The brutal, punishing fuck I wish I was delivering to my boy. The kind I would give him if he was ever in front of me, so I could tell him ha! and walk away leaving him heartbroken the way he left me.
In real life, that week was full of sadism, but it was built on love and tenderness, of me quickly unlocking his secrets, of realizing that calling him my good boy made goosebumps flow over him.
I was weak.
I’ve lived a lot since then, done a lot.
I think what I resent the most is that ever since that week, I’ve never recaptured the true beauty and peace I felt while teaching him pleasure and pain and promises. I’ve never recaptured the hope I felt when promising him he could move in with me in DC and I’d take care of him, even protect him from his father.
I’ve never felt a connection with anyone the way I did with Kevin.
It’s an ethereal bond I can’t sever or replicate, and I’m afraid it’s broken me inside in ways I’ll never repair.
All because he couldn’t be bothered to do the one thing I asked him to do if he wanted to be with me, which was call me.
That’s all.
To reach out to me, and I’d take everything from there. To take that one step to show me he wanted this.
To show me he wanted me.
Tonight I finish to the memory of his O-face the first time I made him come just from fucking him. The sheer wonder and unabashed pleasure as I smiled down at him and knew this man had just stolen my heart.
I flop onto my back and Shae squirms into my arms to kiss me, a contented sigh barely breaking through the dark. I’m only staying tonight because I have to be at the airport at five a.m. in the morning to return my rental—which is in my name, not a government rental—and catch my flight back to DC. Normally, I don’t spend the night with her, and she never comes to my place in DC.
“That was great,” she says, sleep already filling her tone, which I can tell is no longer girl and is once again full-on Senator Samuels.
I kiss the top of her head. “Yeah, thank you.”
“Thank you.” She quickly falls asleep in my arms, and I close my eyes to the thoughts of a blue-eyed college boy who I can never let go, no matter how hard I try.
Chapter Four
A Few Weeks Later
November, the Friday after Election Day.
It’s Friday evening, and I’m home in DC for the first time in three weeks following an overseas trip to the Philippines, Japan, and Australia, working as lead agent for a trip protecting the Secretary of State. I now have four days off to myself.
What do I do?
Well, after stopping by Shae’s townhouse and pounding out a little frustration on her ass before dumping a load into same said shapely ass, I grab myself an order of Pad Thai takeout and head home to my condo. She’s got a charity dinner she’s attending tonight, so we can’t hang for a while.
This is the sucky part of this arrangement—I don’t have…companionship.
I definitely don’t have time for a relationship, though.
I mean, yeah, there are guys who’d kill to have what I’ve had with her for the past four years, without the complication of her being a sitting US Senator. While I was out of town she had private meetings with two other potential campaign managers, but she wasn’t thrilled enough with either one’s ability to run a national campaign for POTUS.
Which is why she’s holding off publicly declaring her intentions. If she can’t find a good campaign manager soon, she’ll run for re-election to the Senate.
If she does run for POTUS, Shea will need someone who can not only grasp the larger playing field, but also stand up to her and manage her moods. I’ve quietly had my ear to the ground, except leaving the country for work temporarily took me out of the loop.
Never dreamed I’d be dipping my toe into politics. I’m a couple of months into forty-eight, able to take my retirement when I turn fifty. Which will happen right before the Democratic National Convention.
Perfect timing. I plan to work through the presidential election and then retire.
All I have to do is keep what Shea and I have on the down-low until then. Then I can retire, start life in the public sector, and it won’t matter if people see us together.
I’ve already got a couple of security firms extending standing offers to me to join their firms. They like career protective agents, because we bring a shit-ton of specialized knowledge and training to the table.
For now, I need to survive the next couple of years.
Early tomorrow morning, I’m joining Shea at her townhouse for another round of stress release for both of us, followed by a discussion regarding another group of potentials for which she wants me to gather intel.
Tonight, I will engage in my second-favorite pastime, next to fucking and spanking Shea, and the only way in which I am a masochist, outside of my job.
I turn on Kev’s show. Once that ends, I’ll go through my DVR and start catching up on the episodes I missed during my trip. I don’t care that it’s old news at this point.
All I care about is that it’s him.
No, I don’t agree with his network’s politics. At all. I’m definitely a liberal through and through, and, honestly? I’m disappointed in Kev for remaining with the GOP. I’m not exactly in the closet with my sexuality, but my colleagues assume I’m straight, I’m sure.
I’ve made it home with ten minutes to spare before his show airs live at seven p.m. DC time. After locking my sidearm in my gun safe, I grab the last bottle of beer from my fridge, head for the living room…
And prepare to hold on to my heart.
I can still see the guy I made love to our last night together twenty years ago. I hate those goddamned contacts he wears. His natural light blue eye color looks so much better on him, but I get it. It’s likely a network thing. He rarely wears his glasses on-air, and when he does, it’s probably due to a headache, because he usually looks exhausted those evenings. I know from following his social media feeds that he sometimes suffers debilitating migraines. Every once in a while he unexpectedly hands his show off to someone else, and he nearly always posts soon after to his social media accounts to confirm it’s a headache.
I worry about him during these times, which is fucking stupid, yes.
Guy ghosted on me.
Obviously he wasn’t as ready to venture out of his closet as he said he was. Maybe he doesn’t even think about me. Maybe all I was to him was a way to finally scratch his itch. Maybe I’m nothing more than a lovesick asshole hung up on and creepily obsessing over a guy I can only forever watch from afar.
Chasing him couldn’t happen back then. Not with his father being an asshole of a congressman and me busting ass in my career. I wasn’t going to make waves that could splash me and derail my plans. If his father hadn’t been such a dick, okay, maybe I would have chased Kev, just a little.
But Kev had to want this. Want us.
Under other circumstances, I would have contacted Kevin after a couple of weeks and given him a chance to explain himself, or at least to give myself closure. But he needed to put forth a little effort of his own, if this was meant to work. I was then, and still am, on Facebook. I told him all about me. He could easily find me with literally thirty seconds of effort and relatively poor Google-Fu skills. He is a fucking reporter who covers the DC political scene. He could have easily found me, if he’d wanted to.
Does it make me a shitty person that, when I heard he got divorced, I bought a growler of craft beer and celebrated that night?
Makes me a shitty person, doesn’t it?
No, don’t hold back. I know it does.
I don’t apologize for it, either. I’ll own it.
It’d be different if I’d been able to peel Kevin Markos out of my soul and rid myself of those memories, I suppose. I’m…resentful.
No, make that bitter. Even this many years later. I still can’t eat tiramisu or listen to a goddamned Queen song without wanting to burst into tears
.
Not a damn person on the face of this planet I can tell any of that to, either. Not even Shae. I might be a bitter, shitty person, but I’ll be damned if I’ll out him, or do anything to jeopardize his career. Bad enough I saved the pictures instead of deleting them, but in retrospect, I’m glad I did.
I stare at them sometimes, late at night when I’m alone, and I jerk off remembering the blissful shock on his face when I fucked him the first time and made him spill all over both of us.
Shae knows I’m bi, but she doesn’t know about Kev. I honestly wouldn’t put it past her to use any info I give her against him. I wouldn’t say she’s dishonest, but I know damn well she’d use a dirty trick if it’d serve the greater good.
Including blackmailing Kevin into giving her the coverage she wants, say to help push a bill through.
I won’t do that to him. The risks I take with Shae are mine to take. We’ll have mutually assured destruction if she ever fucks me over, because I can reciprocate, and she has a lot more to lose than I do at this point. I haven’t broken any department rules in my relationship with her so far. Over the four years we’ve been seeing each other, I think we’ve proven our trust with each other. In fact, we’ve helped each other, passing information back and forth the other can find useful in our respective jobs.
The closest I’ve been to Kevin was ten years ago, when he moderated a presidential debate. I was on duty, guarding the incumbent, and positioned on the far side of the auditorium.
Keven never saw me.
I had to force myself to focus, to scan the crowd, to stay on task.
When I finally collapsed in my hotel room early the next morning, I cried myself to sleep.
Kevin visited the White House a few times for interviews, or to cover pressers, or pool sprays, or to conduct interviews, but I managed to avoid him. It’d be too hard to deal with it now.
Instead, I do this.
I’ve made my way through the ranks. As third in command of the PPD, I still pull stints working protective duty for POTUS or other high-level officials or dignitaries when we need experienced agents for complex assignments, but my job now usually involves advance work and threat assessment, or helping train newer agents, or developing or evaluating security protocols and defenses, coordinating events, things like that.
After stripping off my shirt and undershirt, I sit on my couch with my Pad Thai and switch the channel to FNB to watch Kev’s cold open. This is my favorite part of the show, because the camera is only on him, and he’s usually a little witty, sometimes with a snarky comment that makes me chuckle. I can stare at his perfectly styled blond hair, the—uh, oh, glasses tonight.
There’s also something…different about Kevin tonight. Different in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. I wonder if there was breaking news today, or if he’s working on a headache. He looks like he feels crappy, for starters. Or like he’s been sucker-punched. There’s a haunted expression drawing deep lines in his brow that aren’t usually there.
While I’m on an intensive protective duty assignment, like I’ve just returned from, politics fall off my radar. The only thing I’m worried about in those situations is what will impact our logistics for the trip. Frankly, I know more about Australian radicals right now than I do political developments in the US this week.
I haven’t heard anything important enough to make its way up the pipeline to me through work, though. No protest rallies or jaw-dropping developments in Congress. None I’m aware of, anyway. No direct and pressing threats to POTUS or other high-value targets beyond the usual ones we deal with. They wouldn’t have told me to take off the weekend through Tuesday if there were imminent credible threats.
I sit forward and turn up the volume as he reads his text from the teleprompter.
“Good evening, and welcome to The Daily Readout With Kevin Markos. If you’ve been following the Supreme Court today, you know they’re hearing yet another challenge to the Obergefell v. Hodges ruling that eliminated gay marriage bans in the United States.”
He removes his glasses and sets them aside, clasps his hands on the desk in front of him, and stares directly into the camera. My heart thuds as I remember the feel of his lips wrapped around my cock.
“In the twenty years I’ve worked in broadcast journalism, I’ve made no secret about my political leanings. I consider myself a Republican, a fiscal conservative, but there is one key thing that my political party seems to forget.
“The roots of our party are supposed to be grounded in responsible spending, using the taxpayers’ money wisely. About protecting personal rights. About protecting individual rights. Frankly, I don’t understand where people get off repeatedly trying to repeal Roe v. Wade, or Oberfgefell v. Hodges. Because every time, the cause can be directly tracked to an individual trying to impose their religious beliefs, nearly always Christian beliefs, on other people. And every time, it costs the taxpayers money, both at a state and at a federal level.”
Stunned, I can only sit there and watch. He’s not reading off a teleprompter now. He’s…enraged. Livid.
Holy.
Shit.
I’m watching the man I love suffer a meltdown on live TV.
“That is a lot of damn privilege, for starters, to wantonly waste my tax dollars just because you feel your religious beliefs need to be rammed down my throat. Do you understand how many hundreds of thousands of dollars it can cost to take a case to the Supreme Court? Do you understand how many literal life-threatening cases are out there that should be heard by federal appellate courts or SCOTUS but are delayed months or years because the system is choked by religious prudes who hate gays, or who think they can rule what a woman does with her body?
“How dare you. No, seriously, how dare you? I’m tired of people screaming this country is a Christian country when it’s not. And yes, I consider myself a Christian. Our founding fathers specifically set out to prevent people from imposing their particular religious flavor on others, and violation of personal liberties is the antithesis of what my party used to stand for.
“I watch politicians and other leaders from my party cluck their tongues at liberals. Meanwhile, they’re taking illegal campaign donations from foreign nationals, failing to register as foreign agents when they take money from other countries, and engaging in voter suppression, while also claiming they hold a moral superiority.
“Well, I have a hot news flash for you—you don’t get to cherry-pick who you represent when you’re elected to office in the United States. You don’t get to represent large corporations and special-interest groups and foreign oligarchs and also get to tell voters they can’t legally vote because you don’t like their skin color or political affiliation.
“Are the Democrats perfect? No, they’re not. They think throwing money and new governmental agencies at an issue can fix everything, when it can’t. But at least they’re trying. They’re not deliberately attempting to strip rights from citizens who morally, legally, and ethically should have them. They don’t care if someone is gay or straight, cis or trans. Meanwhile, the Republicans are still worried about who might occupy the bathroom stall next to them. Why? Is it because certain Republicans are used to molesting people in bathrooms, so they think everyone else will do it, too?
“Here’s a novel idea—maybe my fellow conservatives should return to their roots. By that, I mean maybe conservatives should be more worried about balancing our budget by making rich corporations pay their fair share, instead of giving them tax breaks that hurt the middle and lower classes. Maybe our party should stop forcing the middle and lower class to pay a higher tax rate, all while trying to take away their health care, Social Security, and Medicare.
“Maybe, instead of letting tech companies run roughshod over our communities, we should ask them to pay back the grants and tax breaks they had thrown at them when cities whored themselves out to attract them, which placed the burden of infrastructure on local communities and residents, while those same companies pay l
ittle to nothing in taxes.”
My heart pounds, and I wish I could reach through the screen and stop him. This is career suicide, and…I’m utterly helpless and heartbroken for my boy.
But I’m also feeling pretty damned proud of him, too.
“Maybe it’s time our party steps forward, and instead of claiming they hold the moral high-road, they actually prove it by enacting term limits and eliminating dark money from campaigns. Maybe it’s time our party steps forward, shakes off the vocal far right racist and religious minority that’s gained an ever-tightening stranglehold on the GOP for the past couple of decades, and says enough.”
Kevin takes a deep breath. From the lack of a chyron or news ticker crawling on the screen, I suspect the control booth is in shock and he’s taken them totally by surprise with this rant.
“I’m tired of having to defend being a conservative. I’m tired of having to append, ‘but I’m not a racist or a bigot,’ to that. Which, I have to be honest, most people who aren’t racists and bigots don’t have to explain that they aren’t. Unless, of course, they’re a Republican.
“Unfortunately, racists and white nationalists and other bigots have usurped our party. It’s no longer an annoying and disconcerting bug—it’s a feature. While it enrages me that I have to keep making that qualification, I get it. I understand why people feel that way about my political party. And I shouldn’t have to. I lay blame for that squarely on Republican party leaders who’ve courted the money those disgusting vocal minorities hand over, and for failing to denounce them. Or is it that, maybe, our Republican leaders really are barely closeted bigots and racists? Sure seems like they are.
“I’m sick of going into network offices every couple of months and explaining that no, I will not air a story that paints the LGBTQ community as morally deficient, especially because they aren’t, and doubly especially when in my B-block I’d be airing a story about a GOP senator who was anti-LGBTQ and who just got arrested for child trafficking.”
Desire (Determination Trilogy 3) Page 4
