Pens clattered against the marble floor, papers flying in all directions after Blade roughly sweeped his hand over the surface of the desk in the president's office. The table was an ancient thing, a block of carved, polished mahogany where past presidents did all their work. It was where some of the country's most important decisions were made, and there was a certain level of respect and honor that came with having the privilege to sit at that desk.

And Blade couldn't think of anything more honorable to do at his new desk than this.

His hands were at your waist, searing your skin through the fabric of your blouse as he effortlessly lifted you up and placed you on the now-empty desk. He gifted you a quick brush of his lips to your throat as he cast a glance over your shoulder, relieved that the velvet curtains were already drawn. No prying eyes or overeager journalists would distract him tonight.

You'd been by his side from before the campaign had even started. You'd been there to place a soothing hand on his knee under the table and take over when the press would ask accusatory questions. And despite what the public inferred from the polite distance the two of you always kept between yourselves at rallies and interviews, you'd been there for him much more intimately in private. Now that the two of you had won the election, you were due for a reward.

His hands cupped your ribcage while he stood between your legs, thumbs idly playing with the lapels of your fitted blazer. His darkened gaze searched yours, the air between you electric and scorching. A hand slithered up to your jaw, holding you in place as his forehead pressed against yours. You were both breathless, your suits now rumpled and buttons undone.

The president's nose brushed yours, a lopsided grin tugging at the corners of his lips when he felt you shudder in response. He leaned in and caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugging ever so gently.

"Look at you," he rasped, deciding to give your new title a try. "Madam Vice President."