Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts!

Well, okay, I'm not Greek, but I come bearing an excerpt with a Greek Congresswoman, does that count?

But before I share that, I want to let everyone know that anyone posting a comment here is entered in a drawing to win that special Washington-inspired goody I promised in my last post. It's a copy of The West Wing: the American Presidency as Television Drama by Peter Rollins and John O'Connor. This is a great collection of essays on how one of my favorite TV shows provides a discussion point for re-examining the role of the Presidency and the function of American politics in general. I know, I know, sounds like a textbook, but they're really good essays, and I'm a total junkie for popular culture being examined in an academic light. Too bad you can't go to college for that. Oh, wait, I did . . .

Anyway, here's your excerpt. And if you don't love Dylan as much as I do, I'll eat . . . forget it. I don't have to say, because it won't be an issue!

From Power of the Press in The Halls of Power

They were already reaching for each other as they stumbled through the door of his apartment.

“You weren’t kidding about expensive,” Dylan groused good-naturedly as he tossed her purse aside. “Christ, woman, did you have to order the priciest thing on the menu?”

“I’m from New England.” Maggie tugged his tie out of its neat conformation and pulled it from his collar to drop it beside them. “Is it my fault I like lobster?”

He caught her around the waist and pulled her close, lowering his head for a languid, curious kiss, his tongue outlining her mouth in erotic precision. When he pulled back again, he licked his lips. “Mmm, buttery.”

He could have been describing her insides at that moment. That was the power he had over her. Dylan was the most sensual man Maggie had ever known, as eager to taste her and hear her and smell her as he was to see and touch her. Even after six months together, it still made her weak to think of all the levels of pleasure he found in her.

His hands were already exploring her back, finding the tab on her zipper. “I love this dress on you,” he murmured, his lips soft against her shoulder. “It makes you look all curvy and gorgeous. And it’s so easy to get you out of.”

Maggie smiled as he drew the pull down her back. “And I can’t wear a bra with it. Don’t forget that.”

Dylan stepped back to draw the black cocktail dress down her arms, his eyes fastened on her breasts as he slowly revealed them, letting the dress fall to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her heels and her high cut silk panties. “How could I forget that?”

She covered her embarrassment at the intensity of his regard by reaching out to undo his buttons, pulling his shirt open to expose the toned musculature of his chest to her touch. He closed his eyes as she ran her hands over the planes and curves before he shrugged the shirt off and pulled her against him again.

Maggie moaned at the first contact of warm velvet flesh against hers before he caught her mouth again, more demanding as his hands cupped her ass and coasted up to tug at her hair. “God, you feel good,” he said between kisses, guiding her head now.

His belt buckle dug into her stomach, so she reached down and undid it, continuing on to open his fly as well and push trousers and briefs down over his hips. The first warm slap of his freed cock against her hip made her gasp. She rolled her hips to indulge in the sensation before slowly dropping to her knees as she finished undressing him, her eyes now level with the fascinating beauty of his manhood.

Dylan stepped out of the clothes and tried to draw her back up. “Maggie, you don’t have to...”

She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, making his words break off with a hiss. “I promised you this morning I’d make it up to you,” she insisted, stroking him first against one of her cheeks and then the other, enjoying the silky hardness against her sensitive skin.

His voice had gone gravelly now. “I don’t need... oh God, Maggie!” All thoughts of protest seemed to leave him as she stroked the flat of her tongue around the sensitive ridge of the cap and up the narrow slit, her hand sliding loosely up and down the shaft as she worked. She glanced up to see him watching her with dark, fervent eyes and very deliberately circled her mouth to suck him in.

“God, woman,” he groaned aloud, his hips rocking forward, his hand tightening on the back of her head. She just smiled at the control she had over him now and began working mouth and hand in syncopated harmony. Taking her time, she paused between slow, almost lazy strokes to kiss the soft tip or nip lightly around the cap. He groaned when she brought her other hand up to massage his balls, and she could feel him fighting the need to thrust, sending a rush of arousal between her own legs. How much would it take to make him lose that control? Curious, she began working him with more intent, gradually building in speed and strength until she could feel him shaking with restraint.

“Maggie, stop,” he growled, his grip in her hair tightening as he tried to pull her head back. But she refused to give up her prize, tightening her grip and increasing her suction so he couldn’t escape. A sharp jolt along his shaft was all the warning she had before the first thick, salty warmth hit the back of her tongue. She didn’t release him, working him with the same determined focus as he came again and again until at last he stumbled backwards three steps to collide with the wall for support, leaving her kneeling there, bereft but satisfied.

He sucked in deep lungs full of air, pulling himself back together before finally opening his eyes again. “Well, that was a waste of a perfectly good hard-on,” he complained in mock frustration. “Now what am I supposed to do with you?”