Desire (Determination Trilogy 3)

by Lesli Richardson

  I shrug. “I don’t see why this has to change between us.” I mentally calculate things. “We just have to be careful with my job. If you’re going to run, then I’ll retire before the general election instead of after it, like I’d originally planned.”

  “He’d be okay with…us?” she asks.

  “He’ll have to be okay with it. He won’t have a choice.” I lean in. “You and that boy share a few needs in common. Besides, girl, you said you always fantasized about being spit-roasted. We bring him in, that won’t be a problem anymore. Outside of work, he’ll have permission to play with you. And he’ll be spending a lot more time with you than I can, especially during the campaign. He can fuck you, I can fuck him, and we all get what we need.”

  Another of those shivers washes over her, making her run her hands up and down her arms.

  She’s hooked, I can tell. “He interviewed me Wednesday evening, down in Tampa,” she says. “It was a good back-and-forth. He’s quick, sharp. Knows his stuff. Can pivot fast and keep up.” Another of those slow, sneaky smiles curls her lips. “He’s cute, too.”

  “Cute?” I snort. “He’s fucking gorgeous and you damn well know it.” I sit back and sip my coffee. “You should see his O-face.” I smile. I know he interviewed her, because yesterday morning, while I was on the plane ride back to the States, I watched it and the interview he did earlier that same day with Governor-elect Susa Evans.

  She leans forward, playing with her coffee cup for a moment before meeting my gaze. “Only problem with running for president is that I’m going to need a husband before the general, and preferably before most of the primaries are held. Ideally before the DNC. I’ll almost be forty-eight. Hard to convince a lot of the far-right to vote for me if they think I’m gay. Because, of course, if a woman is single at my age, and she’s not divorced or widowed, and she’s never been married, she has to be gay.” She rolls her eyes.

  I smirk. “You proposing to me, Senator?”

  Her gaze drops to her coffee again. “Maaaaybe.” She eyes me. “You’d be bored with retirement, anyway. You know you would. It’s a chance to see what it’s like to actually live in the White House instead of working there.”

  “True.” I reach over and trail a finger down her arm. “Not jealous, are you?”

  “Why?”

  “That I want Kev.” Regardless, Kev is mine. He’s at rock-bottom, and I won’t waste time being coy to get him back in my bed.

  I just need Shae to want him so I can get him.

  The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Not if I get to play with him, too.”

  “You mean if he gets to play with you, girl.”

  She wraps her hands around her coffee mug. “Yes, Sir.” But I see the way her lips quirk again.

  She’s definitely hooked, her mind spinning out the possibilities.

  “Don’t want to fuck up my retirement,” I say. “Because the director will probably ask me to resign when we go public with our relationship, if I haven’t retired already. So I wouldn’t be able to marry you until that year, once I turn fifty and my pension is safe. We have to play it cool until then.”

  She lifts her mug and takes a sip. “I need to form an exploratory committee by the end of this year,” she says. “We’re actually running late with that. I had no idea it’d be this difficult to find someone with integrity and brains to be my new campaign manager. I want Kevin involved in all of that.”

  “We’ll talk to him before then. Two weeks or sooner.” The thought of seeing him again—and more—hardens my cock. “I’ll move him into my condo with me. He’s working for you and the campaign, he can come and go from your place as he wants. It’s almost expected.”

  It’s the best of both worlds. Shea will be taken care of, and I will take care of him. “Gives us an extra cover story when we get married,” I add. “I ended up spending more time with you outside of work because he’s living with me.”

  “How do you explain your connection to each other?”

  I shrug. “We met in college.”

  “That would make things easier all the way around, wouldn’t it?” she asks.

  “Exactly.”

  She sighs. “Okay. Give me a date so I can clear my schedule to get to Florida. We traveling together?”

  “Meeting there is probably wiser. I have to go to Florida anyway to follow up on some threats.” I drop the next idea I’ve already pondered on her. “You should buy a house in his development.”

  I get the eyebrow again.

  “Hey, it’s on Google Earth, all right? And the property tax listings are public record. Besides, it’s a gated community. You’ve been talking about ditching the townhouse in Tallahassee so we have a house there where I can spank you and we can hide out. This is the perfect excuse.” Money’s not the issue—Susa inherited quite a fortune when her mother died, in addition to her own considerable income from her career as an attorney.

  She smiles. “If you say so, Sir.”

  “I do. In fact, I’ll research that and send you listings. Sooner that happens, the better.”

  I already have the listings. I stayed up late last night doing research. There are five houses for sale in Kev’s development, one of them directly behind his. We could just open a gate in the fence.

  “Why a house in the same development?” she asks.

  I prop my chin in my palm. “Taylor, Evans, and Wilson.”

  She scowls, because she needs a second to orient herself. “In Florida?”

  “Yeah. They have houses right next door to each other in Tampa, and the townhouses in Tallahassee. They were roommates in college. They’re a poly triad, I’d be willing to bet. You yourself said that when you talked to Taylor and Wilson about the campaign, they were cagey when discussing Taylor’s ‘partner.’ House close to Kevin’s, especially in a gated community, means less chances of people talking.”

  I wink. “Besides, imagine how I can make you howl if I don’t have to worry about what the neighbors think.” The walls of her Tallahassee townhouse aren’t paper-thin, but they’re uncomfortably close to it. I refuse to spank her there because I don’t need us having to explain away a 911 call for domestic violence.

  “Mmm. Are you sweet-talking me, Sir? Because it’s working.”

  “Good.” I sit back once more and sip my coffee. “I’ll drop listing links in your private e-mail by this afternoon.”

  She sets her coffee mug down, rises, rounds the table, and crawls into my lap as she drapes her arms around my neck. “Do you have to leave right now, Sir?” She playfully bats her eyes at me.

  I stroke her thigh through her robe. “Whyyyy?”

  She shrugs. “Been a lonely few weeks without you around.”

  I gasp melodramatically. “Have you actually…missed me?”

  She rolls her eyes before tucking her face against the side of my neck. “Fine,” she mumbles. “Maybe I did.”

  I take one final sip of coffee, scoop her up, rise, and head for the stairs. In my arms, she’s squealing and giggling. “Then maybe Sir can stay for another round of fun with his girl.”

  Truth be told, it has been a long three weeks away from her. I don’t need my implements for this round. She’s already going to have a good set of marks on her ass from the way I went after her earlier.

  This time can be all about the fucking.

  When we reach her bedroom, I unceremoniously toss her onto the bed. She loves it when I get rough with her. I have to be careful not to mark her anywhere she can’t easily conceal, like lower arms.

  I drop onto her, using my knees to shove her thighs apart as she start to struggle. So I grab her arms and pin them over her head at the wrists with one hand and use the other to untie the robe’s belt. “You sure are squirmy for a girl who wanted a round two.”

  “Wouldn’t want you to think I’m getting soft, Special Agent Bruunt.” Her nearly manic grin says it all, though.

  Game on.

  “I’d never think that, Senator.” I�
�m already hard. I jerk down my sweat pants and easily notch my cock between her legs and find my target, making both of us moan.

  At that, the fight goes out of her, the game abandoned. Her legs hook around mine, and the struggle is forgotten as she tries to rock her hips in time with me.

  Soft and sweet doesn’t do it for her. It’s rare that she’s in a fluffy bunny mode, and usually those times come after emotionally draining circumstances, like dealing with tragedies. In those times, she just wants to sit curled in my lap and be able to cry and feel safe.

  The rest of the time?

  She wants the stuffing fucked out of her.

  Which I proceed to do now. By the time I’m finished with her, we’ve both come again and lie there snuggling for a few minutes.

  “The sooner we talk to him, the sooner I can announce,” she says.

  I snort. “That’s some pillow talk, Shae.”

  She rolls on top of me. “I mean it about getting married.”

  “I know. I’ll do it.” I probably know this woman better than anyone. I mean, there is more to our relationship besides sex and spankings. But those other parts of our relationship usually happen over a phone or video chat. We don’t waste our precious time alone together making small talk.

  The kiss she gives me now is different than how she usually kisses me. It feels like a promise she won’t renege on.

  I tuck a strand of her black hair behind her ear. She grew it longer for me, when she asked me how I liked it. She gives me control in tiny ways I know are a big deal for her.

  That’s why I relish them.

  “You really love him, don’t you?” she asks.

  I nod. “I never got over him. It’s why I’ve been single for so long. I tanked a lot of relationships without realizing exactly why. When I finally quit trying to replace him in my heart, I finally found a way to make a little peace with it.”

  Which is a fucking lie.

  I’ve never made peace with losing him. Maybe if I’d had some damn closure, okay. But for now, Kevin Markos remains an unpunctuated sentence in my soul—a life sentence, apparently.

  She studies me for another long moment. “Would you still marry me if I ran for re-election instead of president?”

  Ah. We’re having a “moment.” I never assume that with Shae. Early on, when I thought she was being emotional, it turned out she wasn’t. So now I assume everything isn’t a “moment” unless I see evidence of her making herself truly vulnerable to me.

  “On the same timeline, yes.” I smirk. “As long as you still ask me.”

  She sits up, straddling me. She’s still wearing her robe, but it falls open in the front. “No kids, though. Even if I wasn’t getting up there in years, management closed the baby factory, and it’s not reopening.”

  She had her tubes tied long before we ever met, back during her first term in the Senate. “I know. I’m good with that.” I’m an uncle to my younger brother’s kids, and I’m happy with that role. I’ve never had a desire for more.

  Maybe because of where my heart stubbornly remained.

  “Chris—”

  “Shae, it’s your call. If you change your mind, I won’t hold you to it. But that will be your decision. And we’ll need a prenup regardless of which way you decide. If you declare, keep in mind that at some point I’ll have to tell the brass we’re friends, at the very least, so they don’t try to write me up later. And we’ll have to be extra careful.”

  She nods. “I know.”

  “Your security won’t be nearly as stringent for a Senate run,” I add, trying to give her a little extra to consider. “Either way, we get Kevin in there for you. I know he can do it.”

  Her fingers play with the hair on my chest. “I’m trusting you with him,” she finally says. “With…this.”

  “If I thought he’d betray you, I’d never bring him in.” I catch her hands and bring them to my lips to kiss them before tucking them against my chest. “I’ll always take care of you, girl. As much as you’ll let me.”

  Shae doesn’t really “need” me. That’s such a tricky word to use with her. There are certain things she enjoys, because it gives her a desperately needed mental vacation she can’t get any other way. The senator doesn’t “need” me to sit on top of her and run her life. She’s quite capable of that.

  But what ShaeLynn Samuels has only with me is a tiny pocket of acceptance and trust and the ability to completely let down her walls and her guard.

  And I will do whatever I have to do to protect that for her, at any cost to myself.

  Just like I’ll protect Kevin.

  Now all I need to do is bring him in from the cold.

  Chapter Six

  Before

  The night I first meet Kevin Markos is one I’ve both blessed and cursed throughout the years.

  I’ve just survived a year of intensive qualifications and training with the Secret Service, another year working in the Orlando office to prove myself as a field agent, and this is my last week of a two-week vacation before I move to DC to start my new assignment working out of the office there.

  My goal? To end up on The Shift. Presidential Protective Division.

  When my old college buddies said they were hitting Spring Break, I knew this was my last chance to cut loose before I plunge headfirst into hell.

  I spot the cutie as soon as he enters the club and I watch how nervous he is. First impression is to watch him because, unlike the other patrons there, he isn’t dressed like he knew what the fuck he was doing, he seems jumpy, and I curse the fact that I left my badge and gun locked in the room safe upstairs.

  Until I finally realize what’s going on. This is no gunman about to shoot the place up.

  I wager he’s alone, lonely, and probably peeking a toe out of the closet for the very first time.

  The longer I watch him, before he finally realizes I’m watching him, I become more convinced that’s exactly what I’m seeing play out in real time. His gaze pauses and lingers on men. Every time I follow his line of sight, he’s scoping out guys.

  I excuse myself from my friends and head over. The near terror on his face as I approach is adorable and tugs not just at my heart, but my cock. I want to drape him over my lap and spank him, but hopefully I can get his name before he bolts from the club.

  Behind his glasses his wide blue eyes never leave my face as I stroll over, smiling. “First time here?” I ask.

  He nods, and it takes everything I have not to burst out laughing. He’s fucking adorable.

  And tonight, he’s going to be mine, if I have any say in the matter.

  I extends a hand. “Chris.”

  For a second, I’m not actually sure he’s going to shake with me. It’s like he’s having trouble remembering how to breathe, much less interact. “Kevin.”

  I pretend I’m looking around, but I keep my focus on him as I do. “You here alone, or meeting someone?”

  “Alone.”

  Fuck. Me. I decide to put it out there. “So feel free to tell me to go to hell, if you want. But I get the feeling you were kind of checking me out, yeah?”

  He nods.

  “Single?” I ask.

  “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve been with girls, but I’m gay. I’m sure I am, but I’ve never been with a guy, and before I graduate and start my internship in DC, I just wanted to get out and meet a guy this week and…” It’s like he runs out of steam.

  Holy shit, I’m in love. No, fucking seriously. He’s goddamned adorable, and he’s basically a virgin?

  I think I just figured out how I’m spending my week.

  No plan survives contact with the other side, and I’m already revising mine. This calls for slowing my roll just a hair, or he’s going to run like a scared rabbit. I lean in. “I think you’re hot, Kevin. You have dinner yet?”

  He shakes his head, so I hold out my hand and wait him out.

  Finally, he takes mine, and I fight the urge to clamp my fingers around hi
s and drag him out of there. Instead, I gently hold his hand and lead him over to where my buddies are holding up a high top.

  I introduce them, and of course it’s fucking Baker, who’s a twink who successfully masquerades as a respectable junior federal prosecutor during the week, who runs his mouth. “Chris, you bitch, first guy you talk to? Really? I always said you were lucky.”

  I shrug and drain my drink, leaving the cup on the table. “I’m lucky. Don’t wait up.” I wonder if Kevin is going to run away, because honestly? I can’t believe this cutie isn’t swarmed with guys. “Finish your drink,” I tell him. “You can’t take it outside.”

  “W-where are we going?”

  I squeeze his hand. “Do you like Italian?”

  * * * *

  I spend the entire week in Daytona with Kevin, a week that changes my life.

  For the first time, I’m in love.

  I thought I knew what love was, but Kevin realigns my universe. He’s sweet and good and kind.

  He’s also terrified—of himself, his truths, the world at large, but mostly of his father.

  Because I want to make it into PPD, and because as a Secret Service agent we have contact with lawmakers, I know who Rep. Edwin Markos from West Virginia is. The man is definitely an asshole, and one who, when agents are sure no one’s listening, holds no respect from our agency. The hope is he never runs for POTUS, because it’ll end up being a short-straw kind of deal for his detail assignment. Yes, we absolutely protect whoever it is we’re assigned to.

  But there are some people you’re more willing to take a bullet for than others.

  Rep. Markos is one of those guys who might make an agent hesitate a fraction of a second before throwing themselves into the line of fire.

  He’s that obnoxious.

  It’s difficult to believe that asshole fathered this man. Kev looks nothing like him, so I’m sure Kev takes more after his mother.

  By the end of the week, I’ve decided that, yes, this is more for me than great sexual chemistry. I’ve had amazing sexual partners in my life.

  This is more than that.

  Way more.

  This is the first time I’ve ever connected with another soul. There’s just one problem.