THE PRESIDENT'S GIRLFRIEND by Mallory Monroe Page A

her braids up and dropping them back down, loving the way the up-do highlighted her high cheekbones.  “You ain’t so tough.  Know how I know?”
     “How?” she asked.  He was closer now, her body nearly on his lap. 
     He moved even closer to her face, staring at her mouth.  “Because you aren’t tough enough to stop this,” he said and pressed his lips onto hers. 
     He began kissing her, in a soft, delicate delight.  He didn’t want to rush.  He’d been wanting this since the last time he had it, and he didn’t want to rush.  Gina leaned back and enjoyed every minute of his passion, her mouth moving in circular rhythm to his, her body growing more tense the longer he kissed her. 
     And when he lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom, she felt as if she was burning with fire.  He laid her on bed and they began undressing him, tossing his clothes aside.  And then he was going after her, desperate to see her beautiful brown naked body again.  And when he did, when they were both naked, he began kissing her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, and then her womanhood.  He lapped it up, making her so wet that she was hunching her back in anticipation.  He looked up at her.  There would be no condom this time. 
     He moved up to her and entered her, his erection so stiff it felt like an actual rod entering her.  “Oh,” she yelled out as he entered her, moving in so deep, so expertly as only he knew how.  And the thought of not rushing, of taking it slow and easy, became a fairytale, because he could not contain himself any longer and began to pound.
     He pounded her with all the strength he had in him, and the enjoyment wouldn’t ebb, wouldn’t let up, wouldn’t give him a moment’s respite.  It felt so good, the fierceness of it, and he couldn’t stop pounding her.  He turned her over, entered her from the back, and continued to gyrate.  Gina held onto the bedspread, but it was a flimsy hold, as her entire body kept slipping down to him, kept being sucked in by that wonderful feeling he and only he had been able to give to her. 
     And when the release came, it didn’t seep out like a drip, but shot out like a sieve, stretching every muscle in her body as she took him in.  And he kept pounding.  Until he screamed her name and poured out his last gush that drained him of all, every solitary ounce, of his energy. 
     He collapsed on top of her.
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Gina thought it was a dream.  That kind of sex couldn’t possibly be true.  And then she heard her name.  Miss Lansing.   Miss Lansing .  But why would Dutch call her Miss? 
     She opened her eyes.  Her environment seemed so strange.  Until she remembered.  Hotel.   Fundraiser.  Dutch.  She smiled at the thought of Dutch.  Was that his hand touching her?  She looked up, at the man standing beside her bed.  Only it wasn’t Dutch.  It was Christian.  And that look on his face made clear to her that she’d been left again.  She didn’t ask this time, but quickly looked to the other side of the bed.  The indentation where Dutch’s body had been was still there.  But he was gone.
     She laid her head back.
     “I’m sorry, Miss Lansing,” Christian said.
     “Call me Gina.”
     “The president would prefer I call you Miss Lansing.”
     “Oh, he would, would he?”  Gina was so disgusted with herself, with Dutch, that she didn’t know what to do.
     “There’s no rush, ma’am.  I’ll just wait in the lobby until you’re ready.”
     “What time is it?”
     “It’s four after nine, ma’am.  Sunday morning.”
     She couldn’t believe she slept this long.  Then again, she could.  Dutch had her in his arms all night, and she felt safe and protected and so comfortable.  “I take it the president is in a different suite?  That this wasn’t his suite, after all.”
     “This was his