I want to strip, slide into bed with him, and hold him all night long so I can wake up next to him.
He probably won’t let me do that, though.
I’m sure he won’t. The closer we get to the time for him to declare, the more nervous and paranoid he’s been acting.
Even here, his one sanctuary, terror will still grip him and prevent him from being able to relax and just be for that long.
I could order him to marry me, quit my job working for Shae, and flip his life into one hellish commotion for a few weeks until the news cycle spins on to the next crisis or shinier scandal and releases him from that particular spotlight.
He’d let me do that.
He’d probably feel like he secretly craves me doing that.
But at some weak point in the future, when terror once again grips him, it’s more than likely he’d easily flip that around on me in his head and blame me for “making” him do it.
It has to be him.
It has to be him asking me to take over. All he has to do is force himself to take that step, own it and us, and he knows it. This is not anything I haven’t said to him countless times over the years.
All he has to do is…ask.
A wave of grief-tinged anger rolls through me, making me clench my fists and want to startle him out of his sleep.
It was never like this with Jordan, and that’s part of my problem now.
Everything with Jordan was always so fucking easy, so goddamned perfect, and it makes me resentful once again that I feel like I’m shouldering the full weight of us and Elliot’s sort of drifting along in my wake.
If I was a real fucking bastard, I would do that. Startle him awake, that is, his PTSD be damned.
I take a couple of deep breaths and relax my hands, shaking them out.
Elliot needs me.
I toe off my shoes and silently strip off my blazer. That I leave neatly draped over the bench at the end of the bed. Carefully avoiding Duck, where it’s tipped over on the floor in front of the bench, I round the bed. Of course he’s not using his walker, because it’s over by the closet.
Dammit, Elliot.
Leaning in, I gently move the binder out of his lap and then carefully climb onto the bed with him, so I don’t startle him. In sleep, he snuggles against me for a moment before he jolts awake.
Except I was ready for him to do that. I tighten my grip around him. “Shh. It’s all right, pet. It’s just me. You’re safe.”
I close my eyes and deeply inhale. He still, to this day, smells the same as he did that first weekend, and my soul quiets somewhat. It chases away my anger and resentment and allows me a moment to think about all the good.
To count my blessings.
I haven’t done enough of that lately.
It takes him a few breaths to finally relax. “I didn’t know you were coming over, Sir. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” I open my eyes and kiss his forehead. “I wanted to see you before we leave. I’m sorry I haven’t had much time for you lately.”
Close enough to the truth.
I haven’t made time for him.
Because I know if I did make time for him, he’d see how miserable I am.
He tips his head back so he can look me in the eyes. “How’s Jordan?”
Motherfucker.
I struggle not to react. I weigh his tone and words and his expression before I respond. He’s not being snarky. It was spoken simply and quietly.
I settle on, “I haven’t talked to Jordan in several months.”
That’s completely truthful, although not exactly one-hundred-percent accurate.
I don’t understand the look in his eyes, at first.
There’s a bitter, biting edge to his tone when he finally speaks. “You expect me to believe you’ve flown to Tallahassee how many times now in the past couple of months, and you’re telling me you haven’t even talked to Jordan?”
Shit.
Not like he doesn’t have a whole alphabet soup of intelligence agencies at his fingertips.
I default to the truth, since he already knows that much. “Jordan never knew I was there. I chickened out each time. Did I see him? Yes, but he never saw me. I followed him and couldn’t make myself actually let him know I was there. Couldn’t approach him because I didn’t know what to say. I haven’t had actual contact with him in a while and didn’t know how to break the silence. I was worried he’d tell me to fuck right the fuck off.”
I struggle to lighten the mood. “Guess there’s still a little bit of stalker in me. I even put a tracking app on his phone when we were together and never took it off. Getting territorial again, are we, pet? Don’t worry. I’m all yours.”
But he doesn’t smile, where before hearing that tone from me would have made those handsome lips curve at least a little.
“Leo, why did Jordan really leave? Why won’t you talk to me about it?”
Not Master. Not Sir.
Fear twists my guts and sends a chilly wave straight to my balls. “He wanted to finish his master’s degree. He’s put it off long enough.”
Again, not a lie.
Just not the full truth.
“Leo.” He sits up. “I need to know. Don’t sugar-coat it. Did Jordan choose to leave, or did you send him away?”
I don’t want to do this tonight. “What difference does it make, pet?”
I think it’s worse that his tone stays low and calm, full of quiet resignation. “It makes a huge difference to me.”
Correction—I can’t do this tonight. I don’t have the mental energy to do this right now. I untangle myself from him and start to get up but his hand clamps around my wrist and he holds me there. Sometimes, I forget how strong he really is.
It translates to steel in his tone, not merely his steely grip on me. “You don’t leave until you tell me the truth, Leo. The full truth. Why did Jordan really leave? Was it because of me?”
There’s part of me, the protective Sir that, even though yeah, it’s kind of mostly Elliot’s fault, I want to protect him. My pet, my boy, the love of my life.
Then there’s the hurting, angry, lonely man wondering why I’m even bothering when it feels like I’m shouldering the bulk of our relationship alone, and have since day one.
I don’t jerk my hand free and opt for the truth while still pulling my punches. “He knows you need me. He made the decision to leave. I didn’t ask him to. I tried to talk him out of it and talk him into staying.”
I force myself to soften my tone. “He knew that, with the campaign coming up, him being in my life would be one more stressor on you that you didn’t need. The boy is very altruistic. No matter how much you don’t like him, you have to give him all due credit for that. He voluntarily walked away for you, and he’s protected our secret. He’s never burned us when he had every reason to feel resentful. Especially when he told me I was the love of his life.”
He lets out a sigh as I watch him visibly deflate.
Yep. Hating myself all over again now for not simply lying to him.
“You’ve been miserable ever since he left,” he quietly says. “You’ve been grieving.” He still doesn’t release me.
My emotional fuel tank is now on fumes. “Yeah.” I reach up and massage the back of his head with my free hand, trying to gently derail this conversation. “But I’m here now, and I love you, and I’m not going anywhere, buddy.”
Those three statements are absolutely true.
I’m here.
I love him.
And, despite my pain, I know I’m not strong enough to leave him. I could never hurt him like that. Even I am not that sadistic.
As I watch, he struggles against letting his eyes drop closed, his usual response to me doing this. “This isn’t fair to you.”
“Fair is irrelevant. Wasn’t fair that my fellow agents in that plane had kids, yet the unmarried childless guy is here right now. Isn’t fair that you’re stuck with Duck. Isn’t fair Jordan’s grandm
other died before she got to see him do great things, or that his shitty parents disowned him. Life’s not fair. We move on.”
He finally releases me and I spot the tears in his eyes before he closes them. “I understand if you want end things with me and be with him. I know how happy you were with him.”
More guilt. “Hey, no.” I cup the back of his head and gently shake him. “I’m here, aren’t I? You think I can’t make that call for myself?”
“I mean it, Leo. I love you, but I don’t want you stuck here because I’m your pity fuck.”
“Stop.” I don’t know who’s shocked more by my stern tone—him, or me. He starts to protest and I steamroll him. “That’s a fucking order, pet,” I say in full-on Master tone, anger seeping in now. I’m not going to let him chickenshit his way out of this. “You’re forbidden to ever suggest that again. If you want me to leave because you want to end this, then you have to tell me that. Just like when you’re ready for more with me, you need to ask me for that. I will not warn you about this again.”
He’s never given me pushback on a direct order before.
There haven’t been a lot of direct orders I can give him, knowing that his job and our situation makes things…tricky.
Still, he’s always been my good boy.
And, honestly, there really isn’t any way I can punish him.
When he opens his eyes, yep, I see the tears there, and it breaks my heart.
I wrap my arms around him and pull him against me, burying my face in his hair. “I fell in love with you that first weekend we met, baby,” I whisper to him. “I promised you then and I promise you now that I love you and I’m here, and I’m just waiting for you to ask. That’s all you have to do, is to find it within you to ask me. I’m not walking away from you. I love you.”
Please, please let him ask.
Please don’t let all these years have been wasted on useless hope.
He softly weeps. “Why do you put up with me?”
I remove his glasses and set them aside on the nightstand next to me before I shift position so I can pull the length of his body along mine and hold him. I say all the things I’ve said to him before throughout the years, and all these things are true:
I love you.
I’m never leaving you unless you tell me it’s over.
I love everything about you, all the parts of you.
I think you’re my perfect pet, and I’m so proud you’re mine.
There are layers to his pain as familiar to me as my own. I understand those, and his fear, and his self-labelled “failures.”
Totally get all of that.
I even understand the effects of his family bullshit, to a certain extent.
Even if or when he finds the strength within him to come out, it’s doubtful he’ll proudly march up to his parents’ house with me holding his hand, us wearing matching wedding bands, and announce to them that I’m his husband.
Cue the shower of rainbow glitter spray.
Not.
I get it.
I’ll also never admit to him that, amid the void between inhaling and exhaling after he told me he’d understand if I ended things with him, there was a flash of relief which took a sledgehammer to my soul and wanted to send me running to Tallahassee tonight to scoop Jordan up and bring him home, where he belongs.
With me.
That I could walk away from Elliot’s self-imposed fear and finally enjoy an easy life with my boy.
Except…I wouldn’t.
Because I would never be able to rid myself of the guilt over walking away from Elliot.
I’d never forgive myself.
It’d poison everything between me and Jordan, slowly, over time. I would cringe every time Elliot’s name was in the news for some misstep or criticism. I’d hate myself for walking away from him.
I’d always be that guy lying in the plane wreckage on a mountainside, listening to Brad sobbing and apologizing to his wife and kids for dying, and me feeling like a shit for being relieved that I survived, and yet hating myself for not being able to help him.
A couple of hours later, after Elliot’s cried himself to sleep in my arms, I’ve put myself together and let myself out, setting the alarm and locking up after me.
No spankings, tonight. No orgasms, no sex.
Just me holding my guy and wishing I had a magic wand to fix everything.
I’m drained in a bad way.
My well is far past empty. Except I know what I have to do now.
I can’t cancel my plane ticket.
I need to go to Tallahassee, actually talk to Jordan, and at the very least hug him one more time, if he’ll let me.
I’ll understand if he won’t.
I need to apologize to Jordan for getting him wrapped up in all of this. Before he fell asleep, Elliot insisted he’s okay with me dating Jordan if Jordan ever returns, but admitted he probably wouldn’t be okay with me ever dating someone else.
I don’t really think he would be okay with me dating Jordan, though. And after all of this, Jordan likely wouldn’t be okay with it, either. Not if I’m still with Elliot. Couldn’t blame him, though.
Yet I need…closure. Is that selfish of me?
It probably is. I admit I’m an asshole.
Except, just one more time, I need to talk to Jordan, and look him in his sweet eyes, and apologize for dragging him into the middle of this dysfunctional emotional swamp Elliot and I inhabit.
My selfish indiscretion.
My sweet, innocent boy.
I also need to tell him my door is always open to him if he ever wants to come back to me.
Although, god help me if he asks to come back.
Because as much as I love Elliot, and as much as I know it’d tear my pet up inside…
I also know I couldn’t say no to Jordan if he asked to come back.
What kind of horrible person does it make me that, even knowing there could be dire consequences, I wouldn’t even want to say no to Jordan?
Actually…
If I’m being totally honest with myself, I can’t say no to Jordan. Master or not, my innocent boy’s shining light buoys me and carries me through the darkness. He fills my well and allows me the chance to recharge so I actually have something to give Elliot when he needs me.
I can’t say no to Jordan, no matter what he asks of me—unless he ever asked me to leave Elliot.
As I opt to walk through the DC night and head to my apartment, there’s part of me hating that I’m incisive and formulating a plan to manipulate Jordan into returning. That I have the psychology degree and years of training in the Secret Service to know exactly what to say and do, what soft emotional points to press to coax Jordan back and to get Elliot to agree to it all.
Hell, to make Jordan think it’s his idea, and to convince Elliot he suggested it.
My boy is as innocent and light as I am jaded and dark.
Maybe that’s why I need him so goddamned much. To balance me, to ground me.
To remind me why life’s worth living.
To recharge my soul every time Elliot drains me dead.
Did I call Jordan my indiscretion? That’s not quite right.
He’s my obsession.
No matter what I have to do, I need him back in my arms.
Maybe Elliot does need me, but there’s just one problem with that.
I need Jordan.
It’s also very likely my soul will never know peace until that boy’s safely back in my arms.
By the time I reach my building, I know.
If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to get my boy back.
The End
http://www.LesliRichardson.com
Leo, Jordan, and Elliot’s story continues in Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy book 2) and Incisive (Inequitable Trilogy book 3).
Preview: Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy - Book 2)
The following is an excerpt from Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2) by Lesli Richardson.
Fear shouldn’t feel this good.
Jordan Walsh never imagined he’d find himself in a strange, secret, sexy tug-of-war between Vice President Elliot Woodley and Leo Cruz, President Samuels’ body man. Every ounce of common sense in Jordan’s head tells him to run—not walk—fast and far from both men. The problem is, they’ve tangled Jordan so deeply in their web he’s not sure he wants to leave.
Unfortunately, there are those who’d stoop to anything to twist Elliot to their will.
And the last thing standing between Elliot and complete destruction…is Jordan.
* * * *
Excerpt
Late on an uncharacteristically cold and blustery March Thursday afternoon in Tallahassee, I’m sitting at my desk, earbuds in and music cranked while I’m working. A late cold front swept through, bringing snow to states north of us, and turning our little slice of hell cold and damp. Went from hot and mid-80’s to down in the 50’s the next day. My boss is still in her office because we had a meeting a little while ago, but since it’s nearly six, there are only a few others still up here. One of the nice things about my job is the flexible hours.
Dang sure isn’t the salary.
I mean, I can mostly pay my bills—yay—but if it wasn’t for the free meal plan my boss wrangled for me, I’d literally be a starving grad student, even if I already have a pretty impressive résumé and portfolio for only being twenty-eight.
An impressive résumé and portfolio doesn’t pay the bills.
Dang sure can’t afford a car or auto insurance with it. I have to watch every penny so I don’t blow through my tuition money.
While I have my savings, which grew in no small part thanks to the salary I was drawing while working at the White House, I cannot touch that for anything now but tuition and basic living expenses my salary doesn’t cover. Period. I pretend it’s not even there, normally.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 47