise Me: President (Praise Me Daily)
Praise Me: President: Chapter 7

My reflection stares back at me in the bathroom mirror. I look like my usual self, save the part where I’m dressed in a tuxedo for the senator’s gala. The man looking back at me is stoic. Focused. Not an animal who spanks a young woman’s ass until it’s bright red, then fucks her mouth in the back of a car while someone else drives.

What the hell came over me?

Daddy’s going to come down your little fucking throat.

Never in my life would I have expected something so harsh to leave my mouth, especially in the company of someone so sweet. Someone who looks up to me. Answers to me, professionally. My palm stings from swatting her beautiful backside…and I should be ashamed of how badly I’d like to do it again. I should be given a prison sentence for thinking about next time. How I’m going to spread the ample moisture from her pussy all over those jiggly little ass cheeks while I smack them.

“You are the fucking president, Pierce,” I say to my reflection. “Pull it together.”

I’m trying.

Really, I am. But Ms. Eloise Rogers has become my fucking fixation.

Not only is she smart, ambitious, successful in her chosen field, adorable, personable and interesting…she seems to be obsessed with the idea of giving me pleasure. And thus, I am hanging on to my resolve by a string, knowing how unethical dating a cabinet member—and a woman twelve years younger—will appear to the public, while also dead positive I will strangle the next man who checks her out.

Let somebody fucking try me.

Possessiveness beats in my chest like some primitive demand to claim her completely. And I really don’t think I’m going to be able to stop myself. I want Eloise. I want her as my girlfriend. I want her in my bed every night. I want to comfort her on helicopter rides and listen to her speculate on upcoming legislation.

I push off the sink and straighten my cuff links.

Decision made.

I’m making her my girlfriend, but I’m doing it the right way. I’m not going to sneak her around and hide what’s happening. Honesty is always the best policy—and goddamn, I want everyone in the free world to know she’s mine.

Yeah, I’m doing this relationship right.

First order of business?

Oral.

I’m pissed the hell off that I haven’t gone down on her yet and she’s made me bust twice, once down the back of her throat. This one-sided nonsense is not how a man operates and I’m balancing the scales tonight. As soon as we get through this gala.

I leave the bathroom and my security team automatically begins speaking into their earpieces about the fact that I’m getting ready to leave the room.

“Where is Ms. Rogers?”

“Still in her room, sir. Her security team is ready to escort her downstairs to meet us. They’re just waiting for my word.”

I nod. Continue nodding.

The last thing I want to do is attend a gala thrown by the motherfucker who made a pass at Eloise this afternoon. I saw the hungry look in his eye as he watched her depart the state house and it wouldn’t surprise me if he makes another attempt, even at the cost of his job. And damn, I get it. She makes a man want to risk everything.

Well, tonight—and every night hereafter—I want her to myself.

“I’m going to take Ms. Rogers out to dinner, instead,” I announce.

The five Secret Service members shift in their loafers, trading looks with one another. “You’re forgoing the gala, sir? Excuse me for being blunt, but won’t that offend Senator Stokes?”

My smile is tight. “Hopefully.”

A few of the men laugh, but the head of my security detail only looks stressed at the last-second scheduling change. “We’ll need time to secure a location, sir.”

“There’s a restaurant downstairs, right here in the hotel,” offers one of the men. “Michelin star. We could take the service elevator straight there.”

“Perfect. We’ll need a private table.” I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off Eloise for five seconds. “I’m taking the future first lady on our first date, so it needs to be nice. Candles. Flowers. Wine.”

My entire security team are battling smiles.

“Excellent, sir.”

“You look very dapper, Mr. President.”

“Thank you.” I’m getting restless without my girl in front of me. “Let’s go to Eloise’s room. I want to explain the situation in person.”

“Yes, sir.”

Everyone moves into formation around me and we’re heading into the hallway, my stomach heavy with some feeling I can’t name, because I’ve never experienced it before. Jesus, is it butterflies? I think so. This woman gives me butterflies. I’m kind of tingly and weightless and have the strangest urge to laugh as we round the corner and enter the hallway leading to Eloise’s room. I’m gratified to see four agents posted up outside of her room, looking like they’re on high alert.

A beat later, I’m knocking on her door.

She answers in a white cocktail dress, her hair in long, loose waves, her lips painted a deep, bold red and I simply forget how to speak. Legs.

My God, her fucking legs.

She’s wearing red high heels that flex her delicate calf muscles and make those lithe limbs appear even longer.

“Goddamn, Ms. Rogers.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” she whispers, chewing her lip as she looks me over, her nipples turning to pointy outlines beneath her too-short dress. Watching me turn her on in real time is a gift I can’t ever imagine taking for granted—and this is one of the things I love about her. She’s honest about wanting me. She can’t help it, because she has no filter. What is she going to be like once we’ve started sleeping together?

Anticipation has left my mouth dry. “You think I’d bring you anywhere near the senator in that dress?” I ask, backing her into her hotel room and kicking the door shut behind me. “Not a fucking chance, angel. I wouldn’t bring you around a priest.”

“We’re not going to the gala?” she blinks.

“No.” I catch her hips in my hands and pull her close, so I can rove my mouth through her fragrant hair, feel the press of her tits against my chest. “We’re going to dinner.”

She tilts her head left and I bite her exposed neck softly, kissing the spot. “We are?”

“Yeah.” I slide my palm up the back of her dress and cup one of her ass cheeks, stroking it in a circular motion. “How do you feel from earlier? Does this hurt?”

“No, sir. Just a little tender.”

“Poor baby.”

She makes a brief mewling sound and melts into me, lifting her arms to circle my neck—and I make a note, she likes being babied. Likes being soothed. For my part, I’m just walking on air to be holding her, inhaling her scent of vanilla and tight, clean pussy. My gaze strays to the bed and I’d love to carry her over, lay her down and get to work with my tongue, but after the beastly way I took her mouth and brutalized her innocent backside earlier today, I’m determined to spoil her. Make sure she knows how much I value her.

“Let’s go eat, Eloise.”

Her arms drop reluctantly from around my neck, but I can’t seem to pry my hands off her hips. I’m molding them roughly, my cock stiffening over the shape and feel of her.

“I’ll go get my purse,” she says.

“You don’t need a single thing when you’re with me,” I say, leaning into my new possessive streak. This need to recognize and fulfil her every need before they appear.

She nods, absorbing that statement for a moment, then places her hand in mine trustingly. “Yes. Lead the way, Mr. President.”