I shove his thighs apart and kneel between them. His cock softened a little while I was torturing him but he’s hard again now and dripping pre-cum all over himself.
Smiling down at him, I rub my thumbs over his nipples and note the waves of gooseflesh that roll across his skin. My pet is predictable in all the best ways. I love that I can quickly drill deeply into his brain to give him what he needs. When I roll his nipples between my fingers, he shivers, biting on his lower lip to stay quiet.
Meanwhile, between us, his cock’s twitching even more.
Tonight I’ll use condoms but tomorrow he’ll clean out and I’ll breed my pet. We always do that at least once on a weekend like this. He likes feeling completely owned, and it’s not like either one of us are sleeping with others.
Not that he hasn’t made the offer more than once, for me to date others, if I want.
I don’t take him up on it.
I…can’t.
Would I like to have a poly triad? Sure, it’s a great fantasy but I already have a great guy. I sincerely doubt I’m going to meet someone else who can make me feel the way I feel about Elliot. It’s a damned high bar. We’ve been through on-again, off-again phases where he’s insisted I should go date others.
I wait him out. Always. Because I know he might not realize it but it’s his version of a loyalty test. There is no “winner,” either. He feels guilty that I wait for him, and he feels guilty that he isn’t with me all the time.
And yet I still wait.
Elliot’s gaze grows hungry as he watches me roll a condom onto my cock and I lube both of us. I’ve been especially mean to him, not letting him have permission to masturbate during our latest separation.
Partly because I keep hoping it might one day make him decide to ask me to be with him full-time.
And partly because I’m a sadistic asshole and want him feeling needy by the time he returns to me.
Of course he’s my good boy—I have no doubts about his obedience. If I doubted him, I shouldn’t be with him.
This is the moment I always savor and refuse to rush. He’s tight and warm and as I slide into him, I watch his eyes widen before his gaze goes soft and sweetly undone.
He’s all mine.
And I love him.
Once I’m fully buried inside him, I lean in and kiss him. This is something I take my time with, because there will be plenty of opportunities this weekend to fuck his brains out and pound him into a puddle of goo.
I need this. I need this tender moment with him, to reconnect with him.
Giving him my darkest parts isn’t a hardship. Still, I need a little in return to feed my soul.
I slowly withdraw as I kiss him before I shove home hard. His gasping moan resonates to the very depths of my soul.
“You want it, pet?”
“Yes, please, Master.”
I sit up enough I can reach between us with one hand and wrap my fingers around his cock. Stroking him while fucking him means it’s not difficult to time it just right. He’s primed and ready to shoot.
Another reason I made him hold it during our latest time apart.
I’m watching his eyes as I feel pleasure building within me. While I’d love nothing more than to take my time and fuck him all night, we’re both exhausted. It’s been a long damn week, and there’s only so much we can do tonight.
When I feel his body clamp down on me, I stop holding back. I kiss him again, swallowing every moan and wishing this could be us all the time.
Normal.
Sort of.
What passes for normal for us.
I reach up and untie his hands even as I’m still kissing him, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me in place. This is also part of our routine. We’ll take a shower together and then come back to bed, and either make love again or fall asleep.
Either way, I’m good with that as long as he’s in my arms.
Finally, a genuine, easy smile from my pet. “I’m going to have marks on my ass in the morning, won’t I?”
“Not just there.” I’m always careful with his left leg, because he has to walk. But I mark him anywhere else his clothing will hide.
He wiggles his hips against mine. “Damn, I needed that, Master.”
“You’re not the only one.” I decide to fuck with him. “Senator Walker and that hot hubby of his sure looked yummy at Tuesday night’s dinner. What’s his name…Daniel, right? Works for a congressman?”
It takes everything I have not to laugh when his eyes widened. “What?”
“I think it was Senator Torres’ daughter who stole the show, though. Man, she was trying her best to work you, wasn’t she?”
His eyes widen even more. “You saw?”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “I see everything, pet. I’d think you’d know that by now.”
Elliot finally bursts out laughing. “Dammit, I never even saw you.”
“You weren’t meant to.” I kiss him. “I didn’t want to make you nervous.”
“My stalky Sir. Or is that stalkery?”
“You mind?”
“I didn’t say that.” He nuzzles his nose against mine. “I like knowing there’s a chance you’re out there watching me.”
I look into his eyes. “You become POTUS, my eyes will always be on you, pet.”
He stares into my eyes for a long, quiet moment. “What if I decide not to run?”
My heart might stop. I struggle not to let hope gain a foothold in my brain. “I follow you. You decide not to run, for anything, and that’s it. Just ask me for us to be official, and I’ll take care of you.”
“But you’ll be working for ShaeLynn Samuels. You and I both know she’s going to win. That’s four to eight years, in addition to the time leading up to the general.”
“Tell me not to take the job. Promise me you won’t run for re-election, and that you’ll be with me, and I’ll call Chris back right now and withdraw. Done.”
The slight flare of his nostrils as he processes my words, the way his eyes widen a little…
I savor it but I already know his answer.
“I-I’m not ready to make that decision yet, Master. I’m sorry.”
I press my forehead to his. “I know, pet. It’s all right.” I really didn’t want to get heavy and deep this weekend. I need a burst of light in my life. “My answer remains the same.”
“I couldn’t pull you out of a presidential campaign.”
“Yes, you can. And you should, if that’s what you feel. I love you, and you come first in my life. Always.”
I listen to him breathe for a moment. We really should go clean up, but I don’t want to let the conversation end on this note.
“Why do you put up with me, Master?”
This question always breaks my heart, no matter how many times he asks it.
I kiss him, taking my time. “Because I love you and I’ll always take care of my pet.”
Chapter Twenty
Now
I wake up a good thirty minutes before every alarm I’ve set because my body’s on DC time despite my exhaustion.
In my arms, Elliot still soundly sleeps. Thankfully, I don’t think either of us suffered nightmares last night.
Part of me wants to wake him up with a blowjob and make love to him but I know that’ll stress him out even more. He can’t help worrying about the time, even if it’s not his job to worry about it. There’s also the fact that he is the center of activity, so even if he is running a few minutes late, everyone will wait on him.
One of the things I desperately love about him is that, even this many years later, he’s still selfless enough he freaks out over not wanting to keep others waiting.
It is this list I choose to start my day mentally counting—my blessings.
Elliot.
My parents.
My sister.
My job.
The fact that I still get to serve my country.
My relationship with Elliot, such as it is.
/> The fact that Jordan is alive and moving on with his life.
Though I stumble over and get hung up on that last point.
I don’t really know if he’s moving on. He has a job, is resuming the pursuit of his degree, and has a place of his own to live.
The thought of him moving on and seeking out another man fills me with dark and seething jealousy I know isn’t healthy, but there you have it.
Fuck compersion—I want my boy back.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on the warm serenity of having Elliot in my arms before I slowly let that breath out.
Elliot needs me.
He really does.
I carefully climb out of bed, use the bathroom, wash my hands, shut off all the alarms, review the latest version of his schedule an aide sent to his work phone and mine only fifteen minutes ago, and start his coffee brewing before I return to bed. In his sleep, he automatically snuggles against me again, even though he’s not awake.
Not even close.
Guilt slams into me over how I awakened him Sunday morning.
He deserves better than that from me. Far better.
The petty, punitive bullshit is something I need to get under control, and fast. My pain is not his to bear.
It’s my fault I fell in love with Jordan.
It’s my fault I let Elliot agree to being poly.
I’m the Master. My job is to take care of my pet, and always has been.
One more failure in my life.
And still…
I am nowhere close to being done processing my grief over losing Jordan. There’s a nearly physical hole painfully carved in my chest, a chunk of my soul now residing in Tallahassee.
I cannot be two places at once. I cannot be here, taking care of Elliot, and there, taking care of Jordan.
Nuzzling Elliot’s forehead, I gently tighten my grip around him. “Good morning, pet.”
Because I’ve tightened my grip, I’m ready when he startles, followed by the sharp, pained gasp of breath, the frightened-horse response, until his brain kicks over and takes control.
He presses his face against me, embarrassed, as always, by his reaction. “Good morning, Master,” he whispers against my throat.
Fuck it. He needs an ego boost this morning. I roll him onto his back and pin his wrists over his head, my legs straddling him and my weight holding him down. Staring into his eyes, I wait him out, until his gaze is settled and focused on me.
Until I am his world.
“10:15, we’re taking a break,” I tell him. “Don’t care where we are, we’re going into a room, locking the door, and you’re letting me take care of you. That’s as long as you need to hold on for this morning. 10:15.”
His throat works as he swallows. “Yes, Master.”
Relief fills me. That he’s not even trying to argue with me, or asking to see his schedule first, means he needs this as badly as I do.
I kiss him, until both of us are hard and aching.
We have enough time.
I turn around on top of him and it only takes a few minutes until we’ve sucked orgasms out of each other and once again curled up together.
Holding his head in my hands, I press my forehead to his. “You’re my very perfect pet, and I love you very much. Master’s going to take care of you this week. All I need for you to do is trust me and do what I tell you to do. Understand?”
The residual tension drains from him. “Yes, Master. Thank you. I love you, too.”
I help him out of bed and make sure he’s steady on his walker before I go retrieve his coffee and make me one, too. We shower together, and I shave him, let him shave me, shampoo his hair for him—everything.
I keep him naked while he helps me dress. This helps psychologically reinforce our dynamic. Then I dress him, not letting him do a thing, including putting Duck on. The only input I give him is checking the fit of the inner sock on his stump, making sure there aren’t any wrinkles or folds that will cause him issues, and the liner, and adjusting Duck’s overall fit with the outer socks over his liner. Everything else I do for him—dressing him, fastening his buttons, tying his tie.
The entire time, his eyes are focused on me, looking into mine every time I meet his gaze, which is exactly what I want from him this morning.
There’s enough time built into our schedule for this.
We can’t afford not to do it.
I need it as badly as he does today.
When we emerge from the suite, Vice President Woodley is ready for work and takes charge as I quietly follow along half a step behind him. The faithful companion who makes all his staffers’ jobs tenfold easier with my presence.
I’m honestly shocked no one’s ever asked me if there’s more between us than friendship but we’ve been damned careful over the years, and my reputation is already well-known.
And then I had Jordan—
I cut that thought off.
Somehow, some way, I need to pull together the raw and gaping edges of that chasm within me and try to stitch my soul back together. For Elliot’s sake, if nothing else.
Except I’m a horrible person.
During Elliot’s first meeting of the morning, I feel my personal cell vibrate in my pocket.
That it’s vibrating at all, bypassing the do not disturb setting, can only mean one person is texting me.
Jordan.
I weigh my options for a moment before slipping my phone out of my pocket and looking at his text.
It’s a picture of his desk at his new job. It nearly drives my knees out from under me when I see that among Jordan’s eclectic collection of Funko Pop! figures, some of which I gave him, and small 3-D models of Washington DC landmarks, sits a small framed copy of the picture of us at Shae’s first inauguration.
There’s also a message.
What do you think?
I think I’m fucking dying inside, like my guts have been caught on some medieval torture device and are slowly being torn from my body and wound onto it.
Not only because of that picture but because of what’s missing from his text.
No Sir.
No Master.
No capitalized Y in the you, where before it was rare he ever forgot to capitalize it.
I glance around where I’m standing at the back of the room. Elliot’s attention is focused on the meeting and he doesn’t need me there right this second. He has his staffers. It’s not uncommon for me to step out of a room.
It is, however, uncommon for me to lock myself in the men’s room one floor down and quietly sob.
My hands shake as I sniffle back tears and ponder how to reply. I finally settle on something totally lame and safe, because I can’t handle any more guilt right now. I don’t want to put my emotions onto Jordan’s shoulders. That’s not fair to him.
Looks good. :)
I want to add boy and resist.
Barely.
I want to add the extraction of a promise for him to be careful and to please let me know if he has even the slightest hint of trouble in his life, trouble of any kind.
I want to add a heartfelt plea for him to return to DC and let me have more time to win Elliot over.
I want to drop to my knees and pray to a god whose existence I don’t even believe in to bring my sweet boy back to me.
I want a hole to swallow me and put me out of my misery.
Unfortunately, none of those things happen, and I’m still trapped in hell.
* * * *
Twenty minutes later, after I’ve dumped eyedrops into my eyes, washed my face, and I once again look like retired Special Agent Leo Cruz, I return to the room and slip inside. Elliot likely didn’t notice my absence, which is the way it needs to be.
In this capacity, I’m nothing more than a helpful ghost. I get him what he needs, when he needs it, and disappear into the ether to remain a nearly invisible observer while he’s busy and the focus is rightfully on him.
It’s my pet I focus on right now. This is Vice
President Elliot Gerald Woodley’s bailiwick. This is the statesman everyone else sees, the calm, steady, brilliant, and gently funny man who’s a breath away from the nuclear codes.
This man is presidential, even if he doesn’t see it in himself.
I see it.
Most others see it, too.
Only one other person on this planet has ever seen a hint of this man’s vulnerable underbelly, and he’s currently living in Tallahassee.
I suspect one of Elliot’s fears is Jordan will burn us. That, one day, a reporter will pipe up during a regular afternoon presser and sideswipe Angie with a question about Elliot’s sex life, or his sexuality, and cite a breaking news article. A tell-all.
That won’t happen.
I know my boy. I trust him. I never would have let him get as close to Elliot as I did if I didn’t think I could trust him with our secrets.
I mean, I know that boy.
He’s not my boy any longer.
Not on the surface.
In my heart he’ll always be my boy.
I text my mom to see about having dinner tonight. Elliot will be finished by eight, and the event’s in the same hotel as our suite. He’ll be ready to chill up in the suite after that.
Another reason having a suite is perfect, because it has a dining room area where I can have room service bring dinner and my family and I can sit and eat and chat without risk of being overheard.
Elliot can join us, if he wishes, or not.
Sometimes, he needs a little normalcy in his life. There are times I make him come upstairs to the residence to eat dinner with Shae, Chris, Kev, the kids, and myself.
Because otherwise he withdraws into his shell and doesn’t socialize.
Honestly? He really doesn’t have any “friends.” Not because he’s standoffish but because he rightfully doesn’t trust people. He’s insulated himself in an unhealthy way. He had acquaintances while he was in the House, and he has staffers who are loyal to him, but only Jordan and I ever got behind his walls. And Jordan didn’t even make it any farther than just inside his outer defenses.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 19