I’ll be fifty-six years old. Elliot will be fifty-two.
“If I agree to this, will you let me come over tonight?”
He nods. “Please,” he whispers. “I need you, Master.”
The plaintive desperation in his voice is almost enough to make me start crying. I honestly expected him to balk and make excuses and try to manipulate me into forcing him to agree to tonight.
I wrap my arms tightly around him. “I need you, too, pet.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Now
Elliot looks adorably geeky in his safety goggles, lab apron, and gloves. He’s standing next to three seventh-grade girls who are explaining their biofuel project to him. They are part of a top-notch school science team who won a national STEM award for their algae.
I mean, it’s more complex than that. Way more. These three girls are already being courted by a California biofuel company, of which two reps are present today.
This is Elliot in his element. He champions STEM issues, focusing on trying to improve science and math education in public schools.
To be honest, these three girls are probably already way smarter than I’ll ever hope to be. This is our second stop of the day and while Elliot looks good for the cameras and can fool everyone else, I see the strain in his eyes.
I was the one who awakened him this morning.
I was the one who spent a few precious minutes marking him with my teeth, making him gasp and moan and keeping his brain as disengaged as I could for as long as I could to help him recharge because the dark circles under his eyes tell me the truth about how he’s doing right now.
Not well at all.
He slept like shit last night, several nightmares that means neither of us slept very well.
Jordan hasn’t texted me today and I haven’t texted him, either.
Although I have, strangely enough, received several texts from my mother, father, and sister. They’re all concerned about me and doing an absolutely horrible job of trying to act nonchalant about it.
I copied and pasted the same message to all of them—that I’m fine, we have a very busy schedule today, and I’ll touch base with them when I’m back in DC and have a few spare moments to chat.
Right now, my focus needs to be on Elliot. I barely have enough energy to keep me vertical, and what surplus I can manage needs to be reserved for him. I don’t have it in me to mentally joust with them.
Standing here and watching Elliot reminds me why I’m still here. Because he’s the kind of man we need in the Oval Office, the perfect candidate to follow Shae’s leadership.
He’s the kind of man who inspires others to be the best they can be, who brings out the good and kindness in people, and we need more of those politicians.
After we’re finished with this school, we head to the next, where he’ll eat lunch with a fifth-grade science team, who will then show him their projects.
Ironically, they’re working on scaled-down crash-test velocity studies.
Yeah. The fucking egg drop, but definitely nothing like we did in school. They’re using high-tech materials, computerized accelerometers, ShockWatch indicators, and doing physics calculations that make me feel like a derpy crash test dummy in comparison.
If these are the youth of America, maybe there’s hope for us yet.
After we’re finished observing their tests and watch their presentation, we’re taken to a bathroom in a teacher’s lounge. Elliot’s been sweating a lot this morning, because we were standing outside in the sun and watching them drop their packages off the roof of the school’s auditorium. Elliot leans against the counter with his slacks down around his ankles while I kneel to help him swap socks on his stump.
“Thank you, Master,” he whispers.
I look up at his tone of voice more than his words. The deep lines etched in his face right now age him. I know it’s due to, among other things, his stress over this schedule and his concern about me.
I smile and lean in, biting down hard on his inner right thigh.
Through his briefs I watch his hard cock strain against the fabric, but I don’t stop biting.
His fingers curl around the edge of the counter, knuckles while, eyes falling closed.
Softly growling at him with his flesh clamped between my teeth earns me a soft, needy moan from my pet. Only then do I ease up and kiss the mark. “Good boy,” I whisper.
I help him finish putting himself back together and pull his pants up. Giving him an evil smile, I reach down and through his slacks I press my fingers against the spot on his thigh where I just bit, making him wince.
Cupping my other hand over his bulge, I squeeze. He’s hard.
Dammit, so am I now.
Oh, well. At least I’ve distracted him. “Good boys earn rewards, pet. Just remember that.”
He finally gives me a smile I know is genuine. “Yes, Master.”
And now the rest of our day can continue.
This is more proof Jordan was absolutely right.
Elliot needs me.
At least somebody does.
* * * *
The rest of the trip passes in a blur. We’re both exhausted by Thursday night. After our return to DC, and with all of Elliot’s things moved inside his residence, the extra detail departs and swaps out for his usual detail, leaving just the two of us inside the residence. I lock the front door and set the alarm, so we aren’t disturbed.
Elliot has to be at the Senate early in the morning. I have a feeling he’ll hint for me to leave once I get him settled, and I’ve already steeled myself for that, which is why I leave my things downstairs, except for my phone.
“Let’s get you upstairs, buddy.” I’m exhausted, completely drained, both mentally and emotionally. All I want to do is put Elliot to bed so I can go home and…
Well, collapse. I’m taking the day off tomorrow. I scheduled that after this change in plans.
Except the thought of lying alone in my bed tonight, after three nights with Elliot, fills me with dread.
No Jordan there to pull into my arms and hear breathing in the darkness.
Elliot reaches out and touches my arm. “C-can you stay tonight, Master? Please?” Then he turns those blue eyes on me.
Relief so sweet it borders on pain slams into me.
This was the last thing I expected from him. Sometimes, my pet can surprise even jaded ole me.
“Of course I can, pet.” I cup his cheek and love how he tips his head against my palm, nuzzling my hand.
For a moment, the thought of cancelling the plane ticket to Tallahassee comes to mind before I shove it out of my head.
I want to focus on him and us.
Everything else can wait.
He’s asked me to stay.
I take him upstairs and quickly get us both naked and in the shower. For a few minutes, I stand in front of him, where he’s sitting on his shower chair, with our arms wrapped around each other and his head resting against my stomach.
For this all too brief moment, my world is nearly perfect. I’m going to start bathing him when he cups my ass in his hands and goes down on me.
He needs this, and so do I. “Good boy.” I run my fingers through his hair.
Going deep, he presses his nose against my pubes and then I know what he wants from me.
Of course I give it to him.
I’ll give him whatever he asks for, whenever he asks for it. I can’t deny him anything. Maybe that’s my biggest weakness.
When he asks things of me, I give them. Without hesitation, usually. I only wish I had a way to make him ask me more often.
Maybe that makes me a sucky Master, I don’t know. Hopefully, it makes me a halfway decent boyfriend.
I stroke his hair and stare down into his eyes. “My sweet, perfect pet,” I whisper.
Something akin to desperation fills his gaze… and then I realize what he really needs.
Despite our exhaustion, and despite my need to just be with him, I’ll give
it to him.
Digging my fingers in, I pull his face tightly against my abs, making him choke down every inch of my cock, where I hold.
And hold.
It takes a good thirty-five seconds for me to feel him struggling not to fight me.
Ah, there it is. The desperation.
I let the sadist take over even though that’s the last part of me I want to deal with tonight. “What’s the matter, pet?”
Tears build in his eyes and his fingers clench and dig into my ass.
I fist his hair and tighten my grip so I can ease him off my cock only long enough he can suck in a desperate breath.
Not much of one, before I’m shoving my cock deep again.
Over the years, he’s gotten really good at not gagging. I hold back and pound into his hot mouth, making tears stream from his eyes and drool run down his chin. This isn’t him giving me a blowjob—it’s me using his mouth for my pleasure.
The irony is that he wants it more than I do right now. Which is why, despite how good it feels, I’m having a difficult time staying hard, much less getting over.
I’ve had this happen before with him. The first time, I made the mistake of being honest and admitting I wasn’t really in the mood to be sadistic to him. Later, he beat himself up over it so badly that I swore to myself I’d never again admit it. Since then, there’ve been times I wasn’t in the mood to be the sadist, and when I couldn’t force my body to comply, so I told him I had a headache, or was having a bad pain day, and that way he wouldn’t feel bad.
Contrast that with Jordan, who seemed to sense my moods even before I could, and who I could always be brutally honest with.
Yeah, it’s fucked up. Don’t you think I of all people realize that?
I am the Master, after all. Elliot’s my pet. I can’t be here for him in all the ways I wish I could, and he needs what only I can give him.
Digging deep, I turn to anger.
Anger that Elliot couldn’t accept Jordan as a permanent part of our lives despite all the times Elliot told me to date others.
Anger that Elliot can’t get past his fear about us.
Anger that I’ve set myself up in this position and have basically ceded my personal power to Elliot, even though he doesn’t realize it and refuses to act upon it.
Anger at myself, that I’m not strong enough to wound him by walking away.
That finally does the trick and my balls begin to tighten. “Get it if you can, boy.”
He reaches down and starts pounding on his cock, coming a second before I do. That also means I can ease up on my grip on him and hold him after I’ve finished spilling deep inside his mouth.
The tender aftermath.
My poor, broken pet. He’s not broken for needing the things he does—he’s broken for not being able to own and ask for those needs in a healthy way.
Guess I’m not much help, am I? I’m enabling him. Except he doesn’t have the ability right now to work on himself. That’s too much focus and energy diverted to personal stuff that he needs to do his job.
If we were together full-time, sure, I’d challenge him head-on to get his shit together.
Except I’m no better, right? Part of me is still trying to atone for lying broken on a mountainside and silently wishing Brad would die and be out of pain, while hating myself for the thought, and hating that I couldn’t do anything to help him.
At least, for a while, I had Jordan. He balanced me, gave me the strength I needed to give myself to Elliot.
I think about the plane ticket I’ve purchased.
I think about a lot of things.
I lean in and kiss Elliot, who now wears that sweetly glazed look in his eyes I know is subspace. I get us both washed and dried and don’t bother unpacking anything tonight. All I do is set alarms on our phones and put them on their chargers and then crawl into bed with him after locking the bedroom door. It’s doubtful any of his detail would enter the house without notice but it makes Elliot feel safer.
He’s already deeply asleep a few minutes later.
Lying there with him in my arms, I realize how helpless I feel.
Helpless to fix Elliot, and helpless to heal Jordan.
Worst of all, I feel helpless to do anything about any of it. I think I hate myself most of all for that.
Because maybe if I’d done something—anything—different at any point in our past, maybe none of us would be where we are now.
The problem is, I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Then
We don’t have time to savor Shae and Elliot’s election victory because the transition is even crazier than the campaign. It’s like trying to jump on a treadmill spinning at five hundred miles an hour, in the dark, while you’re drunk off your ass and suffering from a wicked case of vertigo.
While a lot of decisions were made on a contingency basis before the election—such as potential staffing for certain posts—plenty of decisions couldn’t be finalized until the actual election results were in.
Since I’m still employed by the campaign, I find myself running everywhere at once, doing whatever tasks Kev or Shae or Elliot require me to handle for them. Shae and Elliot both need to wrap up their respective tenures in the Senate and House. Other than Kev and Chris, I’m the only person they can fully trust with every part of their lives, personal and professional, without reservation.
Add to all this that Shae and Elliot now get NatSec briefings early every morning. Not as detailed as the PDB President Fullmer receives, but they’re far more detailed than the ones they received during the campaign once they were the official nominees.
If all that weren’t enough, one of the items that must be dealt with is the crazy choreography for move-in day, which also means hiring someone to coordinate that and to handle decorating the residence, East Wing, West Wing, and Elliot’s residence.
It doesn’t mean completely redecorating the entirety of those spaces. It’s customary for the First Family, POTUS, and FLOTUS, or in this case, FSOTUS—the First Spouse—to personalize certain rooms and common areas. Among them, the Oval Office, the president’s personal study, the First Spouse’s office in the East Wing, the master bedroom, and the adjacent living room.
Chris handles that staffing decision. By the Monday after the election, after input from Kev, he’s hired Jordan Walsh, a design grad student from FSU in Tallahassee who’s working on his master’s degree. The campaign will pay him and put him up in a hotel during his stay in DC, which will last at least through Inauguration Day in January, and possibly a couple of weeks after that.
That part’s still up in the air, because it depends on what’s left to finish after Inauguration Day.
Jordan’s twenty-two and the online portfolio Chris and Kev show me blows me away. Jordan is a talented artist and has a flair for making an impression in a subtle, low-key kind of way. He makes use of the space and light and works with it to enhance it, not to simply go in and make a loud statement. Some designers have a specific style that takes over regardless of what they’re doing, like it’s an extension of their ego. Jordan’s design choices are impactful because of the delicate subtlety he uses to work with the space.
After I go home for the night, I find myself paging through his portfolio with my laptop. Even his pencil drawings and other artwork are breathtaking, before you begin discussing his interior design work. I’m shocked he’s only a grad student and not working for a design firm already. Apparently, he’s interned with a firm but a guy this talented should already be working.
Jordan will fly into DC late Thursday. I’m scheduled to meet with him on Friday morning. Normally, the transition team isn’t allowed inside the White House before Inauguration Day, not even to look around.
Fortunately, Chris and I have enough contacts there, and the timing works out perfectly, that we can finagle Jordan a quick site visit while all the residents are out of town so he can walk it in person. I haven’t met Jo
rdan yet but while Chris made the initial calls to nail down the short-list of candidates, Kev met with Jordan in person and interviewed him. Chris, Shae, and Elliot have spoken with him on the phone. Kev’s already sent the guy a buttload of information to get him started. All reports are that Jordan seems very nice and is eager to work with us.
I tamp down my simmering resentment that it’s not me handling the decisions for decorating what will be Elliot’s residence, because it’s not me living there with him.
Except I’m so busy, it’s not like I’d have the time to do it, anyway.
One thing Elliot’s already decided—not to utilize the four third-floor attic bedrooms. They’re to be used for storage, not outfitted as guest rooms, meaning they can save a little money by not needing to heat those rooms in the winter. He’ll have one designated guest room on the second floor. He’ll use the master suite, of course, but the other two rooms on that floor will be outfitted as his home office and a workout room.
Also meaning he’s got a prime excuse not to have many overnight guests. Shae’s already told him he can utilize Blair House for that.
We’re all busy. I barely have time to so much as catch a quick dinner at the campaign headquarters with Elliot on occasion. Which literally is the only time we have alone together right now. Because the campaign headquarters are the only place we can strictly control press and public access and not worry about unwanted candid photos. Plus, it makes sense we’d both be there at the same time, and working in close proximity to each other.
I’m not asking Elliot to let me come over to his apartment. The other night was a fluke, I suppose, because he hasn’t asked again.
Yes, that stings. You’d think by now I should know better than to get my hopes up.
Unfortunately, my plan for the morning—to meet Jordan for the White House tour, so I can answer any questions he might have—gets borked when Shae’s hung up in meetings for longer than she’d anticipated and I really can’t leave her.
That’s when I call my friend, Chuck, who’s the Head Usher, apologize for running late, and tell him to start without me. Fortunately, he’s been in DC and working at the White House for several decades, and he understands the way things work in this town and how schedules can change multiple times in a matter of minutes.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 23