Honestly?
I need that, too. Maybe more than I want to admit.
I sit in his desk chair and offer him my hand to help steady him as he lowers himself to the floor. Spreading my thighs so he fits between them, he wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face against my stomach while I gently squeeze him between my thighs, hook one arm around his shoulders, and massage the back of his head with the other.
“Deep breaths, pet.” My whisper is barely audible. “It’s all right. I’m here now.”
“Thank you, Master.” Wow. It’s rare for him to call me that outside of the bedroom, even when alone behind a locked office door.
“You’re my good boy, and I love you very much.”
He takes deep, shuddering breaths that break my heart. He’s so much worse today than usual, and I know exactly why.
Simply because I didn’t knock yesterday.
Then I didn’t read his message.
I wanted to punish him. I wanted him to hurt as much as I’m hurting.
I wanted him to feel a fraction of the agony I’m currently suffering.
Man, I’m a fucking asshole. Because I hate myself right now for putting him through that.
Never in a thousand years would I ever wish this pain on Elliot, or on Jordan. I want to protect both of them.
Unfortunately, Jordan is now beyond my reach.
I hate myself for lashing out at Elliot by ignoring him.
No, it’s not Elliot’s “fault” this all happened. It was a confluence of situations and events. If he’d welcomed Jordan and made him feel like he was a partner instead of an adversary, yes, that likely would have led to a completely different outcome.
Except Elliot was my pet first.
My love.
My responsibility.
He’s in this office right now because of me, my direct involvement, meaning I can’t simply walk away from him even if I didn’t love him as much as I do.
I’m a sadist but I’m not evil.
At least, I’d like to think I’m not evil.
Asshole? Yes, I am, more than I care to admit. Yesterday is proof of that.
But I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I thought for sure Elliot would come to love Jordan as much as I do, and see how good Jordan would be not just for me, but for him, too. He sees how well things work between Chris, Shae, and Kev.
In my head, I’d hoped Elliot would welcome that kind of support system behind him.
He is, however, a very territorial pet. His territorial nature is every bit as strong as his obedient nature, putting them at war with each other.
He tried, though.
God, he tried. I can’t blame him there. Not in all fairness.
I keep a close eye on the time. We have a ten-minute window to sit here and do this before we leave for the Senate. He has an office there, too, but it’s strictly a ceremonial office, and he rarely works there. He prefers working here, or in his home office, if he’s not presiding over the Senate floor or taking in-person meetings, or needing to deal with NatSec issues.
Kev did a great job with the PR when they brought Elliot on board. His disability isn’t seen as a liability, but Elliot’s also given a little leeway by the press and the public because of it. We compensate for it in other ways, with photo ops of him hiking or jogging or doing some other physical activity, or of him helping build a house with Habitat for Humanity, walking shelter dogs, or something that portrays him as fit and able-bodied. Or we feed the press “inspirational” stories that are feel-good fluff pieces and annoy Elliot to no end—he dubbed them “inspirational ableist porn”—but he understands the optics.
Kev is a master of optics and has yet to steer any of us wrong. I know Jordan spent many an hour in conversation with him, learning from him, studying his strategies and tactics and techniques, learning how to run a campaign, and was quickly coming into his own in terms of managing optics and the implementation of media campaigns.
This is another reason Jordan’s loss guts me, because I’d counted on him helping Elliot make his last big “thing” a reality. To help get Elliot elected POTUS, so that, maybe, once he ended his term or terms, he would finally realize what he’d sought throughout all these years was right in front of him.
Mainly…me.
None of this will ever be spoken to Elliot, though. I can’t.
I will not do that to my pet. This self-inflicted pain is something I need to figure out how to process and deal with on my own.
After another couple of minutes, I tip Elliot’s head back and stare into his blue eyes while I stroke his hair. “You’ve got this, pet. I have faith in you, and I’m very proud of you.”
How sad is it that I literally see how that energizes him? He takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out, and starts upshifting into VP mode again.
I stand and hold out a hand to help him to his feet, then I pull him in for one last long hug and kiss. “Ready to go, Vice President Woodley?”
He nods and reaches for his glasses, seating them on his face. “Ready, Leo.” He catches my hand and tightly squeezes it, pausing, staring into my eyes. “Thank you, Master,” he whispers.
I turn my hand so I can squeeze his back. “Anything for my pet.”
Chapter Eleven
Then
I step past Elliot and return to my bedroom, where I dig out a black, nondescript rolling suitcase from where it’s buried in the back of my closet. After dragging it out, I lay it on the bedroom floor and unzip it. Inside the front flap, in the large zipper pouch there, I find exactly what I’m looking for.
A black leather collar.
Nothing fancy. I picked it up from an online store a few years ago and it’s seen a little use. Not what I’d want for Elliot for a permanent collar. It’s just a starting point.
I also dig out the matching leather wrist and ankle cuffs. After thinking about it, I leave the ankle cuffs in the bag. Eventually, I’ll have him wear one but not tonight. I don’t want to make him self-conscious by calling attention to his leg again.
When I return to the kitchen, I stand over him, loving how he looks sitting there and staring up at me.
His eyes widen when I hold up the collar and cuffs, but his cock also twitches in his lap and starts to harden, so I suspect he’s into it.
“Here’s something you need to understand about me, pet. I can run the whole gamut, from playful and sensual, to being a sadistic motherfucker who forces you to take whatever I make you take, and everything in between. But I need consent.”
I watch him as I talk, looking for any sign of distress.
“This is what I need from you.” I shake the collar and cuffs. “You can always tell me no, or say red. If you’ve asked me for something, unless you safeword, I won’t stop until I’m ready to. However, you also have to meet me halfway and ask for things. There are things about what we do that cannot be forced, and those things vary from play, to aspects of being in a relationship.
“Sometimes, all you’ll have to do is simply ask me, pet. Sometimes, you’ll have to do more than ask, and I’ll expect you to shoulder some of the burden. But everything starts with you being able to accept and take responsibility for wanting what it is that we do. For now, if you want to be my pampered pet this weekend, if you really want to wear these, I need you to ask me for them.”
His nostrils flare a little, his breathing grows heavy, and his pupils dilate. In his throat, his pulse point throbs.
Please, please, please let him ask!
“Yes, Sir,” he says. “I want to wear them.” I hear the terror in his voice, but he gets brownie points for bravery.
Still, I need to push him a little around the edges. Give him some nudges. “Say, ‘Yes, Sir. I want to wear your collar and cuffs.’”
He sits up a little straighter. “Yes, Sir. I want to wear your collar and cuffs.”
“Good boy.” I carefully watch for any sign of fear or anxiety as I buckle the wrist cuffs on first, then the collar.<
br />
Reaching down to ruffle his hair, when I smile at him, his beaming smile in return makes me certain this is the right move.
If only I can keep him happy.
I pull the chair over and sit in it, in front of him, bracing my feet on his inner thighs. I hold my hands out to him and he places his hands in mine.
Gently squeezing his hands, I wait until his gaze settles on me. This is a little risky to get into right now, but I want him, and I want him to know where my mind’s at.
“I won’t ask you to come out. I won’t make any demands on you other than these: be honest with me, don’t put me at risk, don’t screw around on me. If you want to do this thing with me, then I’ll give you the same things in return. If you ever decide you want to date someone else, you need to tell me that. I’m willing to be poly under certain circumstances but only if you’re honest with me and use protection. If we’re exclusive, we don’t need protection. Nothing we do can interfere with your job or mine. And you can’t let me do something that’ll cause you harm. You’re under orders to interrupt me and tell me, if I am.”
During my talk his eyes widen a little, but he nods. “Yes, Sir.”
I lean in so I can kiss his hands. Then I press them against the insides of my spread thighs. “Why don’t you see if you can distract both of us until our dinner’s ready?”
Grinning, he leans in and swallows my cock. I hold on to his head, tangling my fingers in his hair and struggling not to let my heart get too far ahead of reality.
This might not last any longer than this weekend. Might not even last the full weekend.
Yet I still find myself…hopeful.
Loneliness is a fucking bitch. It can make you do stupid things on stupid timelines.
It can make you fall in love with a guy you’ve just met, even though you know better.
It can make you fall hard for a guy who’s not out, and who might never be able to make himself come out of that very dark and restrictive closet.
Worst of all…it can make you hope and dream.
That can lead to self-destruction.
* * * *
I have a small, two-person kitchen table wedged in a corner by my breakfast bar. I rarely use it for anything other than a catch-all, because I’m usually using the breakfast bar, or sitting on my sofa and eating while I watch TV.
We’ll eat in the living room tonight. I get everything ready, help Elliot into the desk chair, and return the cushion to the couch.
I want him lying on the couch, his head in my lap, and that’s where we settle.
Smiling down at him, I hold a piece of pizza just out of reach. He opens his mouth—which is good, my pet’s a fast learner—and I wait to see if he can figure it out.
From the way his gaze moves from the pizza to me and back again, I know he’s trying to puzzle it through.
Finally, he lets out an adorable little whine that makes me giggle, and I hold the pizza so he can take a bite. With my other hand, I scratch his head. “Gooood boy. Such a good boy.”
Annnnd there he goes, back into subspace.
Excellent.
We watch TV and eat pizza, and I love how he readily sucks the sauce off my fingers.
All while looking me in the eyes.
Dammit, this feels so fricking perfect. The longer this goes on, the more perfect it feels.
To a terrifying level.
Once we’re full, I sit there with one hand splayed across his abs and the other scratching his head. “When we’re together,” I tell him, “once I put that collar on you, I want you just like this.”
“Naked, Sir?” He smiles.
I reach up and cup his throat. “Naked is a given but I meant turning your brain off. Do you have any idea how handsome your smile looks when you’re relaxed?”
It takes him a moment to realize I’m serious. “You really think so?”
“I do. If you’re looking for a guy to bullshit you, that’s not me. You’ll get the truth from me, good and bad.”
His breath hitches a little in his chest. Then his hands close around mine, the one on his throat.
Not to pull me away but holding me in place.
“Can I really stay all weekend, Sir?”
Something inside me breaks loose and floats free. My schedule’s clear. “Absolutely, you can. Next weekend, too. If you’d like.”
He nods. “Please, Sir?”
“Then that’s settled.”
This poor guy. I get it. I’ve seen plenty of guys through the years who were in the closet for various reasons. Family and jobs being the two biggies.
Elliot’s life is now lived on a national stage, even if congressmen who aren’t House leadership, or who aren’t committee chairs—or who aren’t enmeshed in a scandal—usually don’t catch the attention of reporters outside their home state. Hell, outside their home district, sometimes.
Increasing the pressure I’m using to massage his scalp makes his eyelids droop while his semi-erect cock twitches in renewed interest.
While I really want to haul him back into my bed, I rein in that urge right now. I suspect he needs this as much as he does the sex.
A connection to someone who won’t judge him. Someone who will accept him the way he is, with no expectations placed upon him.
Skin-on-skin contact with someone. Intimate contact that’s not even sexual.
I decide it’s a good time to talk for a little while. “So your parents are farmers?”
“Yeah. Wheat. They’ve had trouble over the past fifteen years or so, ever since those stupid trade wars with China that…”
I get him talking about his parents, Norah and Oliver, and his little sister, Stella. She’s three years younger than him and has a communications degree. She was working for a non-profit out of Omaha, but now works for a conservative educational organization I’ll have to research later. She took that job only months after Elliot’s election and now lives in Indianapolis.
I’m noting everything he tells me, of course, because you know damn well I’m going to investigate him, Stella, and his parents.
Hey, if I’m dating the guy, I want to know what I’m dealing with. The landmines. The obstacles.
When he talks about Stella, I sense a little…tone there, and it makes me once again press.
“My little sister can be a pain in the ass, sometimes,” I offer, “but I love her. She’s a practicing psychologist and loves trying to analyze me.”
He snorts. “Yeah, I wish that was Stella’s problem. She’s a brat.”
Obviously, he means that word in a different context than where my mind goes, at first. “Little sisters can be…trying.”
“No, it’s more than that.” He turns his face toward me, nuzzling my abs. “It’s like now that I’m in DC, she thinks I’m some sort of favor dispenser. Keeps wanting to set up meetings for me with people to talk to me.”
That concerns me. Quid pro quo like that is illegal. “Do you take the meetings?”
“Rarely. And only after staff goes through everything first. And no, I haven’t said yes to anything, even after a meeting. She’s starting to piss me off, because her requests are always a waste of time for me and staff. I’m about ready to tell her to knock it the hell off.”
I relax a little but I’m already finding myself not liking Stella, even though I suspect I’ll never meet her.
Not as Elliot’s boyfriend, anyway. Maybe as a friend, or vaguely described as Secret Service, or subterfuge like that.
“What kind of meetings?”
“Well, the most recent one, a few weeks ago, it turned out the guy was a preacher who wanted me to introduce legislation to ‘protect’ religion in schools. I almost threw him out of my office.”
“Almost?”
“Well, I did throw him out, but I was polite about it. I stood up, told him that unless he was prepared to protect all religions in schools, including Islam and the Church of Satan, he’d better give up that idea. And I bid him a good day.”
I snicker. “Good for you.”
“Oooh, Stella was pissed off at me for that one, too. I heard about it from her the next day. Let’s just say I’m not looking forward to the holidays this year.”
“What about when you go home to visit between sessions?”
“I rarely see my parents then. I’ll swing by their place when I know they’re busy, say hi, and tell them I’m off to work again.”
“You have a house there?” Yes, I’m trying to figure out how to finagle a visit there where I can spank his ass and make him howl without anyone hearing us.
“Nope. I’m living in the back room of my office space. It’s in a strip mall and the rent’s ridiculously cheap compared to some other places. I don’t have a huge staff, and we have two large offices we don’t need, because I also rent the space next door for my campaign. It’s a different address. So I put a lock on one of the office doors in the back and stuck a futon inside it. There’s a twenty-four-hour gym next door with showers and everything. We already have a bare-bones kitchen with a fridge, sink, microwave, and hot plate. There’s a laundromat at the other end of the complex, and a grocery store across the street, so I have everything I need right there. Don’t even need a car. I call a cab, or use a ride-share service, or a staffer drives me.”
“How, exactly, do they let you get away with that? Your parents, I mean.”
“Their house isn’t accessible. Old, two-story house, and the bathrooms are tiny. But the gym, and my office, I’m happy to say, are both fully ADA compliant for access by people with disabilities. Before I go shower, I take Duck off and use my wheelchair. They have a couple of showers that have seats in them. And, of course, I do work out there.”
I can’t help it—I laugh at his playful smirk. “You tricky pet.” I lean in and kiss him. “That’s brilliant.”
He shrugs and looks pleased with himself. “It really is a savings. I can’t afford two homes on my salary. I refuse to walk around with my hand out to take money from lobbyists, either. If some Congressmen can sleep in their offices here, to save them money, why can’t I sleep in my office there and keep my apartment here? I pay my office rent for the percentage of floor space I take up and the amount of time I’m actually living there. Made sure I was doing everything legally, verified it with the ethics office.”
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 10