Six years later
This meeting can’t end fast enough.
I only returned an hour ago from a meeting with the Canadian Prime Minister. Now I’ve hit the ground running, giving an audience to a panel of American car manufacturers. Their concerns are important to me, but my mind is elsewhere, so I struggle to listen. One of my assistants is taking notes that I’ll review later.
We’re seated in the Oval Office and my attention continually drifts to the door, willing Cate to walk through, while also willing her not to. Because there is no way that I’ll be able to keep my hands off her after three days out of DC. At night, once everyone has gone home, she has the run of the place, draping herself over my desk while I’m on international calls or sliding in her socks on the waxed floors of the numerous conference rooms. Of course, she spends a lot of time exhausted in my bed, naked and rosy in the sheets, my teeth marks on her ass.
I wonder what the American people would think if they knew the one thing keeping their leader sane, and this the country running smoothly, was the president’s stepsister.
After I was elected, Cate came with me to DC, along with my father and Rebecca, and is now heavily involved in environmental initiatives. My stepsister wanted to work, to find a way to make a difference and she’s done so, winning over the press and the American people with her earnest personality, her kindness and sugary southern accent, which I demanded she stop hiding.
Her bond with nature has made her perfect for the job on the environmental committees, although it does put us in close proximity in front of an audience. Frequently. And it gets harder by the day not to pull her into my lap while others are around. To kiss her neck or call her “sweetheart.” I hate that we have to pretend to have a platonic relationship, but I appease myself by mentally repeating it’s not forever. It’s not forever.
It would be a lot harder if our secrecy was making Cate unhappy, but she is content. Patient. She’s my treasure and I don’t know what I would do without her.
My press secretary stands, signaling an end to the meeting, and I follow suit, shaking hands, smiling for pictures and promising to take a hard look at the recession’s economic impact on their industry—and I will—as soon as I’ve slaked my appetite for a certain blonde.
On my way out of the Oval Office, I catch the eye of a reporter and he salutes me, his Superman cuff links winking in the light. I nod back.
The White House is a buzz of activity and several people try to get my attention on my walk through the hall. I pride myself on being an accessible, approachable president, but not right now. I need to see her or I’m going to go insane. FaceTiming and texting isn’t enough when her skin against mine is what makes me feel whole.
I take the elevator to the residential floor, my stride hastening on the way to my room. Thankful there is no one around, I reach down and palm my stiffening cock, imagining how slick she’s going to be. How hot and horny she gets after we’ve been apart.
I enter my bedroom and lock the door behind me, crossing to my closet. Walking inside and pushing the coats to one end, so I can access the private door on the back wall. It was designed as a panic room. But I use it for much more interesting purposes.
Cate has a private residence a couple of blocks away, but that’s mainly for appearance’s sake. Her nights are spent underneath her Daddy—and that’s non-negotiable.
Daytime is more complicated, though.
There are tours taking place, interns running in circles, press around every corner. With no other option, we meet here, in the soundproof room beyond my closet where no one can find us, no one can see us and we’re free to be together.
Now, I push open the door and growl over the sight of her.
Swinging from the tire swing I attached to the ceiling. A smile on her face. Her light hair trailing out behind her. The light is low, the room mostly lit by the fairy lights we strung around the space to represent her fireflies.
God, she’s the most beautiful sight in the world. My heart slams against my jugular, a bead of sweat trickling down my spine. She’s wearing a long, flowing skirt and no shirt. No bra No shoes. The thin, leather collar.
At twenty-four, she’s still completely wild and untamed, as she should be. As free as possible while belonging heart, body and soul to her devoted stepbrother.
The President of the United States.
“You’re back,” she breathes when she spots me, leaping off the swing and taking a running jump into my arms. “I missed you so much.”
Her legs find their way around my waist, our mouths seeking each other’s hungrily and locking together. I slide a hand down the back of her skirt and knead her ass, producing a mewling sound from her sweet little mouth.
“I need you so bad, baby.”
Nodding solemnly, she slides her fingers into my hair, lithe thighs flexing around my hips. Pussy restless and hot. I can fucking feel it through my pants. “Want to play on my other swing, Daddy?”
“Yes,” I rasp, turning and carrying her to the other side of the room, where a very different kind of swing hangs from the ceiling. One with straps and harnesses and Velcro.
I’m already panting as I throw her face down onto the padded supports and yank off her skirt, wrapping the Velcro loops around her ankles. She takes hold of the dangling straps on the other end, winding them around her fists and spreading her legs. Offering me that backside. And fuck. Fuck. I have to taste her, get inside of her. I’m fumbling with my zipper and cursing, my eyes riveted on her spread ass cheeks, the shiny pink valley in between.
Cock sprung, I fall on my knees and walk forward, taking a cheek in each hand and licking worshipfully. I rake my teeth gently over her puckered asshole, tonguing it greedily, before traveling lower and finding the moisture saturating her folds. Reveling in it with the whole lower half of my face. My lips, my chin, my nose.
She whimpers and wiggles in the straps, whining my name—and I can’t wait another second to fuck my sexy little stepsister.
Getting to my feet once again, I tuck my aching cock inside her entrance, grab hold of her hips and yank back, impaling her on my lap. “Oh fuck yeah,” I pant, the swing’s chains rattling as I deliver ferocious pump and ferocious pump, her screams being absorbed by the soundproof walls. No one the wiser that I’m balls deep in family, right under their noses.
It’s not forever.
It’s not forever.
As always, I house the fear that our secrecy will cause a strain on this girl I love beyond reason, despite her assurances to the contrary. Nonetheless, my hoarse demands echo that worry. “Tell me you love me. Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she sobs, her hips working overtime to welcome me home. “I’m yours forever, Tristan.”
I draw her back roughly, her buttocks slapping up against my stomach, my dick squeezing in and out of that tight motherfucking hole that haunts me when I’m away from her for more than five minutes. “Let me get you pregnant,” I growl.
Those words leave me without premeditation, but as soon as they’ve been uttered, I can never take them back and I don’t want to. There is nothing more in the world that I want but to have a family with Cate. My love, my stepsister, my life.
“How?” she breathes, quietly, as if we’re sharing a secret.
I lean down and press a kiss into the center of her back, another one on her shoulder. “We’ll tell them it was a choice. You planned it.”
“Artificial—”
“Yes.”
She moans, her sex rippling around me. “Yes, Daddy. Do it.”
I rear back and slap her ass. “No more pills for you, little girl.”
God help us both, the talk of pregnancy turns us into animals. The equipment groans under the force of my drives, both of us calling hoarsely to each other, my grip on her hips bruising as she swings forward and slams back onto my lap. Chains clank. My American flag pin catches the light and winks at me mockingly in the dim room, but nothing can stop me. Nothing can stop us. Or keep us apart. Not even the free world.
Another six years later
It’s my final press conference as a two-term president.
Cate stands to my right, her arm around our five-year-old daughter.
Although, technically, no one knows I’m her father.
They assume I’ve brought my niece and stepsister on stage for my farewell address. Not abnormal. My father and Rebecca are there, too, beaming at the large crowd.
I say the final words of my speech and turn to Cate, letting her see the wealth of love and adoration in my eyes. Letting everyone see how much she means to me. How she’s responsible for every beat of my heart and always will be. And then I kiss her. Long and good. In front of the cameras, using my tongue, my fingers brushing her leather collar. I kiss her in front of the nation I’ve led for eight years.
There are camera flashes and shouted questions as soon as I pull away, but I don’t pay it any attention. I simply hold my Cate’s hand and usher her, and our daughter, off the stage to begin the next phase of our lives. In the light.
THE END
