Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  I haven’t had someone looking out for me since Mimi died.

  Never realized how much I missed it before.

  Today, a sweet, thick tension swirls between us. I know he’s feeling it because he’s giving me little knowing smiles and even winks at me once.

  I catch him adjusting himself, too.

  Did I mention he’s a fricking hunk in his suit?

  #reallyhotmess

  Yeah, I’m wondering if this will actually happen or if it’ll fizzle out, but I’m determined to try. Nothing ventured and all that bullshit, right?

  After we reach work and go our separate ways, throughout the day my mind keeps focusing on Leo, even when we’re not together.

  Tonight’s supposed to be about talking. Getting to know each other. Not sex.

  There’s still a large part of me who wants to jump the man’s bones tonight.

  Another part of me insists Leo’s a good man, especially if he’s willing to wait and take things slowly. That I should let him set the pace.

  Hell, he’s got way more experience than I do.

  Except nothing’s settled. Not even close. While it’s fun to fantasize that he’ll sweep me into his bed tonight…

  Yeah, I know that shouldn’t happen.

  Now I understand why Mimi went through such great lengths to talk to me about relationships and sex—so I don’t sell myself short. If I’d met someone like Leo years ago, I might have tumbled into bed with them the first night, if it wasn’t for Mimi’s cautious counsel pinging around in my brain.

  Leo isn’t like any other guy I’ve ever met, though. I doubt I’ll have any regrets sleeping with him.

  Maybe I’ll regret not sleeping with him.

  Yeah, I’d definitely regret that.

  Finally, after work’s over for the day, I return to my hotel—yes, I shower and masturbate because I won’t be able to hold a coherent thought in my head, much less a conversation, if I don’t—and change into jeans and a maroon Noles hoodie over a black T-shirt. I hope I’m dressed all right. I’m going for a casual vibe. I pick up a chilled bottle of wine on the way and head to his place.

  I’m feeling damned nervous, too. Although the hike up to his third-floor apartment helps calm me somewhat.

  Still, when Leo answers the door and looks into my eyes with blatant hunger and need, it makes me want to jump his bones.

  He steps aside so I can enter. “Hey, there.”

  “That is a hike up your stairs.”

  “Keeps me in shape.”

  Before I can lose my nerve, I rise up on my toes and kiss him hello.

  He doesn’t pull away from the kiss, either.

  The apartment smells delicious. As we make small talk while he looks for a corkscrew, I realize I’m closing the distance between us until I’m hovering directly behind him when he turns.

  I really want to kiss him again—a long, hard kiss.

  I think Leo’s leaning in to kiss me when he seems to catch himself.

  There’s crazy strong chemistry between us. I don’t have to be an expert in sex to recognize that.

  Instead, he opens the bottle and pours our wine. When I ask if he needs help cooking, he motions to the breakfast bar. “Nope. Just sit over there and chat with me.”

  I take a risk. “Yes, sir.”

  From the look on Leo’s face when I say that, I know I’m right. He definitely took it the way I meant it.

  “See, you say that, but how do you know that’s not close to the truth?”

  “Maybe it’s closer than you know.” I’m playing a dangerous game, but I can’t stop myself.

  At least I have more confirmation he’s maybe into me in the same way I’m into him—meaning in a kinky way. As we talk for the next few minutes, hammering out some of the basic ground-rules that would define whatever this is, all while he gives away very little about his partner’s identity, I know Leo is definitely the man I want to do this with, even if I end up not staying in DC.

  Until a little cold water gets splashed on me.

  “Those are the highlights,” he says. “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.”

  Did you hear the record screech? Because I damn sure did. “In January?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  Well, fuck. “No. I’ve waited twenty-two years. I guess I can wait a few more weeks.” I struggle with my building disappointment. Maybe I won’t be having sex with Leo after all.

  That’s depressing as hell.

  He scowls. “What?”

  I finish the rest of my wine. “I’m a virgin.”

  He stops chopping veggies and takes a sip of his wine. “A virgin?”

  I struggle to keep petty, bitter disappointment out of my tone, because nothing screams “mature adult” like pitching a tantrum over not getting laid. “Never been with a guy before. Toys, yes.”

  “No kidding?” I can’t read anything in his tone now. It’s like a mask of his own slipped into place at my admission.

  Maybe I didn’t pull back enough on the petty bitch side of me trying to pitch a tantrum. I check myself even more and take a deep breath in an attempt to regain my calm center.

  There’s no reason to withhold any of this. Especially if there’s still a chance for me to have a relationship with Leo. “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.”

  “I’m nearly twice your age.”

  “Have you happened to notice you’re pretty damned hot?” That’s no lie, either. Which is also why I’m feeling so damned petty right now. I know it’s not outright rejection, but tell that to my heart.

  Oh, hey, look at that. My cock’s soft now.

  “Thank you. So are you. That doesn’t answer my question. I’m sure you can find hot guys closer to your own age. Why me?”

  “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. 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. 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.”

  I sip my wine. “I need more than a hot body. I want someone who really gets me. I’m not attracted to jocks and gym rats. Problem is, a lot of artistic guys my age, they aren’t realists when it comes to the world. They’re not…balanced. And they’re either broke-ass, or trust-fund babies. I’m not looking to be a sugar daddy, either. I want a guy with common sense and experience.”

  Leo chuckles and goes back to chopping veggies. “Maybe you can buy us dinner next time.”

  “I absolutely will, if that’s what you want.”

  “You can cook for us Monday night. There’s nothing on my schedule. I’ll let you do the shopping.”

  Fuck, yeah. If I can cook for him, I bet he’d beg me to fuck him. I’m a damned good cook. “Deal.”

  “So, what are your plans for tomorrow night after work?” I get the feeling Leo’s fishing again.

  Nonchalant, I sort of hope it triggers him a little. “I’m going to a club to see a band.”

  I spot the hint of a frown flash through his expression before he schools it once more. “What club? Where is it?”

  Normally, questions like that, asked in that…territorial tone, would irritate the fuck out of me.

  From Leo it makes me shiver and eager to hear him ask more. He’s concerned about me, and that makes me want to push a little to see if he’ll set down a boundary for me.

  I tell him about the band and the club, and Leo does not look happy. He looks less so when I invite him to come with, and he says he can’t because of a work event tomorrow night.

  Then I tell him I’m p
lanning on walking to the club, and I think he’s going to come un-fucking-glued, because he starts trying to convince me to take a cab.

  Hmm. Interesting.

  Yes, maybe it’s petty of me to gig him like that, but if I’m not getting laid I can get my jollies some other way, right?

  Meaning I’m definitely planning on walking now.

  Okay, maybe I won’t walk, but I won’t tell him that.

  Yes, I’m being a brat. I get it. Except I’m really curious to see how far Leo will take his concern.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I walk all over the place at home, if I’m not taking the bus. I’d rather not spend the extra money on a cab. Besides, I like to explore.”

  It’s as if Leo has to force himself not to say anything else on the matter, and something inside me happily purrs over the tense set to his jaw as he changes the subject.

  Especially since he’s basically making me take a loaner set of gloves, a scarf, and a warm knit hat because he’s worried about me being cold, and I haven’t bought any for myself yet. He’s commented on that a few times over the past couple of weeks, that I really should get some because it’s only going to get colder as winter progresses, but I haven’t had the time.

  We spend several hours talking. The bottom line is that Leo’s “partner”—who I’m already positive is Elliot Woodley—will always come first in Leo’s life, because Leo’s time with them is very limited.

  However…

  There is room for me to be in Leo’s life, too, according to him.

  Even better? Leo is definitely interested in working on building a relationship with me and seeing where things might go. It would only be the three of us in that relationship, with the potential of me being involved with Leo’s partner—Elliot, I keep mentally substituting—as well.

  I would not object to that, but I don’t tell Leo I think I have it figured out. Those little head nods they do with each other are like a silent code. I noticed it early on, and they only do it with each other. Plus, there are plenty of times I’ve seen Elliot defer to Leo in little ways other people don’t seem to notice.

  Except I’m not an idiot. The best chance I have for a relationship with Leo is if I stay in DC after the inauguration and go to work for the administration.

  I could even live with Leo. It’s not a decision I have to make tonight, either. That’s still two months away. We might hate each other by then.

  When our evening comes to a close, Leo escorts me back to the hotel in a cab and walks me up to my room. I try telling him it isn’t necessary, but he gently steamrolls me and does it anyway.

  Not in an assholish way.

  In a Domly kind of way.

  Protective.

  I could seriously get used to this. I’m an independent kind of guy, but for someone like Leo?

  Yeah, it’s hot. I jerk off twice that night before I go to sleep.

  As I lie there waiting for sleep to take me, I am fully cognizant how…big this all is. That a goodly chunk of my life will remain shadowed and secret. Maybe if I had a large family to worry about, that might give me pause.

  Except the more time I spend with Leo, the more I realize that I want to build a found family of my own from the ground up.

  With Leo at the core.

  Chapter Ten

  The next evening, knowing Leo’s at the event with President-elect Samuels and Elliot Woodley has me feeling a little jealous, but I tamp it down.

  There’s no room for that kind of immaturity in this if I seriously want to pursue a relationship with Leo.

  And I do seriously want to pursue a relationship with him.

  I am disappointed that we’re not crossing that big bridge until January, though.

  Maybe that’s for the best.

  Again, I’m trying to be mature, and all that bullshit.

  Tonight is damp and bitterly cold, yet I decide to walk to the club after all. I’m feeling…emotionally itchy, and the walk will do me good. I know Leo worries about my safety but I’m no noob. I’ve survived this long, including knowing how to fit in and not draw attention to myself.

  I leave my wallet at the hotel and take my ID, one pre-paid debit card I use for outings like this, and less than fifty dollars in cash. I also take my work and personal cell phones, because Leo told me to always carry them on me. If someone wants to rob me, I’ll gladly hand over my money and the debit card. While I’d be pissed off, it’s not like they can wipe out my bank account. After grabbing dinner at a restaurant two doors down from the hotel, I head to the club.

  And I wear Leo’s gloves, scarf, and hat. Despite the weather, I’m warm, especially with my brisk walking pace. It’s not raining right now, although it was earlier. If it looks like it’ll start raining again, I can always call a ride-share or hail a cab. I duck into a drugstore on the way and pick up a pair of ear plugs, because I really don’t want to go deaf tonight, and I’m certain the bands will be loud.

  I’ve watched bands play in all sorts of clubs, sketchy and upscale, from Atlanta, to Miami, to Tampa, to St. Pete, and Orlando. Sure, the neighborhood where this club is located probably isn’t the best, but I don’t look like I’m flashy or rich. With the hat and scarf swaddling my head and face, only my eyeglasses are visible. I’m wearing my heavy coat, jeans, and sneakers, and I can run pretty fast, if I have to.

  Another reason I want to walk is I’ve missed walking, as crazy as it sounds. Here in DC, with my work, I’m moving so fast that walking anywhere more than ten minutes away isn’t feasible. Secret Service or Leo ferries me around.

  Tonight allows me to stretch my brain as much as my legs. I have the initial plans for everything roughed out, but in light of my recent suspicions, I’m especially stressing over the vice president-elect’s office and residence.

  Yeah, I want Elliot Woodley to like me and like what I do for him, since I’m pretty sure he’s Leo’s “partner.” I don’t want him to hate me and ask Leo to send me away before Leo and I even get a chance to see if we could have something together. That means I want to make a great impression on Elliot. I can’t outright ask Leo for his opinion, either, because I don’t want him to know I suspect Elliot is his partner.

  Okay, it’s a little odd, this ethical non-monogamy, but I’m willing to give it a shot.

  Especially if it means a chance to be with Leo long-term.

  Leo’s hot and we perfectly click in so many ways. Even thinking about the look in his eyes and his tone of voice last night when he was questioning me about tonight hardens my cock.

  I wonder if Leo spanks Elliot Woodley’s ass? Or if Elliot likes to be tied up? Maybe he enjoys crawling around dressed as a pup, like some of the leather porn I’ve watched. Whatever the man’s kinks, I know Elliot’s not the Top between them. Not from what I’ve witnessed of Leo and him together, and not from what I now know about Leo and his needs within a relationship.

  The club is pretty busy. While the neighborhood isn’t ritzy, it’s far from the worst place I’ve ever been. I’m early, so I spend time out in the lobby waiting in line for a soda and staring at the architecture. The building was an old theater. While it hurts my heart a little that they haven’t done a better job preserving the façade inside the main auditorium area, and its two balconies, it’s still imbued with enough of a gorgeous vibe to make it interesting and give it character.

  At least they haven’t painted over all the gilt on the lobby’s original ornate trim.

  I don’t take off my coat, but I shove the gloves, scarf, and hat deep into my pockets, on top of my phones, so I don’t have to worry about pickpockets.

  I opt to watch the first band from the lower balcony, because the floor is crowded with an already impressive throng pressing against the barrier close to the stage. The mosh pit hasn’t fired up quite yet, but they’re already getting a little aggressive ahead of the first act starting to play, and I’d rather not duck and weave down there.

  Because my temporary salary gives me a slight financial cush
ion, the other day I splurged and bought albums from all three of tonight’s acts, so I could appreciate their music better. I can sing along with them and actually know the words. The first band is fricking amazing. Even better than their albums. For a while, nothing rolls through my brain except the bass throbbing from the speakers. I love watching live music and letting go of the rest of the world while losing myself in the crowd.

  The first band finishes their set and the house lights come up so the crew can change things over. I head downstairs to the bathroom and to get another soda. There, I take a few minutes looking around at the architecture again, because it’s sort of what I do.

  I can’t help it—buildings fascinate me, and it’s literally my job. If it wasn’t for the fact that I don’t want people to see I have a phone, I’d take it out and snap pictures of architectural elements.

  At some point, I’d like to research the history of this building, but I really don’t have the energy to do what amounts to work during what little free time I get right now. Tonight’s venture is a rarity, and mostly because everyone else from the office is at the event tonight.

  I’m not behind in my project plan, but I don’t want to slack off and end up that way, either. My current focus is combing through the government’s inventory to complete the designs I’ve roughed out. Sometimes, I choose pieces to use, but then when I visit the warehouse and see them in person, I realize they won’t work in the space I’d planned, or they won’t work with other pieces I want to include, or with the color scheme.

  It wouldn’t be nearly as nerve-wracking if the job was designing a private home for Joe Nobody.

  This is for the future president and vice president of the United States. It’s a massive feather in my portfolio, so I can’t afford to fuck it up.

  I also can’t afford to fuck it up for all the personal reasons.

  While I’m doing that, I keep finding myself pitching in with the transition’s social media team. They have some pretty skilled tech and graphics design geeks, but they don’t have a damn bit of sense about style and subject composition. As a result, I’ve helped stage photos and postings, in addition to my own work. They’ve taken to e-mailing me items for my approval or input before they post them. It adds to my workload, but it also buffs my portfolio and résumé, so I can’t complain too much, I suppose.