I love it, too.
I love that in these increasingly rare moments we can shove worries aside, ditch the condoms, and they can fully possess and mark me, inside and out.
With the house surrounded by Secret Service we really can’t play like we want to, with spanking and loud squeals and pained grunts.
Thus, we improvise.
Tonight it’s Christopher’s hands cupping my breasts and pinching my nipples until I gasp while Kevin makes me moan with need and pleasure. It’s Kevin biting and sucking along the inside of both our thighs, marking me and Christopher in secret places only we can see, while Christopher kisses me and swallows my sounds.
It’s giving myself to these two men who’ve given everything to be with me and help me follow my dream.
Kevin makes me come three times before Christopher can’t hold back any longer. He grabs me by the waist and fucks me while Kevin sits up and kisses him over my shoulder, with me sandwiched between them.
“Come for us, Sir,” he whispers to Chris. “Fill our girl.”
I never get enough of watching them together, the raw, unfiltered passion between them. Christopher’s sadism with me is physical, primal, sometimes brutal, digging into my fantasies and safely fulfilling them in ways that helps distract and disconnect my thinking brain, and leaves me physically spent.
Kevin’s sadism with me is the mental and emotional kind, strict obedience demanded while in that mode, leaving me focused totally on him, begging for more, and desperate to earn his praise.
They’re perfect for me, and for each other.
Then the men switch positions. Now it’s Kev cradling my body against his while Christopher dives between our legs and puts that talented mouth of his to good use on both of us.
Under me, I feel a shiver rock Kevin’s body. I tip my head back and receive his sweetly greedy kisses. I taste myself on him and love that, too.
I know he’s mine—ours.
I know in my heart he’s nothing more than friends with Lauren.
I have the satisfaction of knowing he’s dedicated his life to this crazy, impossible thing we have together that’s now been made very, very real.
Lives will depend on us—literally.
The country depends on us.
And this fragile secret we protect and nurture during stolen nights like this will have to suffice for all three of us until we once again enter private life.
Kevin captures my hands and laces fingers with me, crossing our arms over my chest and holding me in place. While we kiss, Christopher works to send me over once more. Only this time, once I’ve made it over, he lifts and maneuvers me so Kevin’s cock slips free of my body.
I spot his wicked smile before Kevin’s low moan in my ear makes my body clench and yearn for more. The gentle rasp of the stubble on Christopher’s cheeks against my inner thighs as he swallows Kevin’s cock teases and taunts me.
Then he slides two fingers inside me, and my brain shuts down. Christopher is a master in many ways, including knowing how to focus both his pets’ attention fully on him.
I tip my head back again, my lips seeking and finding Kevin’s. His breathy moans fill my mouth as, down below, my husband eagerly seeks his wife’s and boyfriend’s pleasure.
Moments like this sustain all three of us. The maestro expertly plays our bodies, even managing to lick my clit and Kevin’s cock at the same time with long, slow swipes from that talented tongue, until I finally give it up first and Kevin soon spills in his mouth.
Kev and I lie there, panting and spent as Christopher rises to his knees and slides his cock inside me again. Pinned between them, I enjoy it as he takes another round of pleasure from me. Sometimes that happens with him. He might be a sadist, but he enjoys making us moan for him. He takes great pride in knowing he has that effect on us.
Finally, we’re stretched out on our sides in front of the fire, me between them and Christopher’s arms around both of us as we watch the festivities in Times Square on TV.
I can close my eyes and relax, let go, and just…breathe. Christopher will watch over us, vigilantly ensure the security and logistics to support and protect us. Meanwhile, Kevin is diligent when it comes to my fledgling administration, building a solid foundation that’s free of scandal and which will allow me to do great things for our country.
My Priest and my Prophet.
Mine.
I can’t do this alone. I couldn’t do this if I didn’t have both these men. I don’t know how I ever thought I could. I don’t see how any president can effectively do their job without maybe not bedfellows, but at the very least ride-or-die advisors who will honesty guide and support them.
It reminds me to trust, the way I trusted Christopher when he asked it of me two years ago. The way I trusted Kevin, because Christopher asked it of me.
That trust got us here in the first place.
Like hell will I stop trusting either of them now.
Chapter Five
Then
In my search for a campaign manager, and potential VP candidate, I’ve already had a disappointing private meeting with Owen Taylor and Carter Wilson, Florida’s governor and his chief of staff. That was back in October, before the election that put Carter’s wife, Susa—also Taylor’s lieutenant governor—in the Florida governor’s office.
Now, less than a week after Markos’ meltdown, I’m back in Florida on an unexpected mission to buy a house and help my super-secret Secret Service sadist boyfriend blackmail his ex-boyfriend into coming to work for me as my campaign manager and chief of staff.
Um…wow.
That sounds really bad when I spell it out like that, doesn’t it?
Don’t get judgy with me. If you had any idea how the sausage is made in Washington, DC on a daily basis, you would demand we nuke the entire site from orbit.
It is, after all, the only way to be sure.
It’s little more than Lord of the Flies with suits and lobbyists, only despite the political parties’ attempts to demonize others, I say the true beast is money.
I’ve purchased my new house sight unseen, strictly on Chris’ recommendation.
The main reason?
It sits directly behind Kevin Markos’ house.
Chris picked me up from the airport last night and we spent the night together at my townhouse before we head to the real estate office for me to finish signing papers and receive the keys, two gate clickers, and a shit-ton of HOA paperwork.
After lunch, Chris drives us in his rental car to take me to see my new house. When we reach the development’s front gate and slow for it to open after he uses one of the clickers, I look around. “Nice area.”
“Should be,” Chris says with an unreadable smirk on his handsome lips and his sunglasses firmly in place to hide his eyes. “It cost you enough money.”
That’s irrelevant to me. I could retire right now and never have to work again, if I wanted. I inherited money from Momma, yes, but I’d been making my own living, a nice one, long before then.
This house is part of the long-term plan Chris has laid out. Tonight I will fly back to DC after we confront Kevin Markos and secure his commitment. Chris will stay behind with him.
“I think I’m a little jealous of him already,” I comment as we wind through quiet residential streets laden on both sides with expensive homes on large, shaded lots.
“Why?”
“He gets to spend two solid weeks with you.”
“You’re going to be busy with paperwork,” he reminds me. Then he reaches over and takes my hand. “I haven’t spoken with him in twenty years, Shae.” The deep emotion tinging his soft words isn’t lost on me. “You’ve had me for the past four years. I need this time with him.” He gently squeezes my hand. “You’ll get to play with him soon enough,” he teases.
Like me, Chris is a workaholic. He has a lot of vacation time coming that he hasn’t used up. Two of those weeks start now. Then he’ll bring Kevin to DC with him and prep him for starti
ng life as my campaign manager.
“I’m nervous about Sunday morning,” I admit. “It makes it…real.” I’m going on Meet the Press, and there I’m going to announce my run for president.
I hope.
Depends on how today goes.
If not, I’ll be announcing I’m running for reelection to the Senate.
He pulls into a driveway, shifts the rented Lincoln into park, and looks at me. “Shae, I’ll support you whatever you decide. If you want to run for the Senate again, or you want to run for POTUS. It’s your call. But we need to settle this now, before we go over there and put this plan in action. We have to have our stories straight. He can be your campaign manager and chief of staff either way. But they are different beasts. I can soften my approach if you’re going to run for Senate, and in six years, we’ll be a team for a presidential campaign. Except we’ll have to be even more careful in that time not to risk discovery.”
I lay my head back against the seat and study him. “Take the glasses off, please?” I ask.
He does. His green gaze meets mine, steady, firm.
“You’ll still marry me?” I ask, hating that I feel…needy.
He holds my hand again. “If you want me, yes. I told you a while ago that if you want more with me, you ask me. Whether it’s to be my slave, or my wife, or whatever. That I wouldn’t push you.”
I’ve spent my entire life with goals.
I can never remember a time I didn’t have goals that would put most people to shame yet still leave me feeling like a slacker.
I’ve always felt…driven.
As an adult, part of that is due to running from things I can’t escape.
Doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.
“Are you in love with me?” I ask.
He sighs. “We can love each other in a bunch of different ways and not both be in love with each other. Are you in love with me?”
Fair question, and one I avoid. “Will you hate me in two years?” I ask. “If I ask this of you, and you’re marrying me and not him?”
“I can’t guarantee he’s going to be happy with the whole personal situation, no, but he will agree to it and go along with it. Will I hate you? No. I need patience and understanding from you, sweetie. I love him. I’m in love with him. I’ve never stopped loving him. If you’re asking me if I will love you more than him, I can’t tell you that. I won’t lie to you.
“There’s not a finite amount of love in me. Do I love you? Yes. Other than what I’ve held for him in my heart all this time, you are the longest, strongest relationship I’ve ever had. Can I see myself married to you in a functional, healthy, loving relationship? Absolutely. But if you ask me to choose between you and Kevin, or to quantify my love for you versus my love for him, I will not do that. I will marry you, but I won’t give him up. This is not negotiable, just like when I come back later tonight to deal with him, I will tell him that you being in my life is not negotiable.”
I study him for a moment. “What if he gives you an ultimatum and says it’s me or him?”
“He won’t.”
“You said it yourself, you haven’t spoken to him in twenty years.”
“I know him.”
“You knew him,” I remind him. “Big difference. If I’m going to declare on Sunday, I need to know this is a sure-thing right now.”
“It will be,” he says.
I wave my hand toward the windshield, indicating the house. I need a brief break from this heavy discussion. “Is this it?”
“Yeah. I’ll give you the tour.”
He shuts the car off and we head inside. Our feet echo off the bare walls and wood laminate floors as we tour the house. There’s a pool and hot tub, too. One of my chores during these next two weeks is arranging to get my shit moved here from my townhouse and then sell the townhouse. One of my staffers will help supervise the logistics, a long-term aide I can trust and will pay extra for her efforts.
“I like it,” I say when we end up in the kitchen. “You sure this won’t raise more questions than it settles?”
“If you were from California or something, sure it would.” He leans against the counter and crosses his arms. He looks damn good in his suit and it nearly distracts me. “You’re from Tallahassee. It’s a coincidence. It’s an exclusive gated community. A county commissioner and two state reps have houses in here, as do several attorneys, a circuit court judge, and two school board members. It passes the smell test.”
I lean against the opposite counter, mirroring his pose. “If he can’t do this, if you feel he’s going to let us down, let me know before Sunday morning.”
“I will, but he won’t. He’s my good boy.”
Another tendril of jealousy snakes through me. I’ve never had competition for Chris’ time, other than from his job.
Definitely never had competition for his heart before. Well, I guess I did, I just never realized it before.
I’ve never had obvious competition for the sadist’s attention, either.
Maybe the only reason I wasn’t jealous before was that I had no reason to be.
I stare at him. “See, you keep saying that, but you don’t know.”
“I know Kevin. He’s still in the closet. He doesn’t have a close relationship with his father. It’s not a coincidence that he blew up over a hate crime directed at two gay men. You need to trust me. I’ve proven myself over the years. If you can’t trust me, tell me now, and we can part ways as friends.”
No, that’s not what I want.
I step across the void and snuggle in his arms. “I trust you,” I say, terrified to admit that. “I’ve never trusted someone like I trust you, though. I’m trusting you with him, too. That he won’t betray me, or us.”
His breath feels warm against my scalp. “I won’t let you down, sweetie, and neither will he. I swear.”
“And you’ll still marry me?”
He tips my chin so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. “Why are you so scared to say it to me?”
I know what he means.
And he knows I know what he means.
I don’t want to admit this, but I know I have to. We’re approaching a crucial juncture in our relationship. “Because I’ve never said it to anyone before. Not like that.”
He slants a gentle kiss across my lips, a tender, sweet one that bears no hint of the sadist who inhabits a considerable portion of his meat suit. “I do love you, Shae. I have room in my heart to love both of you. Have I ever broken your trust before?”
I shake my head. I wouldn’t be here with him now if he had.
He gathers me in his arms. “I believe in you. I trust you. If you want to run for Senate, I’ll still be here. If you want to run for POTUS, I’ll still be here. I’ve always let you come to me, emotionally, because I know you’ve got your own baggage. But you can’t do this alone, either way. You’re going to need a campaign manager and a chief of staff, regardless. So you need to tell me what role you want me to play in your life.”
I drag in a shaky breath. “I love you, too,” I whisper. “I want to run for president, and I want you to marry me.”
The earth doesn’t swallow me. Lightning doesn’t strike me dead.
My mother doesn’t rise from her grave and point an accusatory finger at me for forcing myself to follow her orders, fulfill the promise she extracted from me, and leaving me feeling like a horrible human being for it.
He smiles. “There. Was that so difficult?”
* * * *
After working through our pitch a couple of times, we agree to keep a few facets of our long-range plan concealed from Kevin to make it easier to maneuver him where we need him to go.
Like that we love each other.
That—I guess—we are in love with each other, in some way.
And that Chris is going to marry me before the general election, after he retires from the Secret Service.
With that settled, we return to the car and head to Kevin Markos’ home. His hous
e looks like an exact opposite floor plan of mine from the outside, with a different color stucco, trim, and roofing shingles.
“How do you know he’s home?” I ask.
“He’s home.” He slowly nods as he stares at the house. “The other night, I went to your house with the real estate agent for a final walkthrough, and I stood at the back fence and peeked over. He was inside. TV was on. No car in the driveway then, either. He parks it in the garage. He’s got an SUV.”
“Ah.”
He looks at me, the sunglasses firmly in place. “Senator, are you ready?”
I suppress a shiver. “It’s fricking spooky you can shift modes like that,” I snark.
He grins. “Get used to it.”
He gets out and walks around to open my door for me. Now we’re in full character. Chris is in protective mode as he follows me up the walk to Kevin Markos’ front entry. He’s looking around, and any casual observers would automatically assume Secret Service from the suit, glasses, and mannerisms. It’s like he’s grown six inches in height and two feet in shoulder width.
I damn sure wouldn’t fuck with him.
I drawn in a deep breath and ring the door bell as Chris takes up a position behind me, his back to the door. I knew he was going to do this because he doesn’t want Kevin to recognize him until after he answers the door, and we’re afraid he might not answer it if he sees Chris.
It takes a couple of minutes of me both knocking and ringing the bell again before I sense a presence on the other side of the door. When Kevin finally cracks it open, behind me I know Christopher’s turning to allow the full impact to emotionally stun Kevin Markos into immediate compliance.
I can see from the way Kevin’s beautiful blue eyes go wide behind his glasses that he is, indeed, stunned to recognize Christopher.
Excellent.
I give him a moment to process our presence before I speak. “Mr. Markos? May Special Agent Bruunt and I come in?”
“Why?” He edges the door open a little more and I know what he’s doing, looking for any photographers or paparazzi. Poor bastard’s been through hell.
Diligence (Determination Trilogy 2) Page 4