This chapter by ScarletMithuriel. She's amazing. I highly recommend her other fics, really… go read them… LIKE NOW!!!
He looked at her and saw only beauty and knowledge. If he could think, he would probably say that she was his very own Athena. He would compile analogies upon similes upon metaphors that explained, in twenty-cent words, why she was like Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom. When he looked at her, he couldn't form a sentence.
He didn't like to be cliche. It made him anxious, the thought that he could be shoehorned along with millions of other men for simply saying something that was said too many times without a lot of truth. He watched her, silently, out of the corner of his eye, and marveled at the sight of her pale, slender fingers wrapped around her drink glass. He watched at how animated she became when she spoke, how her cheeks flushed when she smiled, and how her platinum hair shone in the light when it was done. This was not the Ainsley he knew. She was personal, now, unprofessional, and social. She was the Ainsley he didn't know but wanted to know.
Feeling adventurous, he asked her if she'd like a ride home. She nodded and he took her hand in hers and they started to walk towards the parking lot. She had to admit it was strange that their holding hands felt so natural. Ainsley was different. She was blunt. As dancing around the bush type of people they were, she was not. She proved it by grabbing his lapels and pulling him in for a kiss.
"What was that for?" he asked.
"The White House is full of bush-dancers. That's all you ever do, beat around the bush. I'm surprised you've gotten laws passed." To silence her, he gave her a kiss and he firmly pushed past her closed lips with her tongue.
He drove at a sporadic speed, with some tension. She noted how hard his hands grasped at the steering wheel, how stern his face was, and she smiled. He stopped by an apartment building, which she vaguely recognized as her own.
She took his hand and led him inside, all the while enjoying the feeling of his heated breath on her cheek. Once he crossed the threshold, his urges took over, and he pushed her firmly against the door she had just closed. As her fingers nervously fumbled to lock it, he was shakily unbuttoning her suit. Once the door had been locked, she grabbed his tie and pulled him into a rough kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth and as he did so, he not only divested her of her suit, but she managed to take off his tie and jacket.
He began to kiss down her neck, and all she could focus on was the feeling of his tongue and his teeth. Feeling a ltitle aggravated, she tugged at the shirt roughly and the buttons flew off in different directions. He shrugged off the shirt and said raspily, "You might have to pay for that."
"You know me," she said, softly, as he dropped to his knees and kissed up her thigh. "I'm a rough Republican." He murmured something before he disposed of the last barrier between him and her bare flesh.
He moved slowly, applying gentle kisses up her thigh until she could feel his breath against her. "Are we really going to..." A gasp unexpectedly interjected into her sentence as he began to skilfully apply pressure to her center with his tongue. Her fingers wound themselves in his espresso locks, enjoying the feel of them between her fingers. She tugged on his hair and roughly kissed him.
She undid his belt and pulled his pants and boxers down. He pushed into her and she groaned softly, her body adjusting to fit him. He then began to move, gently grinding against her. Once her breathing sped up and urged him on, he moved faster and faster until they were both satiated. "Did we really do that?" she asked.
"We did. And a hell of a job too." She reached for his hand and led him to her sofa. She reveled in the feeling of them, smiling lazily, as a pang of tiredness hit her, and noted from the soft, constant noises in her ear, that he was asleep. Snuggling against him, she pulled the afghan, usually draped decoratively over the top of the sofa, on top of them.