Rays of sunlight shine through the windows, reflecting off the white-washed walls and brightening the room. President Danforth stands barefoot in the centre of the room, posture relaxed as she watches you work below her.

You are kneeling on the plush carpet, a tape measure around your neck and a pin in your mouth. Your attention is on the bright red dress hanging off the curvy figure of your client. Your eyebrows furrow, realising what the problem was. Your client, the President—Jessica—had an obvious hourglass figure, something this dress was rather shamefully hiding.

“This waist needs taking in,” you murmur, pinching the dress at her waist.

Jessica nods, biting her lip as she looks down at you. “Are you nearly done?” She questions, shuffling slightly.

“Keep still, Madame President,” you tease, sliding a pin into the red material pinched between your fingers.

“It’s hard to when you’re on your knees in front of me.” Her eyes are dark with lust as she looks down at you.

She takes your chin in her hand, thumb hovering over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches, knowing exactly where this is going. This was sure to end the same way the appointment did when you tailored her fitted black dress—you both were wearing a lot less clothing than you should have been.

You’d seen a lot more of your president since that day, in more ways than one. The tension between you had been there from the start. Her wit and dry humour made her irresistible. The only thing stopping you from making a move is her very high-up position and your insistence on not wanting to lose your job.

The blonde had fewer qualms. After a few appointments containing heavy flirtation and her glancing at your lips, she leaned forward and kissed you while you were adjusting her short sleeves. And who were you to deny the president?

“Jess,” you whine, wanting her to just be still so you could finish tailoring the dress and get her out of it. “Just let me finish.”

“I have no problems making you finish,” she flirts, with a smirk.

Rolling your eyes, you chuckle and mutter, “Incorrigible.”

You stand up, brushing your knees. Sending her a look to behave, you peck her lips before walking behind her. Ensuring the centre back seam was where it should be, you ran your hand down her back. You told yourself it was to check the fit of the dress, making sure the zip wasn’t pinching anywhere. Really, it was just an excuse to touch her.

Stepping back around to her front, you took a final glance at the dress. You were debating taking the sleeves in, making them less loose, more form-fitting and how she liked them.

You are just about to ask her, when, without any warning, Jessica drags the hem of her dress up and over her head. She takes no caution as she throws it to the corner of the room. Her eyes never leave you as she steps out of her spanks, leaving her in only her lacy red underwear—purposefully chosen to match the dress and make your heart stop.

“Jessica Danforth!” You say in shock, eyebrows raising as you take in the pins now scattered across the floor, having fallen out of the dress.

“Oops?” She fake winces, knowing even if you were annoyed, she could easily distract you. “It looked fine anyway; you were just striving for perfection.”

“You deserve perfection,” you huff, turning to go to the dress.

“Mm, but I want you more.”

Deciding that would be the end of it, she takes your arm, pulling you into her hold. Her lips capture yours, kissing you deeply. Your brain stutters. You know you should pull away, rescue the dress, but your president is half naked in front of you and way too tempting.

“Fine, but if anyone comments on it, you are taking the blame,” you threaten, not stopping her as she pushes your now unbuttoned shirt off your frame.

“Deal,” she murmurs against the steadily flushing skin of your cheek, her fingers undoing your trousers and pushing them over your hips.

Her hands guide you to step backwards. To keep stepping backwards until your calves hit the edge of the plush sofa at the side of the room. She doesn’t hesitate before pushing you down and straddling your lap. She takes hold of your chin, tilting it so she can kiss you passionately. Your hands cradle her hips instinctively, thumbs rubbing circles into the soft flesh while her hands trail down, tracing along your neck.

Jessica cups your breasts, squeezing gently as her mouth follows the journey of her hands. You arch into her, gasping as she pinches and nips at your skin.

You can feel the heat of her core against you. While she is distracted, marking the tops of your breasts, you slide one hand between her legs, teasing over her clit. Even with the lace barrier, your fingers are quickly covered in her slick.

She bucks into your hand, moaning. She strips your bra from you, her mouth latching onto one of your nipples as soon as the fabric is out of the way. Your moans join hers, the pair of you working the other up to see who becomes more needy first.

Slipping a finger beneath the lace, you smirk as Jessica grinds down on it and takes it inside her.

“Desperate, gorgeous?” you tease, adding a second finger for her to fuck herself with. “So hot watching you use my fingers.”

“Is that why you aren’t doing anything?” she snarks, lifting her head from your chest.

“All you have to do is ask, Madam President.”

“Fuck me, please,” she all but begs, trying to inject authority into her voice, but failing as she bounces on your hand.

You pull your hand out of her underwear, eliciting a cry of frustration. Quickly flipping her so she’s lying on her back, you settle over her, fingers returning to pound into her. You curl your fingers, changing the angle you hit inside her, caressing the spot you know has her shaking within minutes. You pull her bra down with the other hand, taking her pebbled nipple in your mouth and sucking.

Jessica’s moans louden, echoing around the room as her body fights what she wants to lean into—your hand or your mouth. She doesn’t get to decide before she’s shuddering under you, walls clenching on your fingers and heartbeat hammering behind her chest.

Continuing, you fuck her through her orgasm, kissing along her chest and neck, careful not to leave marks—no matter how much you wanted to. As her body relaxes, you pull your fingers out, bringing them to your lips.

She tilts your chin up, bending to kiss you gently before murmuring, “Turn around.”

“Huh?” you question, but do as she asks.

“Lie back,” she tells you, guiding you back to lie against her.

Before you can question her any further, her hand trails down over your breasts and abdomen, until it slips under your panties. Your head drops back, Jessica planting a kiss to your temple as her fingers circle your clit.

This position felt oddly intimate. The pair of you have had sex several times, in several ways. But this, her being curled around you, chest pressed to your back, arm wrapped across you, felt protective and safe. You are amazed at how different it feels, the safety of being cocooned in Jessica’s arms making it easier for you to let go.

She must have sensed something, as she began whispering words of encouragement and praises in your ear. Her voice is soft and sweet as she presses lingering kisses to the side of your head.

It didn’t take you long to start throbbing under her fingertips. Feeling you approaching your orgasm, Jessica presses harder, stimulating the nerves further and pushing you over the edge. A wave of pleasure crashes into you, your body crying out as you come undone.

Jessica holds you throughout, softening her touches but never stopping her whispers.

You are overwhelmed with the warmth and care radiating from her. You want to tell her you love her. Tell her how you’d never felt anything like that before, so safe and warm and loved. But those things have to stay unspoken. This isn’t a relationship, just convenience.

“Wow, that was…” You murmur, still not having settled on a word that wouldn’t give you away.

“Good?” she chuckles, hugging you closer to her.

“Very.”

“I’m glad.” She rubs circles into your hip. “Darling?”

“Hmm?” you ask, turning in her grasp to face her.

She beams down at you as she swipes a strand of hair from your face. Pecking your lips, she confesses, “I love you.”

You stare at her in shock. There is no way she really just said what you think she did. She can’t have. She’s beautiful and intelligent. She’s the President for fuck’s sake. You had to have misheard her. You shake your head, lowering your eyes to her collarbones.

“I think I misheard you. What did you say?”

“You didn’t mishear me,” Jessica affirms, lifting your face to look you in the eyes as she repeats, “I love you.”

Okay, so she did really say it.

Knowing she can’t mean it, you blurt out, “But you can’t.”

“Whyever not?” she chuckles, not realising the torment going on in your mind.

“You deserve better,” you argue weakly.

“Hmm. You seem to be saying that a lot today. Consider what I want, rather than what you think I deserve. I want you, darling.”

“Oh.” You check once more, taking in her face and carefully watching her eyes. She seems to be being honest, so you take a leap. “I love you too.”