Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  “The part about a duty officer from the SitRoom coming to talk to me. Why?”

  “To go over procedures with you and get you a login. They have to do a biometric scan and stuff.”

  Nope, brain’s scrambled. “Uh, hold up. Why am I getting SitRoom access? I was under the impression Doug doesn’t even go into the SitRoom with you.”

  “He doesn’t. He doesn’t have clearance.”

  “Ooookaaay, then why—”

  “Because Doug’s retiring at the end of this term.”

  I blink. “El, I can’t be your chief of staff. For starters, I’m not qualified. Secondly, it would defeat the whole purpose of me being your body man—I can’t do that.”

  “I know. But I need you to have access for me.” He laughs. “Sir, you met all the clearance criteria.”

  “I…did?”

  “Yeah. Clean credit, clean background check, not so much as a blemish.” He smirks. “Leo taught you well, and you haven’t screwed it up while you were gone.”

  Then it hits me. “You’ve really been planning this for a while. That level of security clearance doesn’t happen overnight.”

  He grins. “You already had the approved clearance when I flew to Florida.”

  He couldn’t have done that alone.

  “So Kev and President Samuels—”

  “Co-conspired with me, yes. Shae put in the request. Leo has SitRoom access, you know.”

  Sneaky fucking boy. “Yeah, and Leo was—”

  “On The Shift, yeah.” His smile fades. “I’m going to need you, Sir. Everywhere. I wanted to cover my bases.”

  Well, shit. No pressure, huh? “They’re not telling Leo I’m back?”

  “No. They promised to keep that quiet for us.”

  I study his expression. “You weren’t going to let me leave the plane until I agreed to come back, were you?”

  He blushes. “No, Sir. I wasn’t.” He lifts his chin. “You know this is the right thing, though. Don’t you?”

  I walk over and kiss him. “Sneaky fucking boy. Might have to spank you for that.”

  He grins. “Oh, no, Sir. Pleeeease don’t spank me.”

  “Brat.”

  There’s a knock on the door. I walk over and open it to find a man in an army uniform. “Mr. Walsh? I’m here to take you to the SitRoom, sir.”

  Elliot looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Have fun, Jordan.”

  * * * *

  We’re both exhausted—and I’m completely brain-fried—by the time we make it home that evening. That means we do nothing more than bathe together and collapse, cuddling in the middle of Elliot’s bed.

  Mostly because morning will come too damned early, and Elliot has to be on top of his game.

  I also do my best to hide the fact that I’m pissed off Leo still hasn’t responded to Elliot’s texts. In fact, I confiscated the burner, so Elliot’s no longer responsible for it.

  I set my alarm to wake me fifteen minutes before Elliot needs to be up, so I can prepare our coffee. He’ll skip his workout again tomorrow, meaning he can sleep a little later. He’s sound asleep literally seconds after his head hits the pillow.

  Thank goodness.

  Tonight, hopefully, won’t be a nightmare kind of night.

  Apparently, it’s not, because once I settle in with him draped around me, I don’t know anything else until my alarm goes off the next morning. We’re still snuggled together, although in sleep I rolled onto my side and he followed, tightly spooning around me.

  I hit the ground running and gently get him up and moving. Before we head downstairs to the detail, he grabs my hand and looks me in the eyes. Glasses again today, because I don’t want him fucking around with contacts when he’s obviously trying to find his emotional footing in this new thing between us.

  Besides, the glasses make him look hotter.

  “Thank you, Sir. For everything.” He sounds nearly choked up.

  I pause and pull him in for a long, strong hug, making sure I rub his scalp as I do. “Anything for my boy.” I kiss him, lingering, loving how he’s smiling when I finally release him.

  Elliot is as skilled at pulling a mask in place as I am. The difference is I’m far better at holding on to mine for long periods of time. By the time we hit the front door, Vice President Woodley is firmly in place, and my boy is safely tucked away until tonight.

  At least my public mask is similar to Elliot’s Sir. There’s not a drastic difference in the two, the way there is between Elliot’s VP and boy masks.

  The breakfast and library events go flawlessly, from my point of view, and then we’re back in the car and speeding off again.

  “Campaign meeting?” I mean, that’s what’s on my copy of today’s schedule.

  Elliot sits slumped in the far corner and rubs his forehead. “Campaign meeting. Working on firming up the last details before I announce Sunday. We’re meeting at a temporary office site.”

  I don’t make him keep talking because I can tell how stressed and worn out he is. He looks haggard and drawn, and I know once I have him alone tonight, I’ll need to get him naked and on his knees for a little while. Unfortunately, I can’t wrestle with him and pin him like Leo can. I don’t have the skill, training, or muscle mass to do that.

  All I can do is creatively apply the things I’ve learned from Leo over the years and hope it’ll be enough for Elliot.

  He pulls himself together. His vice president mask is once again firmly intact when we arrive in an underground garage. I step into the elevator with Elliot and the Secret Service detail, because Elliot’s already told them that I stay with him wherever he goes.

  My hand brushes against his as we ride up to the ninth floor, and I feel him wiggle his fingers against mine.

  Then the doors open, and we’re on the move down hallways and into what feels like an empty office suite. Three men I don’t recognize greet Elliot as we enter.

  I step to the side, waiting to follow Elliot, while Secret Service fans out and takes up their positions.

  Then Elliot’s being introduced to more men and women who emerge from a hallway, about ten in all, and they lead him back to a conference room as I tag along behind. When I start to walk in, the guy in the rear, an older man maybe in his early sixties, holds his hand up, smiling.

  “Sorry, kid. Campaign staff only.”

  Before I can react, he closes the door in my face.

  I’m still trying to process that snub, and deciding how to respond, when I hear Elliot’s angry voice roar on the other side of the door.

  “What the fuck, Tom?”

  “Sir?”

  “You did not just shut that door in Jordan’s face! What the hell is wrong with you?”

  The Secret Service agent standing closest to me turns to the door, looking slightly alarmed, like he’s about to investigate, when it opens again.

  There stands Elliot.

  “Man, I’m sorry, Jordan.” He holds out his arm, indicating for me to come in, and drapes it around my shoulders after shutting the door behind me.

  I make no move to step away from his side, either, because this is huge, for him.

  Of course the first PDA he ever engages in with me happens like…this.

  Elliot glares at the assembled group. “All right, let’s get this clear right now. You already know who Leo Cruz is, but Jordan Walsh is my permanent body man. Don’t you ever shut him out of a room, or a meeting, or a phone call, unless I ask him to step out. He has door-knock privileges and can come and go from any meeting, unless I’ve asked him not to. Understand?”

  Everyone nods, but I don’t think they really do understand.

  I’ve never heard Elliot sound so…angry.

  I suspect this is a glimpse of the man who commanded troops in the desert before part of his leg was blown off.

  And he’s not finished. “Jordan’s with me twenty-four/seven. I brought him up from Tallahassee, and he’s living with me in the residence now. He used to work in the East
Wing for Christopher Bruunt. He’s not your fricking coffee boy, either. He works for me, he answers only to me, and I will fire every one of you before I’ll let him go. Everything I told you applies to Leo Cruz? Apply it to Jordan, too, and then double it.”

  Now I’m really wondering what he told them. I mentally note that for future discussion.

  He’s still not finished. “If Jordan tells you to do something—especially if he tells you I asked him to tell you—you’d damn well better do it. Understand?”

  His arm remains draped around my shoulders. Frankly, I’m starting to get hard. There’s a steel spine in Elliot’s tone that effortlessly plucks up the edge of my mental pavement and burrows deep inside my soul.

  Not very Sir-ish of me, I know, but I’m a thirsty bitch and I’d be lying if I denied it. Fortunately, I have Elliot’s messenger bag with his Duck supplies hanging in front of me, so it hides my growing chub.

  “Jordan’s had campaign experience—he was inside President Samuel’s re-election campaign. I think at least two of you have never worked a POTUS campaign before, am I right?”

  Three of them nod.

  Elliot’s not finished. “He’s also had experience with planning real-time strategy. More than some of you in here have had. He’s spent plenty of time with Kevin Markos—who happens to be a friend of his—and others, and learned his way around how to interpret polls, craft messages, and design and write speeches. In fact, every speech you write for me goes through him before I set eyes on it, and if he tells you to change something, it gets changed. Deal with that now, because if you can’t? Then this campaign is not the place for you.”

  There are more head nods and apologies as Elliot surveys everyone who’s gathered. Tom looks like he wants to crawl under the carpet, he’s so mortified.

  Elliot smiles down at me and squeezes my shoulder before he releases me. “Thank you for being here, Jordan. I really appreciate you doing this for me. I can’t do this without you.”

  I’m nearly speechless but quickly find my voice. “I’m happy to be here, Mister Vice President. It’s an honor and a privilege to work for you.”

  That’s not a lie, either. It really is. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that.

  “And he doesn’t work for the campaign,” Elliot tells them. “He works for me, for the office of VPOTUS. But because he has control of my schedule, and organizes everything for me, that’s why everything goes through him for final approval. That way, it’s not a conflict, he can be your point of contact with my office, and it’ll save everyone scheduling headaches. That’s another reason why he’s not your coffee boy, and why he receives deferential treatment. Oh, and I want him to have a campaign phone, laptop, and tablet, so we don’t have any conflicts.”

  Great, just what I wanted. One more set of fricking electronics and passwords to keep track of.

  Except Elliot’s absolutely right, and he’s always been cautious. Which is why no one’s ever been able to trip him up with petty bullshit.

  He introduces everyone to me before making one of them give up the chair closest to where he’s going to sit at the head of the table, forcing them to bring another chair in.

  Yep—I absolutely belong here.

  As we get down to business and I start taking notes on a legal pad, so I don’t have any record on my government cell phone, I also realize there’s no place I’d rather be than right here.

  Elliot needs me and wants me here.

  Like hell will I let him down.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Once we’ve returned to Elliot’s residence and are locked in for the evening, I wait until we’re upstairs to strip Elliot—leaving Duck on—and put him on the floor at my feet while I sit on the bench at the end of his bed.

  All I do is massage the back of his head while he kneels there, his head in my lap, and breathes. I don’t speak, don’t break the silence.

  I need him to choose to let go to me. At some point, it will have to become an automatic habit for him in the same way it is for him with Leo. Especially since I can’t “force” him the way Leo can.

  After ten minutes, finally, I see the tension start to ease in his shoulders. His breathing begins to grow slow and deepens. Another five minutes, and he’s leaning against me, into me, finally relaxing.

  “Good boy,” I whisper.

  He positively melts against me, his arms encircling me.

  There we go.

  I nudge his right thigh with my foot. “Take off my shoes, please, boy.”

  Another set of routines we’ll start building together. One step at a time.

  He removes my shoes and sets them aside, then my socks.

  I wiggle my toes at him. “Foot rub.”

  He starts with my left. His touch is gentle and hesitant, at first. After a few minutes, he grows more sure of himself and his thumbs begin to firmly knead in all the right places. Hell, he could almost put me to sleep with this, it feels so good.

  It’s also making me fricking hard, but sex can wait until later. I have every confidence we can give each other orgasms. We seem to have that part worked out.

  What we need is confidence in each other’s intimacy.

  After about fifteen minutes of that, he’s rubbed both my feet and my cock aches to slide inside him.

  Another night, I can start things off in that way. We’ll have plenty of nights on the road, without a kitchen, with too many people around. On those nights, I can lock the door to our room and brutally fuck his face.

  Tonight, I want to give him what I know he must be missing even more than I have.

  “Good boy,” I tell him, and I rest my feet on his thighs. “Look at me.”

  He does. I want to see his eyes, and yeah, that subby glaze is there. Not super deep, but it’s a start.

  Excellent. That’s what I was hoping for.

  “We’ll take your robe downstairs for you, but I want you naked while I make dinner. I want you on the floor in the kitchen, waiting for me. I’ll move your walker downstairs for you, and you can take Duck off down there.” It’s easier for him to navigate the stairs while wearing Duck. “Dinner, shower, and snuggling while you start working through that first binder of material. Then Sir will reward you. Fair?”

  He smiles. “Very fair, Sir.”

  I stand and offer him my hands. I could move his walker for him now and let him use that, but I want him using me.

  He gets to his feet and, ten minutes later, I’m in shorts and a T-shirt, I’ve bumped up the thermostat just a little so it’s a comfortable temperature for Elliot…and my naked pet VP is sitting on a throw rug on the floor next to the stove.

  No Duck.

  While I cook dinner for us, sautéing chicken breasts and making an easy warm veggie pasta salad to go with it, I talk to him, offer him little tastes of food, and in general center him in my focus.

  Throughout the years, Elliot has deliberately isolated himself. Leo told me that, before Elliot was VP, they’d spend weekends together sometimes, and Leo would do this very thing to Elliot. Or if Elliot came over for an evening and Leo cooked for them, he always put Elliot on the kitchen floor.

  Forced to do nothing but be for a while.

  It might sound counter-intuitive, to make a submissive sit while the Dominant does things for them.

  Sometimes, doing things is the bad kind of escape valve, like in Elliot’s case.

  Because Elliot doesn’t know how to turn his brain off.

  Join the club.

  It’s like he thinks he has to force himself to remain in perpetual motion, physically or mentally.

  Not complaining that I can also reframe this to meet some of my own needs without sacrificing Elliot’s in the process.

  I’ve brought all our phones downstairs, except for my personal cell, which is still off. I make a mental note to get a little basket or something to keep them all corralled in one place. I damn near dropped them on the way downstairs.

  Yes, I have the burner.
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br />   No, Leo still hasn’t replied.

  Part of me’s tempted to turn my personal cell back on and text him, rip him a new one, and demand he respond to Elliot. That’s just cruel. He doesn’t know I’m here with Elliot. Sure, there have been plenty of times Leo couldn’t immediately respond to Elliot’s texts, but in the past, he’s always replied at some point.

  Washing up as I go, I’m down to only our place settings and the bowl I used for the veggie pasta salad. Easy clean-up.

  Once dinner’s plated, I help Elliot to his feet and send him out to the den with his walker.

  Guess I finally get to use that leather sectional sofa I picked out for him. One of the reasons I got it was because I knew the three of us could easily stretch out on it together, and the moveable hassock would make a fantastic spanking bench.

  We never really got to do any of the kind of cuddling I’d envisioned and Leo had hoped for.

  Maybe now we can.

  I bring our food out, making him wait until I’m settled in position. I know some of his cues with Leo are the same as ones Leo had for me, but we’re going to start from scratch.

  “When we’re together, you wait for my signal to eat. If I’m not with you, say the alphabet in your head, slowly, two times. Then mentally say, ‘Sir, thank you for letting me eat.’ Then you can start eating. But if I’m in the room with you, even if I have to stand on the other side of the room, look for me first for my signal. Understand?”

  His cock has cycled through being erect and softening all evening. Now, he’s hard again. The boy thrives on structure. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  “Depending on the circumstances, and how far away I am from you, it might be as subtle as a nod of my head. Or, it might be something like this.” I’m sitting on Elliot’s left. With my right index and middle fingers together, as I’m reaching for my spoon, I sweep those two fingers toward him, just a little.

  He watches me and nods.

  I hold my hand out to him, indicating his plate. “You may eat, boy.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  An unexpected emotional gut punch smacks me in the feels, making my eyes prickle with tears I quickly blink away.