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he did this, sliding deeper inside of her, and then hitting the bulls-eye with that preciseness that made her quiver.   She moaned as he fucked her, as he kept sliding and hitting, sliding and hitting.   Until he began to get thicker, and she took it all in.
     
    Dutch laid his body down on hers as he began to expand to near explosion.   And his once slow and steady gyrations became almost frenetic.   This was more than just making love to his wife.   This was more than just banging her, pounding her, fucking the shit out of her.   Because he was doing all of that and more as he plunged into her, as he couldn’t slow his pace again even if he willed it so.   Because this wasn’t about that.  
     
    This was about giving his all to her, to strengthen her against the madness she had to endure every day since becoming his wife.   This was about reminding her that he would always be in her corner no matter what they threw her way.   This was about her .   That was why he kept staring at her closed eyes as he moved deeper inside of her.   Staring at her exposed neck and radiant black skin and wondrously puckered African lips.   That was why his face was beading with sweat as he fucked her; as he made it his mission to continually hit her where he knew she felt his sweetness the most.   He wanted her to remember their togetherness in such fond sensuality that she would never again talk about separating herself from him, no matter what the reason.   Because she just couldn’t live without his sex.   Because she just couldn’t live without what she had to know was his total, complete, and undivided love.
     
    Tears were in his eyes as he made love to his wife.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
    THREE
     
     
     
    They all stood nervously when President Harber entered the Office of the Oval within the hectic West Wing of the White House.   Present were what Max called the big three of the national security team: Secretary of State Gary Fecarra, Secretary of Defense Logan Winzieki, and General Matt Sullivan, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.   Max was also present, along with Allison Shearer, the president’s press secretary.   Dutch had called this meeting as part of his daily NIE, or National Intelligence Estimate briefing, and he wanted no more bull shit, Max had already warned them.   He wanted answers.
     
    Dutch sat behind his desk in the opulent Oval Office and immediately felt the weight of that office.   He couldn’t help but feel the weight as he sat behind what was historically known as the Resolute Desk, backed by a sweep of rich gold drapes, and fronted by an oval-shaped, presidential-sealed, pale gold rug of sunbeam design.   Even above his head the ceiling bore a plastered replica of the magnificent presidential seal.   It was the most impressive room in the White House, and Dutch kept it formal, as his team sat back down and provided answers.
     
    Dutch sat back and listened carefully about possible threats around the country and the world, the terror alert warnings, and then the main issue: those hostages in Afghanistan.
     
    His team spoke of every possibility, from military intervention, to an out-and-out covert operation, to sending in the SEALS in an effort to secure the release of those foolish college students.  
     
    The information they managed to piece together so far was so weak and contradictory that Dutch wouldn’t even feel comfortable repeating it to the American people.   The abductions occurred during an ambush of their convoy of cars that claimed many lives, according to his Defense Secretary, but the military couldn’t even confirm how many students were already dead, how many were being held, or if they all were even adventure-seeking students, as the press seemed to believe.   The working premise was that some Al-Qaeda operatives may be involved and that the hostages were possibly