My boy.
That’s the main reason why I decided to cook dinner for him. I don’t get to cook very often. Especially not for other people.
Other than the occasional protectee I was assigned to while working private security, the last person I got to cook for was Elliot. That was long before he was tapped to join Shae’s campaign, so it’s been…a while.
I’m lonely, physically and emotionally.
Which is why I need to be careful and take my time.
When I stare into Jordan’s eyes, I find myself distracted in a way that never happens to me.
Ever.
Not since meeting Elliot.
When I watch Jordan nudge his glasses up his nose, the nervous little smiles he gives me, he’s so fricking adorable I don’t have words for it in any of the languages I speak.
He makes me want to do right by him. To wrap my arms around him and protect him, cushion him from life taking any more whacks at him.
Nervous energy fills me as I prepare for his arrival. I find myself flustered and anxious in a way I don’t usually feel.
I might be cooking him dinner, and all we’re going to do is talk, but I know the truth.
This is a damned date.
Something else I haven’t had one of in far too long. Which is stupid, I know. I should totally go out and date and get laid.
Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t. It’s left me open to meeting Jordan, after all.
I try not to think about all the countless times I’ve imagined Elliot walking up to my door and me letting him in and spending a night together, like in our early days.
Not something that can happen now. Not secretly, anyway.
Never again is it something that can happen. Everyone knows who he is now. He’s no longer a practically anonymous junior congressman from Nebraska.
Doesn’t mean I can pare those fantasies out of my soul like rotten sections of an otherwise good apple.
Fantasies of me taking Elliot into my bed and being able to wake up next to him in the morning. Spending more magical weekends like that first weekend, and others.
Not merely stolen moments of time here and there in hotel rooms on a campaign trail, or in an office.
Maybe I should end things with Elliot for good, especially since I know he’d understand, but I can’t.
He needs me.
And dammit, I love him.
I also can’t help but think about the bombshell secret I’m helping Chris, Shae, and Kev protect.
Why can’t someone else have that? Why is that kind of happiness limited to them?
It’s not just Shae, Chris, and Kev who are in a triad. The current Florida governor, Susa Evans, her husband Carter Wilson, and the previous Florida governor, Owen Taylor, are in a triad. Have been since college, when they were roommates together. In fact, Carter Wilson was Owen Taylor’s chief of staff, and Evans was Taylor’s lieutenant governor.
Yes, I have deep sources, but that triad is made up of three accomplished attorneys who are very, very careful. Not even a hint of their relationship has ever been spoken of publicly. Plus, like Elliot, Susa Evans has a little political cachet both from who her father is and the fact that she miraculously survived a plane crash and shipwrecking that wiped out a goodly chunk of the Southeast’s governors and lieutenant governors.
They’re far from the first or only political triad, either. Isn’t that more proof this is doable?
Elliot can’t begrudge what I might have with Jordan, right?
Fair’s fair. He said so himself.
Yet there’s still a bitter taste in my mouth, hovering right on the edges of my consciousness. Another reason why I want tonight to be only talking. Who knows? Jordan might learn enough about me it sends him running. Scares him.
Would serve me right.
The fact that part of me is hoping that’s exactly what will happen means my decision to keep sex off the table is the right one.
Even if my heart’s still stinging because Elliot’s willing to let me go through with this.
Chapter Thirty
I have enough time to grab a shower and change into jeans and a Washington Caps T-shirt. I also dig out an extra scarf, gloves, and warm knit hat, and set them on my counter so I don’t forget to give them to him. It’s a loan.
I’ll love getting them back and knowing he wore them.
The cutie is exactly on time, too. He’s wearing jeans and a maroon FSU hoodie under a denim jacket, and I can’t stop thinking about what he’d look like on his knees for me.
“That is a hike up your stairs,” he jokes as I let him in. It’s tempting to lean in and kiss him hello. I’m still debating whether or not to do that when he bounces up onto his toes and brushes a kiss against my lips. His gaze lingers on mine for a moment before he passes me and I can close the door behind him.
We’re doing this.
“I brought a Moscato.” He holds up a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. “I hope that’s okay. I don’t know much about wine. The guy at the liquor store said it’s a little sweet.”
“That’s fine.” I lock the door and lead the way to the kitchen.
“Smells delicious.”
“Thanks. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, and salad. And, yes, I made the mashed potatoes myself from real potatoes.”
“I have Mimi’s cookbooks with me. I mean, in my room. Her notebooks and her recipe cards. I’ll have to return the favor while I’m here, if I can use your kitchen.”
“I’d love that.” Fuck yeah, I’d love that. I open a drawer to get a corkscrew, and when I turn back, Jordan’s standing right there and staring up into my face.
Half of me is already leaning in to kiss him while the other half is demanding I behave. That’s why I force my brain to engage. “Why’d you bring her cookbooks with you? Just out of curiosity.”
“I put everything else into storage. I mean, I don’t have a lot. I didn’t keep much when I sold the house. She would’ve agreed with me, too. There were a couple of pieces of furniture I kept, and my bed, electronics, and I have boxes of books and kitchen stuff. I didn’t need any of that in the dorm. It’s just a 5x15 unit. I pay it a year at a time and get a good discount. It’s close to campus so I can walk there if I need to find a book or something.”
He wistfully smiles. “Her recipes are the most precious things I own. I have some of them scanned. I keep meaning to sit down and scan everything so I can pack them away, too, but there’s a lot of memories in the physical notebooks and cards. We spent a lot of time cooking together, even before I was living with her full-time. Every visit, we cooked and baked.”
Fuck. When his gaze focuses on me again, another full-body shiver races through me. I feel connected to him.
Yes, it’s stupid and reckless. I get it.
“We’ll need to make sure we work that into our schedule, then,” I tell him. “The sooner, the better. I’d be honored to help you cook some of her recipes.” I take the bottle of wine from him and open it. I came out of a cooler, because it’s chilled. I pour us both generous amounts and hand one of the wineglasses to him. “To interesting prospects.”
He smiles and clinks glasses with me. “To interesting prospects.”
Our gazes are locked as we both sip, and dammit, I want to drag him to bed. I’ve got lube and condoms and permission.
Except…
I take a deep breath and wait for the urge to pass.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asks.
Yeah, drop to your knees and suck my cock.
No, I don’t say that. Jesus, I do have some self-control, even if it sounds like I don’t.
“Nope.” I motion to the other side of the breakfast counter. “Just sit over there and chat with me.”
“Yes, sir.” He rounds the corner and, after slipping his jacket off, he perches that perfect ass on one of the barstools while I continue chopping the salad fixings. The meatloaf will be finished cooking in about fifteen minutes.
�
�See, you say that, but how do you know that’s not close to the truth?”
I can tell he knows exactly what I mean from the way he arches an eyebrow as he sips his wine. “Maybe it’s closer than you know.”
I hold up a finger. “Before we go any farther, this conversation never leaves this room.”
“Not even to talk to the person you have permission from?”
I suck in a breath and want to spank him for his slightly snarky tone. “They are part of this trust by default, yes.”
“Can’t even tell me if they’re a guy or a woman?”
“Agree first.”
He nods. “This is only between us.”
“I don’t want to be a dick but if you betray me—or them—and ever go public with any of this, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
“Is your plan to scare me away? Because that won’t work. I don’t betray trusts.”
“Not trying to scare you away.” Which is absolutely a lie, because if he was to run screaming into the night right now, it’d break my heart but also solve my immediate conundrum. “I’m emphasizing how much I mean it when I say discretion is mandatory. No vaguebooking on social media, none of that bullshit. You isolate us from everything else, unless or until I say otherwise.”
He nods. “Agreed. But no treating me like a kid just because of our age difference. No keeping me in the dark.”
“Agreed.” I finish chopping the broccoli and start on the carrots. “My situation is complicated because my…partner is a high-profile individual. For their reasons, they need to keep my relationship with them a secret. We’ve been together for over six years.” I glance his way to gauge his reaction.
“That sucks.”
It does. “What do you mean?” I want to understand why he thinks that.
“Staying in the closet like that, for so long. You must love them very much.”
“I do. And they love me.”
“Then how can they be okay with you dating other people?”
“That’s a fair question.” I pause my chopping so I can meet his gaze. “They’ve told me for a long time that they’re okay if I date. You’re the first person I’ve ever felt like dating.”
Jordan’s right arm rests on the breakfast bar and he leans on it, with it crossed in front of him. He’s feeling vulnerable right now, because his body language says that’s a shield. “Why me?”
“I don’t know. I guess, in some ways, you remind me of them.”
“Can we just default to saying him or her?”
I choose to ignore that, for now. “They don’t date or sleep with others. They’re monogamous with me. They also feel guilty that they aren’t out with me, which is why I have permission to date or sleep with others. Before you ask, they volunteered that stipulation—I didn’t ask them for it.”
“Which you haven’t explored until me.”
I nod. “Until you. And I gave them the opportunity to veto our dinner tonight.”
He takes another sip of wine, and I sip mine while waiting on him to speak.
He eventually does. “So we’re talking right now because you don’t want to lead me on, is that it?”
“Partially. Because when I’m in a relationship with someone, I need to be in charge. I’m a Dominant, and a sadist. If you’re serious about wanting a relationship with me, there are things you need to know about me, and other things that will have to be negotiated.”
“You’re kinky?” He says that in a breathless way that makes me pause and focus on him again.
“Yes.”
“Are you kinky in your other relationship?”
I want to walk a very fine line tonight between getting deep in the weeds about who I am and what I need, and not betraying my frustration with Elliot, or any details about our relationship.
“Yes. Unfortunately, due to circumstances, what little private time we spend alone together usually focuses on the kinky aspects. In the beginning, we had more time for nights like this one. I do need more than that, though. And you’re right. I am lonely.”
I let him digest that and again wait for him to speak.
It takes him a couple of minutes. “What happens if your relationship with them is outed? Is that something that would splash back on me in a negative way? Would we have to stop seeing each other then?”
I study him for a moment. “I can’t predict that.”
“But it’d mean things were over with us then, right?”
“No.” I hope that’s not a lie. “I wouldn’t break up with you because of that. Unless you purposefully outed us or were so reckless that your actions accidentally caused the outing.”
He mulls that over. “You mentioned me staying in DC.”
I slowly nod. “I did. You’ve proven you can be very flexible. There are plenty of office jobs Mr. Bruunt can hire you for so you can stay here.” I won’t call them Chris and Shae in front of him yet. Not until I’m sure.
“I get the not splashing deets about us all over social media but I’m not looking to stay in a closet, either.”
“That’s why we’re talking now.” I finish chopping that carrot and start on another one. “Because I need more balance in my life. My job, unfortunately, will probably keep me at work for long hours, and I’ll be traveling with the president a lot. Plus, you have to be okay with me spending time with my partner when I can fit them in.”
“Would I ever get to learn who they are?”
“Depends on how far we take this and where it goes. Eventually, yes, if you and I decide we want this to be long-term and permanent. At some point, I’d like the three of us to be able to spend time together. Maybe even intimately so.”
He shifts a little on the barstool, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s emotionally uncomfortable or because he just got hard. “If it’s a guy,” he says, “I might not be against that, depending on who they are. But I’m not into women as anything other than friends.”
Excitement slams through me and I need to take a deep breath to calm myself. “Dating me means you have to be okay sharing me with them. I love them, and they’re always going to have to come first. For now. I cannot promise you there will ever be a time that you’d be able to come first.”
I wonder if that’ll be a deal-breaker. His gaze drops to his wine glass, which he’s slowly swirling in his left hand. I give him more time to process.
“So, you and I would date and have sex? Openly date?”
“If by openly you mean going to movies or to restaurants together, doing things as a couple, yes. PDAs kept to a minimum, though. I would require that even if there wasn’t someone else to think about, at least until Senator Samuels is out of office. It’s part of my job not to make waves or be noticed.”
“But we can hold hands and stuff?”
“Yes. Unless there are a lot of photographers around or something.”
He shifts again on the barstool. “Do I get to set some rules?”
I nod.
“If we do this, other than your partner, there’s no other dating or sex with anyone else, right?”
I nod again. “Exactly.”
“Nothing happens in public that would be embarrassing for either of us.”
“Correct.”
He licks his lips. “I’ve always been interested in BDSM.”
Fuuuuuck. My cock throbs but I lean against the counter to press against it and try to will it to go down. “Good. We would explore that. At the very least, I need my boy to be obedient to me. Nothing to interfere with our jobs, obviously. I’m not saying you have to be a huge plain slut, but there would be certain protocols in place, and punishment for failure to obey.”
His nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. Ooohhh, yes. He’s interested. “I’m fine with that. As long as the punishment isn’t ignoring me, or bullshit like that.”
“Again, we would negotiate all this first. Two-way street. We’re feeling out the guardrails tonight.”
He slowly nods. “What else would I need
to know?”
“Those are the highlights. We can negotiate the details. I’m thinking we hold off having sex until after the inauguration. By then we’ll know if we both really want this.”
He tenses. “In January?”
“Yes.” I focus on him. “Is that a problem?”
He softly laughs. “No. I’ve waited twenty-two years. I guess I can wait a few more weeks.”
I freeze. “What?”
He tips the wine glass up and drains the last couple of swallows. “I’m a virgin.”
I think he’s fucking with me. I set the knife down and pick up my wine glass to take a sip. “A virgin?”
He smirks. “Never been with a guy before. Toys, yes.”
“No kidding?”
“Decided to hold off on my sexual debut until I met a guy who checked all my boxes. I know how to jerk off if I’m horny, but I’m very careful who I let close to my heart.” In this light, behind his glasses, his hazel eyes look more light green.
“I’m nearly twice your age.” I’m once again struck by the similarities to Elliot. A virgin. Except not a heavily closeted one.
“Have you happened to notice you’re pretty damned hot?” He starts to reach over the counter for the bottle of wine, but I beat him to it and fill his glass halfway before topping mine off.
“Thank you,” I say. “So are you. That doesn’t answer my question. I’m sure you can find hot guys closer to your own age. Why me?”
I’m reasonably certain he doesn’t think I’m wealthy. I mean, I’m not a billionaire or anything but with my savings and pension, I’m comfortable, even before figuring in my salary from the campaign. Except the way I live would never give that fact away.
He smirks. “Not looking for a sugar daddy, if that’s your worry. I can show you my bank statements. Mimi left everything to me—house, benefits, life insurance, bank accounts.”
He studies me as he sips his wine. “I’ve never met a guy who checked boxes for me the way you do. I’ve met guys I was attracted to, yeah. Hellooo, FSU campus. I mean, damn, Kevin Markos. That guy’s gorgeous.” A jealous murmur rolls through me. “But maybe it’s because I was friends with so many of Mimi’s friends and was able to talk to them, get advice from them.
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