This can’t end well.
At alllll.
But damned if I will stop him or put the brakes on this.
I reach down and stroke his hair. I wish this didn’t feel so damned perfect. So fricking easy. “Such a good boy,” I whisper, afraid to break this spell.
His technique has already improved from last night.
It’s impossible for my brain not to spin out a month or six or twelve from now.
To think what might come of this.
To see myself eventually walking into a Washington event with him acknowledging me as his partner, instead of him being buried in a deep closet because of his fear.
Hey, I can dream, can’t I?
Normally, a guy being deep in the closet would be a nonstarter, for me.
Elliot’s different, and I can’t explain why.
It’s something I feel deep in my bones—no, not that bone. Perverts.
Well, yes, okay, in this moment it is that bone fully coloring my opinion.
I can’t help it—he’s sucking my cock.
And he’s sucking it quite well, thank you very much.
What he lacks in technique he more than makes up for in enthusiasm.
I can’t remember the last time I spent the night with someone, much less woke up with them eagerly willing to…
Well, play with the sadist.
“You want to be my good boy, don’t you?”
He softly moans, and it vibrates all the way into my balls.
Fuck. I’m so screwed.
There’s a 60/40 chance right now of me either getting my heart shattered, or possibly ending up with the man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with.
Not sure I like those odds. I spend a goodly chunk of my time getting paid to do risk assessment. It’s one of the things I was trained in when I worked for the Secret Service, and I’m damned good at it, if I do say so myself.
If I look at this situation through that lens, I see me, a guy who’s a little on the obsessive side, and definitely on the lonely side, and who is definitely not slowing his roll when he should be.
But fuck. Have you seen Elliot Woodley?
He’s fucking hot, and right now he’s got me nearly balls-deep in his mouth.
I spread my thighs and bend my knees so I can brace my feet against his sides. I don’t even have to tell him to give attention to my balls, because he does it without me asking.
My pet’s a fast learner.
He is mine, isn’t he?
I want him to be, and he’s sure acting like it.
This is less than twenty-four hours old, though. Guarding my heart should be a priority.
Did I mention I’m forty fucking years old? I’m tired of being alone.
Really, seriously tired.
Maybe I can sit back and be chill over a guy in the closet, as long as he’s willing to be all-in when he’s with me, and not fuck around on me, and once he’s out of office, he’ll be with me.
Can’t I?
As I stare into that pair of blue eyes, I’m thinking maybe dealing with a few years of him being in the closet wouldn’t be such a bad trade-off after all.
* * * *
Three months later.
“The weekend after next, then, Master?” Elliot looks up from his personal phone, where he’s got his calendar open.
We’re now three months into this relationship, and I’m learning that, yes, I can deal with a guy in the closet, as long as I know he’s not cheating on me.
He’s definitely gotten better at sucking my cock, among other things.
A lot of other things.
I double-check my calendar. “Yes, that works.”
It’s Sunday evening, and it’ll be time for Elliot to say good-bye soon. He has to be over on the Hill early in the morning for a meeting. Otherwise, he’d spend tonight.
“Yay!” He’s smiling as he taps something into his phone. “You’ll be back from London this Saturday?”
“That’s the plan, but you can text and call me while I’m gone.” Sometimes it’s easier for Elliot to contact me when he’s alone, and then I can respond. I’ve introduced him to using the Signal app for privacy, but I’ll be picking up burner phones for us in the near future. He’s paranoid as hell, and I get it, but he’s still hanging in there with me.
I set my phone aside and walk over to him, where he’s naked and sitting in the office chair and wearing nothing but my leather collar.
One I bought especially for him a couple of weeks ago. It stays here, though. He’s too scared to even take it home with him.
I take his phone from him and set it on the counter as I wrap my arms around him. “Think about letting me give you a day collar, hmm?”
I see the fear clouding his eyes. “Is that a requirement, Master?”
“No. I can do this with you without a day collar. But if you ever get to the point where you’d like that, I would like it if you would ask me for one. I’ll be happy to give you one.” I nuzzle his nose with mine, which is something we both love doing to each other. “A safe way to have a little bit of me with you all the time. Something no one will know about.”
He nods, but I know he’s not yet able to ask me for that. There’s still a lot of terror for him in what we do, and it’ll take a while for him to get over that. I understand that and won’t press him.
“I’m not there yet, Master. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no. No apologies. That’s a good thing, that you have a boundary.”
Doubt makes him scowl. “Really?”
“Really. Because it helps me feel better that you won’t let me go too far and bork this.”
He still doesn’t look convinced, but he nods.
I kiss him, taking my time with it. I’m flying out to London tomorrow evening but what I haven’t told him is I’ve changed my return flight so I can make an unscheduled detour before returning to DC.
Via Omaha.
I have my rental car booked and everything.
I’m not saying I don’t trust him. I’m sure if he says he will be in Omaha, and alone, that he’ll be there.
And alone.
So far, every other time I’ve surreptitiously checked up on him, times he doesn’t know about, he’s been exactly where he said he would be, and doing what he said he was doing.
I guess this is my protective-slash-stalker mode kicking in. I want to see his office in Nebraska. I’ve been to his apartment here in Washington, but I can tell he’s more comfortable coming to my place than he is me going there. He’s terrified someone will see me emerging from his apartment, and I haven’t bothered to remind him they could just as easily track him to my place.
I don’t want to scare him off.
Meanwhile…
That whole week, while texting and talking on the phone and video chatting with Elliot, I think about maybe warning him that I’m stopping by this weekend, because this is a step beyond anything I’ve done so far…
And yet, I don’t.
There’s no reason for me not to trust him. It’s not even a trust issue.
That’s what I tell myself.
I’ve already used Google Earth to check out the area around Elliot’s Nebraska office and practically have it memorized. The surrounding businesses, other than the gym, will be closed by the time I arrive.
I’ve even located his favorite local pizzeria I’ve heard about from him. It’s only a couple of blocks from his office. Apparently, he orders from them nearly every time he’s home, because they deliver, and it’s run by a guy he went to high school with. I’m looking forward to trying it.
Really, I do trust him.
Trust, but verify.
He’s never given me any reason not to believe he’s somewhere he isn’t. Still, I haven’t checked out Omaha in person.
Once I do, I know it’ll quiet that last little annoying voice deep inside me that doesn’t want to shut up. The one that keeps telling me there’s another shoe about to drop.
The truth is, t
he only “bad” thing about Elliot so far is that he doesn’t want it getting out that he’s in a monogamous kinky relationship with me.
I am his biggest secret.
Which is both a source of pride to me…and sucks.
Because damn, I’d love to take him to California and introduce him to my parents.
The certainty I felt about him that first weekend has only grown stronger by the day.
Elliot’s flying to Omaha on Friday and will spend the afternoon and evening there meeting with constituents before he attends a campaign event. He has two events on Saturday, in the morning and afternoon, nothing after that. He told me he’s planning on locking himself in his office after that and going through prep material, paperwork he needs to handle for the local office, and minutiae such as that. Sunday afternoon, he’ll fly back to DC.
On the same flight I’m on.
Yes, I planned it that way.
One of the sucky things about House reps, they’re running for re-election every other year. Juggling that with their duties at home and in DC means a hectic schedule in even years. So far, no one’s indicated they’re going to challenge him in the primary. It’s too soon to tell if he’ll face a serious GOP challenger in the general.
I can’t tell if he’s hoping to win or hoping to lose.
If he loses, I’ll be giving serious thought to relocating to Omaha. I’m sure I can still work remotely, and they have an international airport that can get me anywhere I need to go.
Or maybe I can talk him into finally leaving Nebraska and moving in with me here in DC, or anywhere else he wants to live.
It’s a long-ass week. The job I’m working goes sideways when it turns out there’s a far more extensive problem than the client realized when they hired my firm to clean their metaphorical house. We all grit our teeth and knuckle under and manage to slog our way through it. I’m almost regretting spreading myself so thin and accepting this assignment now, because I can’t just up and leave until it’s finished.
Except…Elliot.
How sick am I that I’ve downloaded several pictures of Elliot from his website and from news services and saved them in a private folder on my phone?
It’s nearly eight o’clock Saturday night and raining when I finally pull up in front of the strip mall where his office is located in Omaha. The lights in the front are off, and there are shades on the front windows and door which are drawn, but it looks like there’s a light on in the back, down a hall.
I grab my overnight bag, the box holding my piping hot meat lover’s pizza with extra cheese, and walk up to the door and knock.
There’s no response. I peek through a gap in the shade on the front door and can see down the hallway. I have to repeatedly knock for a couple of minutes, and I’m about ready to call him because my anxiety is starting to fire off, when I finally see a door open in the back.
And there he is, in his wheelchair, in a T-shirt and shorts, barefoot and without Duck.
My cock stirs and, of course, I end up adjusting myself.
He can’t recognize me through the door, I guess. He’s scowling as he rolls down the hallway, and he’s already got the front door unlocked and is pushing it open when his eyes widen as he realizes it’s me.
I smile and hold up the pizza. “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to try this great pizza place someone told me about. Don’t suppose I can eat it here, can I, Congressman Woodley?”
I’m terrified he’s going to hiss at me to go away and slam the door in my face but he smiles as he backs up and waves me in so he can lock the door behind me.
“Just in the neighborhood, huh, Master?”
My breath catches. “Yeah.”
He pulls me in for a kiss. “Hope you don’t mind low-class accommodations.”
“You’ve never been shipped overseas air freight by the Secret Service for advance team prep.”
He laughs. “No, but I’ve been shipped overseas by the US Army. That’s got to be worse.”
I need to ask it. “You’re not upset at me, are you?”
He smirks. “Upset that my Sir decided to stop in unannounced to make sure I wasn’t shacking up with someone else? No, I’m not upset.” I allow him to use Sir or Master as he wishes. To me, from him, they’re interchangeable.
I feel my face heat. “Was it that obvious?”
He actually laughs. “Sir, one of the things I love so damn much about you is how…intense you are. Especially regarding me and my safety.”
Our gazes lock for a moment as terror slams into me. We haven’t said this to each other yet. “I love you.” It’s out before I can stop myself.
I won’t take it back, either.
Fortunately, Elliot smiles and kisses me again. “Love you, too, Master. Thank you for putting up with me and my fears.”
He leads the way back to his room. I am starving, and he grabs a roll of paper towels and a cold bottle of water for me from the small kitchen on our way down the hall. The futon has been pulled out into a bed, and it’s not the worst bed I’ve ever slept on.
Far from it.
The company makes it even better.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to save money, huh?” I set my bag down.
“Nope.” He doesn’t have a closet, obviously, but he’s got a small IKEA wardrobe in the corner with a mirror on the front of it. There’s a folding table holding a small TV and DVD player, and assorted other items that make it resemble a dorm room more than a freshman congressman’s apartment.
I kick off my shoes and settle on the end of the bed while he effortlessly transfers from the wheelchair to the bed.
“What time do I need to be out of here in the morning?” I know that’s a loaded question. He’ll either tell me, or tell me I can’t spend the night. I’m watching his face when I ask that so I can tell if I need to back it up a little. There’s a hotel less than a mile away where I’ve already booked a room and checked in. I can always retreat there to lick my emotional wounds.
He pulls me in for another kiss. “We can go have breakfast together at eight.”
That shocks me. “Really?”
He nods. “There’s a place here in the plaza. Great omelets.” He smiles. “Just no PDAs there, please.”
That’s a trade-off I’m more than willing to make. “No problem.”
It is good pizza. After I eat my fill and he has a piece, he puts the leftovers in the fridge for me and then returns to lock us inside his room.
He peels off his T-shirt and joins me in bed, and, before long, I’m forgetting why I did this in the first place.
In my head, I was halfway convinced I was going to discover he wasn’t here, even though I had no evidence to the contrary.
I think I was also expecting him to angrily run me off, which would have made it easy for me to turn and walk away.
But right now I’m staring into the blue eyes I’ve become addicted to.
And his oral skills have definitely improved during our time together. I don’t have many vices but being buried balls-deep inside his mouth is definitely one of them.
Once we’ve exhausted ourselves and we’re snuggled together, I feel slightly guilty.
“Sorry you didn’t get much work done tonight.”
“It’s all right, Sir. This is a good distraction I don’t mind in the slightest.” He settles in. “Did I pass inspection?”
I snicker. “You sure did, baby.” I feel settled with him in my arms in a way that I didn’t realize I was lacking until now.
“I missed you, Master.”
My heart swells. I nuzzle the top of his head. “Missed you, too, pet.” I take another risk. “I have a hotel room nearby. My flight’s the same as yours tomorrow. I can go get my stuff and we can ride together?”
He snickers and kisses my chest. “Maybe after breakfast we should head straight there then for our showers and some fun. Can you get late checkout?”
Hope blossoms in my chest. “Yeah.”
His lack of self-esteem in this way breaks my heart.
I nuzzle the top of his head again. “I’m not going anywhere either, pet. I’ll follow you wherever I need to.”
Elliot sighs. “Thank you, Master.”
Chapter Sixteen
Now
Watching Vice President Elliot Gerald Woodley when he’s “on” is breathtaking. I can’t explain it. To the rest of the world, I’m a nameless government wonk privileged enough to follow in his shadow.
Elliot is my world, however, and has been ever since our first weekend together.
That’s the problem.
I don’t know how to give up on him, or how to let go.
Secretly, I always worry when Elliot leaves DC without me and travels to an event. Which is frequently, especially if Shae has a busy schedule and I have to be at her side.
It’s not only his safety I’m worried about. I worry about aides not being quick enough moving people along who want to cling to Elliot for reasons personal or political, or letting Elliot take public pictures with the wrong people, which can come back to haunt him in the future. Or they give the wrong people access to him and let them waste time bending his ear.
I also worry because they don’t know my pet the way I know him. They don’t know how to make sure he eats enough of the right kinds of food. They don’t know the signs to watch for to cut an event short. They’ll let him insist he’s fine and then work himself to exhaustion, and will let him talk to “just a few more people” when he should have left the event an hour earlier.
They can’t soothe him and allow him to sleep more than an hour or two at a time by helping chase his nightmares away.
Honestly, if he had someone like that who wasn’t me, I’d probably hate that person’s guts with a blinding passion.
Someone other than Jordan, of course. Which was my original plan.
My pet’s not the only territorial one, though.
At the dinner tonight, there’s a social portion at the beginning, where Elliot’s supposed to mingle with everyone. After all, that’s why the attendees paid buttloads of money to be here tonight.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 14