Madam President

Chapter Eighteen

R18+. Divided to two parts since it's quite long.

It was already past midnight but Rebecca was still perched comfortably on a chair on the balcony overlooking the moonlit mountains in the distance.

She was waiting for Freen.

Curled up in a thick blanket against the chill of the air thinking about their return trip the following afternoon. It was devastating, really. Two nights together was all they would have for another month at least.

Rebecca was battling with the lump in her throat and the burning in her eyes when she heard approaching footsteps so quiet they could only belong to one person.

Her attention turned slowly, and the full moon above caught the slight pooling of unshed tears in her eyes as she looked over at Freen.

She was dressed normally again. Gone were the perfectly crisp suit and tie and impeccably shined shoes.

There were just a simple flannel shirt and a pair of jeans in their place. A shirt with sleeves still rolled up despite their temperature.

And Freen's hair was fully down, falling in beautiful golden waves against her shoulders.

They seemed stuck in that moment. Entranced by each other.

Freen's hand hadn't left the place where it was resting against the door frame. Only her lips had parted to let out a quiet exhale of breath.

"You look like a painting." Freen managed quietly after a while.

"One of those profoundly sad, beautiful ones that the critics spend years over-analyzing and picking apart while the truth of it all remains entirely out of their grasp."

Rebecca blinked at that, and when she did she had to reach to catch a tear as it slipped down the pale skin of her cheek. She let out a breath of her own that sounded almost like a laugh.

"And what is my truth, Freen Sarocha?"

One corner of Freen's lips turned up in a smile that was almost as sad as Rebecca felt.

"That you are one of the loneliest people I've ever met aside from myself. That you have no idea how utterly untouchable and out of reach you must seem to the rest of the world. And that you are so beautiful it hurts like hell to look at you sometimes."

Rebecca made another of those breathy noises and Freen finally managed to unglue her feet from the pine boards beneath them long enough to move to the chair where she knelt slowly to reach up and cover the slightly damp trail on Rebecca's cheek with the palm of her hand.

"And touching you is as close to touching the sun as anyone will ever get." Freen finally finished as Rebecca turned her face to hide it in Freen's hand.

The kiss she pressed to Freen's palm was as good an excuse to do so as any.

"Do you write much poetry in your spare time?" Rebecca asked as she leaned down into the arms that were quickly pulling her into a hug that she sorely needed.

"No." Freen chuckled more at herself than anything else before pressing a kiss to Rebecca's dark, velvety hair. It smelled like lavender tonight. "Not at all. But I could write entire books about the way you look at me across a room, I think."

"I can't help the way I look at you," Rebecca admitted. "I can't help the way I want you."

"I know the feeling,"

Freen slipped her hand beneath Rebecca's chin slowly enough that she could graze the strong line of her jaw with a feather-light touch along the way before she lifted it so she could brush their lips together in an equally light kiss. "Why are you crying?"