by Melanie-Anne

11:43 p.m.

Strangely, you're not that nervous. You remember your first time (Bobby Beaumont, the backseat of his daddy's car, July Fourth) and how you were nervous as hell back then ("I won't hurt you, Ains, I swear" and "This okay? You okay?").

You thought if you'd sleep with anyone in the White House, it'd be Sam. But this is definitely not Sam and you don't care as much as you thought you would.

And Not-Sam is kissing your neck; long, wet, open kisses that leave you feeling wet in other places.

"I've never really done this before," you confess with a giggle. Which is true. You haven't, really. Not like this.

And when Not-Sam cups one breast and starts suckling the other, you don't care, because this is good.


10:03 p.m.

"You like what you do to men, don't you?"

"Excuse me?" The voice catches you off-guard. You're looking at another speech for Sam and the interruption is unwelcome. You look up. There's a vaguely familiar woman just coming into the mess, but your concentration is elsewhere and you can't be bothered to recall where you know her from.

"I said," she repeats, "you like what you do to men, don't you?"

You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "What exactly is it that I do to men?"

The woman folds her arms across her chest. "I've known girls like you my whole life. You use your looks to get your way when it comes to men."

You don't like where this is heading.

"It's because of women like you that the rest of us have to put up with attitude from-"

You burst out laughing. The woman ceases her tirade mid-sentence and slowly approaches the table.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. It's . . . I just remembered where I know you from." You pick up your pen and look back at the speech. "I'm not getting into this argument again, Cynthia."


You're only half-listening. "Sorry?"

"It's Celia, not Cynthia."


Celia moves away and you think she's left the room, until she speaks again.

"Aren't you Associate Counsel?"

You answer without looking up. "Mm-hmm."

"Don't you have an office?"

You look at her over the top of your glasses. "I do."

"So, why are you working in the mess?"

"I thought I'd do some work while I ate dinner."

"Dinner? It's after ten."

You glance at your watch, which confirms it is indeed after ten. You take your glasses off and rub your eyes; no wonder you felt tired. "So I lost track of time."

Celia continues to stare at you and you feel just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"I thought you were just a temp."

"I am. I was supposed to be here a week but then Bonnie got chicken pox so . . ." She shrugs.

"I thought only kids were supposed to get chicken pox."

"Yeah, well . . . I guess not."

You tilt your head as you study Celia. You're surprised that she doesn't seem to mind the scrutiny.

"I don't get you," you say after a while.

Taking that as an invitation for further conversation, Celia sits next to you. "What's to get?"

"Why were you so upset about what Sam said to me?"

Celia's eyes widen fractionally. "You like Sam, don't you?"

You look away, trying not to smile. "Sam's just a friend."

"You're cute when you blush, you know that?"

You wonder why you like Celia's laugh. She has perfect white teeth. You don't want to think about why you notice that. "So what if I like Sam? He's a nice guy, you know, for a Democrat. And he's handsome. And he makes me laugh. And why am I justifying myself to you? We barely know each other."

You frown. "Wait a second, did you just tell me I was cute?"

"If it was any other man who'd made that leash comment, would you still have been so, I don't know, casual about it?"

"You think I'm cute?"

"You know, Ainsley, if you're going to be so open about your sexuality, you're going to have to accept that you might have the desired effect on someone other than Sam."


You blink slowly, then lean back in your seat. You smile. "Sam put you up to this, didn't he?"


"He didn't? 'Cause, this is the kind of thing he'd do to mess with me. Last week CJ and Charlie were playing practical jokes on each other and Sam decided to join in on the fun. He . . ."

You stop talking when Celia reaches over and pulls your hair free of your ponytail.

"Do you mind?" she asks.

"Uh-uh." You're having sudden trouble breathing. You can smell her perfume.

"Close your eyes."

You've always been good at doing what you're told. You close your eyes.

Celia's hands are gentle in your hair. Not like Sam's would be (you don't know how you know this, but you resolve to find out). You gasp when her fingernails tickle the back of your neck.

And then she's kissing you, and you're kissing her back, and it's not all that different to kissing a man.

And your left hand is on Celia's (soft, smooth) cheek and your right is sliding up her leg. Hers are cold as they slip under your shirt. You arch into her touch, pressing your breasts into her palms, your nipples hardening between her fingers.

You announced in the communications bullpen that you liked sex. You wanted to rattle Sam and, maybe, flirt just a little bit. Now, in an almost empty White House, you're thinking about having sex with someone who is not Sam.

Celia-Not-Sam slips a hand between your legs and as good as it feels, you suddenly remember where you are. With your luck, the President himself will walk in on you.

You pull back, somewhat reluctantly, and see the grapes Celia had come to fetch. You smile. "You know what'll go great with those?"

"What?" Celia's hand is still on your breast.


"They have honey here?"

You shake your head.


11:44 p.m.

This is how Celia-Not-Sam discovers the ticklish spot on the inside of your elbow. And how you decide that women are better kissers than men. Or, this woman, at least.

Celia raises her head, flicking your nipple with her tongue. Her breath is warm on your skin, and the longer you're with her, the less strange she feels against you. She slides down, kissing your stomach, the scar from your appendix, the mole above your left hip on her way down. You spread your knees, closing your eyes as she first nips the inside of your thighs with those perfect white teeth, then pushes her tongue inside you.

You don't mind at all that this is Celia-Not-Sam because her tongue is moving in you and you remember why you like sex. You decide you like sex with her.

And you haven't even got to the honey yet.


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