Chapter 15
fifteen
Alex
I’m in multitasking mode by the time my staff lets Cindy into my stateroom on board Air Force Two. I signed off on a Wall Street Journal op-ed while on the phone with the CEO of a tech giant who wants me to become a user of their new social platform. Earlier, I spoke to the Majority Leader about drop-dead requirements for supporting the cannabis bill. When she walks in, I consciously tell myself to slow down.
She’s wearing a soft gray skirt and matching jacket with a pink blouse that makes her appear more demure than she is. Her hair is in a sleek ponytail and I want to tug it, as if I’ve reverted to a school boy.
I walk up and put my hand on her shoulder before I ask, “Are we at this stage yet? The casual kiss hello stage?”
She smiles and bites her lip a little. I love when she does that. “You tell me.”
So I do, by wrapping one hand around her shoulders and pressing the other into the small of her back so I can pull her to me and kiss her on the mouth. She tastes like the custom-made candy they offer guests on board.
Her eyes open slowly once I let her go. “Not that I don’t appreciate that, but...is anyone going to walk in on us?” she asks, eyeing the closed door she came in.
“I asked them to give us 20 minutes.” My staff is too professional to show surprise.
“Yikes. Time pressure.” She turns away from me. “As if this wasn’t already a lot.”
I note her ramrod posture, shoulders thrown back and neck stiff. She’s in a new environment—heavily sanitized and with weird lighting and a lot of people around—and not exactly a sexy one. “Are you nervous?”
She turns around and smiles, but it’s as sanitized as Air Force Two. “Not to talk about this bill.”
“Listen,” I say, and walk toward her so she backs up against my desk. “Why don’t you sit here.” I push her gently and she sits down on the edge. “I will sit here.” I pull up a chair in front of her. “And you can tell me where you’re at on the bill while I do this.”
Reaching down, I pick up her foot and ease off her high heel. The pointy toe cannot be comfortable, but my sisters would inform me that’s not the point. In fairness, her discomfort was appreciated when I checked out her legs.
I take her foot into my lap and start digging my thumbs into the ball of it.
She closes her eyes and holds onto the desk. “OK, if you insist, Mr. Vice President.”
I laugh. “You can call me Alex, you know.”
She leans back, her eyes still closed, stretching out her leg. “How many people call you Alex?”
“Tim—the president. Anita. My mom. My sisters. Thor probably does, too, but not out loud.” I move my thumbs gradually down the center of her foot. She moans quietly, making me smile. “So tell me where you’re at.”
She keeps her eyes closed, her face tilted toward the ceiling, as she says, “I have more support for keeping the banking, so let’s go for that. We can attach expunging records to another bill in the future.”
“Well, I’ve got bad news for you.” I press more firmly with my fingers, flexing and pointing her foot. Her fingers cling to the edge of the desk as I tug on her limb. “The Majority Leader says the provision she will consider is deleting past records.”
“Oh my god, of course she did.”
It’s bad news and I can do nothing about it but distract her. “You know, this is much more effective with more access,” I murmur, sliding my hand up her leg.
She goes still. “Is it?”
“Let me show you how much more,” I say, sliding my hand around to her inner thigh. I pick up on the moment when she thinks about closing her legs, but then she lets them fall open. She’s balanced on a few inches of desk with one foot in my lap and the other on the toe of one shoe, an awkward position that gives me all the access I want. “Tell me more about the bill,” I suggest, my hand tracing the taut muscles leading in the direction of her core.
She takes a little sip of air, her head still thrown back. “Someone’s going to revolt to prove a point. I can’t guarantee all six of our votes.”
“That’s alright. If the whole party votes with us, we only need five. Do we have five?”
“I...think so,” she says. She’s frowning. Can’t have that. I stand up, placing her foot back on the chair, and she pulls her head forward and opens her eyes.
“One second,” I say. I put my hands on her hips and start lifting her tight skirt up, slowly folding it over in my hands, revealing an inch of her legs at a time. I glance up at her before the final fold that bares her pink panties to my eyes, checking to make sure she’s still with me. She’s curious, maybe more curious than turned on. But she doesn’t stop me.
I lift her a little so I can get the skirt under her, and put her back down on the desk with her skirt hiked up the way I want. I pull her shirt up around her waist a little. Then I step back and gaze at her, perched on my desk looking disheveled, her legs spread and her panties showing.
“Ah yeah, this is it. Whole reason to become the vice president.”
She smiles a little, a knowing smile, nodding with her chin at the way I’ve posed her. “Is this all?”
“Not quite.”
She meets my eyes. “Are you watching the time?”
I glance at the clock over my desk and nod. “We’re OK.”
“Then show me what else you want.” Her voice is a dare. She doesn’t move, like she’s enjoying playing doll for me.
Stepping back between her legs, I help her take off her jacket. Putting my hand around her ponytail, I pull her head back with her hair using small, testing tugs. I want to test the limits of how aggressive she likes it. She gasps, her chin pointing up at the ceiling. “You like that, hm?” I say, and run my lips along her exposed neck. I use my other hand to check through the thin fabric of her panties. “Oh, you like that a lot.”
The pulse in her neck beats hard against my mouth.
“Tell me,” I urge.
“Yes, I like it a lot,” she agrees. Her eyes, raised toward the ceiling of the plane, slide closed. I put pressure on her head until she lays back on my desk, and I push her shirt up over her breasts so I can see her bra. Pink as well.
“I think you hoped I’d see this,” I murmur, running one finger over the curve of her breast where bare skin meets lace.
“It crossed my mind,” she whispers, opening her eyes and looking at me.
I step back so I can get a good mental picture of Cindy Wight stretched across my desk. Vulnerable and wanting. She raises her other leg, dropping her shoe onto the floor, and putting the heel of her bare foot on the edge of the wood.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Enjoying the view,” I reply. I glance at the clock again. We might not have enough time, but I’m going to give it a shot.
Pulling her leg back off the desk, I reach under her skirt to take her underwear off. She watches me as I do it, but neither of us say a word. I put the panties in my suit pocket, step back between her legs and slide both hands down her thighs. She arches her back, a delicious sight with her shirt pulled up, and closes her eyes again. She has a landing strip of hair between her legs, and I suspect it’s freshly trimmed.
“Thanks for this,” I murmur, sliding one finger down her slit. She cuts off a moan by biting her lip. “Not necessary, but appreciated.”
Resting both hands on either side of her pussy, holding her pelvis spread open so I can see the folds of her labia and the opening below it, I blow gently. She shivers and her legs quiver.
I glance at the clock again. Definitely not enough time.
Lowering my face between her legs, I plunge my tongue into her opening.
“Mmph.” She slaps a palm over her own mouth.
“That’s good,” I say. “Keep your hand over your mouth.”
Checking long enough to make sure she follows directions, I then lick up and around her clit and draw it into my mouth to give it a strong suck. She murmurs against her hand and lifts her butt off the desk toward my mouth. Her actions say: more . That’s good, since it’s been a while since I did this.
I raise my head and check the clock as I shove two fingers inside Cindy without warning her. She’s swollen and wet; I knew they would slide right in and I’m right. I twist them back and forth as she arches up and into me, eyes closed, hand over her mouth, so debauched already.
She pulls her hand away. “That’s good,” she whispers.
I put my face back into her pussy and lift her up into my mouth with my wet hand, bracing my other hand on the desk so she stays arched away from the desk. I make fast circles around her clit, then slow, alternating pressure.
“Jesus, Mr. Vice President,” she whispers. “Alex.” She puts her hand back over her mouth to silence herself.
My own cock is hard from the sound of her, from the visual of her spread out in my workplace, from the signs she’d let me do anything I want right now. I decide to test this, again.
With my two wet fingers, I find the second opening below her pussy and circle it, lubricating, before I press inward with one.
She breathes in hard. Her free hand flies to the top edge of the desk by her head and clutches it. She’s pressing hard enough against her mouth with the other hand that her fingers turn white.
I push my finger inside of her and turn my mouth into a suction at the same time. Then I catch sight of the clock again and pull back. “Fuck,” I whisper.
She drops her hand and opens her eyes. “Fuck?” She follows my eyes and hers widen. “Fuck.”
I release her back onto the desk and help her sit up, drawing her shirt down.
“I’m so sorry. Someone could come back at any moment.” I pull her off the desk and she smoothes her skirt down.
“No, yes, I mean, I completely lost track of time.” She’s breathing hard. Her face is flushed. She yanks her ponytail down and starts trying to redo her hair.
I’m so hard I involuntarily lean into her, letting the head of my cock brush against her side through my pants. I clench my teeth in response to the sensation. It’s not enough. She pauses and I rest my forehead against hers for a moment, sharing this excruciating sensation. I smooth my fingers over the shirt now covering her breast.
“Use the bathroom,” I suggest after a few moments of breathing together, pulling away and pointing to the door in the corner. She leans down to grab her shoes and hurries toward it.
The door has just closed behind her when Deena knocks on the outer door and steps in. I duck behind my desk to hide my hard-on. “Sir, if you’re about finished…” She pauses and scans the room for the missing Cindy.
I gesture at the bathroom. “About finished,” I agree, wishing to put my head down on my desk. I straighten some of the papers on it. “When are we landing?” I ask.
“In 30 minutes,” Deena says.
Cindy steps out of the bathroom like nothing happened, clothes straight and hair smooth. She locks eyes with Deena. “My time up?” she asks, a little too cheerfully. She doesn’t look at me.
“I’m afraid so, ma’am.”
Before she can leave, I clear my throat. “We can perhaps find some time this evening to continue this conversation. You have my number.”
“I do.” Cindy nods at me crisply. “Thank you.” She picks up her jacket and Deena ushers her out the door. I smile, tidying my desk quickly before Deena comes back, because Cindy looks like the most professional woman on the plane but only I know that she left behind her panties.
Cindy
Legs still shaky, I take my seat with the members of the Michigan delegation. Leanne, a woman 20 years my senior, leans over and says, “Was that the most amazing experience?”
My eyes dart to the other woman’s. I fold my legs carefully to one side, to avoid flashing anyone with my bare lady parts.
“Flying on Air Force One or Two never gets old,” the woman continues with a smile. “If it ever does, that’s when it’s time to give up this whole business.”
I nod and smile. I’m thankful I didn’t have to walk through the reporters on the plane to get back to my seat. I looked normal, if a little flushed, in Alex’s bathroom mirror, but who knows what a gaggle of reporters might sniff out—possibly literally. Between my legs, it’s still wet.
My stomach is clenched, like I reached the top of a roller coaster and am teetering on the drop. I’d been close when he stopped. Shockingly close. I haven’t come that fast since my early 30s.
Once we land, my group, as well as the press pool, disembark before the vice president does. I don’t join the photo op of the Michigan delegation and Detroit mayor greeting Alex. I have two conference calls scheduled, so I head back to my hotel room.
The first thing I do is put on fresh underwear. I wonder if Alex left mine in his pocket while taking photos. The idea leaves me half embarrassed, half smug. I’m proud that I can still surprise myself with stolen moments of intimacy. But also embarrassed because of how the public would perceive it if anyone ever found out. I’m the one who would be branded a slut in this scenario, no matter that Alex had all the power.
After all these years working in one of the least sexy industries in the country, what we did on Air Force Two is weighed down with a layer of prohibition beyond the fact that it’s a government plane. If someone ever found out, there might be an ethics investigation.
Stop feeling guilty, Cindy! Historical records show presidents have had sex on Air Force One in the past—I’d looked it up. Is a government official wasting taxpayer money every time she goes to the bathroom or sleeps at night? Voters are not electing robots.
But I already have enough challenges on my plate, enough criticism just for daring to exist and use my voice in this world.
My first call is on video, and as I’m setting up my hotel desk, I silently promise I’ll let myself have this—these stolen, sexy moments—so long as they remain secret.