Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  Although I did try to warn Leo that Elliot was going to run for POTUS. Months and months ago, before I left. If Leo chose to not believe that obvious truth, that’s on him.

  After I finish and wash my hands, I remove my glasses, set them aside, and splash a little water on my face. I cannot believe I’m…here.

  In Elliot’s childhood home.

  Leo’s the psychologist, not me. That leaves me ill-qualified to form any kind of firm conclusion about the true whys of me being brought here today. I really believe there’s more to it than Elliot’s explanation. Mostly because, as Leo loved to mutter, Elliot can never do things—personal things like this—the easy way.

  Elliot could have left me behind on Air Force Two, and I wouldn’t have minded. I even gave him that option back at Offutt.

  He brought me here for another reason, and damned if I know what it is.

  I definitely need to figure it out, though.

  He’s waiting for me outside the door when I emerge, where he steals another kiss and squeezes my hand before we head downstairs.

  We find his mom in the kitchen. “Have you told Stella you have a roommate now?” she asks without preamble.

  Elliot snorts. “Nope.”

  She starts pulling sandwich fixings from the fridge. “She’ll be mad and will demand you fix up one of those extra rooms for her.”

  “She can be as mad as she likes, Mom. Not letting her live with me. I have no trouble telling her why, either.”

  Elliot points me to the small table. After I give him a subtle cue, we both sit, me waiting until he sits to take my seat. One of the things we’re working on together is developing more nonverbal cues for activities like standing and eating, all of that. Public protocol dictates I wait for him to sit, but our personal protocol dictates he waits for my signal.

  “She’s heavily involved with lobbyists, Mom,” he continues. “I can’t have her staying overnight with me, much less living with me. It’s a scandal waiting to happen. Plus, I don’t want to kill her. We barely survived childhood in the same house. I damn sure won’t live with her as an adult.”

  “She says she offered to let you stay with her when you were still a congressman.” From the way she glances at Elliot, I can tell she’s gauging the waters.

  Elliot makes a disgusted sound. “No, she didn’t, Mom. She invited me over a few times, trying to guilt-trip me into staying weekends with her to meet ‘friends’ of hers. Not falling for that one, either. She thinks she can pimp me out—”

  “Watch your language, Elliot.”

  “Well, she does, Mom. Including not caring that some of her little schemes are illegal, if I play along, because they violate either campaign finance laws, or ethics rules I’m required to follow. I took an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States. There’s a reason why I haven’t been caught up in stupid ethics issues, and that’s because I’m careful not to violate any of them, or give the appearance of violating them.”

  Technically that’s true, except for his relationships with me and Leo. But even that’s not the same as trying to get a kickback for helping award a government contract or something.

  “Then there’s the added expense of her living there,” I add.

  “Exactly.” Elliot turns to his mom. “I’m not spending my money to renovate and heat those rooms. I have to pay expenses for living there. Contrary to popular belief, they don’t give it to me for free. I’m not rich, Mom. Jordan pays his fair share of rent, but he can’t afford to keep an apartment in DC on his government salary, and I can’t afford for him to be stuck with a three-hour one-way commute to a neighborhood he can afford. Stella has a place of her own in DC and can easily afford it. She’s got a place in Indianapolis, too. She doesn’t need to mooch off me.”

  From the way his mother slowly nods, I can tell she agrees with all of that but maybe still feels a little motherly obligation to bring it up. “All right, then. You kids are adults. I’ll let you two hash it out.”

  “There’s nothing to hash out, Mom. She’s not staying with me. Period. I’m not even having her over to the house to visit, unless it’s a family dinner where you and Dad are there, too. Otherwise, I’ll meet her somewhere public, with Jordan and other staffers as witnesses.”

  She turns, frowning. “Is that really necessary? She’s your little sister.”

  Damn right it is.

  No, I don’t say that out loud.

  “Mom, you know how pushy she is. You give her an inch and she’ll move in, talk her way onto the deed, and then try to sell it out from under you.”

  My eyebrows go up at that, but Norah laughs and shakes her head. “She is strong-willed. I suppose you’re right. Still not handling it for you.”

  “Not asking you to. I can handle her. I have no trouble telling her no about this.”

  Even I hear the caveat. He is right—he can stand by the law and ethics rules without any trouble.

  Standing up to Stella for personal things, however, is a different matter entirely.

  “What happened to that man who helped you out sometimes?” she asks. “That other friend of yours? Stella really hates him. I remember her ranting about him a few months back, when she was trying to get you on the phone. She called me asking to call you for her, and I told her no.”

  My stomach tightens as I realize who she means, although I’m not sure what incident she’s referring to. From the way Elliot’s gaze widens as it locks on mine for a brief moment, I know it’s a story I’ll need to hear.

  “Leo Cruz,” he says. “He’s a good friend of mine, and he’s President Samuels’ body man. And Stella was fricking rude to him. She deserved to get her ass handed to her.”

  “Body man? What is that?”

  “Personal assistant. What Jordan is to me. Until President Samuels is out of office, I can’t ask Leo to work for me full-time because she needs him. When Leo’s schedule is open, he can help me out sometimes, but I need my own dedicated body man.” His gaze drops, then returns to mine, holding steady on the last half of that sentence.

  I wrinkle my nose at him, earning me a playful smile that hardens my cock.

  Norah Woodley smiles. “Have I told you how proud I am of you?”

  He blushes. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Your father’s proud, too. He might not say it in so many words, but he is.”

  This is one of the things Leo clued me in about. Elliot’s spent his entire life chasing his father’s approval and respect. Maybe Elliot’s finally close to receiving it?

  If Elliot receives that approval before he tells them he’s running, maybe he can retire from public life at the end of this term, and Leo can finally have his dream come true.

  I mean, maybe pigs can fly, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m opening a porcine aviation school anytime soon.

  When I hear the back door open, I’m looking at Elliot and see him tense. He ducks his head a little and his shoulders droop, like he’s emotionally hunkering down.

  Makes me want to pull him into my arms and hold him, soothe him.

  My poor boy.

  Elliot and I are both standing by the time his father appears in the kitchen doorway. I would have expected a smile, or…something. Instead, Oliver Woodley pauses when he sees Elliot, nods, and steps into the kitchen. “Elliot.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “So, what’s the good news, Norah?” he asks as he walks over to the sink to wash his hands.

  Motherfucker. I hope my jaw isn’t gaping.

  I see a quickly schooled flash of disappointment fill Elliot’s face.

  My poor boy.

  She turns and swats at him with a dishcloth. “Elliot’s the good news, silly.”

  “I saw all the cars and the suits. I suspected he was here. Don’t know why.”

  I’m watching Elliot but trying not to engage with him because I know how nervous he’s feeling. His focus needs to be keeping himself calm, not worrying about my presence.

  “He and h
is friend are going to eat lunch with us,” she says.

  His father glances at me over his shoulder. “I think I know you, don’t I?”

  “Yes, sir. My name’s Jordan Walsh. We’ve met before.”

  “He’s that nice young man who decorated Elliot’s house.”

  When Oliver Woodley turns from the sink after drying his hands, he offers to shake with Elliot even as Elliot’s trying to go in for a hug.

  Elliot ends up shaking hands with him, then the man shakes with me.

  “Why’d you stop by today, son?”

  I watch, my heart breaking more than a little, as Elliot ends up sliding his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “I was at Offutt this morning. I presided over an award ceremony. I wanted to stop by while I was here, since I was in the neighborhood.”

  “No press or anything, huh? People snappin’ our pictures?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t want the press here today. No press, no staff. Just Jordan, because I wanted you to meet him and get to know him. There might be times he has to talk to you for me. He’s also my best friend.”

  I ignore the pleasant roll my guts take at that acknowledgement, even though Elliot and I are the only ones who know the truth.

  His father plants his hands on his hips and nods at me. “Good thing you left the press behind. I hate having those suits here, anyway. Still don’t know why we need them. They want to drive us everywhere, or follow us when we go somewhere. Don’t need them. Waste of my taxpayer dollars.”

  Elliot tenses. “Dad, the Secret Service wants someone here.”

  There’s the wind-up…

  “Why? Someone comes around I don’t want here, I can run ’em off just fine.”

  I silently try to will strength from my body, through the air, and into Elliot.

  “Dad, they need to be here.”

  And here comes the pitch.

  His father’s gaze narrows. “Why? What haven’t you told us?”

  “They needed to be here even before this…but also because I’m announcing Sunday morning that I’m running for President.”

  Wow. Oliver is a cold-hearted bastard. He really is. He seems to mull that info for a moment before slowly nodding. “About time. You’ve been talking about it for enough years.”

  Motherfucker.

  I sense it’s going to be a rough return to DC and an even rougher night, once I get Elliot alone in the residence. My boy’s gutted.

  Norah goes in for another hug, though. “Like I said, honey, we’re very proud of you, and we love you. We’ll vote for you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “So, what’s for lunch?” Oliver asks his wife as he sits down at the table.

  I end up sitting next to Elliot. Under the table, I slide my foot next to his, feeling it when Elliot slides his over to meet me there.

  That he’s seeking comfort from me now tells me he’s already frayed and unraveling.

  I’ll do my best to keep him stitched together while we’re here.

  Dammit, Leo. Why didn’t you talk him out of this insanity years ago?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  After lunch, we follow Elliot’s father out to the field, where he’s still working on the irrigation system.

  Elliot walks next to him, talking, while I trail along behind with the detail.

  I can see from the way Elliot’s shoulders have sagged ever since lunch that his father’s reaction isn’t what Elliot was hoping for.

  Whether it’s because he was looking for approval, or hoping for his parents to ask him not to run, I won’t know until after I can debrief him once we’re alone.

  Out in the field, his father is replacing a section of buried pipe on a subsurface drip irrigation system pump. The security detail and I stop about fifteen feet away while Elliot steps in, grabs the shovel, and starts digging up the section of pipe for his father while they talk.

  I…

  I want to laugh, because Elliot’s Secret Service codename is Plumber. Leo picked it for him.

  Not because of laying this kind of pipe.

  Obviously.

  About an hour later, I’m holding Elliot’s hoodie for him, he’s helped his dad make the repairs, and I’m hornier than hell from watching Elliot at work.

  I mean, he’s got the sleeves of the Henley shoved up to his elbows and he looks haawwwt.

  I do not want to share this man with the rest of the fucking world.

  Hell, at this rate, I don’t even want to share him with Leo.

  I can tell you what some of the memes will be, because they’re bad enough already, and they don’t involve pictures of him in jeans that make his gorgeous ass look even better, and a form-fitting Henley I want to rip off him so I can lick his abs.

  I get jealous enough as it is over the one circulating of him from when he was in the military, stationed in the Middle East, with the beard and sunglasses and everything. I want to tell all the women drooling over him to step back from my man.

  Annnd I can’t, of course.

  At least if he had a ring on his finger from Leo, I could take some small comfort in knowing those women would be disappointed.

  We end up staying for dinner. Norah Woodley lets me help and at least I can make biscuits from scratch without needing a recipe. I think it surprises her and hopefully endears me to her in some small way.

  By the way, I’m fucking your son. Nice ass on him. Plus, he can really suck a cock.

  No, I don’t say it. Geez. Give me a little credit, huh?

  If Leo was here, though, I guarantee you he’d be thinking the same thing, or chuckling with me over that thought.

  The sun is setting when Elliot hugs his parents good-bye, I shake with them, and we once again climb into the motorcade to return to Offutt.

  He hasn’t donned the hoodie, which makes for a great view for me, but I know he’s hurting.

  I reach across the seat and rest my hand on his thigh. He doesn’t look away from the window, but he lays his hand on top of mine and curls his fingers around it.

  One benefit of having my parents, I suppose, is I know where I stand with them. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not, because they’re going to hate me regardless.

  Sitting there, I debate my options and finally decide to push him a little. “The closet is making you miserable.”

  He nods. I realize I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know, but maybe he needs to hear me say it out loud.

  “You realize people vote for gay politicians all the time, don’t you?”

  He nods.

  “Okay.” I let it go. He’s not ready.

  He might never be ready.

  Meaning all I can do is try to mitigate the stress for him, the way Leo always did.

  I hope I’m up to the task.

  * * * *

  The flight back to DC is quiet. I strip Elliot mostly so I can check his leg and Duck and clean any dirt off him that might have worked its way in there. I’ll wait until we’re back at the residence to fully bathe us.

  I’ve quickly come to love that part of our routine. The morning wake-up showers, where we shave each other and can quietly ease him into his day, and evening showers, where I can sex him the hell up and have fun teasing him.

  We spend most of the flight snuggled together in the bunk, me dressed and him naked, so I can hold him.

  We’re less than forty-eight hours from Elliot declaring.

  He’s lying in my arms on the bunk when I ask it. “Why did you take me today, boy?”

  He needs a moment to ponder it. “I didn’t want to be alone.”

  “What else?”

  I wait him out. “What did you think of them? Of Dad’s reaction?”

  “I think you need to live your life making you happy, not trying to get some sort of reaction from them.”

  “But…was it just me?”

  I nuzzle his temple, pressing a kiss there. “No, boy. It wasn’t just you. You need to come to peace with the fact that
you might not ever earn whatever it is you think you need from him.”

  Even though he doesn’t reply, I can tell he’s mulling my words.

  Once we’re home, I know he’s going to need a distraction. I take my time bathing him, dropping him hard and deep into subspace with some well-timed and -placed bites that soon have him forgetting about everything else.

  My friend the silicone spatula makes another appearance when I put Elliot in his collar and cuffs and spread him over my lap on the bed for a spanking that leaves him squirming and crying and sweetly begging for more.

  Tonight, I lie back and let him straddle me and ride my cock while I slowly jack his. Between his exhaustion, the spanking, and an orgasm, he’ll sleep well tonight, that’s for sure.

  When he spills, it’s all over my abs and chest. Once I’ve finished, I make him lean in and lick up every drop he squirted all over me before I kiss him and we untangle so we can wash up.

  Elliot’s back in bed and falling asleep when I remember Leo.

  I check the burner. I haven’t had Elliot text him over the past twenty-four hours, and there is one from Leo, sent this afternoon.

  Miss you. Text me when you can. Safe trip, pet.

  Yeah, well, a few messages like that sent to me would’ve gone a long way to winning me back from Florida.

  Nice to know I didn’t rate a check-in.

  * * * *

  I spend early Saturday morning sipping coffee and scrolling through my e-mail on the campaign phone I now have. They’ve sent me the latest draft of Elliot’s speech for tomorrow morning. It’s good. Solid. They took several changes I sent them on the last round of edits and incorporated them.

  Why am I reading this now instead of waking Elliot? I will wake him up, but he doesn’t have to be up for nearly twenty minutes, and I want this fresh in my mind. We’re heading over to the campaign office after lunch, and I want to make notes to return to staff so they can have the new draft prepped by the time we arrive. I’ll need to drill Elliot on it tonight before we go to sleep.

  Maybe with him tied up and a vibrating prostate massager going to town inside him.