Dirge (Devastation Trilogy 1)

by Lesli Richardson

  * * * *

  We head out on foot for lunch. Declan’s done his homework and has located a restaurant only two blocks from the hotel.

  When we reach the front door, I step forward and open it for Declan, my hand naturally settling in the small of his back, the way I used to with Ellen, to indicate for him to go first.

  His gaze lands on me, those dark brown eyes focused on me, and he smiles.

  “Thank you, Sir,” he softly says to me as he passes. My gut clenches as my cock stirs. A familiar sensation I haven’t felt in too damn long.

  The way it always used to for her. For my girl.

  I love him.

  I am in love with him.

  I’m a straight man, but I’m in love with this man—who also claimed to be straight before Hurricane Casey took over—and I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone tell me I can’t be with him. Certainty rules my heart and soul the same way it did when I met Ellen.

  I am certain he is my future.

  I want him.

  I want him in my bed, I want my ring on his finger, and I want my last name on his driver’s license. I want to set tongues wagging. I defy anyone to tell me I haven’t earned this happiness.

  I want to dare them to ask me what Ellen would say, because I know Casey and my children will be the first to tell them that Ellen would have cheered us on.

  Because…

  For the first time since my world exploded and wind screamed through the fuselage, I’m truly at peace.

  Even more impossibly?

  I’m happy.

  I don’t care what I have to do to make him mine—he will be mine.

  I’m not sure where Casey wants to be in that permutation, but I’m sure she has opinions about that, too. Opinions I’m looking forward to hearing at some point.

  Can I share him?

  Yes, I can, and I will. But I’m not letting him go.

  Ever.

  Whatever I have to do to convince Casey to let me have this with him, I’ll gladly negotiate it and agree to it.

  We’re quickly seated by the hostess. The restaurant is small, and a little pricey, but it’s quiet and the tall-backed booths and dim lighting make for privacy.

  When the waitress takes our drink order, I speak up. “And this is all on one check,” I say, pointing to myself.

  Once we’re alone, Declan smirks. “Going to bill the state for this working lunch, Governor?”

  “No,” I say, dropping my voice. “I’m paying for it myself.”

  His smirk fades to confusion. “What? Why?”

  I nudge my glasses up my nose and focus on my menu. “Because this isn’t a working lunch,” I softly say. “This is a date.”

  I don’t look up, but out of the corner of my eye I see that hits him hard in good ways.

  For starters, he doesn’t object.

  Secondly, as he begins perusing the menu, that submissive little smile he has curves his lips, and that sweet, pink flush has risen high in his cheeks.

  Somehow, I resist the urge to move my foot and rub it against his leg under the table. That’s too much risk and there isn’t a tablecloth that would conceal my actions.

  It’s enough for me to know my boy knows what’s on my mind right at this moment.

  It’ll have to be enough for now, even though it’s not nearly enough for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Casey had enough forethought to book us on a return flight that doesn’t leave until Sunday afternoon, meaning I’ll be able to sleep in late with Declan that morning.

  Which is a damn good thing, because by the time I make it through delivering my keynote speech Saturday night, I’m wiped out. I’m too mentally and emotionally exhausted to actually play with Declan when we return to our suite. We make love and then curl up together with the TV on.

  I’ve spent the weekend fielding “thoughts and prayers” and all sorts of personally related comments I know are meant well, but…yeah.

  They wear me right the fuck out.

  I would actually prefer they don’t mention what happened, or Ellen.

  At all.

  I get it. People weren’t saying, “Oh, glad your wife died.” But, two years out, I do not need another hundred fricking people insisting on telling me how much they prayed for me, or how they listed me on their prayer chains.

  Can’t they let it go?

  Declan even red-lined me adding a comment in my speech that I’m an atheist and asking people to please shut the fuck up about their thoughts and prayers for me.

  I wouldn’t have really said it.

  Maybe.

  Except even though he knows I was joking (mostly) he also reminds me I have a part to play.

  RINO or not, I’m a Republican governor in a predominantly conservative state. I cannot afford the unforced errors.

  I have to watch myself.

  I’ve got the “bounce” working for me still. I have astronomically good poll numbers. If I do something stupid, it will wipe that out.

  Fortunately, no one’s said the comment to me that will enrage me, the “oh, it was god’s will” bullshit that makes me want to strangle the person.

  That it happened at all is more proof to me there is no god. Because if there was, he wouldn’t have taken my Ellen from me. And if there is a god?

  Then he’s a fucking asshole, and I want nothing to do with him, anyway.

  Early Sunday morning, I startle awake from a nightmare about the plane crash to find Declan sitting up, his hand in the middle of my chest and gently shaking me awake. I’m bathed in a cold sweat, my heart racing.

  I shove him back onto the bed, kissing him, needing him to quiet my mind for me.

  Right now.

  I grab the lube and roll him over onto his stomach. He automatically spreads his thighs, scooting his knees forward to give me access.

  Because he’s my good boy who knows what I want.

  “Tell me what you want, boy,” I say as I drizzle lube down the seam of his ass.

  “I need to be bred, please, Sir.” His voice has already dropped into subspace territory. That’s something else I love about him, that, as I had with Ellen, we have this instant rapport between us. I can grab him by the throat and kiss him and sink him deep into subspace. I don’t have to beat him to get him there.

  It’s a heady feeling that makes my cock achingly hard.

  I start with two fingers, because he loves it rough when he goes into this headspace. I fuck them deep into him and twist, making him shudder and moan and arch his back so his ass sticks up and gives me better access.

  He’s a very good boy.

  This is something Casey can’t do for him. Sure she can fuck him with a strap-on, but she can’t come inside him.

  Make herself part of him.

  Breed him.

  I wipe my hand and lube my cock, lining it up with his hole and pushing in hard, in one stroke. Then I stretch out on top of him and roll him with me, onto our sides. I cup the front of his throat with my left hand and start stroking his cock with my right.

  That leaves him whining and desperate and trying to rock his body against mine.

  I tighten my grip on his throat, a wave of anger he didn’t cause swelling within me. Why can’t he be mine all the time? Why should anyone else care who I fuck? Why don’t I deserve happiness after what I fucking went through? Why can’t the three of us have our fun? Why would it have to be a newsworthy story?

  Why?

  He lets out a moan as my left hand tightens on his neck and I start stroking his cock faster. “Are you Sir’s little slut, baby?” I growl into his ear.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Does she fuck you as good as I do?”

  “No, Sir.”

  A vengeful sort of victory rolls through me. “It’s me you want inside you, isn’t it? You enjoy fucking her, but it’s my cock you crave now, isn’t it?”

  Another moan rolls through him, loud, deep, and he tips his head back against my shoulder. “Yes,
Sir.”

  “Tell me.”

  My fingers tighten even more around his neck. “I need what you give me, Sir. I need it when you take control of me.”

  I’m fucking him, squeezing him, stroking him. In this moment, the anger swells and bursts, enraging me. “Get it, boy. Squeeze that ass around me.”

  Shudders wrack his body. There’s a brief moment where his body goes rigid as his ass contracts around me and his cock explodes, taking me with him. I mean, I’m coming so hard I’m seeing stars. He starts to moan—

  And goes limp in my arms.

  “Oh, shit!” I release his throat and he gasps, inhaling, moaning.

  “Declan!”

  His eyes are open, unseeing for a second before he draws in another breath. “Holy fuck!” he says, then starts laughing.

  I sit up. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Fuck, that was…intense.”

  “I’m sorry!”

  Now he looks confused. “For what?”

  “I…” My anger has disappeared, displaced by the terror that’s finally fading. “I choked you.”

  He laughs again. “Yeah, you did. That was…wow. That was fucking amazing!”

  “It was?”

  “Yeah.” He sits up and kisses me. “Oh, shit.” He laughs and points.

  He has literally shot cum over the bed and onto the floor nearly five feet away.

  “That’s a hell of a money shot,” he says, sounding both amused and rather pleased with himself.

  I kiss him. My orgasm felt intense as fuck, until fear took over, but…yeah. That was hot.

  His gaze meets mine, narrowing as he smiles. Before I realize what he’s doing, he’s tackling me onto the bed now, kissing me, and I realize he’s already a little stiff again.

  “We have to do that again,” he says when I can make him stop kissing me for just a moment.

  I chuckle. “I’m going to need a little recovery time.” He’s not even thirty yet. What the hell am I doing with him?

  Oh, yeah. Trying to regain my sanity.

  I just fucked my deputy chief of staff while choking him out.

  That’s got to be an HR violation of some sort.

  Even though he enjoyed it and wants a repeat.

  I finally get him to let me up so we can go clean up in the bathroom and clean up his overzealous money shot. Then we return to bed and get comfy.

  This time, I cradle him in the crook of my left arm and stare down at him, so I can watch his face. I use lube and slowly start stroking his cock, which has now fully recovered.

  I’m only a little jealous over that. I remember being his age.

  He stares up at me, his gaze full of lust, of trust. In his eyes, darker brown flecks are mixed with light chestnut, and right now I am the center of his world.

  I can’t get enough of him.

  “Such a good boy for me,” I whisper as I slowly increase the pressure on his throat. I want to watch his eyes, watch his face. As I do, his cock twitches and throbs in my hand. I build him up several times, closer to the edge each time without making him pass out or orgasm. I want to see where that line is.

  I need to be careful.

  Governor Chokes and Kills Staffer During Kinky Sex isn’t the kind of headline that helps my re-election chances.

  And I would definitely kill myself if I did that to him.

  It takes me about thirty minutes to define that edge. Meanwhile, I kiss him as I keep my fingers and thumb pressing on either side of his neck. I don’t want to crush his throat, merely apply enough pressure to make him pass out. His cock is hard, like fucking iron, like he didn’t just blow a load less than thirty minutes ago, and it feels hot inside my fist.

  I work him right up to the edge, watching him, waiting.

  When finally I take him over, he gasps, moans—shoots cum all the way up to his damn chin—and just as he starts to go limp I immediately loosen my grip on his throat, even as I’m still stroking his cock.

  His back arches and the moan starts again, his eyes filled with sexy, wild, raw energy. His fingers close around my right arm. “Okay, Sir. Okay. Please, okay.”

  I slow and gentle my strokes, but don’t stop. Shudders wrack him, but his gaze remains fixed on my face. I find it interesting he doesn’t safeword, but I don’t want to talk about her right now.

  Lowering my lips to his, he kisses me with hungry energy that feels even stronger now than before. Like it’s energized him.

  Hmm.

  I don’t think I have the nerves to do this to him every time, but maybe this can become a special earned treat for him.

  I finally still my hand and lift it to his mouth.

  He opens, eagerly licking and sucking my fingers clean of his cum. Then I tuck him close to me, my arms wrapped around him.

  “Holy shit,” he whispers. “That’s…holy shit.”

  I nuzzle the top of his head. “Good?”

  “Yeah. Fucking amazing.”

  Okay, there’s more than a little pride swelling inside me right now. “She’s never done anything like that before?”

  “No, Sir. I’ve always wanted to try it, though. She won’t do it for me.”

  Booyah!

  Suck on that, Ms. Blaine. “Why won’t she do it with you?”

  “She’s too worried about the risk.”

  I snort, even though I didn’t mean to.

  “What?” he asks.

  I sigh. “I guess everything looks a lot less risky in contrast to what I survived.”

  * * * *

  Over the next week, Declan’s schedule, and mine, and Casey’s, are packed. I’m actually so exhausted from the weekend, and from making love to him Sunday night after we return to my house, that I still manage to sleep halfway decently, by my new standards, on Monday and Tuesday nights. But somewhere between Monday and Tuesday, I start faintly hearing the wind again, and the screams. Not like before, but the noise is definitely returning.

  I know Declan and Casey won’t have any time together this week, because of meeting schedules and work. They’re supposed to spend Friday night together, then I get him Saturday night after the fundraiser, and on Sunday.

  I’m sure there’s a divorce and visitation joke in there somewhere, but I really don’t want to make it, because then I’d be forced to confront all the ethical issues with this entire situation.

  Meanwhile, Declan texts with me, and we talk on the phone at night before I go to bed, so it’s not like we have zero personal contact with each other.

  It feels like we’re actually dating, in a way. It’s not just the sexy time.

  We’re becoming closer than ever before, even as we can’t spend any time together.

  I don’t sleep as well on Wednesday as I did Monday and Tuesday, but there aren’t any nightmares.

  That’s okay. Because Thursday night makes up for it, to the point I awaken from a nightmare so vivid and terrifying I immediately call Case at two a.m., in hysterics, to assure myself she’s not dead. She races over and climbs into bed with me, sitting there and holding me, rocking me as I sob with relief that she’s safe, while she assures me the kids and Declan are fine, too.

  I don’t even give a shit I’m naked—neither does she, apparently—and she’s dressed in Winnie the Pooh PJs.

  In the nightmare, we were all on the plane—not just me and Ellen, but the kids, my brothers, Casey.

  Susa, Carter, and Owen.

  And Declan.

  Despite how desperately I tried, I couldn’t save any of them from the plane. And then I couldn’t drown myself. No matter what I did, I couldn’t die.

  I washed up on that fucking island, and all their bodies appeared there, too.

  Somehow, I fall asleep again.

  When the alarm on her phone goes off at five a.m., she’s sitting up against the headboard, dozing but not asleep. I’m curled almost into a ball, my head in her lap and my arms wrapped around her the way I’ve held Declan before.

  She ruffles my hair. “Tell m
e about the nightmare.” I don’t want to, but I do anyway. When I finish, she sadly sighs and plays with my hair again. “Do you want me to clear your calendar today and say you’re sick?”

  I sit up shaking my head. “No. I’m sorry.”

  She studies me. “I’ll send Declan over later tonight, all right? He’s got a five p.m. meeting that’ll probably run until at least seven or eight, though.”

  Guilt washes through me. “I thought he was spending tonight with you?”

  “I’m not the one panicking at two a.m. over a nightmare, honey. When you called, I thought you were going to tell me something horrible happened to Aussie or the boys. You scared the crap out of me.”

  She cups my face in her hands. “I wonder if you’re having nightmares because you’re starting to get some sleep? If your body’s slowly coming out of survival mode, finally?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve always had nightmares since getting back. They’re just usually not that…vivid. And they’re usually the same one, reliving what happened. That was a new one.”

  I’ve vacillated quite a bit over the past week, between wanting a poly triad with her and Declan, to wanting Dec all to myself.

  That’s my fractured, wounded psyche talking, and I know it. So I breathe through it all and keep it to myself, because I could change my mind five times in five minutes, for all I know.

  Except as I pay attention, and think back to years of knowing Case, and the years I’ve known Declan… I can see he loves her, and she loves him. Maybe there is room for me there somewhere, but no, I can’t take him from her.

  Maybe I wouldn’t even be able to.

  Therefore—guilt. “I’ll be okay tonight,” I tell her. “It’s fine. Drop me off a Xanax and spend the night with him. I’m serious. You guys have been working your asses off. You deserve time together.”

  She presses her lips together and slowly shakes her head. “Nooo,” she slowly says. “I’m going to overrule you, honey. You are not okay. We have that event tomorrow night, and I need you to have a good night’s sleep under your belt and be on your A-game. There will be big-money donors there we need to schmooze to build our war chest. I’ll send Dec here tonight, and he can spend the night with you. He can stop by my place tomorrow morning for a while.

  “He and I both have stuff we need to get done tomorrow, so you can use tomorrow to read material, or do chores around here, or whatever you want. We’ll all go to the thing tomorrow night, he can come home with you, and then tomorrow night he can come to me instead of being with you. Besides, he’s had a rough week. I know he could use a good beating. I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s you or me who gives it to him. How’s that sound? Fair?”