Billionaire On Fire: The Complete Series (A Bad Boy Alpha Billionaire Romance) (67 page)

He finally said the words I was hoping to
hear, “Come for me. Make it hard, Aria. I want to taste every bit of you coming
in my mouth for the first time as my wife.”

He slid his tongue deep inside me, moving
it in and out while the top of his lips still rubbed against my clit. It must
have been seconds before I exploded violently into his mouth, trembling from
the sheer intensity of the sensation. I was shaking for over a full minute, but
Zayden did not stop his exploration and continued to work his way inside me. He
thrust his tongue as fast as he could so that within minutes I felt another
surge of eruption bubble inside me and grabbed every inch of his hair as a
second orgasm followed the first one with equal intensity.

---

I didn’t know how we made it back into the
room and onto big plushy bed. We were entangled in each other once more and I
wasn’t sure I could take it any longer.

Finally, he looked at me completely naked.
His cock was pointing at me in anticipation and he said, “As much as I would
like for your mouth to devour my cock right now, I don’t think I can take
another minute of this torture and I will probably come within seconds,
delaying our opportunity to fuck as a married couple right away. So,” he said
and held me tight by my arms, pushing me flat against the bed. “I am just going
to,” he said every word with great emphasis. “Fuck you,” he finished, sliding
himself right through me while his mouth found its way to my neck.

The feeling of him inside me – my husband,
who I had just married – was so overwhelming; I almost had another orgasm on
the spot. But I wanted to match his climax, so I did everything in my power to
stop my body from reacting to its natural tendency. Instead I moved with him as
he fucked me, every thrust harder and deeper than the last, hitting me in all
the right places. I fucked him back with all my might until both of us couldn’t
take it any longer and we both exploded with what I was certain was the most
intense climax either of us had ever experienced.

“I love you, Mrs. Roberts-Sinclair,” my
husband said to me a few minutes later, after we made love as a married couple
for the first time in what was to become a lifetime.

“I love you too, Mr. Roberts-Sinclair,” I
said, the happiest I had ever been in my life, before passing out into the arms
that had become the most comfortable place for me in the world.

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Power
Box Set

The
Complete Power Romance Series

By
Claire Adams

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2015 Claire Adams

POWER #1

Chapter
1

I stood in the shadow of the great house
before me, hearing the taxi whizz behind on its way back toward Pennsylvania.
I’d never been in the White House before, but god had I imagined it. The
exterior white shell of it seemed to speak of so much—so much history. Those
immaculate rooms, that power, the vibrancy. And, above all, that handsome
president—the leader of the free world.

I adjusted my blue suit beneath me,
tugging at it, allowing my breasts to bounce a bit. I knew that they didn’t
hurt my chances, but I didn’t like to think of it. I knew my smarts could
propel me into the role if I played my cards right; if I flung myself through
the interview like a pro—like I had countless other times throughout my
career—I could land the position of my dreams.

Head of the President’s Re-election
Campaign.

I thought about
 
the way they’d discuss it on the news: Amanda
Martin, the woman of the hour. Only twenty-nine years old and already moving
her way up the political ladder.

Beneath my fine, blue suit, I felt my
stomach grumble at me with a sort of rage. I was nervous, certainly. After all,
my past accomplishments didn’t stand up against this feat. I’d been president
of my sorority back in school, just because I didn’t want my sorority (the one
my mother had forced me to join, stating she wouldn’t pay for my college
otherwise) to be just like any other sorority. If I was going to be a part of
it, we were going to make a goddamned difference. And we did.

And then after that, in my home city of
Philadelphia, I’d become one of the secretaries in the mayor’s office. Nothing
big, no. But after a few years into it, with success around every corner and my
name blasted in a few important peoples’ ears, I’d been invited to come to
Washington to work on the initial campaign for the now-president. I’d been only
twenty-four at the time, and I wasn’t ready for the flash, the grandeur of D.C.
But I acclimated easily, after a few minor bumps and one silly affair with a
congressman.

Just one!

And now, I found myself back in D.C. A
congressman, George Carlman, had suggested I apply. I’d been an essential part
of the previous campaign. I remembered the rallies, the fast-paced nature of it
all. I remembered counting votes until my eyes bled. But when our president,
Xavier Callaway, had made that speech on that January day, I knew it had all
been worth it. My heart seemed to beat only for him. It wasn’t just that he was
handsome—after all, he’d paid nearly no attention to me during the entire
election process. It was that what I had done, all the work I’d propelled into
the campaign, had been worth it. Goddamn it, it’d been worth it. And that,
beyond anything else, was beautiful.

Two secret service agents met me at the
door and pushed it open, allowing me entrance into the immaculate foyer. I
thanked them with a polite, if firm, voice. I wanted them to take me seriously
as I was interviewing to run their president’s re-election campaign. I didn’t
invesion myself as some flighty girl.
 
No, I was so much more—intelligence and strength and vitality.

“Just a minute, Miss,” the secret service
agent stated, bringing his hands up to his shoulders, positioned in the air.
“You know the drill.”

I did.

I held up my hands to mirror his and
allowed him to touch my body with his long, thick fingers. He roughed up around
my hips, on my ass, making sure I didn’t have anything on my person. I winked
at him as he did it, making him feel uncomfortable. He looked down, uncertain.

“I’m just kidding, Dimitri,” I told him,
nearly laughing. I’d known him for nearly four years at that point and I knew
he felt awkward.

“Amanda, so sorry about this,” he said. I
knew that he had a crush on me; I’d known it since we’d met on the campaign
trail.

“Please. It doesn’t bug me at all. I kind
of like it,” I laughed, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re in for the interview, yeah?” he
asked.

I nodded to him, looking down for a
moment. I realized that I was truly nervous; I hadn’t let myself feel it until
that moment. “Have there been many interviews today?”

Dimitri shrugged. “He’s seen a few, sure.
But you’ll be great. I know you know your stuff.”

I smiled at him, still uncertain.
Everything else I’d ever done had worked out perfectly. I’d literally never
failed—and the thought of failure terrified me. But casting my eyes far into
the future made me so nervous, so uncertain. I couldn’t be sure about my stance
in the Oval Office. Who was I kidding? I was only a twenty-nine year old woman
in D.C., surrounded by countless, better-qualified people.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my
mind, I spun back around, allowing Dimitri to walk alongside me.

“What have you been up to?” he asked.

I flashed him a bright smile. “I’ve been
working down the hill, beneath Congressman Carlman. He actually encouraged me
to apply for the position.”

“You’ve made a name for yourself in D.C.,”
Dimitri said.

He led me up the steps that curled so
perfectly into the ethers. I thought of Abraham Lincoln, of Kennedy—of all of
them climbing these same steps. I shivered, knowing I was entering a sacred home.

He led me down the wide hallway and I
gazed at the many paintings and at the textured blue wallpaper. I felt my heart
beating so fast in my chest. I felt like I was entering a dream world—probably
because it was a world I had dreamed of so much.

Finally, we reached it: the Oval Office. I
took a deep breath and turned toward Dimitri. His dark hair and eyes were so
stark in the strange hallway, this secret service agent who’d actually joked
with me throughout. Back then, Xavier Callaway had been a congressman with only
a body guard named Dimitri. When Xavier had become the president, he’d brought
his man with him.

“It’s great that you work here, now,” I
said to him, still uncertain about entering this terrifying place.

Dimitri nodded. “The president is a good
man. And I know I’ll see you around,” he whispered, bringing his hand toward
the door and spinning the knob. I was going in; my stomach dropped.

I swallowed slowly and brought my heels
forward. I held my chin high, knowing that I could rule a room—perhaps even
that room. I knew that in all my past interviews, in all my past triumphs, I’d
won over everyone I’d encountered. That was all I needed: full control of the
room.

But how was I supposed to do that when I
was meant to have full control over the goddamned President of the United
States?

Chapter
2

Behind me, I heard Dimitri close the door.
I knew he would remain on post outside the door. I wondered if he could hear
anything—if he knew any of the intimate secrets of the presidency. Surely,
being around President Callaway so often suited you with a world of
gossip—gossip, I knew, that Dimitri would never release.

Never in a million years.

The light swept in from those familiar,
three, grand windows behind the desk. I oriented myself toward the sunshine,
smiling with as much confidence as I could manage. “Hello, Mr. President,” I
called to him.

Xavier Callway stood up from his desk, a
pen still in his hand. He was alone, which was unexpected. So often, I’d seen
him in the midst of swarms of government employees, of voters. But never by
himself. Alone, he looked different, more striking somehow. I breathed an easy
sigh, unsure of what to say next. I tried to rev my brain, to propel myself
into the interview. I needed to be succinct and professional. I needed to allow
him to understand that I knew what I was doing.

I tapped forward and reached my hand
across the desk, shaking hands firmly—like a man. Something about his grip made
me jump in my skin, but I didn’t allow him to see it. “Thank you for seeing me
today,” I stated, nodding.

The president brought his hands out.
“Well, I certainly want to hear your ideas about the re-election,” he said. His
voice was so powerful, nearly echoing from the grand room.

I tried to keep myself from peering around
me, eyeing everything in the place—the desk before me, the history draped in
every corner. I sat in the chair, bringing my portfolio up to my knees. The
president sat across from me and folded his hands beneath his chin, gazing at
me with dark, penetrating eyes. I felt something stirring in me.

“Well. What are your ideas for the
re-election campaign?” the president finally asked, cutting through the tension
between us.
 
Straight to the point.

I cleared my throat, realizing I had
forgotten to speak. “I’ve prepared an essential list of the various places
throughout Indiana, Ohio, and Illinois we must visit for the upcoming
re-election. Thinking we’ll prepare speeches about your basis in education
during the upcoming four years, and we’ll need to quell everyone’s belief that
you’re raising taxes.”

“But I plan to raise taxes,” the president
said, a smile creeping over his face.

I tapped my pencil against my chin,
catching myself matching his smile. “It’s not good for a re-election speech,” I
said.

The president brought his fingers together
in front of his face. “You’re the expert,” he laughed.

I continued on, listing out all my
preparations for the following few months. “I know that your last campaign
manager had you hit these states heavy, but they’ve been some of your greatest
supporters throughout your presidency. I say we hit the big cities, but we
don’t mess around with any of the smaller ones.”

“Here in California, Washington, and
Oregon?” he asked me, tracing the states on the map I showed him with a long,
firm finger. I quivered, leaning towards him.

“Yes, those states. What do you think?”

He blinked up at me. “Where is it you’re
from, Miss—“