THE QUEEN’S BEDROOM, considered well-suited to visiting monarchy by the White House staff, felt as stodgy and antiquated as the name suggested. It had certainly received the title when my grandmother wore the crown, because my own wife was anything save boring. Despite the overtly Victorian femininity of the wall-coverings and lacy bedspread, Clara’s presence breathed a vitality into the space. She stirred in her sleep and my breath caught even as I felt a familiar restlessness awakening in me.
Her rich, brown hair fanned over the pillowcase as a serenity passed over her fair features, and her lips began to move silently in her dreams. Propping myself up on my elbow, I studied her and wondered who she was talking to. While it might be pointless to be jealous of the time she spent asleep, I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t possess her in her dreams. For my irrational side—which too often overrode my common sense—it was unbearable.
Maybe that’s why I felt the need to wake her so often for nocturnal activities.
The anatomical center of my irrationality twitched in agreement at the thought, and my hand went to it. I stroked myself absently. How early was too early to wake her for morning sex? It was difficult to determine given how cocked up our sleep schedule had been since arriving in Seattle a little over a week ago. Since then we’d visited three more U.S. cities on our goodwill tour. At least the capitol was our last stop. Between traveling and our daughter’s teething-induced crankiness, Clara was perpetually knackered.
Still, she never said no.
“Are you warming up for something?” she murmured. Her lashes fluttered as she eyed me drowsily.
“I didn’t want to wake you.” I didn’t add that I would have woken her anyway. Although I took pride in my self-control, I was glaringly deficient in that avenue where it came to my wife. When I had her alone I needed to be touching her.
Clara’s laughter lifted some of the never-ceasing weight from my chest. Perhaps my obsession stemmed from the miraculous balm of her presence. She’d always been able to alleviate the burdens I carried with me, even though the pressures in my life had increased exponentially since she came into it. She bound me as she released me. It was the great paradox of our love that we saved each other by chaining ourselves to lives of duty.
“You would have woken me anyway,” she accused, stretching her slender arms over her head as she displayed her uncanny ability to read my thoughts.
The movement caught my attention and I seized my chance. Rolling on top of her, I snatched her hands and held them. “Is that a complaint, poppet?”
Her body responded with a comforting awareness of my dominance. Clara’s legs fell open, softening in welcome and her breathing shifted to shallow, eager panting as she purred the only words I needed to hear. “Yes, please.”
I accepted her invitation, releasing my grip on her only long enough to pluck free the sash that held the bed curtains to the post. She didn’t protest as I gently tied her wrist to the bed. Moving my knee against her bare cunt as a gage, I decided she was more than content by the idea of a morning play session.
“I’m not certain Americans approve of bondage so early in the morning.” But she stretched her free arm toward the other post even as she spoke.
I couldn’t hold back my arrogance as I smirked down at her. “I don’t play by their rules.”
I cinched her wrists tighter to prove my point and was rewarded with a warm surge of arousal.
“Should the Queen be tied up in her own bedroom?” She loved to rile me up, knowing that it would pay dividends in how rough I’d get. The more saucy she got, the more I needed to dominate her. Like most couples our sex life ran the gamut of slow and sensual to clawing and primal. Unlike most couples, it ran that gamut daily.
“If she’s in the King’s bed, she should be.” Sinking back on my heels, I appreciated the sight of my wife tied up and helpless. Thankfully, the house was large and Elizabeth was with the nanny down the hall, because I felt inspired to make her scream. Clara’s breasts spilled from her silky nightgown and I snapped the fragile straps to release them entirely. Moving down her body, I sucked the soft mound, drawing her nipple into my mouth. While I might be impatient to get her beneath me, I never minded taking my time once I had her there. Quiet moans escaped from her and I increased my suction until I was practically biting the soft flesh. Clara arched toward me, her hips beginning to wiggle as she searched for relief. I loved watching my wife come but guiding her toward the edge was arguably even better. Turning this beautiful, intelligent woman into mass of incoherent desire was only fair since she reduced me to that primal state every time she walked into a room.
“Don’t you have appointments today?” She pressed her body desperately to mine.
“Not for hours,” I said with a mouthful of her creamy breast. I hadn’t bothered to tell her how early I’d decided to start my day. I had no doubt that the time would pass too quickly for both of our likings.
“X!” she demanded through gritted teeth.
I withdrew and raised an eyebrow. Questioning my authority in the bedroom would only earn her more time on her back. I suspected she knew that. “You’re being impatient.”
“And you’re being infuriating!” Her hands curled over her restraints as if she was testing them.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of those so easily,” I informed her even as I settled between her thighs. Stroking the head of my cock down her swollen seam, I grinned at the amusement she couldn’t quite hide from her answering glare. Hoisting her legs around my hips, I held her there, stretching her long body between the bed posts and my groin, and waited.
“Please.” She licked her lips, her eyes going glassy as she asked again. “Please. Please.”
I groaned, unable to resist her when she began to beg, and thrust inside her. Her muscles immediately contracted around my shaft as I drove her toward release. She cried out, splitting apart. I’d taken her over the edge, but once again she’d brought me to my knees.
THE OVAL OFFICE looked far more ceremonial than official with the camera crew shooting in front of the President’s desk. The room itself was decorated in shades of ivory and yellow, but the color palette did little to warm the cool atmosphere. It wasn’t unreasonable for the White House to film my visit, but it didn’t lend itself to natural conversation. Having never met the new Commander-in-Chief of the United States, I had to be on my best behavior. I only hoped he would be as well.