I return my focus to the screen and thumb to another e-mail.
Sent late the January night after I was sworn in as a US Senator, a little over nine months ago.
Sent only hours after Liam and I had our private reunion.
The e-mail Liam sent right before a flood of e-mails filled the inbox of my old secret account, and which kept me up most of that night, locked in this guest bath and claiming food poisoning while I read them and cried.
I swore I’d never send you all these e-mails. They were written more to preserve my sanity than anything. First, to help me survive and try to find some way to make peace with what happened. Later, to keep me from profaning my marriage to Daniel with the darkness I couldn’t shake, the one that filled my soul and kept me clinging to hope, no matter how desperately ethereal and impossible.
The darkness shaped like your memory.
But if you’re going to fucking waltz into my life like this, then you damn well deserve them.
All of them.
Behold the contents of my drafts folder, accumulated over the past twenty years.
Why can I hate what you did so much and yet still love you so damned hard that it takes me out at the knees? That it makes me want to be a stupid guy in college again, fucking your brains out any time we had privacy and five minutes of free time?
I was going to marry you, Ward. I wanted you to be my husband, my partner. You heard me talk about the plans I had for us and you let me go on, knowing you were going to ghost and shred my soul?
Who was really the sadist, huh?
Despite me being happily married ten years now, why do you STILL have the power to gut me and rip my heart from my chest? Why do I know if you asked me if you could come back to me, if you knelt at my feet and begged me, I would take you back in an instant and without a second thought?
God help me, how can I STILL love you so much that it scares me the lengths I’m already contemplating going? That I want to drag you home with me?
I have broken my vows because of you. I don’t know if I’ll even have a marriage after I confess to him what’s going on. I wouldn’t blame him if he leaves me.
Here I thought I’d abandoned worshipping your ghost, and yet, all these years later, I’m still as devout as I ever was.
The question is, what are you willing to endure? You have now wrecked my world twice in one lifetime. The very least you can offer is worthy penance to atone.
Start by reading them all.
Every last fucking one of them.
Oh, how the situation has shifted since that day.
Reading those e-mails also triggers old memories I hopelessly tried so hard not to think about during my years away from him.
I remember the Sunday church services we attended in college, an hour or so spent sitting in a not-so-comfortable pew, usually made even less comfortable by the butt plug tightly wedged up my ass—and my accompanying erection—while Liam sat next to me and wore a smugly satisfied smile.
I think about the times we fucked or I blew Liam in a church bathroom because we couldn’t wait to get back to our dorm room.
I recall the times Liam’s hand crept into my lap in a darkened movie theater, or how he’d grind against me as we stood on a crowded subway train.
I relive the finite nights sharing a bed, an invisible clock only I could see ticking down to what I felt was the inevitable conclusion.
I knew he’d try to talk me into staying with him, but my fear of my father—and what he might do to Liam—was stronger than my love for Liam, back then. Not by much, but enough to fuck up the rest of my life.
And Liam’s, too, apparently.
I said no to the only person I should have been screaming yes to.
Closing that e-mail, I open the text that arrived a few minutes ago.
From Daniel. One I’ve already read.
No briefs tonight. I will check.
I swallow hard because as I sit here on the toilet, I look down at my slacks, which are puddled around my ankles.
No briefs. I removed them after receiving his text.
Because I’m Sir’s good boy and desperate to please him.
What am I doing? Seriously? These aren’t frat-house games.
Liam and I are senators. Daniel is chief of staff to senior House leadership.
About the only thing I’d have left if I’m caught doing this would be my political office, if that. Olivia would strip everything else from me and then some. She’d suck the marrow straight from my bones, and don’t think I don’t know that.
I have to divorce her.
Our prenup doesn’t say we can’t get divorced, obviously. It lays out specific clauses for behavior on either of our parts that triggers certain penalties.
If I ask for a quiet, simple divorce and state irreconcilable differences while implying my workaholic nature is to blame for us growing apart, she would probably gladly go along with it.
Making her look good is the key.
Not embarrassing her.
Meaning not getting caught in a messy scandal, like someone walking in to find me on my knees and sucking Liam’s cock, or getting fucked up the ass by Daniel while I do it.
Hell, she can even cite that she wanted kids and I ended up changing my mind and not wanting them. That’s a lie, but she’s been very careful to never tell anyone else she didn’t want children. I’d gladly go along with that charade, because it also paints her in a favorable light.
Anyone who knows me at all will agree what a workaholic I am and how much she’s complained about it over the years to anyone who’d listen.
When I finally drop the big-D bomb on her, I need to make sure it’s before I make my next run for office.
If I make another run.
Or…
Maybe that’s how I need to play this. Tell her right now I’m not running again. Even if my father manages to survive another five years—which looks more iffy every month—he’ll be too far gone for me to worry about him fucking me over.
I hope.
I tap out a reply to Daniel’s text because there will be hell to pay if I don’t.
Yes, Sir.
Send.
I log out of the e-mail account and finish what I was doing. I find Olivia impatiently waiting downstairs in the living room, sitting on the couch and working on her laptop.
She practically slams the lid shut and sets it on the coffee table before she stands. “About damned time. Maybe I should stick a cork up your ass to hold in your nervous stomach.”
Barely suppressing a bray of anxious laughter, because I’m not at all certain I won’t be sporting some sort of plug in my ass by the end of the evening, I reach for my overcoat where it hangs from a hook in the entry. “Yes, I’m feeling a little better. Thank you for your concern, darling.”
She makes a disgusted noise. She’s always hated that term of endearment, which is why, when I use any for her, it’s always that particular one.
“I’m here now,” I say. “Are you ready?” I grab her coat and hold it out to her as she walks over.
She snatches it from my hand and pulls it on. “Are you going to act pissy all night?”
“I’m not acting pissy. Look, if you want to go without me, feel free. I’d be happy to stay home. I’ve got more than enough work to do.”
That’s a bluff I know she won’t call and a tiny, secret surge of victory rushes through me as her expression falls.
“You can’t stay home! I can’t go without you. How would that look, I tell people you’re sick at home, and I left you here alone?”
At least she’s predictable. Always worried about her image.
I’m reaching for the doorknob when the sudden realization hits me that I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty now the way I used to over manipulating her.
I’m…enjoying it.
As miserable as she’s treated me throughout the years, I’m finally enjoying something about our marriage.
There’s irony for y
ou.
* * * *
It’s a chilly October night with a biting wind. I don’t find it uncomfortable, after my seven years spent attending college in New York City, but my native Georgia wife hates it with a passion, turning her mood even more foul.
Olivia spends our entire drive on her phone and wearing a disgusted look on her face. The exclusive country club where this event’s happening tonight is familiar to me, because Olivia’s dragged me here several times over the past year for her social and work bullshit. In addition, GOP lawmakers and other politically adjacent folks have invited me to various functions held here.
Thank God I’ve put off applying for membership. Olivia wants me to, but I don’t. It would mean losing a perfect excuse not to play golf, and I’m sick of that fucking game. I hate it with a passion and always have. The only reason I learned to play was, of course, my father making me learn.
At least tonight’s a charity fundraiser and not a political event.
Doesn’t mean politics won’t be discussed. There will be plenty of sausage churned out at this event, I’m sure.
I can’t help hoping it’s not the only sausage I’ll be dealing with.
Yeah, that was bad, I know. But the faint hope that I’ll get to spend even a little time with Daniel tonight is the only reason I’m able to stomach being here with Olivia in the first place. The past two weeks have been busy for all three of us, and I’ve barely had any time alone with Daniel, or Liam.
We arrive on time and Olivia can barely contain her irritation behind her public peaches-and-shucks-y’all smile while I deal with valet parking. Then she hooks her arm around mine and nearly drags me across the portico toward the waiting door.
She tugs on my arm for me to lean in while I’m forcing my usual smile. “Do not embarrass me tonight, asshole,” she whispers in my ear, her icy tone chilling me even more than the biting wind. “I want to get into the prayer group Senator Jergens’ wife runs and I heard she might be here tonight. So turn on the charm and socialize and don’t be a damned wallflower.”
Fuck. Olivia’s focus will be anchored to me if I’m not with her. Until that connection is made, at least.
Before? I would passive-aggressively do any- and everything possible to stymie her.
Now?
I just want to placate her as much as possible.
That her desires dovetail with another recent command from my Sir is a pleasant little coincidence which simplifies my life somewhat.
We check our coats and once we’re signed in, I pause with her on my arm, just inside the doorway to the large ballroom where the event’s being held. We’re not late but we’re not early, either. Based on the number of chairs around the various tables, and the people in attendance, we’re in the first quarter of arrivals. The program doesn’t start for another forty minutes, with dinner being served during that.
Then shock slams into me when I locate our table and discover we’re seated with Liam and Daniel.
As in, Daniel’s place card is right next to my seat.
I don’t know how the hell he managed that feat but I’m already nervous as fucking hell.
And horny as hell.
At least, for once, it’s the good kind of hell.
Glancing around the room, I see Stan Jergens and his wife are already here. “Let’s go talk to them now,” I tell Olivia, dropping her arm and heading that way without waiting for her to respond.
I sense her trying to catch up and I know she’s wondering what the hell’s gotten into me as I walk up to the couple and smile.
“Hey, Elsbeth, Stan. How are you?” I shake with Stan while his notoriously standoffish wife thinly smiles and tips her head to me.
“Fine, thank you,” he says.
“I don’t think either of you have met my lovely wife yet,” I say, throwing Olivia even further off her game, I’m certain. “Olivia Callahan, this is Doctor Elsbeth Jergens and her husband, Senator Stanley Jergens.”
From the way Elsbeth’s gaze narrows, appraising me, I know I just scored points with her. Daniel warned me the formerly celebrated neurosurgeon is touchy about being introduced as “Mrs. Jergens” or taking second-fiddle to her politician husband.
Thank you, Sir.
“Nice to meet you,” Elsbeth finally says.
“I’m actually really happy to run into you tonight,” I continue, “because I was hoping I could introduce you two. Olivia’s schedule recently opened up. I was hoping I could throw myself on your mercy about finding room for one more in your prayer group?”
Olivia’s face goes positively red. I’m certain I’ll pay for this later, even if I do succeed.
Worth it.
“I-I certainly wouldn’t want to impose on you,” Olivia uncharacteristically stammers. “I completely understand why you would be hesitant to open your home to anyone else, and—”
“We are friends of The Fellowship,” I quietly add as I grab Olivia’s wrist and squeeze.
For once in her life, my wife actually takes a freaking hint and shuts the Hell up.
But Elsbeth’s expression lightens. “Ah. You are?”
I nod. “My wife has a lower profile than I do, and far more freedom in some respects. I hope you understand.”
“I do.” She actually offers her hand to shake with Olivia.
I release Olivia’s wrist and she looks stunned as she shakes with the woman.
“How about you and I go talk somewhere a little quieter?” Elsbeth asks, hooking her arm through Olivia’s.
“Yes, that would be lovely!” She glances back at me as they walk off, an astonished smile on her face.
Terrific. Now I’m going to have to dodge her being horny later.
Fuck me.
Still worth it. I’ll get her drunk and pour her into bed and stage her vibrator next to her like I helped her do something. She’ll never know the difference.
She’s never figured it out before. Since our honeymoon, I’ve ducked any semblance of assisting her with “husbandly duties” by simply giving her a couple of drinks and pouring her into her own bed. Fortunately, I only have to resort to that a couple of times a year. The rest of the time, since we sleep in different bedrooms, I’ve been able to easily dodge her.
Stan sips his drink. “If you found more time in your schedule, I’m certain more doors would open to you,” he quietly says.
“I’m hoping my next term will allow me that kind of freedom. Right now, I’m a little overwhelmed by everything, including people telling me I need to start thinking about re-election, even though that’s five years away.”
“Re-election wouldn’t be a problem for you, with the right connections.”
“I’m certain it wouldn’t, but…” I shrug, offering a smile. “I have faith,” I lamely offer. “I also have a very…involved father-in-law riding my ass about grandbabies,” I whisper, shrugging again.
He laughs, relieving me as he claps me on the shoulder. “I have one of those, too. Totally understand. I’ve heard your father can be a piece of work, too.”
God, I wish I had a drink in my hand right now, but I’m driving. “He absolutely can. Double the fun, right?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at Daniel’s voice at my left shoulder. “Well, hello, Senator Callahan. Senator Jergens.” I turn to look into his blue eyes and hope my jacket is hiding my erection. “Senator Callahan, my husband reminded me on the ride over that you co-sponsored a bill with him that’s the partner of the one my congressman co-sponsored, which is going to Conference Committee soon.”
I swallow hard as I nod. “Yes.”
“Congressman Effings unfortunately couldn’t make it tonight, but would it be possible to steal a few minutes of your time at some point? He had some notes he wanted me to pass to you.”
So that’s how he’s playing it. Brilliant. “Absolutely.”
Stan laughs. “Feel free to take all the time you need. Elsbeth will have your wife tied up most of the night now. She’ll be introducing her a
round to everyone else.”
I turn a little more toward Daniel and that’s when I spot Liam on the other side of the room. He has a drink in his hand and while he’s talking to a senior Senate staffer, his dark gaze possessively lays on both of us.
Especially me.
If it were up to him, we’d all three be tangled together in a bed right now, with the two of them plowing me at both ends.
An option that simultaneously fills me with longing and the good kind of terror.
Also fills me with crushing grief, because unless or until I can easily get rid of Olivia, it’s not likely to be an option anytime soon. Not for an overnighter, anyway. We can fuck around during a couple of hours here and there, but it’s never as satisfying as falling asleep with my two men wrapped around me.
Asking Olivia for a divorce on the ride home tonight would be…downright gauche, wouldn’t it?
It would likely piss her off even more on the heels of her finally passing through the gates of the elusive group she’s been dying to make inroads into ever since our arrival here in DC.
One Daniel told me just a couple of weeks ago that he wants me to infiltrate as a spy.
* * * *
For more information, check out my website:
https://tymberdalton.com/books/series-info/devout-trilogy/
For a full listing of related books and other trilogies also set in the world of the Governor Trilogy:
https://tymberdalton.com/books/series-info/governor-trilogy/
About the Author
Author Lesli Richardson, who is better-known by her more prolific wild-child Tymber Dalton pen name, lives in the Tampa Bay region of Florida with her husband (aka “The World’s Best Husband™”) and too many pets. She writes a wide variety of heat levels and genres, from mainstream sci-fi all the way to scorching ménage.
The USA Today Bestselling Author (as Tymber) and two-time EPIC award winner is a part-time Viking shield-maiden in training who loves to shoot skeet and play D&D with her friends. She’s also the author of over one hundred and sixty books and counting, including The Reluctant Dom, Cross Country Chaos, the Bleacke Shifters series, the Governor Trilogy, the Determination Trilogy, The Great Turning Trilogy, the Suncoast Society series, the Love Slave for Two series, the Triple Trouble series, the Coffeeshop Coven series, the Good Will Ghost Hunting series, the Drunk Monkeys series, and many others.
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