Chapter Text
Donna’s body trembles beneath mine, her breath hot and erratic against my skin as she buries her face in my neck. I press a kiss to her shoulder, the last swells of my orgasm still charging through me. Her fingers dig into my back, clutching me tightly for a few more seconds before going limp. I brace myself above her, trying to balance on my elbows a little so I don’t completely crush her.
She reaches up and tugs me down anyway, wrapping her limbs around me. I tilt my head back and we grin at each other for a few seconds before kissing slowly. My body relaxes against hers, our sweaty skin sticking together in places. This part about being with Donna is not something I think I’ll ever get used to. It’s not like being with anyone else. I hope I never get used to it. I want to always feel this amazed after we make love.
I plant little kisses on her neck and roll off of her slowly, sprawling out on my back. Our chests heave in tandem for a few seconds before falling out of sync, and I reach down, peeling off and disposing of the condom. She shifts next to me, turning onto her side, and I roll over as quickly as I can, pulling her close to me. Her arm wraps around my shoulders, her fingers coming up to stroke the hair at the back of my neck.
Neither of us speak for now. I don’t know if I’d trust my voice at the moment. She really does things to me that no one else ever has. I shouldn’t be so surprised that she’s the best sex I’ve ever had.
I can feel her heart pounding against her chest. I run my fingers gently up and down her spine, hoping to help relax her. It’s probably for the best that we’re still trying to compose ourselves right now because my thoughts are still going in a million different directions. Focusing on the moment and all of the sensations running through me right now is actually way too intense. Everything has to be buffered by stranger, calmer moments.
Despite our at-times-rocky start to the morning, we managed to salvage the rest of the day. It was filled with odd domesticity.
We got home from the grocery store, and I essentially stood back and watched as she put everything away in some sort of order that made sense to her and that I only hope I can learn at some point. She actually did the magical food prep she told me about, managing to freeze lunches for at least two weeks—or one, if half of them are hers—and also dinner for all of the weeknights. It was actually pretty impressive. Watching Donna work was like watching some sort of cooking show; she explained every step to me and why it was important, what the nutritional value was compared to my typical lunch of two Red Bulls and Starbucks. I stayed out of her way as much as possible, knowing I would just hinder more than help, though I did lift and turn over and cut up anything she asked me to. Somehow, in the process of all that, she managed to finish washing, drying, and folding laundry, even putting it away instead of leaving it in the laundry basket like normal people. When I marveled at her ability to do so much at one time, she told me she’s this efficient because her downtime when working with me was limited, so she had to be able to do everything at one time. Hurtful, but fair.
The whole process, though, was somehow both terrifying and a major turn on. I truly had no idea one person could be so efficient, juggling so many tasks at once, and it occurred to me that if she wanted to take over the world, she wouldn’t need much more than a package of sticky notes, a pen, and a cell phone. If the American population were at all smart, they’d elect her next time. She’d have the country whipped into shape in about a month and a half.
Still, watching her handle so much with such ease made me think wildly inappropriate things, and for reasons I couldn’t begin to understand. It briefly crossed my mind , watching her do at least three different things at one time, that she’s going to make a great mother someday. I pushed that thought away as quickly as it appeared, though. No matter how innocent and generic it was, that moment almost caused a malfunction in my head. Moving in together is a big yes. All that other stuff…I’m not quite there yet.
Somehow, after all that, we actually cleaned up the apartment. I’m still not sure how it happened, either. I think it started with Donna nonchalantly sorting stacks of mail on my coffee table, opening up bills, writing checks for me, and tossing out everything else. Then we were at the little dining room table I have, organizing the paperwork I haven’t thought about for a week, making neat little piles of things that needed immediate attention, things that could be put off for a bit, and the things that I could file away. Before I’d realized it, we’d made our way around the apartment, Donna asking innocent questions about if a certain pile of junk needed to be there, or if I had any objection to some other things being tossed out. Truly, before I’d actually processed what was happening, the entire place had been cleaned. Probably not the deep clean that would satisfy her odd little soul, but enough so the place no longer looks like it exploded. It seems old habits die hard—I’ve never been neat and organized, nor have I cared too much about being so, but Donna always managed to keep me on track, getting my life to a point where she’s created order out of chaos. It’s one of the ways we’ve managed to work so well together for so long. Despite time, distance, and the effort to not let ourselves go back to into those old roles, there are some aspects of our relationship that happen by accident and Donna making sense of my mess is one of them.
Even after all that, I couldn’t quite convince her to just sit down and hang out; she insisted we make dinner. I know I whined like a toddler about it, asking why we couldn’t just order in. Her logic was that we’d spent a week more or less eating out and it would be healthier if we made our own food for once. She also pointed out that we’d just spent a bunch of money on groceries and it was stupid to buy more food. I very nearly mentioned that there was no “we” in the money that was spent, but some instinct told me that wouldn’t score any points with her. Not only that, but I wouldn’t win.
It turned out to be a pleasant experience, though I don’t know if I’d admit that to her. We somehow cooked together, and the best part was shocking the hell out of her when she realized I wasn’t a total lost cause in the kitchen and could actually follow a recipe unguided if need be. I’ve just rarely felt the need. Like I told her this morning, cooking for one isn’t my idea of a good time. We ate together at the table like adults, and shared a bottle of wine like fancy adults. Aside from being in Hawaii, I don’t remember the last time I sat down, especially with another human being, at a table and ate a meal that either didn’t come out of Styrofoam while surrounded by paperwork and blaring TVs, or while trying to schmooze some politico or donor into leaning in my direction. I wasn’t terribly surprised to find that Donna and I were still completely capable of having a conversation that didn’t involve work while actually being so close to work.
It was actually kind of nice, truth be told, and definitely a reminder to slow down and take my time, especially since we have this thing with us now. If she’s not an incentive to try to leave the office at a moderately decent time as often as possible, nothing is.
We even sat on the couch together after dinner, flipping through channels until we found something that grabbed her attention. Pickings were slim since December is rapidly approaching, and that means Christmas movies as far as the eye can see. I think it was Home Alone, which I vaguely remember seeing at some point, but my attention was mostly focused on the feel of Donna curled against my side. Seriously, how did we put this off for so long? I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything more pleasant than an evening of domestic bliss with the woman that I love.
Of course, my attention completely shifted about halfway through the movie when she started to feel me up. She pretended to keep it casual by rubbing my thigh, but it didn’t take her long before her hand alternated by disappearing up my shirt to stroke my stomach, and pressing her hand against my groin, smiling as she felt me jump and tighten. We spent the rest of the movie making out like teenagers, sprawled across the couch, though I tried not to give too much thought to the actual teenager mental image. Mostly because when I was sixteen, she was about four years old, and when she was a teenager, I was pushing thirty. That train of thought is creepy. Still and all, seeing as how I was on top of her with my hand shoved down her underwear, the teenage boy that I earlier established that I am was fully in control. I suppose I could use the defense that I really didn’t get to do this stuff when I was a kid, and now I have an insanely hot girlfriend who seems only too willing to let me live our each and every fantasy I’ve ever had.
I did manage to get her gasping and moaning, calling out my name as she orgasmed before I literally carried her over my shoulder and into my bedroom. Another fantasy I’ve had for some time. She protested weakly about me hurting myself, but wasted no time in yanking off my clothes after I dumped her on the bed.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she says, her voice low, and I pull her closer to me.
“Still basking,” I answer. “Is it just me, or does this get better every time we do it?”
She picks her head up a little, giving me a soft smile, her eyes full of love and affection. “It’s not just you.” She leans in, pressing her lips to mine, and my heart starts to pound again.
“I love you,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers. My heart constricts painfully as it thumps, the strange, powerful reaction I have to her taking over.
She smiles even wider, and I can see her eyes grow a little watery. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” she tells me. She reaches down and grabs my hand off her hip, bringing it to her lips. She kisses the palm before pressing it against her chest, the gesture so oddly touching that I feel myself get a little misty, too.
“I’ll never get tired of saying it,” I promise.
“I love you,” she answers, pressing closer to me. This really is perfect. Everything about today was perfect. Truthfully, I was a little worried about how it would be when we got home, but this day of absolutely nothing has been even better than all that time we spent in paradise. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that we’re meant to be because I would have gone completely insane if I’d spent the day like this with anyone else.
“Why won’t you move in with me?” Her entire body stiffens and I realize too late what I’ve said. A moment later she pulls away from me, sitting up. She keeps her face turned away from me, though I can tell she’s not happy. She grabs a shirt—my t-shirt from earlier today—from the bottom of the bed and yanks it on, swinging her feet off the edge of the bed. I reach out and grab her wrist, not holding it tightly enough to stop her from leaving, but hopefully enough to get her attention.
“Donna, don’t.”
“I asked you to drop it.” She’s still facing away from me, but she doesn’t make any other move to leave. “Didn’t I ask you to let it go?”
“If you’ll notice, I didn’t ask you to move in with me this time. All I asked was why you won’t.”
“Do you really want to fight about this tonight?”
I sit up, scooting a little closer to her. “I don’t want to fight about it at all. It doesn’t have to be a fight. I just want an answer. The whole thing is already out there and it’s just going to sit there until we find some way through it.” She remains silent, tension radiating off her entire body. “That’s what people in relationships do, right? Talk about things? They don’t let it fester until it turns into something worse.”
Her shoulders slump, some of the fight going out of her. “What’s the rush?”
“The rush? Donna, we’re hardly rushing anything.”
“You really don’t think living together now is moving too fast?”
“Okay, you’ve run this ‘too fast’ thing into the ground, and I really don’t believe you anymore. There has to be more to it.”
She sighs but actually turns to face me, which I take as a positive sign. “You’ve never lived with anyone, have you?”
“I had roommates in college.”
“And that was the last time.” It’s not a question, so I don’t bother to answer. “You’ve never lived with a woman, I’m assuming.”
“Of course not.”
“It changes things, Josh.”
“Well, I would certainly hope so.”
“I’m serious. Living with someone makes things completely different. It’s not like spending the night with someone. There’s no escaping each other.”
“I don’t want to escape you,” I protest.
“Easy for you to say now, but what happens when my habits interfere with your habits, like, the stupid day to day stuff? Or when I try to have a conversation with you during dinner and you get pissed off because you have files to read and notes to make and don’t appreciate me telling you how to live your life? Or when I say we should wash the dishes right after a meal and you think they can sit for a while?”
Something about that list feels off. “Look, I know there’d be an adjustment period, we’ll have to adjust to it no matter when we start to live together, though. I’m sure things would be tough at times but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try it. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to live with. I know it’ll change things between us, but I’m good with that.”
She rolls her eyes, tugging my shirt lower on her thighs. “Because you handle change so well.”
“I can adapt.” She’s not wrong, though; dealing with change isn’t my strongest suit. Not that I’d admit that now.
“If we moved in together now, that whole honeymoon period is gone, you know. It’s not going to feel romantic and fuzzy all the time. It’s just day to day stuff, only with someone else’s junk in your space and another body taking up half your bed.”
“I’ve never slept better in my life than when I’m next to you.” She pauses, her eyes widening a little, and it occurs to me that for all I’ve thought that to myself lately, I haven’t actually told her.
“Josh, I think you need more time."
“I’ve taken too much time as it is. C’mon, Donna. What’s going on? I mean, when was the last time you lived with…oh.” I guess she’s done the cohabitation thing before, a long time ago. I don’t dwell a whole lot on her time before we met, but I do know she took care of that loser for far too long when she was far too young. “You’ve already lived with…”
She gives me a one-shoulder shrug. “Yeah, for a while.”
“And you’re not going to live with me because it didn’t work out with him?"
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Because you know I’m not him, right? I wouldn’t ask you or expect you to drop out of school or quit your job or whatever to support me.”
“I know that.”
“Then seriously, what’s the problem? You don’t want to live with me because we’ve only been together romantically for a couple of weeks, and because once upon a time, you lived with an asshole who didn’t appreciate you, and because I’ve never lived with any of my girlfriends? Your arguments are pretty thin there, Donna.”
She shrugs again, this time reaching for the pajama pants she wore last night, standing up to pull them over her legs. A moment later she disappears through the doorway, leaving me baffled. Something odd is going on with her. I jump up and grab my boxers and drag them on, stumbling a little as I stand. I briefly consider giving her some space and letting it go, but we’ve let too many things go unsaid for too long. Whatever this is, we have to figure it out.
“Donna,” I call out, finding her a moment later in the kitchen. She has the dishwasher open, steam drifting out of it. “C’mon, Donna, talk to me. I know I’m bad at this stuff, but I can’t make it right if you don’t tell me what I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, keeping her back to me. She doesn’t actually take any dishes out; she just kind of pushes them around.
I approach her cautiously, putting my hands on her shoulders. Relief courses through me when she doesn’t pull away. I’m still lost, though. This day has been so weird—mostly amazing because being with Donna this way all day has been great, like a taste of what our life would be like. But these moments where she completely pulls away from me, when she shuts down, are baffling, and I can’t begin to figure out why.
“Please…talk to me.”
Her body slumps, her chin hitting her chest. I pause, but she doesn’t start to shake like she normally does when crying.
“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she finally answers, her voice soft but clear.
“What shoe?”
“Josh…I don’t want to…”
I wrap my arms around her, keeping the embrace loose so she doesn’t feel like I’m trapping her. “You can tell me.”
She sighs, slumping even further. “You’re not good at this.”
Well, that’s a little offensive. “Donna—”
“Relationships in general, Josh,” she corrects, her hands coming up to rest over mine, keeping me in place.
“I know I don’t have the best track record, but you haven’t been picking winners, either.”
“How many women have you dated since I’ve known you?”
“Like, seriously, or in general?”
“It’s not a small number,” she answers, ignoring me. “Most of them not for very long, either, right?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, but you have this tendency to decide you no longer want to date someone, then passively-aggressively wait for them to get so fed up with you ignoring calls and breaking dates that they dump you.”
My entire body tenses and I grab her arms, turning her to face me. “And you think—”
“Even the few you seemed serious about. Look at Mandy. You avoided her by all but going to a different state every time she got close, sometimes actually leaving the state if she was around.” I hate that she's not exaggerating. “And I hate to bring up Amy but—”
“That one ended very acrimoniously,” I cut in. “Twice, in fact.”
“Fine. You’ve successfully broken up with one woman in your life. Congratulations.”
“None of that means it’s going to happen to us,” I protest, and she finally steps away.
“You’ve never had a serious relationship. You’ve never even attempted to live with a woman before. I don’t think you’ve ever given anyone a key, other than me.”
“I really don’t understand your point.”
“You’re still on the relationship high. Everything is new and happy and you want to hold onto that.”
“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”
“And when all of that shiny wears off and you’re left with the fights and the complications and monotony, where are you going to be? Where am I going to be?”
“What—”
“I can’t move in with you only for you to decide in a month or two that I’m not what you want, and you start spending the night at work so you can have some space or so you can avoid me.”
“I wouldn’t do that—”
“But you HAVE done it. I’ve seen you do it.”
“I wouldn’t do it to you, Donna, I want to be around you. All of the time. I have for a long time. I just…couldn’t say it before. Most of the time, you were the first person I talked to in the morning and the last one I spoke to at night. I wanted it that way.”
“We’re going to be around each other all the time, you realize that, right? Morning, noon, and night. You’d see me when you wake up, all day at work, and then you’d be stuck with me in the evenings because we’d be coming home together.”
“But we’re not exactly going to see each other most of the day, are we? I’ll be in the West Wing and you’ll be in the East. Most days, we’ll be lucky to have lunch together. Hell, if we don’t live together, we’ll never see each other. We’ve been around each other for fifteen to twenty hours a day for the better part of ten years—this whole working apart thing will be the biggest adjustment of all of them.”
She shrugs, but doesn’t step away from me when I reach out and grab her hands. “I just think you need more time for this. You know, to make sure working with me and living with me isn’t too much.”
“It’s not gonna be too much,” I promise. “Seriously, I want to be with you.”
“Can you blame me for not entirely trusting you about this?”
“You know, in my defense, I’ve never wanted to live with someone else. In fact, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed having my space for the last twenty-odd years. I didn’t want to be around Mandy that much ever, and living with Amy seemed vaguely horrifying, even when our relationship was going well—we never even discussed the possibility. And, you know, fine, I haven’t been the most stand-up guy when it comes to the women I’ve dated in the past. I’m not at all good with the part where I end things. But do you really think I’d do that to you? You, of all the people in the world? I don’t know if I’ve said this enough in the past week, but I’m crazy in love with you. I’ve never felt like this about another person, and I’d be willing to place money on that being the reason it’s never really worked with anyone else. If she’s not you, she’s not worth it.”
Donna bites her lip, but I can see a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. I must have said something a little right. “I’m crazy in love with you, too.”
I think my heart actually flutters. I know my stomach twists in a way that’s not painful in the slightest. “Good.”
“Which is why I don’t want to rush this. You’re the one that counts, Josh. We can’t screw this up; there’s no need to rush it. We can take this step by step and make sure we get it right. We’ll learn how to do all the stuff that we haven’t done before together. We’ll make sure we talk to each other instead of shutting down or closing each other out.”
Her argument isn’t entirely without merit. Damn it. Still, that doesn’t change the fact that living with her feels like it’s what I should be doing. “So…does that mean you’re going to call what’s-her-face and tell her she has to find somewhere to live?”
Her head tilts to one side, studying me for a moment. She disentangles our fingers and closes the dishwasher door. Then she heads down the hall toward the bedroom, and I honestly have no idea what I’m supposed to do. She glances at me over her shoulder, and even though I don’t think she meant for it to be sultry, it sends shivers down my spine anyway. I follow her cautiously, still keeping my distance. At this point, I have no idea how she’s going to react to anything I say, and I think this is one of the reasons I’ve never been a huge fan of relationships. I don’t particularly like not knowing where I stand from one moment to the next. Still, there’s no doubt that she’s the one worth the effort. She’s worth more than anything, and I’ll gladly be confused by her for as long as she wants to put with me.
When I finally get to the bedroom, I’m a little surprised to find her standing against the footboard, waiting for me. She’s managed to remove the pajama pants, the hem of the t-shirt grazing the tops of her thighs tantalizingly, and this has to be a good sign. I only take a couple of steps into the room, leaning back against the door frame. I remain silent, waiting. I’ve had enough trouble with my words today.
“How about a compromise?” she asks, her voice soft, and I can’t help but notice how the ambient light of DC at night hits her through the windows, making her glow.
“I like compromise.”
“You really don’t.”
“I really don’t…usually. I’m willing to make an exception for you, though.”
I can see her roll her eyes even as she smiles. “Well, how about if I stay with you for a while?”
I pause, and I swear I can actually feel the gears in my head grinding to a halt. “Isn’t that what…”
“Not live with you,” she says hastily. “But just…you know, stay here with you. See how it goes.”
“That’s not a terrible idea.”
“I’m not giving up my apartment, but I’m not going to kick out Shannon, either. My mailing address will still be the PO Box I’ve been using for months. We’ll…”
“We’ll just sleep together every night, wake up together every morning, cook dinner together, things like that?”
“Right. You know, you’re not wrong about a lot of the stuff you said earlier. It doesn’t make sense to stay with CJ when I wouldn’t really be over there ever. And even if I took back my apartment, I’d probably be here most nights, at least when you weren’t over there with me, and if I’m not going to be using the place, someone ought to, right? And when are we going to see each other if it’s not before and after work?”
“So…this is practical?” I know earlier I wasn’t opposed to her seeing the practical side of all this, but something about hearing her say that she only wants to be with me for convenience sake crushes me more than I’d like to admit.
“Josh, no. It’s not about it being practical. I really like being here with you. It feels good. All the stuff you said about seeing each other first and last, about coming home together and trying to figure all of this out together…I really want to do that. I just don’t want to go all or nothing with this. It’s worth taking our time with it, at least to a point.”
I perk up a little. “To a point?”
She smiles at me a little, and I can see her eyes twinkle in the soft light. “To a point. We’ll try this for a while and see where we are. You know, check in and see how we feel about things.”
“Like, how often?”
She sighs in exasperation. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it yet.”
“What about the Inauguration? Can we check in and reevaluate then?”
She’s silent for a few moments. “Sure,” she finally answers slowly. “We’ll check in with each other around then and see where we are with things. Just don’t forget, Mr. Chief of Staff, that things are going to be pretty hectic at that point. It might not be the best moment to make major life decisions.”
I grin, grabbing her hips to pull her close to me. “I can live with that.” Her arms come up around my shoulders, her head tilting to meet mine. I kiss her slowly, enjoying the feel of her against me, and trying to take in the moment. She’s going to be here. If she needs to call it “staying” with me instead of “living” with me, then that’s fine. The important part is that she’s not going anywhere. We managed to have our first disagreement as a couple and we actually talked about the issue and resolved it. That’s got to be points in favor of making it permanent.
“But I’m not going to mooch off you,” she says suddenly, pulling away from my lips.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m going to pay my share of the rent and bills.”
“Well, first of all, I don’t pay rent—I have a mortgage.”
“Fine, whatever. I’ll pay rent to you to go toward the mortgage or however you want to—”
“I’m afraid not,” I cut her off, grinning. “Rent is for people who live here.”
“But—”
“No, ma’am. If you’re not living here, then I wouldn’t expect you to pay for things I’m already taking care of.”
“Josh, come on. Most of my stuff is going to be here, at least as far as clothes go—”
“And whatever else you feel like bringing over.”
“I can bring other stuff here?”
“Of course. I want you to feel like you’re home and not just visiting. We can do that tomorrow, if you want; go get some stuff, mix it in here.”
“I thought tomorrow was supposed to be naked Sunday.”
I shrug ruefully. “We could dedicate a few hours to wearing clothes. You know, if there was stuff you wanted sooner rather than later.”
She squints at me suspiciously. “I’m supposed to bring stuff over here, eat here, sleep here, spend my free time here, and not pay bills or rent?”
“Great, isn’t it?”
“Josh, that’s insane.”
“My apartment, my rules,” I answer with a shrug. I’m fairly certain I’ve officially gone off the deep end with this, but if she wants to play hard to get on this front, then by God, I’m going to do the same…and be entertained at the same time. “You want to move in, then we can talk about the boring, logistical stuff. Until then, you’re a glorified houseguest with amazing fringe benefits.”
She makes a face at me, but for the first time all day, it’s good-natured. I’m also pretty sure she’s already working on some way around it. “Fine.” Her eyes light up and glance over at the bed, and for a horrifying second, I’m afraid she’s going to tell me she’s withholding sex until I take her money. “I can get my bedding out of storage.”
“Your what?”
“My pillows and blankets and stuff. I can replace that monstrosity of a comforter you’ve got going on.”
“What the hell is wrong with my comforter? Does it not retain heat properly?”
“It’s brown.”
“Yeah…”
“It’s ugly. I mean, your whole apartment looks so classy and put together…until you get to that God-awful brown blanket. Mine is so much nicer and—”
Part of me is ever-so-slightly offended by her harsh judgment of my choice of blanket color. Truthfully, I’ve never given it much thought. I don’t even remember when I bought it, really, or why this particular color was chosen. Still, it’s served me well for a while now, and it certainly kept her warm enough last night. “I’m sorry, but replacing linens is reserved for the lady of the house.”
Her mouth drops open, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“You think sheets and blankets and such are women’s work?”
Oh, she’s good. She wants to turn this into an argument about gender roles. “Absolutely not. That’s really a job for whomever wants it. However, in this apartment, the only other person permitted to make decisions like that other than myself would be the lady of the manor.”
“’The lady of the manor,’” she repeats, fortunately sounding more amused than anything. “Is this suddenly nineteenth century England?”
“How about this? You don’t live here, you don’t get to change the linen scheme.”
She shakes her head at me, and I realize that, truthfully, I don’t care if she wants to bring her comforter over and “redecorate.” But now I’ve come too far. I’ve got to keep playing my hand. If I fold now, next thing I know, I’ll be splitting all of the living expenses with her. I’ve got to stick to my guns for a little while.
It’s dumb, but in this small way, I get to take care of her. I know she doesn’t need me to, nor would she want me to, but I know that her years of servitude didn’t give her much of a chance to do things like actually save money. I’m sure she did a bit better on the Russell Campaign, and I know we paid her well enough during her stint with Santos. I want to be able to do this for her, though, give her some time to not worry about finances. Hell, I’ve been paying all of the stuff here on my own forever—I don’t need the assistance.
Not that I plan to tell her this. Not for a while. I wouldn’t know how to say it without coming across as some sexist, egotistical jerk who thinks the woman in his life needs saving and protecting. Not that I don’t want to do those things for her, but she does the same for me on a regular basis.
Besides, according to my own rules and definitions, this portion of being able to take care of her will only last until she agrees to officially move in.
“These are my stipulations for staying with me.”
“No rent and an ugly brown comforter?”
“Take it or leave it.” My breath catches in my throat—she could actually decide to leave it. How long would it take me to cave on either front if it came down to it? I’d give it two seconds at the most.
She reaches out and hooks her finger in the waistband of my boxers, dragging me toward her. I trip over my own feet for a moment but manage to grab onto her hips, holding me in place. “I guess I’ll have to take it,” she whispers, leaning up to plant a kiss on my cheek. A whoosh of air leaves me and my heart thumps against my ribcage. We’re actually going to be living together. She can call it what she wants but we’re going to be sharing a home.
I really do understand that things are about to change, but that would have happened no matter what. Our vacation is over. We have a new President transitioning into office. Donna and I are both very obstinate people who have, more or less, been on our own for years, despite our codependent relationship. We’re creating a whole new life together in the middle of all of this insanity. I have no doubt it’s gonna get messy. We’re gonna fight, but probably not more than we have in the past. At least now we can have make-up sex.
“We’ll just take it one day at a time for right now, okay?” she whispers. “Everything going to be so crazy in the next couple of months and I don’t want either of us getting too involved in the future when the present is pretty damn sweet.”
“Agreed.”
“But, Josh, we can’t fall into our old patterns when we’re back in the White House.”
“How on earth would that happen? We’re going to be on opposite sides of the building.”
“We have to try to do things like leave at a relatively decent hour, and, you know, not be there before sunrise every morning.”
“Donna, I’m not always going to be able—”
“I know that. I’m not talking about when you have actual situations to deal with. I’m just talking about the way you’d do it for sport. I want to be able to spend time with you outside of work when possible. You can delegate stuff to your staff. Spread the work around a bit. Don’t keep it all for yourself and whoever your next assistant is going to be.”
“Are you really not aware that we spent so much time at work the first time around because I wanted to hang out with you?”
“You’re the worst.” She’s smiling, though, so I don’t think she believes I’m actually the worst.
“And I really doubt that any assistant I have is going to come close to you, nor would I want to work that closely with anyone who isn’t, you know, you.”
“Promise me you’ll try.”
“I promise. I just want to say, for my part, knowing that you’re figuratively waiting for me at home will give me a lot more incentive to leave the building. Besides, I’m already a little scared of Mrs. Santos. I’m sure she’ll be putting the kibosh on the Present-elect being in the office all the time. They have two little kids they’ll want to spend time with. But I promise I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you. That’s all I ask.”
I tug her back into my arms, burying my face in her neck. I know I’m a workaholic, but lately the appeal of spending all of my time at the office just hasn’t been there. We’ve sacrificed too much for the job over the years, not the least of which is time we possibly could have been together. It’s time for this now. Of course, I’ll dedicate myself to the job, but if I ever have to choose, I’m picking Donna.
“What’re you doing?”
I pause, realizing my hands have wandered, of their own volition, and are now under the edge of her t-shirt. “I’m feeling you up, apparently.”
“Trust you to take a nice moment and turn it into something smutty,” she answers in disgust, her own hands sliding softly across my back, her nails dragging across my skin.
Without another word, I fuse my mouth to hers, steering her around to the side of the bed. The backs of her knees hits the mattress and she collapses against it, leaning back to stretch out tantalizingly. I push the shirt slowly up her body, biting back a groan as her soft, pale skin is revealed to me. She helps me pull the shirt over her head and I hover over her on my hands and knees, gawking at her. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen her naked, the novelty hasn’t worn off. It’s still astonishing that she lets me do this to her. Not only do I get to see her naked, it’s encouraged. And for the record, she’s magnificent.
She bites her lip, her skin darkening under my scrutiny, obvious even in the low light. I lower my lips to her, bypassing her mouth this time in favor of the rest of her. I kiss her neck and her shoulders, her collarbone, her hands threading through my hair as I reach her breasts. I make my way down to her stomach, pausing at her belly button. I look up at her, searching for approval—her eyes are shut, her mouth is open, and I can hear soft noises escaping her lips. I’d say that’s a green light.
I continue on my path, kissing her hips, mourning for just a moment that I don’t have the libido of my early college years so we could have sex all the time. As it is, my body’s still recovering. On the other hand, I get to do this to her, so it’s a trade-off I think I’m willing to live with.
I’ll tell her afterward about the other rule of the house—no pants in bed. I think she’ll be amenable to it.