Including his wheelchair, a folding shower chair, his walker, and crutches.
Secret Service is always very careful and discreet about moving those last items for Elliot. The walker and shower chair get folded and stashed in large, zippered canvas bags. The crutches are broken down and stuck in a large duffel bag. We could break down his wheelchair if we have to—the wheels have push-button quick releases—but that’s not necessary. It’s not one of those generic folding hospital chairs. It’s a wheelchair that was custom made to fit him after he was discharged from physical therapy. He spent several months using it while his stump healed, before he could be fitted for Duck.
Once I know we’re ready to go, I head back upstairs and stand in front of him, hugging him. He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt and there won’t be any press covering his departure. A small press pool will travel on Air Force Two with us, but they’ve also been trained not to disturb him. He’ll probably walk aft close to arrival for a quick word with them, which will keep them happy.
I massage his scalp. “How’s my pet?”
“Tired, Master.”
He really is a wreck. Usually, he calls me Sir, and reserves calling me Master for when we’re in bed together.
At least during this trip I can share a room with him. He’ll be in a suite with two bedrooms, and I’m automatically assigned the second one.
It’ll be the first time we’ve spent multiple nights together in close to a year.
The probability of me getting to spend much time with my family is looking increasingly slim. I might ask them to come to the hotel to have dinner in private with me and Elliot in our suite. Wouldn’t be the first time, although Jordan was with us the last time we did that.
“You’re going to listen to me this trip, pet. No arguing with me about eating, or naps, or any of that. Right?”
“No arguments, Master. I’m sorry.”
More guilt for me.
I rake my fingers through his damp hair. “Stop apologizing, pet. You haven’t done a damn thing wrong. You’re absolutely my very good boy.”
After another minute of that, I pat him on the back and he sighs and sits up, staring up at me.
I lean in and kiss him. “Love you, pet.”
“I love you, too, Master.”
I hold out my hands to help him up. He doesn’t need my help but it’s one of our things that we do since there is so little we can do with him always in the public eye. Within ten minutes, with the help of Secret Service, we’re loaded and on our way to grab a chopper to Andrews.
Elliot hates flying in choppers even more than he hates flying in airplanes, and I don’t blame him. Today, however, everything goes smoothly, and we’re climbing aboard Air Force Two fifteen minutes ahead of schedule. I have a quick word with Elliot’s chief of staff, as well as the head of his security detail, who is a guy I worked with years ago, to update them about Elliot and use the excuse that he’s working on a migraine.
We use that excuse a lot. He gets them, on occasion, but not nearly as frequently as everyone around him thinks he does.
After we’re in the air and at cruising altitude, we unfasten our seatbelts. I make sure the door to the suite is locked and move to the sofa. Elliot follows. Moments later, I have him completely stripped, Duck removed, and he’s curled up on his side, wedged between me and the back of the sofa. We could make the other one into a bed but if you open the suite’s door, it’s possible to see him lying there. I’d rather use this one.
Plus, it’s an excuse to cuddle with him.
I keep a sheet draped over us, in case something happens and I have to answer the door. I always stay dressed, because it wouldn’t be easy to explain both of us being naked. Elliot lies with his head tucked under my chin and my arms around him. He’s only an inch shorter than me, which usually feels negligible. Combined with me being so used to Jordan’s much smaller, slimmer frame, normally I notice the difference between them immediately.
Like this, however, he feels small and frail. Fragile. Vulnerable.
Within a minute or two, he’s sound asleep in my arms, leaving me wide awake and hating myself.
He’s really suffering.
I need to get my shit together.
Elliot needs me—I’m the only one who can do this for him. The only one he can trust as deeply as he trusts me. There have been a few occasions over the years where Kev’s stepped in for me in certain ways, if I was traveling with Shae and Elliot needed a pep talk. Those times, Kev locked himself in Elliot’s office with him for a few minutes to give him a hug and relay my instructions to Elliot in person.
But it wasn’t the same for Elliot, and all three of us knew that. Kev only did it because he’s our friend and completely understood how desperately close to a frayed edge Elliot was right then.
Maybe my greater plan was doomed from the start. Jordan isn’t a Top. While he could be very Alpha at work, and was definitely a go-getter, there are plenty of things he probably wouldn’t have been able to effectively do for Elliot to help him through the worst of times as POTUS.
Not the way I can help Elliot.
It was selfish on my part to ask it of either of them. I thought Jordan was the perfect unicorn for us.
Please let my boy be okay and let him heal.
I’m not much into praying, because you sort of need to believe in a god to pray to, but that’s the closest I come to it. If there is a higher power, some supreme being, I hope it takes care of Jordan. He’s sweet and loving and deserves to have all the good things in his life.
He’s damn sure too good for someone like me.
I wish I’d come to that realization before I took his virginity and broke his heart.
* * * *
Fortunately, the flight to California is uneventful. It’s no surprise to me that Elliot sleeps through most of it. Not just a nap where he dozes fitfully but a deep sleep that speaks to his utter exhaustion. He rarely sleeps deeply. His PTSD means he frequently awakens at any noise, or the slightest jostle of the aircraft. Even if we’re alone and locked behind a door, it’s common for him to jolt awake several times during the night.
My poor pet. It’s more proof how hard this whole thing’s been on him, and is an unmistakable indictment of me and how I’ve failed to take proper care of him.
While he’s asleep, I go through his speeches on my phone and make notes for him, then send them all to his phone so he can send them to his comms staff to make the changes. Nothing controversial on this trip, and my noted changes aren’t substantive, simply rephrasing some things to make them sound more natural, the way Elliot normally speaks.
I awaken Elliot an hour before scheduled touchdown to help him dress. Once he’s dressed, including his bulletproof vest, I put on mine. Any time he’s making a public appearance and it’s not somewhere like at the House or Senate, then he has to wear it.
That’s an order from me in the wake of Kev’s shooting. I won’t have my pet put at risk, and he needs to get used to wearing it again, even when he doesn’t want to. As POTUS, I’ll be requiring him to wear it any time he’s outside the White House.
Unfortunately, I know wearing it brings back his nightmares. It reminds him of his time in the army, and what happened to him.
Once we’re both dressed and ready, he has a brief consultation with his chief of staff, then we follow him down to the press cabin for a quick gaggle with them. It’s impossible for them to see the truth behind my pet’s mask right now. They see a friendly, smiling man who keeps them laughing and who never minds directly answering hard questions. He doesn’t always agree with Shae, but he always supports her and defends her and maintains the administration’s official positions, even if it’s not one he himself might normally hold.
He’s a good soldier.
He’s loyal, to a fault.
You need look no farther than his devotion to me to see proof of that.
I still haven’t told him about Stella’s call and I decide to break that to
him once we’re strapped into our seats for final approach.
He grimly smiles. “Thank you for handling her, Sir.”
“I still haven’t done much. Want me to call her back and screen it for you while you’re at dinner?”
“I’ll still probably have to talk to her.”
“Yes.”
“How long is the trip from the airport to the dinner?”
“It’s at the same hotel we’re staying at. About twenty minutes.”
He slowly nods. “I’ll call her in the car with you there, Sir.” Another grim smile. “Then you can cut the call short for me if I need you to.”
“She said you’ve been ducking her calls.”
“Yeah. I’m still pissed at her for that quote her group released last week going after our education initiative because it doesn’t include school prayer.”
“Is she still after that?”
“Yeah.”
“Just say the word, and I’ll call her back for you and deal with it.”
“Thank you.”
I reach over and pat his thigh, and we end up holding hands during the landing. His Vice President Woodley disguise is firmly in place as we make our way out of the aircraft and into the SUV. We’re not alone this time, because his chief of staff and head speechwriter are riding with us, in the middle seat.
I hand Elliot his personal phone and he immediately calls Stella, with the phone in speaker mode.
She answers in two rings. “Well, about time,” she drawls.
“What d’you need, Stell?”
“For my brother to quit ducking my calls, for starters.”
Elliot’s gaze is fixed on me, looking for any sign from me I’m taking over.
Then he surprises me. “FYI, if you ever repeat this morning’s performance with anyone who answers my phone, I’ll block your number. Don’t you dare talk to any of my people like that. Ever.”
I smile and, yes, I have to reach down and adjust myself. My pet’s sexy when he’s in fighting mode.
Hey, I might be his owner, but I like it when he’s fighting for me.
It takes her aback, too. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I was frustrated.”
“What was so important you had to be a bitch to Leo?”
I wonder if Stella’s eyes are as wide as mine probably are now. He’s never like this in front of anyone but me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the shock on the other two staffer’s faces in the seat ahead of us when they turn to look at each other.
Elliot’s lips curve in a sneaky, playful smile meant only for me.
Goddamnit, now I’m fucking hard.
“I-I said I’m sorry, Elliot!”
“That’s not answering my question. You have about two minutes before I reach my destination. Spit it out, or obviously it wasn’t very important.”
Whoa, he’s even lying to her.
Amazing.
“Sheesh, okay. I want to set up a dinner between you and—”
“Nope.”
Fuuuuck. He grins as I reach down and adjust myself again. Damn, he’s fucking hot when he’s in executive mode.
She sounds exasperated. “Will you just hear me out?”
“No, I will not, Stell. I told you, stop trying to set up quid pro quos for me. Not falling for it.”
“It’s not work! It’s personal. She’s really—”
“Doubly no. I’m sick of people playing matchmaker. My personal life is none of your damn business. I’ve already told you, I keep my private life private for a reason.”
She hesitates. “So you’re dating someone? You can’t even tell your own sister?”
He actually laughs. “Stell, if I held a gun to your head and ordered you not to tell a secret, you’d still blab it to everyone. You are the absolute last person I would ever tell anything to, unless I want everyone knowing it. You’re too focused on scoring brownie points with all your friends at work.”
Well, damn. That’s news to me. I wonder if this is a recent development. I might have to take a deep dive there to add to the library of oppo research I already have on her. Research neither Elliot nor Jordan know anything about.
“You’re a real asshole sometimes, Elliot. She’d be great for your visibility and your career.”
“Uh, I’m vice president, sis. You meant it’s your career you want to boost. I think my career is doing just fine, and so is my visibility. Listen, gotta run. Quit wasting my time. Next time, send me an e-mail. I’m not here to boost your social or professional standing with anyone. Love you. Bye.”
She starts to say something, but Elliot hangs up on her and hands me the phone. “How was that?” he whispers.
If I didn’t think it’d give him a nervous breakdown, I’d pull him into my arms and kiss him right now. He’s wearing a satisfied smile on his face, a smile that’s been missing for too damned long.
“That was fucking amazing,” I whisper. “I’m really proud of you.”
He glances down but the pink that rises in his cheeks, combined with his now-bashful smile, tells me the full story. He brings his hand up to his face, like he’s scratching his cheek but also effectively blocking the other staffers’ view of his mouth. “Thank you, Master,” he silently mouths to me.
Holy.
Fuck.
Now there’s a distinct chance I might burst into happy tears. That’s the first time he’s ever spoken to me like this in this situation—not securely locked behind a door, and with witnesses.
He didn’t say it out loud, but you have no clue how big that was for him.
I smile and nod before reaching across the seat to pat him on the thigh. He reaches down and squeezes my hand before he slides his right foot across to rest against mine for the remainder of the ride.
Again, holy fuck.
My soul still hurts. I will never be okay over losing Jordan. The fresh pain still rolls through my veins.
But this little moment right here carries all the potential and possibilities and has placed them right in the center of my heart.
It gives me hope.
Real, honest hope.
It’s the best I can do, for now, and it’ll have to be enough.
Chapter Fifteen
Then
After I blindfold Elliot, I spend the next hour teasing, edging, spanking, and having my way with him. It’s as gloriously fun as I imagined it would be.
I slowly build him up, until he’s crying, trembling, and torn between humping my hand every time I stroke his cock, or safewording after receiving yet another mean impact from one of the implements. I read his body, wanting to repeatedly bring him close to the edge of both too much pain and too much pleasure to judge his endurance, all while watching for any sign he’s done.
Yet he keeps sticking his ass out for more.
And every time I ask him to give me a color, he says green.
I’m careful not to bruise or otherwise mark his left leg. I don’t want to do anything to cause him harm. I want him to see I’m careful and want him to want to play with me again.
So far, I think I’m on the right track.
I also use my hands to massage and torment him. I knead his ass, where I’ve been smacking him. I trace the muscles along both sides of his spine, and around his shoulder blades. I pinch his nipples, which makes him gasp and whine in delicious ways that harden my cock.
By the time we finally collapse, I realize it’s nearly two a.m., we’ve both come again, and we’re both exhausted.
He lies snuggled against me, his head tucked in the crook of my shoulder and my arm hooked around him. His arm is draped over my chest, and I’ve never felt such utter perfection before.
We fit together like we were made for each other.
That’s a stupid cliché, yes. I know.
Believe me, I know.
I’m a creepy, obsessive, intense, controlling guy embarking on an indiscretion of gargantuan proportions.
Yep. Guilty.
I’m about to confess all thes
e thoughts to him—probably rounding out the top five warning signs of a bad-news boyfriend—when he speaks.
It’s kind of a half-asleep mumble but he speaks.
“This has been the greatest night of my life, Sir. Thank you so much.”
Well, shit.
What do I even say to that?
Am I not as creepy as I thought I was?
I nuzzle his forehead while I drink in his scent. “The pleasure is all mine, pet. Hope you’re still saying that by next weekend.”
He makes an adorable little snort. “Will you think it’s creepy if I give you my calendar tomorrow so we can set up weekends in advance right now?”
In my chest, my heart’s thudding in a way it never has before. “I’d like that,” I hear myself say, not sure if I’m awake or not. Hell, I’m not sure if he’ll even remember saying that tomorrow, because he could be drunk from all the brain chemicals bouncing around in his skull after all our play and sex.
Elliot tips his head back so he can look up at me. “Sorry if that’s…creepy.”
“It’s not creepy. I’m glad I haven’t scared you off yet.”
“I…” He sucks in a deep breath. “I need… I can’t be open right now. I’m sorry.”
“I know. That’s okay.”
“Really?”
I kiss him to turn off his brain again. “Really, pet.”
We fall asleep and when I startle awake in the early hours of the morning, he’s still pressed tightly against me and lightly snoring.
So it wasn’t a dream.
Somehow, I manage to fall asleep again.
Because I’m only forty and I’m not an old geezer, it’s not uncommon for me to wake up in the morning with a woody. On the weekends, it’s not uncommon for me to jerk off before I get up.
It is uncommon for me to awaken with my woody buried in the hot mouth of an even hotter congressman.
I pull another pillow under my head so I can watch Elliot. He stares up at me with those gorgeous blue eyes and I know I’m absolutely in love.
Yep. I’m a fucking dumbass.
I’m in love with a guy deep in the closet.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 13