Praise Me: President (Praise Me Daily)

Four Years Later

I try not to make it obvious that I’m glancing at my watch, but I’ve been dressed in this Santa suit for hours and the damn thing is getting kind of itchy. A steady line of children has been filing through the crowded East Room at the official White House holiday party since 7 pm, eager to sit on “Santa’s” lap and tell me what they want for Christmas.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice thing do for the kids of my staffers, but I haven’t seen my own twin girls in a few days, as they’ve been in France on a diplomatic trip with Eloise, and I’m missing my family like hell. It was a long year campaigning for reelection, but thankfully I won a second term by an overwhelming majority.

Now, I want nothing more than to stop shaking hands and talking about myself and settle into a private Christmas with my girls.

Especially my wife. God, I miss my wife so much, I don’t even feel like myself.

“There are two more children eager to meet you, sir, then we’ll call it a night,” says Rodrick, one of the interns.

“Send them up,” I say, shielding a yawn with my forearm.

I’m expecting two strangers to approach me.

Instead, my three-year-old twins, Julie and Danielle, come bursting from behind one of several ten-foot Christmas trees lining the East Room, dressed in matching red dresses with big, white bows tying up their rich brown hair, so like their mother’s. They jump into my lap simultaneously and I scoop them up into my arms, the pressure in my throat catching me off guard. “Girls. My girls.” I hold them close, absorbing the sound of their laughter like the dry sponge I’ve become in the absence of my favorite three people. “When did you get back?”

“Today!” Julie shouts.

“Surprise!”

“I am surprised. You got me so good.”

They throw up their arms in an identical cheer.

“Dad,” Danielle whispers, pulling on my fake beard suspiciously. “Are you Santa Claus?”

“No,” I whisper back, trying to give them my undivided attention, even though my heart is fucking roaring in my chest, because if Julie and Danielle are here, so is their mother. My wife. I need to see her, so I can breathe normally again. “I’m the president. That’s all. Sometimes people pretend to be the real Santa Claus, because it’s fun to play dress-up. Like on Halloween, remember?”

“Yes.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Then let’s get you something to…” I completely lose my train of thought when a hushed murmur falls over the crowd and I know what it means. It means my wife has entered the room. And sure enough, there she is, parting reverent staffers like the Red Sea, glowing in a knee-length cream-colored dress that flares at the bottom, the neckline low and sexy, but tasteful, her hair up in some knot, pearl earrings shining quietly in her ears. Elegance personified.

In public, at least.

In private…

Well.

I swallow hard, knowing better than to think of my wife’s bedroom demeanor when I’m in a crowd of people. But as soon as we’re alone, it’s all I’m going to think about.

“Mama pretty,” Danielle says, smiling at me.

“Mama is the most beautiful woman in the world.” I scan the sea of adoring faces that watch Eloise McAlister pass, some people even wiping away tears. This is the reaction the first lady receives everywhere she goes, though it wasn’t like this at first. When we went public with our engagement, my approval rating dropped by twenty points, people upset with the power imbalance and the age difference, but Eloise in her earnest and effortless optimism quickly won them over. They were charmed by her staunch and uncompromising defense of me. Her pragmatism. Her grace. Her endless hard work to deploy more mental health resources throughout the fifty states.

She’s a wonder.

She’s a phenom.

She’s a loving, devoted mother. A public servant that does what she promises.

And somehow, she’s mine.

The girls have had Eloise all to themselves for days, but they still can’t resist jumping off my lap and booking toward her, knocking her backwards when she kneels to catch them in her arms. The scene blurs in front of me, due to the sheer emotional impact of the sight, forcing me to blink the moisture away.

I might be the president, but my family will always be my greatest achievement.

Winning Eloise.

Marrying her in the Rose Garden in a private ceremony, knowing she was already pregnant with my children. The ups and downs of running a country. She’s been at my side through every second of it, giving me strength…and that’s where she’ll always be.

I stand up and make my way forward, my pulse pounding with more insistence the closer to come to my wife. And as usual, she senses me drawing near, her sparkling eyes focusing in on mine, checking in on me. Finding out how I’ve been. More often than not, she recognizes exhaustion or stress or need before I even register what I’m feeling.

Because she’s just that fucking amazing.

Now, she looks at me and tilts her head, pouting a little.

I help my wife to her feet, unable to muffle a moan at the perfect feel of her in my arms. “You need some sleep. I’m going to send the girls up to bed with Martha,” she whispers in my ear, referring to our nanny. “We’ll make another fifteen minutes of rounds, then we bail.” She smiles against my cheek, always aware that people are watching us. “Does that sound good to you, Mr. President?”

Fifteen minutes sounds like eternity when my wife is finally home and I have the option of being alone with her. “I don’t know how I get through the day without you, angel.”

“You’re brilliant, that’s how.” Very subtly, she slips a finger in the waistband of my Santa pants. “Are you going to let me sit on your lap later and tell you what I want for Christmas?”

My cock thickens so swiftly, I nearly reach for it to rub the ache away. “Why don’t you give me a hint right now?” I ask, against my better judgment.

Eloise hums. “Okay, fine, two little hints…” At some point, we’ve started slow dancing with her wrists crossed behind my neck, my hands on her waist, much to the delight of everyone watching, and I wasn’t even aware of it. “One, he’s the love of my life. And two…” she whistles beneath her breath. “Somehow he makes a Santa suit look hot.”

It’s hard to speak, she is so perfectly Eloise. My angel.

Everything I never knew I needed but couldn’t possibly live without now.

And later, when she struts out of the bathroom in nothing but a red thong, white high heels and a candy cane trapped between her teeth, perching her hot ass right in the center of my lap, tossing her hair and winking back at me over her shoulder, I get exactly what I want for Christmas…and every Christmas for the rest of my life.