“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. With a soft swish, it falls to her feet and she steps out of it. She’s not wearing a bra, just black lacy panties. She turns to face me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Kissing her, I grip the waist of her panties and pull them until they rip. I bring the scrape of lace to my face and inhale the scent of her. They are still wet from when she came in the car earlier. “Don’t tease me. It’s been too long to tease me.”
“You’re right, baby,” I say before tossing her on her unmade bed. She’s so down to earth that’s why she’ll be an excellent president.
“Is this wise?” she asks, rubbing her hands over her tits.
“What do you mean?” I ask kicking out of my shoes.
“What if this doesn’t work out? We have to be around each other for what I hope will be the next eight years of my life.”
“If you think that I’d ever let you go again, you are sorely mistaken, my queen. I thought I made it clear. You are mine, and I am never letting you go again.” I pull my slacks open and lose them along with my boxers.
“Don’t let me go, Mal. No matter what happens, don’t let me go.”
I crawl onto the bed, in between her parted thighs, and line myself up with her opening. Looking down, between us I see that she is already wet. Fuck, she’s so wet, her thighs are glistening and there’s already a spot on the bed. I thrust inside of her, hard. She moans. Of course, she’s just as tight as I remember. Groaning, I pull all the way out of her and slam back inside of her. Over and over, I take what she freely gives me. Her nails dig into my back while her heels dig into my ass, spurring me on.
I am not going to last at this rate. Her little pussy is squeezing my cock, trying to keep it in place as I thrust in and out of her.
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, as she gushes on me.
“Don’t stop. I’m coming,” she says, meeting me thrust for thrust.
I can’t help it. I come with her, filling her with my seed. My one thought is breeding her again, only this time being there every step of the way.
“Fuck, Larissa. That was…”
“I know,” she pants, trying to catch her breath. I roll off of her but pull her to my side. “Do you think America will understand?”