That’s when it hits me—he fucking followed me from Elliot’s. He must have.
I know damn well he couldn’t have put a tracker on either of these two phones, and I didn’t tell Elliot where I was taking Alexa for dinner. Leo wasn’t standing close enough to us outside to overhear where we decided to eat.
I’m totally fucking rattled now. I never even saw Leo following me.
And that’s his whole fricking point, I suppose.
Well, shit.
He’s going to spank me for walking, I bet.
That’s when my work cell rings, and I see it’s Leo calling. Of course he’s not going to text me something personal on this phone. That would leave a trail.
I hold up a finger to Alexa before I answer. “Yeah?”
It’s the sadist in the house, with a darkly threatening tone I know all too well. “What the fuck did I tell you about walking alone in the city, baby? And sitting with your back to a door, too? Tsk, that’s going to cost you, and you know it. It’s like you’re trying to bait me.”
I hang up on his low, throaty chuckle.
He doesn’t call back. Thankfully, Alexa is a combination of too drunk and too bedazzled by Leo’s charm to notice anything’s wrong. All I want to do now is finish our meal and get the hell out of there.
Except I don’t have anywhere to go, really. Leo will drag out his time with Elliot as long as he thinks he can.
When we finally finish, and I’ve talked all I can handle, and after I drink a third martini, I sit back and signal for the bill.
The server wears a beaming smile as he walks over and hands me a check folder. “I hope everything was satisfactory, sir?”
“It was wonderful, thank you.” We had fantastic service and the food was more amazing than usual. They even included cannoli for dessert, which I wasn’t expecting, but didn’t question.
The server leaves us to take another table’s drink order while I dig out my wallet. Alexa starts to open her purse, but I hold up a hand. “No, my treat. Seriously.”
“Thank you, that’s very sweet.”
I open the folder to double-check the bill just to find three twenties, some small bills, and change, and the bill marked paid, with a handwritten Thank you! and a smiley face drawn on it.
Cash, of course.
Motherfucker.
I force myself not to react as I stare at it. Instead, I leave a twenty and the rest of the small bills and change for the tip and pocket the receipt and the rest.
Whelp. Now I know where I’ll head next.
* * * *
I make sure Alexa gets safely in a cab heading home, then I check in with the head of Elliot’s detail to make sure he made it back to the residence.
He did.
I don’t ask whether or not Leo’s there because I know he either is, or will be shortly.
I pat my pocket, to make sure I have my official ID, and I take a cab to the White House. There’s a back service staircase that’s mostly used by household staff who have offices on the third floor, but which will allow me to bypass the second floor. Even if all the usual staff’s been cleared already, because of my status, I’ll be allowed to pass if I say I’m going there.
But they haven’t been cleared. And Leo’s office door is unlocked, meaning he expected me here.
He never leaves it unlocked at the end of the day. Hell, he rarely leaves it unlocked, period.
I open the door and in the middle of his desk blotter is a sticky note with a smiley face drawn on it.
I…
I don’t even know how. He must have set it up before he left work, knowing what he was going to do and that it would piss me off enough to make me come bring him the change like this.
Well…
He’s right.
And that pisses me off, too. That he can still effortlessly predict what I’m going to do.
It shouldn’t give me hope.
I refuse to let hope gain a foothold within me.
Because if it does and I’m wrong, it’ll fricking gut me.
I open the top drawer to look for a pen and find a plain, empty, unused envelope lying right there. Only one, and apparently no other envelopes anywhere in his desk.
Ready.
Waiting.
You have got to be kidding me.
My anger blooms larger and hotter by the second, approaching full-on rage, at this rate. I pull out my wallet to get the change and the receipt, because, see, he knows this about me. How many times did we have friendly little battles about me paying my own way? He wanted to spoil me rotten and likely would have paid for everything, all the time, if I didn’t put money in his wallet, or hide it in his laptop case, or in some other way force him to take it.
Paying for groceries was easy because I’d make sure I usually did the shopping and refused to take his money for them. So that was one way in which I could chip in. Or paying utility bills myself before he could. But going out to eat, he wouldn’t let me pay for my own meal unless we were out with people who didn’t know we were an item, or who thought we were just roommates.
I jam the money and receipt into the envelope and lick it, sealing it. Then I grab a pencil from his drawer and sketch a hand flipping a bird on the front.
I leave it in the top drawer.
Drawing facing up, of course.
I’m standing to leave when I catch sight of the picture on the wall.
Our picture.
It’s still exactly where I remember it hanging. The one taken the night of Shae’s first inauguration.
I slump back into Leo’s chair and stare at the picture. I can still feel Leo’s hand against the top of my head, rubbing my scalp as he ruffled my hair.
The way his fingers clamped around the back of my neck.
The way his hand clamped around my left wrist, around the bracelet.
I have my picture over at Elliot’s, tucked into a drawer in the bedroom that’s supposedly mine, because I’m still trying to find my emotional footing. I couldn’t have it sitting out at my apartment because I cried every time I looked at it.
Believe me, I tried.
There were more than a few nights in the early days when I fell asleep holding it in my arms.
Finally, I drag myself out of his chair and lock the doorknob from the inside before pulling it closed behind me. Then I head downstairs to Elliot’s office and lock myself in, turn on the TV, and curl up on his sofa.
Fuck it. If I have to, I can spend the whole night here. I keep a change of clothes here and can shower in Elliot’s bathroom—
No. Elliot won’t sleep well if I’m not there. He hasn’t had to sleep alone in nearly a month.
I can’t do that to him. Even he has said that these past few weeks have been the best he’s slept in years. Everyone says he looks younger.
Well, hell, he’s actually sleeping a full night for a fricking change. Of course he looks younger. His PTSD and nightmares mean it’s difficult for him to get good sleep. He’s almost as light of a sleeper as I am. Not sleeping alone has helped him get better sleep.
So has getting laid on a regular basis, I’m sure.
Around 10:30, I’m dozing with my phone on my chest when it rings.
I don’t even look when I answer it, because I know who it is. “Yeah?”
The steely edge of the sadist’s low rumble purrs through the phone. “Where are you, boy? Come plaaaay with me.”
I ignore his second comment. “None of your business.”
“You and I both know it is my business, don’t we? Come home. Now. We need to talk.”
I reach down and adjust my throbbing cock. Fuck, the man can make me hard just with his voice, and how could I have forgotten that little factoid? “We are not talking tonight, Leo. Please get out of my house because I’m tired, and I want to go to bed. We had an early morning and a stressful fucking day. And we damn sure aren’t doing this at work, either. I want to talk to Elliot before I talk to you.”
“When?” he
growls. Yeah, it’s a growl, the sadist demanding an answer.
Irritation rolls through me and Elliot’s Sir growls right back. “I don’t fucking know, Leo. Kinda got a few things on my plate right now. Like making sure my boy’s presidential campaign doesn’t go tits-up because his fucking boyfriend abandoned him and fucked his brain and heart in the process and sabotaged all his life-long plans.”
There’s a moment of silence that makes me wonder if the call dropped, or if he hung up on me, before normal Leo’s voice is back. “I’d never sabotage him or his campaign. You know that. I love him, and I lo—”
“Do not fucking say it to me, Leo. Not tonight. You don’t get to say it to me. Not until I have time to talk to Elliot and deal. I’m telling you what I need. You said you would never force me. Well, your time to drag me back to the cave expired when you ignored me for months. When you sat there and let me leave in the first place instead of putting your foot down and ordering me to stay.”
He almost sounds…hurt. “Then tell me what you need from me. I’ll do it. Anything.” Now his quiet tone resembles the broken man whose tears I shut the door on that afternoon when I left the apartment for the final time.
“I am telling you—I need time. Elliot’s fucking broken, Leo. You weren’t on that airplane with us, and you didn’t see that man at rock-fucking-bottom, begging me to help him. I cannot tell you how fucking angry I am at you for that, either. For letting him get that way. How fucking broken did Elliot have to be to reach out to the one man he worried would steal the love of his life from him? You haven’t been the one here, because you emotionally bailed on him. Months ago.
“I left so he would have you, so he wouldn’t lose you, so he wouldn’t worry about you leaving him for me, and you fucking let him down, and let me down, too. Why the fuck did I put myself through hell if all you were going to do was turn your back on him? Well, I made him a promise I’m damn well going to keep, regardless of whether or not you are in the picture. I will always put Elliot first. So back. The fuck. Off.”
He doesn’t respond for a long time. “Leo?”
“Yeah.”
“Are we crystal clear on this point? That I will put Elliot first, and you can deal with that or walk away right now? Because I will not tolerate any bullshit from you about it.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Why is this hurting so badly? I’m trying to do the right thing, here. The smart thing. The adult thing.
The thought-through thing, instead of the insane, nearly died insta-fucking that blew our plans the first time around thing.
So why does it feel like a knife’s twisting in my guts?
Why does it feel like I can barely breathe? “Is Elliot still awake?”
“No, he’s asleep. Are you close by?”
“I’m not telling you that. You don’t get to ask me those kinds of questions.”
So help me god, if I open Elliot’s office door and the fucker’s standing right there, I’ll shit myself.
I hear him take a ragged breath. “I don’t want to leave him alone any longer than necessary. At least give me an ETA. Please?”
This time of night, I will ask for a driver from the detail. And to Leo’s credit, he is putting Elliot first. “Fifteen, give or take.”
“I’ll wait ten after this call ends, then I’ll leave. When I leave, I’ll leave the light on in the entry, so you know I’m gone.”
“Thanks.” I take a deep breath and try to ratchet back the bitchiness. “Is he all right?”
“I apologized, but I think I’ll owe him a more in-depth one after you and I talk. We didn’t…talk very long.”
I silently curse myself. No, of course they didn’t talk for long. Maybe I should have forced myself to stay and intervene. Elliot was probably so damned happy to set eyes on the stalky fuck that there was a brief, maybe even tearful reunion, a quick apology, and then…
Struggle snuggle.
Wrestle fucking.
The boy will likely have bruises all over him and still be in subspace in the morning.
His next words are so soft I nearly don’t catch them. “I like the day collars. Matchies.”
My eyes squeeze closed, tears threatening at him using that sweet, playful word. A word he first invoked so many years ago.
I also side-step his meaning. “Yeah, well, I decided to go with what worked. It was one of my conditions to him, that he wear one for me.”
“I kept yours. I carry it in my pocket everywhere.”
God, it feels like I just got slugged in the damn chest. “We are not talking about us tonight, Leo. I mean it.”
Another long pause. “Please be safe coming home.”
A wave of anger washes through me. He ignored me, and now he wants to play concerned Dom? “Just be gone when I get there.”
I hang up on him.
Tonight’s not the night for this.
But I’m going to have to work through this fast, one way or another. Because I can’t risk Elliot’s heart, or his future presidency.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I catch a ride from the White House to the residence with Secret Service and I’m watching the time. When we pull through the gate and into the driveway, it’s eighteen minutes from the call ending, and I see the light’s on.
What I can’t see is what lurks within all the shadows under the trees here and there on the grounds surrounding the house.
Leo’s here.
Somewhere.
Watching me.
I know he is.
I can feel his presence.
He won’t leave until he sees me walk through the front door.
In fact, on the front porch, I stop and look around, studying the patches of darkness around me. Then I pull my phone out and wait with it in my hand.
Takes him thirty seconds to finally call. “Yes?” he says before I can say anything.
“I fucking knew it.”
“I never promised not to watch you come home. I honored your request not to be inside when you arrived, even though I could just as easily have turned on the light and waited up on the third floor to surprise you.”
With my free hand, I flip a bird into the night.
He chuckles. “If you’re trying to bank punishment spankings for walking to the restaurant, sitting with your back to the door, not paying attention, and now this? Then keep it up.” Not quite the sadist in his tone, but damned close.
If he can see me that clearly it means he’s nearby. That, or he’s sitting in the guard shack and watching the video feeds.
But that’s not here-here.
“You need to respect my space, Leo.” I head inside the residence, lock myself in, and deactivate and reset the alarm. “I am not your boy anymore—I am Elliot’s Sir. If someone had been around for Elliot and hadn’t emotionally abandoned him, maybe we could be talking in-person right now.”
I hang up on him.
He’d better get used to that, too. I’m done coddling him. Elliot might be a hot mess on a skillet when it comes to his emotions, but at least he knows it and admits it.
In some ways, Leo’s equally fucked up, but probably doesn’t see it. Or refuses to admit it, if he does.
Psychologist, analyze thyself.
Now that I’m out of survival mode, so to speak, settling into whatever this is with Elliot, and can actually think, I’m…enraged.
Seriously, what was the actual damned point of me sacrificing myself, my happiness, and my career, if Leo was just going to bail and let Elliot fail alone?
I think about that day at Elliot’s parents’ farm, watching my boy’s crestfallen expression over his dad’s reaction, and what kind of emotional state Elliot would’ve been in had I not been there to help him through it.
His fucking sister, for cripe’s sake—oh, yeah, she’s already getting on my last nerve—and dealing with her and her relentless bullshit.
Then the shittiest of all shitty days thus far, the way today started.
; A real owner who gives a shit doesn’t leave, doesn’t abandon their pets. Not physically, not emotionally.
He damn sure wouldn’t waste a painfully earned opportunity like the one given to him.
Doesn’t render it moot by inaction.
I switch the light off before I head upstairs, where I find Elliot peacefully snoring in our bed.
Our bed.
I pause in the doorway. The boy’s sprawled diagonally and facedown across the bed, naked except for my day collar on his right wrist. Leo didn’t even put the leather collar and cuffs on him. Or, if he did, he removed them before he left. From the faint smell of lube, yeah, I’m reasonably certain there was fucking, and Elliot probably came at least once.
Otherwise, he’d be wide awake and eagerly anticipating my return to make love to him.
As I step into the room, I can see marks all along Elliot’s back and ass—scratch marks, bites, his red ass from a spanking.
He got it all, and then some.
Good. He needed it.
I walk down to my room and find Leo’s already mussed the bed for me.
Bastard.
I shouldn’t resent it, but that’s another reason I need space—to process this sudden-onset rage.
I grab my clothes for in the morning and then my cell phone—my personal cell phone—and turn it on.
Holy shit, it goes off like a damned slot machine with all the incoming alerts.
I won’t play Leo’s voice mails tonight, although I do quickly play and delete any that look like telemarketers, or are from someone other than Leo.
Then I realize something is…different. About the room. Something’s…changed.
I look around, feeling unsettled, and it takes me a moment.
The framed picture of me and Leo, the copy of the one hanging on Leo’s office wall, and on his bedroom wall at home, now sits on the dresser.
It was tucked in one of the top drawers, underneath a pile of undershirts.
Leo went through my fricking dresser.
As I’m standing there, staring, I realize what else is now on the dresser, at the base of the picture frame, where it can’t be missed.
Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2) Page 35