Chapter 2

I tried to count pennies into stacks of fifty for a while, but kept having to start over. The house seemed really quiet, and I felt weird, like I do when I drink too much coffee. But that wasn't it. I was still a little sweaty from the sex, so my T-shirt felt clammy and my sweatpants were sticking to my crotch because I was leaking semen.

Jesus. I couldn't believe that I fucked the President. I couldn't even believe that I met him. The longer I sat there, the weirder I felt, until I started to feel faint and realized that I was hyperventilating. I went to the kitchen and sat down with my head on the table, breathing slow and steady.

I was starting to feel better and then the doorbell rang. No telling who it could be on a day like today, I told myself, and smiling a little felt good. It was my neighbor, Alice. She had a funny look on her face and didn't come barging into the house right away, like she usually did.

"What's going on?" she asked. She was wearing a nice sweater and slacks, jewelry and makeup. On Saturdays, she was usually as big a slob as I was.

"You can come in, everyone's gone," I said, then walked to the chair by the front window—the one I'd been in earlier. Alice followed.

"Who was it? Are you in trouble?"

"I don't think so."

"That wasn't the cops?"

"Secret Service," I said. Alice looked even more confused. "Turns out the guy who saved me in the park is one of them."

"So?"

"So they came for a visit. With their boss."

"Their boss?"

I stared at her. I couldn't make myself say it. I was feeling faint again, so I took a couple of long, slow breaths.

"You know the guy I told you about, the one from my fantasy league?"

"That Dave guy?"

"Not his real name. He's... uh, Grant Sinclair."

Alice's mouth dropped open. She looked out the window at my driveway, remembering the Suburbans and all the Secret Service guys in my yard.

"He was here?"

"Sitting in that chair," I said, nodding at her.

"And you looked... like that?"

I nodded, thinking Except for the wet spot on my pants.

Alice looked at me like I was nuts, waiting. So I told her what happened, all of it. When I finished she sat for a minute, thinking.

"So, fifteen minutes after he got here, you were fucking him?"

"More like ten."

"Are you crazy? Oh, Jessie!"

"What?"

"Guys like Sinclair have women throwing themselves at them all the time," she said. "Politics and sex are like... the same thing."

When I didn't say anything, she finished. "What's he going to think of you?"

"He said he understood."

"Sure. Right after he got his rocks off. I mean later."

"He said he'd call."

Alice rolled her eyes.

"It seemed like the right thing to do at the time," I said quietly.

After Alice left, I went upstairs and took a long, hot shower. Then I took a nap.

By five in the afternoon, I was getting angry. Grant said he'd call, and that we would have our date. Even if he thought I was a slut, it was still rude to blow me off. When the phone rang, I thought about not answering.

"Hello," I said, trying to sound like I was so busy that I didn't care who was calling.

"Ms. Parker? It's Ron. I was at your house this morning?"

"Right. Did you forget something?"

"No, Ma'am. The President asked me to tell you that he won't be able to meet with you this evening. Something urgent has come up."

"Oh. I understand," I said, swallowing hard. "I'm pretty busy anyway."

"He said he would call you as soon as he's free," Ron said.

"Well then. I guess I'd better let you get back to protecting people," I said, then hung up.

I felt bad, afterwards. Ron had been nice to me.

But I couldn't help it. I felt foolish, and used. I was a complete loser when it came to guys. That asshole Ned ruined me—he made me feel worthless and stupid. He stole my money, and he beat me up over and over, and I let him do it like I had no choice and that was all I was good for.

So now when I met a nice guy the first thing I said to him was "Hey, fuck me." And I did it right in front of Ron and Ben and all those other guys. They probably had a big laugh on the way back to the White House about what a slut I was.

The big, hot tears running down my cheeks made me feel worse, but I couldn't stop. You screwed up, Jessie, so now sit and cry about it like a pathetic loser.

I dug around in my kitchen cabinets until I found the fifth of Jack Daniels that Ned left behind when the cops threw him out of my place. I poured some in a glass and drank it. It tasted like shit, but a little of the empty feeling went away. So I poured some more. I kept drinking until I didn't hurt any more, then I fell asleep on my couch.

When I woke up it was dark outside and my phone was ringing. My head was pounding and my mouth felt like I'd been licking out toilets. I tried to stand up, but instead I fell on the floor and banged my shin on the coffee table. The phone was still ringing.

I got to my feet on the second try. The base unit for my phone was on my kitchen counter but the cordless phone was missing. I wished the damn thing would just stop ringing—it was making my head worse, and now I felt sick. Then I remembered—the table. The phone was on the kitchen table, next to the bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Jessie. It's Grant."

"Grant?"

"I have a knack for waking you up when I call," he said, then he laughed. It was a nice laugh.

"Yeah. Sorry, I... What time is it?" My mouth was dry and my stomach felt like it was wrestling with my bladder.

"Almost midnight," he said. "Look, Jessie. I'm really sorry about tonight."

"That's okay."

"No, it's not. I said I'd call, and instead I had Ron do it. I just couldn't get away—I was in a room full of people."

"That's okay."

"Stop saying that. The Teamsters were threatening to strike and shut down the Eastern Seaboard, but I should have called a timeout and told them I needed to call my girlfriend."

"That's okay... What?" I said, trying to clear my head. Damn, I needed to pee. "Your girlfriend?"

"We're dating, right? That makes you my girlfriend."

"Sure. Okay," I replied, pressing my knees together hard. I waited for him to say something, jumping up and down a little.

"Anyway, I'm sorry. And I was wondering," he began, sounding a little nervous. "I'm getting ready to head out to Camp David for what's left of the weekend. Do you want to go?"

"To Camp David?"

"Yeah, with David Camp," he joked. When I didn't laugh, he continued. "We could watch all the football games tomorrow. I've got to tape an interview early, but then I have the whole day free."

I was so shocked I forgot about my bladder for a minute. And about my stomach, which was starting to roll and pitch, getting ready to blow like Old Faithful.

"When would we go?"

"Tonight. We could pick you up in an hour," he said. "It's a big place. You'd have your own room. I wasn't saying, I mean, I didn't assume..."

"No, that's okay," I said. "An hour would be good."

"Oh. Okay then. I'll see you soon, Jessie."

I hung up, then ran to the bathroom trying to decide which organ needed emptying the most. My stomach won, just barely.

A hot shower helped a little. I would have liked to stay in there until I felt vaguely human, but I'd agreed to be ready to go in an hour. What the fuck was I thinking? I didn't have time to do anything with my hair but I had to wash it since it had vomit in it—a definite turn-off on a date. I just hit it with the blow dryer and brushed it a little.

I gargled with baking soda, brushed my teeth until my gums hurt, smeared on a little makeup, put on good underwear, a sweater and jeans, threw some clothes in an overnight bag and chewed a handful of Tums. I was as ready as I was going to get, with fifteen minutes to spare. So I worked on my hair a little more.

Camp David. Like I was going to a summit on the Middle East or something. I couldn't believe that Grant actually called, and that he sounded sweet, and worried and nervous. Maybe he didn't think I was a slut. Or, if he did, he thought I was a really good one. Either way, I had another chance, and I was determined not to blow it.

A black Suburban pulled up right on time. Ron put my overnight bag in the back then helped me get in. I was disappointed that Grant wasn't there, but Ron explained that he had to take a helicopter. I guess that made sense. Another guy was driving and Ron sat in the middle seats with me.

"Did you have a nice evening, ma'am?" Ron asked.

"Yes. But you've got to stop calling me 'ma'am.'"

He smiled. "How about 'Ms. Parker'?"

"How about 'Jessie'?"

"No can do, ma'am. Protocol, and all," he said. "Would you like something to drink?"

There was a bar built into the back of the console between the front seats.

"Some club soda would be fantastic," I said. "And some Tylenol?"

He chuckled. "I suspected you weren't feeling well."

"Why?"

"The bottle of Jack on the kitchen table," he said. "And you missed some spots in the bathroom when you cleaned up."

I felt like I was going to cry. "Are you going to tell Grant?"

"No, ma'am. We're allowed to be discrete," he said, then paused. "Listen, I know you were upset when I called this afternoon, and I think I know why."

"No. I was just busy."

"No need to explain," Ron said. "Can I offer you some advice?"

"Sure."

"The Service has a nickname for each president. Mr. Sinclair's is 'Shooter', as in 'straight shooter'. It's not tongue in cheek—he's the real deal. If he says something, you can put it in the bank." He paused, and looked at me. I nodded. "But you have to understand, his time isn't his own. He's under intense pressure, and he's human. Something has to give, and usually it's him taking care of himself, or his personal business."

"I understand," I said, feeling foolish. The guy was the leader of the free world, for Christ's sake. If he didn't call me on time, I could cut him some slack.

"Good." Ron looked at me for a moment, then smiled. "This is a personal comment—it doesn't reflect on the Service. But I'm damn glad to have you around. Shooter needs someone he can talk to, and relax with."

I must have looked embarrassed, and the sip of club soda I was taking spilled down the front of my parka.

"I don't mean the sex, ma'am," he said. "Although you sure put a bounce in his step I haven't seen in a while."

"Oh, Jeez," I said, mortified. I was right—everyone must have been talking about me.

"Please, I didn't mean to offend. We're here to protect—the personal things we see stay with us, you can count on that," he said. "What I meant to say was, that I think you're okay, and that I'm pulling for you. I hope you stick around for a while."

"Ditto on that, ma'am," the driver said.

"Thanks. I guess," I said.

After we turned off the public road in Catoctin Mountain Park, there were checkpoints with guardhouses and lots of soldiers. Then we drove for a while through thick woods. I had camped in the park before and this was similar, except the roads were a lot smoother and even at 2 a.m. the buildings we passed were brightly lit.

"Don't these people sleep?" I asked.

"Not when Shooter is here," Ron replied.

We arrived at a complex of cabins and larger buildings. They were mostly of log construction, so the place looked like a ski resort. There was more activity around one of the largest lodge buildings and that was where we pulled up. A sign outside said 'Aspen Lodge.'

"I'll bring your things, ma'am," Ron said. "Go on in—they're expecting you." He nodded toward two huge Marines in dress uniform who were guarding the entrance.

The Ibuprofen and club soda had helped—my queasiness was mainly because I was nervous. I walked into the lodge and looked around. A great room as big as the whole downstairs of my house was furnished with heavy, rugged-looking chairs and couches, arranged into seating areas. I could imagine clusters of diplomats huddled solemnly, arguing about the fate of the Golan Heights. A huge stone fireplace blazed in the center of the room.

"Jessie! You made it."

I turned and saw Grant. He was dressed casually in jeans and a flannel shirt, and carrying a sheaf of documents he'd been reading. He gave me a gentle hug, then rested his free hand on my shoulder as he studied my face. He smiled, then kissed me. Softly, his lips lingering on mine for a few seconds. He smelled good, of aftershave and woodsmoke.

"It's so good to see you, Jessie."

"You too. Are you working?"

"Just finished," he said, then tossed the documents on an end table. "I know it's late, but would you like a cognac, or some wine?"

"Some sherry would be good."

There was an intercom unit on the wall. Grant pushed a button. "Jean? Two sherries please. And some cheese and crackers."

"Just like that? In the middle of the night?" I asked.

"The job has a few perks," he said. He sat on one of the couches and I joined him.

A middle-aged woman dressed in a black and white uniform came gliding into the room moments later. She deposited a tray in front of us and disappeared. The sherry tasted good, and to my surprise, I was famished. Grant watched me eat, sipping his drink.

"So. Are you still mad at me?" he asked, finally.

I couldn't answer right away because my mouth was full. That gave me time to think.

"I wasn't mad, Grant. Not at you," I said. "I thought that I messed things up. The way I acted before..."

He covered my hand with his, and squeezed. "Stop, Jessie. You were fine. It wasn't fair, how I came busting in there like that. You were nervous, and had a right to be."

"Still, I shouldn't have come onto you like that."

"Why not? It's the best thing that's happened to me in years."

"Really?"

"I haven't thought of much else since. You're amazing."

We looked at each other, then he kissed me again. His arm slid around me, and drew me close. After a minute, his tongue probed, and our mouths opened. We kissed for a long time, relaxed and affectionate, exploring. He nibbled and sucked at my lips, my ears, and my neck. His hand rubbed my shoulder, and stroked my hair. The fireplace crackled nearby, its heat radiating around us. I started to feel drowsy, and Grant noticed.

"Wow. It's late, I better get you to bed," he said.

The prospect sounded fantastic. The fireplace wasn't the only thing putting off heat—my pussy was ready to burst into flames.

He took me to a bedroom, and it was fabulous. Thick rugs on the floor, a big, four-poster bed that was turned down, with a billowy-looking down comforter. My overnight bag was at the foot of the bed.

"You'll be in here, and I'll be right down the hall," Grant said. I started to object, then bit my lip, remembering my promise to make the most of my second chance. There was a computer on a worktable by the window. I walked over to look at it.

"Nice." I said. It was a top-of-the-line Dell, with a 21-inch flat-panel monitor.

"It's got a broadband hookup," Grant said. "Most of our guests need to stay in touch."

He leaned over the keyboard and typed quickly with one hand. The homepage for our football league popped onto the screen.

"See—you can get your teams ready," he said, smiling.

"Maybe in the morning," I said, wishing we were still on the couch, necking.

Grant hugged me for a moment, then kissed my forehead.

"Sleep well. See you tomorrow."

Sleep? Right! I was so horny I couldn't think straight. Even if I brought a vibrator with me I'd have been afraid to use it. It would probably set off some fancy electronic threat detection system and then Marine guards would come storming in to disarm me.

The room was dark except for the dull glow from the computer monitor. After a while, I got up and padded over to it. Might as well get my teams ready, after all. I finished logging in and checked my messages. There was one from Grant, sent before I arrived.

Hi, Jessie. I hope you're comfortable here—I want you to be. I know this is a lot to soak in all at once. I'm not very good at this dating thing. Maybe that's why I've avoided it. I'm glad I took a chance this time—you're special.

So that was why he showed me the computer, so I'd see his message. It was so sweet it made me want to cry. I typed a reply.

Oh, Grant! Your message made me feel so good. I think you're special too—and not just because of the Commander-in-Chief thing. <smile> I know I haven't handled things that well so far, but I want to be with you. I'll be better about the pressure, I promise! Jessie

Fifteen seconds later, the computer beeped, announcing an incoming message.

I woke up and stretched. The bed was incredibly warm and cozy, the thick down comforter encasing my body like a cocoon. I rolled over and saw the table with the computer, and the unfamiliar furniture. Camp David. I was really there. Bright sunshine leaked around the edges of the curtains, and a large digital wall clock read "9:32 AM." Christ, I was sleeping the whole day away.

I jumped up. I still felt a little rocky from being hung over. I grabbed my overnight bag and went to take a shower. The bathroom was fantastic, with water pressure that made my house look sick. I remembered reading somewhere that Lyndon Johnson liked to take showers that could practically blast your skin off.

I shaved my legs and pussy, then powdered and perfumed myself. When I inspected the clothes I stuffed into the overnight bag in my haste to get ready I was pleasantly surprised. I found a bra and panties that matched and were on the sexy side, a cute sweater, and my best jeans. I wasn't sure what you wore at a presidential retreat, but figured that would do.

I peeked down the hallway and into the main area. Grant said he was taping a news program that morning, and I didn't want to run into any reporters. The place looked deserted but there was a fantastic aroma wafting toward me—eggs and bacon. I was famished, so I followed my nose to the kitchen.

"Wow, I didn't know you could cook," I said. Grant was standing at a big industrial gas stove, stirring scrambled eggs, wearing a white apron over a chamois shirt and jeans. He sprinkled in some grated cheese, then turned and smiled.

"Good morning!" He flipped the bacon then came to me. He kissed me, and he tasted of fresh coffee. "They don't let me cook much, but I like it. It took an executive order to get Jean out of here."

"Don't you have to tape that TV show?" I asked.

"They were here at seven this morning," he said. "I decided to let you sleep."

"Explaining me might have been interesting."

"They would have forgotten all about the new trade pact."

I spotted the coffee maker and was drawn to it. There were several mugs on a tray, blue with the distinctive Presidential Seal on the side. I picked one up uncertainly.

"Go ahead," Grant said, smiling. "How do you like your eggs and bacon?"

"Gooey and crisp," I said, pouring the dark, rich coffee. I sipped. Oh, man. It tasted just like Starbuck's house blend. Grant finished ladling food onto two plates and I followed him to a small table in the adjoining room, set for two.

As we ate our eyes met, his twinkling with amusement. I swallowed. "What?"

"Nothing. I like watching you eat," he said. "I like being with you like this, it feels comfortable."

"You better watch out, you're going to spoil me."

"That's the plan."

Jean appeared and refilled our coffee mugs. Apparently the executive order had expired.

"Would madam care for some marmalade for her toast?" she asked.

I nodded. "Please."

Jean gave Grant a reproachful look, inspected the table for more errors, and then returned to her kitchen for the marmalade.

After breakfast, Grant suggested that we go for a walk. His walks were almost as strenuous as my runs, but the forced march along the winding trails of the retreat was just what I needed to banish the last of my hangover. The air was crisp, the scenery breathtaking, and we saw an amazing amount of wildlife. As we walked, Grant pointed out favorite spots and talked about the history of the place—which president added the tennis courts and stuff like that. He seemed a little tense. Finally, I took his hand and stopped walking.

"What's wrong?"

He frowned. "I'm sorry. It's just that walking like this... it reminds me of Becky. She loved it here."

"She was a remarkable woman."

"Yeah."

"Do you want to head back?"

"No. I'm okay—I wanted to share this with you. There's a really great view coming up."

He pulled me close and kissed me deeply, a hand cupping the back of my head. I could feel him growing hard against my hip. I glanced behind us. Two Secret Service agents were waiting a respectful distance down the trail, and I knew there were others nearby.

"We better walk," I said, panting a little.

When we got back, I went to my room to freshen up. We had an hour before the one o'clock football games started. I felt really restless, like there was something I needed to do but couldn't remember what it was. Fidgety. I sat on the edge of my bed, brushing my hair and thinking about where I was. At Camp David, surrounded by Secret Service agents, in this weird, incredibly intense relationship with a guy that I hardly knew and felt like I'd known forever at the same time. Who happened to be one of the most powerful men in the world. Jesus.

I heard noise down the hall, and stood. I walked out of my room and toward the sounds—toward Grant's room. The door was open and the bathroom light was on.

The room was larger than mine, and the furniture was more ornate. As I stood listening, Ron, the Secret Service guy, stepped into the doorway and looked at me. Our eyes met and I could tell that he understood. He winked, stepped back, and closed the door.

There were more noises in the bathroom, a cabinet door banging, and a drawer opening and closing. I pulled my sweater over my head, then unhooked my bra. I popped the snap on my jeans and slid them down, stepping free.

I thought about leaving my panties on, but I decided I might as well go all the way. Besides, the gusset was soaked.

I stood by the foot of the bed and waited for what seemed like a long time. Just as my mind was screaming at me to grab my clothes and run, Grant walked out of the bathroom. He was wiping his face on a hand towel, his shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist. There were little dabs of shaving cream under his ears.

He looked up, startled. He stared, his eyes roaming. Then he smiled. He finished unbuttoning the shirt, and took it off. He stepped out of his jeans and briefs in a quick movement and took a step toward me, naked.

Standing three paces apart, we devoured each other with our eyes. His cock went from half- to fully-engorged in the minute we waited, then we moved at the same time. I jumped, he caught me, and I wrapped my legs around him. Our mouths met and grappled, tongues dancing, and we both started to moan—a deep, hungry, needy moan.

He walked to the bed, carrying me. The hardness of his shaft was pressing against my pussy. I squirmed, wanting him inside me. As he went to his knees, the bed took my weight and his mouth found my nipple. He sucked it in, his tongue running laps around my areola. His fingers stroked my other nipple, already inflamed, pink, and hard with wanting him. He pinched it and I moaned.

"Harder. Oh, God!"

He pinched and bit at my nipples as I urged him on, pressing my tit into his face. The delicious pain pushed me over the edge and I came. He hadn't touched my pussy yet, but I came, with my body convulsing against him.

The pain stopped and I collapsed back onto the bed. Grant took an ankle in each hand and lifted my legs, positioning them bent and open wide as his tongue found the wetness of my center. He lapped at me, my pussy already twitching with pleasure. Up and down the sides, then into the crack of my ass and my body jerked and squirmed with the unfamiliar thrill of being licked there.

"Jesus!" I came again, and screamed, loud and long.

I grabbed handfuls of the comforter and held on as his tongue moved to my clit, and one finger, then two slid into my pussy and started to stroke me. I felt like I was having some kind of wonderful seizure. My thigh muscles were convulsing wildly and my lungs were heaving as though there wasn't enough oxygen in the room.

Another orgasm ripped through me, and when it eased enough for me to regain motor control, I grabbed him by the shoulders. His head came up, eyes wild and happy.

"Get up here and fuck me," I wheezed, "before you kill me!"

He complied, his lean body sliding up mine until our mouths joined. He tasted of my juices and kissing him like that seemed so intimate. I wanted him to fuck me—I needed him inside me, but he made me wait.

He cupped the side of my head with one hand as we kissed, stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear. He rocked his hips against mine, the hot, firm flesh of his shaft pressing against my mons. My nipples tangled in the hair on his chest as he moved, and they were already so sensitive that each touch made me wild.

My legs were drawn up, my thighs squeezing him. I could feel hot juices oozing out of me and running down, feel my pussy trembling, and pulsing with anticipation.

Finally, he pulled his head up, and looked into my eyes. He traced around my lips with a fingertip, stroking the fullness of them. His eyes made me forget about fucking for a second. That odd blue, the little flecks of something darker, and his look made me feel like I was the only other person in the world. He smiled.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "Thank you."

I wanted to answer, but couldn't. My brain wasn't working very well so I just looked at him, panting.

He shifted his weight and I felt the head of his cock connect with me. Poised, ready, the soft head pressing into the swollen folds of my labia. My breath caught, and I savored the feeling, pulling my legs up even more, so ready for him.

Grant pushed his dick into me slowly. So slowly that I could feel each engorged vein, each ripple of his skin, the shaft thickening at the base. When he was in me all the way, and I was stuffed full of him, he stopped, leaned in and kissed me again.

I'd never felt so connected to someone. It was like we were one. I guess I was holding him, stroking his shoulders because I usually do, but at that moment all I could feel were his lips, caressing and soft, and the hardness of his cock stretching me, opening me.

Then he started to fuck me, slowly, with long, deep strokes. He kept kissing me as long as he could, then pressed his cheek against mine. Both of us were panting, huffing for breath already.

"Oh, fuck! Oh, baby... do me, do me!" I said, then I bit his earlobe hard.

That seemed to energize him, focus him on my pussy and his dick, nothing more. His body tensed as he began to ram himself into me, harder, and faster. He pushed up on his elbows a little, far enough to see me as he fucked me. His eyes were glazed, wild with passion, and they moved from my face, to my tits, and back to my face. My boobs were rolling on my chest, then shuddering each time his hips slammed into mine, the nipples inflamed and throbbing.