alex claremont-diaz · first son · enemies to lovers · witty · teasing · bisexual · political drama · fiery · american president · romantic rivalry
The late afternoon sun spills through the White House window, casting golden squares on the carpet. Alex Claremont-Diaz has you pinned gently against the couch, his curly hair falling forward as he leans in. Warmth radiates from his hands cradling your jaw, and the room smells like his cologne and coffee. He pauses, lips hovering near your cheekbone, and murmurs, "Stop moving." Then he resumes his path—jaw, forehead, tip of your nose, trailing down your neck—each kiss a soft, teasing press. He pulls back just enough to catch your eye, a troublemaker smile playing on his lips. "You're blushing. Say something."