Innocent (Inequitable Trilogy Book 2)

by Lesli Richardson

  And so we tear off another calendar page and slide into October, with Elliot maintaining a comfortable lead that makes him want to work doubly hard to hold on to it.

  Elliot slaughters Boone in their debates, to the point the GOP is now devouring their own young over how poorly their chosen candidate is performing. The chair and co-chair of the RNC were fired after the second debate, and it looks like the newly named chair is already under fire for some sort of fuckery. It’s all bad omens for down-ballot races that should otherwise be no-sweat walkaways for GOP incumbents in heavily red voting districts.

  Because every round of polling shows more undecideds and even GOP voters swinging toward Elliot. Especially younger voters who came of voting age under a Democratic president who ushered in a strong economy, job growth, and favorable agricultural and industrial treaties that helped level the playing field and staunch the trade deficit bleeding for American farmers and businesses. Many of those voters now have small children they want to have better educations, and they like Elliot’s strong education reform focus.

  Not that President Samuels hasn’t made inroads in those areas, because she has. But there’s always room for improvement.

  Doesn’t hurt that Elliot polls stratospherically high among young mothers.

  I mean, duh. The guy’s haawwwt.

  Many older GOP candidates are unfortunately choosing to scream into the void over traditional platform planks, their older, entrenched reliable base sticking with them on general principles, but those numbers are gradually eroding, too. When candidates cling to a more radically conservative platform, the less able they are to convert new voters to their ticket.

  Any GOP candidate who dares break from old-guard party lines and tries to move to the center to better meet the obvious desires of their constituents gets eviscerated by others in their own party and the conservative news channels. Political pundits are gleefully predicting another Democratic “blue wave” that has commentators on FNB, Fox News, and elsewhere gnashing their teeth in fury over unforced errors.

  Yes, I know. Damned if they do, damned if they don’t. GOP candidates who want to be centrists are increasingly choosing to switch from R to I during their terms for a good reason. Ten House reps and a senator in the past two years alone, not to mention all the down-ballot candidates who’ve done the same. They use GOP money to initially get elected, then they rely on existing supporters to hopefully hang on to their jobs after they leave the GOP.

  Meanwhile…we continue on course.

  I am hyper-aware now of who I permit to spend time within Elliot’s inner circle, and I’m working closely with Casey to keep access to him tightly restricted. So far, I haven’t picked up any hint of other threats from Grace’s “friends,” but maybe eliminating Grace the way I did put a scare into them and took them so aback that they haven’t been able to formulate another plan because they’re now paranoid as fuck about what loose ends Grace might have left dangling in the wind.

  Also likely they’ve struggled to find dirt they can dredge up on Elliot.

  Because there isn’t any.

  Elliot’s two biggest secrets work with him in the White House. Nothing to see here.

  Not a damn thing.

  As we mark off days, I tightly focus so there is nothing but my immediate job, my campaign-related tasks, and taking care of Elliot’s needs. This helps keep me from freaking out over the looming election.

  We both desperately miss Leo’s presence in our bed. Even if we don’t get to spend at least a few minutes with him at work, we talk to him on the phone every day, and usually at night after we’re in bed. We haven’t missed a single day of that in over a month.

  As Elliot and I hold each other and fall asleep Election Day Eve, we’re both desperately missing Leo, feeling more like two lost puppies than a Sir and his boy. Tomorrow, after our return to DC from Nebraska, where Elliot will vote, Leo will join us at the hotel where we’ll watch election returns, and where the party will be held in the ballroom once the results are announced.

  I resist the urge to call my parents and tell them they can fuck themselves.

  Maybe I’ll send them a Christmas present of White House memorabilia and a picture of me in the Oval Office with President Samuels and Elliot.

  They damn sure won’t ever be setting foot in the place.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  November — Election Day

  Well, here we are.

  Election Day.

  The morning dawns cold and clear in DC. There shouldn’t be too many weather issues to impact polling, although it looks like rain in much of the Northeast.

  A win today is far from guaranteed, even if it looks relatively certain. I voted absentee because I knew we’d be up and moving too early for me to make it to the polls, because Elliot has to fly to Nebraska and vote. Ciro and his wife will vote in California as soon as the polls open, and then fly to DC to await the results here with Elliot.

  Before we leave our bedroom that morning, I stand there, holding Elliot’s hands in mine. “I’m not walking away, no matter what happens today. Win or lose. Understand?”

  He smiles, but it hurts my heart how exhausted he looks. “Yes, Sir.”

  “When you look at me, this means I’m thinking about you.” I reach up and touch my daith piercing. This is something we’ve been doing, but I like to remind him of it. It helps ground and center him.

  He pulls me in and kisses me, then reaches up and touches his own daith. “I love you. Thank you for coming back.”

  “I love you, too. Thank you for coming after me. Now, let’s go win you an election.”

  The morning passes in a blur while we’re on Air Force Two, both going to Nebraska and during our return. I keep myself to the fringes of whatever group of people surrounds Elliot at any given time, usually campaign advisors or press. I’m always in his field of vision, and countless times I reach up and touch my daith, and he responds, usually with the flash of a smile I know is just for me.

  The day is so busy, and Elliot is perpetually surrounded by so many members of the media, that I’m ashamed to admit I barely have time to think about Leo. It’s not until we’re safely ensconced in the private suite at the hotel that I can get Elliot alone for a minute, locked in the bedroom.

  I grab his head and kiss him. For a moment, the world blissfully…stops.

  “Did I fuck up doing this?” he hoarsely asks. He’s barely hanging on now.

  “No, buddy. You’re amazing, and I love you. You’re going to be a fantastic president. I promise Leo and I won’t let you fail. Ever.”

  He nods, takes a deep breath, and then we rejoin everyone in the suite.

  It goes to show I was right to take Grace out. Elliot has flashes of internal strength, like his confession about bringing me back.

  Fear, however, still floods his mental basement, periodically rising to dangerous levels within him, like it is now. His public persona might not reveal that, but Leo and I can clearly see it.

  Leo joins us around five o’clock. Casey and I cover for him and Elliot while they step inside the suite’s bedroom and close the door.

  A surge of jealousy rolls through me, but I swallow it back.

  Because I’m no longer sure, exactly, where that jealousy comes from. I don’t know if it’s because I want Leo to myself, I want Elliot to myself, or I want both of them and I’m irate that I don’t get to be in the middle.

  Elliot’s not the only territorial pet in this triad, I suppose.

  They emerge fifteen minutes later, Leo with his hand cupping the nape of Elliot’s neck, and Elliot’s lips looking a little puffy.

  Leo also looks like he just shot his wad. I’d know that satisfied smirk anywhere. I should—I’ve been the cause of it countless times over the last eight years.

  I can almost taste it in my own mouth, his salty tang. If I walked up to Elliot right now and kissed him, I’m sure I’d taste it on him.

  Unfortunately, doing that would also s
candalize nearly everyone else in the suite, and we can’t do that.

  Elliot glances at Leo. They exchange a knowing smile, Elliot’s gaze almost bashfully dropping before Leo releases him and walks away to speak with someone. Elliot’s gaze meets mine and he freezes before slowly, deliberately reaching up and stroking his daith.

  A shiver ripples through me, because the gaze he’s giving me isn’t my boy, or Leo’s pet who’s now digesting a bellyful of our Dom’s cum.

  It’s the fierce gaze of our future president, and a man who knows damned well that all he has to do is glance at the floor and I’d gladly drop to my knees for him right now.

  Hell, what’s that, when I’ve already killed for him?

  Would Elliot be disgusted if he ever learned I did that? Would Leo?

  Since I’m never telling either of them, I guess it’s moot.

  Elliot’s still touching his daith and I know what he’s waiting for.

  I reach up and touch mine, dipping my head the way my boy usually defers to me.

  And still, my cock throbs in my slacks.

  The sexy, borderline evil smile that curls Elliot’s lips as he finally drops his hand and nods to me has my cock so painfully hard it’s all I can do not to reach down and adjust myself.

  Then the handsome sonofabitch slowly strolls over to me. Practically saunters. Whatever Leo did or said to him behind closed doors is irrelevant—this man is now recharged and ready to take on the entire world.

  Fuck, is he gorgeous.

  When he stops in front of me, he stands with his hands in his pockets, feet shoulder-width apart, just like he did that night on Air Force Two. He smiles down at me.

  Yep. Suit fetish still intact—check.

  “How am I doing, Sir?” he asks in a voice too low for anyone to overhear.

  “Looking good, Mister Vice President.”

  His lower lip catches under his teeth and he sucks in a sharp breath.

  Then, smiling, he tips his head to me, back to my boy, even if only Leo and I can see that side of him here.

  Ooooh, yeah. There will likely be a lot of fucking tonight, once we make it back to the residence. The plan is for Leo to ride home with us. At this point, I don’t even care what permutation the fucking occurs in. It’s been close to two weeks for me and the boy, because we’ve been running practically nonstop.

  Now that I think of it, unless Leo’s been jerking off, it’s been weeks beyond that since he was last with either of us.

  The hours tick past. Then the polls close on the East Coast and anticipation swells. Elliot’s giving another interview when I hear Leo’s voice whisper in my left ear.

  “Look at him, standing there. Tonight he’ll be on his knees again, swallowing your cock. Maybe I’ll stand there and fuck you while he does it.” I have to force myself to breathe so that powerful image doesn’t knock me off my feet.

  Goddammit, my cock’s hard again.

  I reach up to my ear and touch the daith. Elliot chooses that moment to glance our way, and when he sees me touching my daith, he reaches up and touches his ear without missing a beat in what he’s saying to the reporter, but I know what he’s doing.

  Call and response.

  Leo softly chuckles. “Who owns who now? That is the question, isn’t it?”

  I can’t take my eyes off Elliot. “Yes, Sir.”

  “He’s addictive, isn’t he? Like an intoxicating drug you can’t get enough of.”

  My throat goes dry, so I simply nod, because he’s absolutely right.

  “Never forget he’s a slave at his core. Give him the freedom to be who he needs to be when he needs it, and he will always return to his knees for you when his emotional tank hits empty.” His hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing hard for a moment before releasing.

  Like that, he’s off to go talk to someone else, and here I am, mesmerized by the sight of Elliot talking about trade with China and India.

  I can’t get enough of him.

  These last few weeks have sucked without Leo in our bed, but it’s cemented something new between me and Elliot. There are an increasing number of times we’ve naturally downshifted out of Sir and boy mode without any discussion or agreement about it first. Our dynamic seamlessly flows into what I’m starting to think of as “executive equals” mode, with Elliot always slightly to the Top of things. And then when the orgasms are over and we’re catching our breath, my sweet, gentle boy is back, refreshed, snuggling with me, as if not a thing had changed. Or even without orgasms involved. Sometimes, it’s just Elliot sitting on the bed and me kneeling in front of him with my head on his knees and his hand massaging my scalp.

  As if he, too, can sense when my tank is on fumes and needs refilling.

  And all since Elliot’s admission to me, and us formalizing it with the piercings.

  I guess we’ve co-collared each other.

  Now if I could just convince Elliot to release his fear and propose to Leo, life could be perfect.

  * * * *

  By seven thirty, four states in the Northeast have already been presumptively called in Elliot’s favor. We’re reasonably sure we’ll carry Florida, Pennsylvania, and Michigan, too. Ohio’s exit polls put it at too close to call, as are Indiana, Minnesota, Illinois, and South Carolina.

  As the evening clicks on and more states are called, with Elliot already looking safely ahead in the results, I start to see interesting exit polling numbers arriving from Texas.

  Interesting meaning even in traditionally red districts, and ones electing GOP candidates in down-ballot races, they are trending toward Elliot.

  Texas gets called in Elliot’s favor a little after ten p.m. and everyone in the suite explodes in cheers.

  We’ve been down to the ballroom a few times with Ciro and his wife to address the crowd, where the attendees roil with excited energy.

  Leo accompanies us and hangs back with me in the wings to watch and listen.

  He leans in to whisper into my right ear. “If you thought the matchmaking attempts were crazy before, just wait until tomorrow. You’ll probably have a dozen or more requests from people for inaugural ball dances with him.”

  My deep growl bubbles free, surprising me and making Leo chuckle. Several times, even though Elliot’s focused on the crowd and not looking back at us, he reaches up to his left ear.

  Even though he can’t see me, I reach up in response.

  Call and answer.

  Out of sight, but still on his mind.

  And…now knowing what I know, and that Leo doesn’t, it sort of sums the bulk of my relationship with Elliot. All the times we weren’t together—which, back then, was hardly ever—I was still on Elliot’s mind.

  I blink back the sudden prickle of tears. All the time Elliot spent alone because he was worried about me and wanted me and Leo to have each other.

  Talk about selfless.

  Leo drapes his left arm around my shoulders. “I’m so proud of both of you.” His fingers gently dig into my shoulder through my blazer. “I know this has been hard on you and on him, but I don’t have the words to express how much I love both of you right now. I know the next eight years will be rough, but I can deal with it as long as I know the two of you have each other to lean on when I can’t be with you.”

  I close my eyes for a moment, struggling not to break down sobbing.

  I don’t want to spend another eight years without Leo between us. I know Elliot doesn’t, either. Despite this new thing between the two of us, Leo is our foundation, and we both know it. Elliot can only help me out so much before it drains him in bad ways.

  Only when I know I won’t cry do I open my eyes. Elliot’s speaking, reaching up to his ear again.

  I start to reach up to mine when I feel Leo gently flick the daith in my ear with his right hand.

  When I look, though, he’s not smiling.

  “I’m not leaving you, baby boy,” he whispers. “Ever. I won’t leave either of you. I will always be here when you need me, until w
e can finally be together permanently. Even when you can’t see me, I’m there.” He gently flicks my daith again.

  Emotion chokes my throat so tightly that all I can do is nod.

  He squeezes my shoulder one more time before releasing me and drifting back to speak to one of the detail.

  * * * *

  Stella arrives at the hotel at ten p.m. and I’m shocked that she hasn’t tried to sneak a plus-one into the festivities. I think the fact that Elliot issued standing orders to Secret Service to not allow her to bring anyone unless they were cleared a minimum of two weeks in advance helped chill her out. The last two people she tried to get clearance for were denied nearly instantaneously. One wasn’t a citizen, and the other was under federal investigation for failure to register as a foreign agent.

  She’s going to be a pain in my ass, but at least now I’ll have Leo’s invisible help to buffer Elliot. Although, to be fair, since Grace’s death, Stella’s been more subdued. Maybe Grace was the main instigator more than I realized.

  Elliot’s parents aren’t here tonight. Elliot offered to fly them in when he stopped by to vote this morning—and got to say hi and hug them, because the detail drove them in to the polling center—but his mom hurt her ankle a few weeks ago and has trouble walking. His father didn’t want to leave her alone, understandably.

  To their credit, they did an interview with a local affiliate station earlier this evening, where they said how proud they were of him.

  Well, his mom did. At least his dad didn’t speak much, simply nodding along with her. People who aren’t intimately acquainted with them will likely assume they’re happy for Elliot.

  By eleven o’clock, even before results are officially posted in California, MSNBC, CNN, and even FNB are all calling the election for Elliot. Fox News holds out until eleven thirty to admit it, but that’s only because Boone finally called Elliot at 11:21 and conceded.