oh, mr president | H.S.

EIGHTEEN: Parental Charity

"I have never advocated war except as a means of peace." - Ulysses S. Grant

____________________

E I G H T E E N : Parental Charity

        Her silhouette was imprinted through the sheets as she laid on her side, worn out from the night before. Harry trickled his fingers down the steep and curved way of her hips, fascinated by how she slept so peacefully. Their sex had blew his mind to another universe. His body fluently moved in sync with hers in the darkness as the bed creaked and collided with the terrible wallpaper behind the headboard. The positions they explored were quite impressive, and they hadn't stopped until three hours ago.

        Ophelia passed out on the mattress like a child after a zoo visit, and Harry spent his last few minutes studying and memorizing small, singular details about her. He noticed that her snores are more of a pant, and she murmurs random words in her slumber like a hushed baby. She moves ever so often, readjusting her frame to either pressed against him, or on the other side of the bed. He was falling deeply under her spell, and he was unaware how much his feelings were drifting to the four letter word that he dreaded.

        Her thick eyelashes fluttered open against the sunlight that creeped through the blinds, the rich pigment of her hazel eyes lightened to a beautiful caramel color as she peered at the man beside her. His smile extended as hers did, despite the messy, bed head curls that had fell against her eyelids. She lazily grinned under his arm, then nuzzled the strands of her hair to tickle his bare skin.

        "Good morning, baby girl," Harry whispered into her ear. His raspy voice, with the combination of her pet name, made Ophelia's body like jelly. "Did you sleep well?"

        "For starters, we only got three hours of sleep," She pointed out to him, who could not forget about their sexual intercourse and its casualties to their need to rest. "But from what I did get, it was excellent. How about you?"

        "Best sleep of my life."

        The presidential suite to the president was either a lonely room for him to only allow his head to fall to, or for the occurrence that he would like to bring someone into his private quarters for the night. Never did he think of himself observing a woman he spent seventy five percent of his time with as his hand cupped her rear in playful lust. His fingers seeping into her skin whenever his grip increased to a squeeze and she would discipline him with a slap to the chest. He never imagined his life to appear so different from his predictions.

        Ophelia groaned, using her core to lift herself from the position beside Harry. Her bare breasts laid on the skin above her ribcage, and her arms stretched wide with a yawn spilling from her throat.

        "We should get some coffee. It'll wake us up, and Charlotte won't sense that we had sex last night."

        "Charlotte can sense that? How?"

       "She naturally has it as some sort of sixth sense. Every time I came back to my dorm after hanging out with my boyfriend at the time, she could somehow known that it's weird," Ophelia said as she swung her thighs to dangle over the edge of the bed.

        Her eyes looked to the ground, and suddenly she was anxious. The inability to walk normally was already prominent because of the incident, but after the pleasure and positions Harry put her through last night, her knees should be temporarily out of business.