He looks up and catches the view of my erection before his gaze meets mine again.
I smile. “Go ahead.”
He sits up and I don’t press or rush as he swallows me. He doesn’t take me all the way to the root at first, and that’s okay. He’s eager, which is more important, in my book. I can teach him proper technique, but I have no desire to force someone who doesn’t want to be forced.
He takes maybe half of me into his mouth and then starts playing with the head with his tongue. I recognize he’s doing things to me that I did to him, using the same technique.
Clever boy.
My smile widens as I stroke his hair. “Such an eager boy you are,” I whisper. I can see his eyes glazing over again. I cradle his head in my hands and let him set the pace and depth. One day, I’d love to force him to take it, to enjoy watching him struggle and choke and make tears stream down his cheeks while he prays I let him take a breath soon.
Not tonight.
This weekend will be filled with fun, and fucking, and teaching Elliot all about the dark and dirty things I’m sure he’s imagined doing. Showing him things maybe he never even realized were possible.
Exploring.
Getting to know each other.
Monday morning, I want to be the smile on his face and the reason he can’t focus when he’s listening to aides or trying to pay attention during a committee meeting.
I want to be the reason he winces when he sits, and why his cock immediately wants to get hard at the same time.
I want him to want me, to want more with me, to think about a future with me.
I want him obsessed with me.
Okay, maybe that comes off sounding a little creepy, but I don’t mean it to be. I’m intense, yes. I’ll own every bit of that.
Elliot’s the first guy I’ve ever felt like this about. Nothing to do with his leg, and everything to do with how easy this feels with him.
I stare down into his blue eyes as my cock slowly disappears between his lips and I can imagine us doing this five years from now, ten, twenty, even. More.
For life.
My thumbs lightly rasp against the late-day stubble shadowing his cheeks and jaws. “You look perfect right there, pet,” I say. It hits me how right that term suits him. “Pet. Yes, I think you’re more a pet than a boy, aren’t you?”
He softly moans around my cock.
I rub the back of his head with my fingers. “Did I just push a magic button for you, pet?”
He whimpers and it’s all I can do not to explode in his sweet, warm mouth.
“Maybe I’ll lock a collar around my pet’s neck this weekend. Keep you naked and well-fucked. Hand-feed you.”
His eyes practically roll back in his head as he moans and goes deeper on my cock.
Fortunately, the psychologist in me is able to take the reins and help me hold back as I study him. I love this about playing with power exchange dynamics. I love finding which buttons to press, seeing what switches to flip.
In this moment, I completely own him.
The trick is to figure out how to keep him.
Elliot’s cock’s hard and dripping, so I use my foot to tease him and play with his balls, which starts him squirming and trying to rub his cock against the top of my foot. I love every reaction I’m drawing from him.
There’s not a toppy bone in his body right now. This is a well-known secret, though. A lot of guys—and gals—who are massively in-charge Alphas during the day turn out to be submissives in the bedroom. It’s how they shut off their brains and keep from going crazy. Especially elected officials and high-level appointed officials. A desperately needed mental vacation from their normally intense daily lives. Nothing wrong with that.
I, on the other hand, am a Dominant all the time. My mental vacation comes in the form of doing dirty and despicable things to a willing victim.
Willing being the key word.
I mean, I really enjoy a struggle snuggle but it has to be consented to in advance. Some domineering assholes claim to be “dominants” when they’re actually abusive.
That holds zero interest for me.
No, if I wanted mindless adoration with zero personal opinions, I’d get a dog.
Of course, I might be getting ahead of myself. By tomorrow morning, I might be hating Elliot—or he might hate me—and that would be the end of that.
Except this feels different.
Really different.
New-relationship energy and shiny-object syndrome notwithstanding, even the psychologist looks at this, nods, and tells me to go for it. All the brain chemicals currently stirred up aside…
Something about Elliot is different.
Not just his looks.
Not the fact that he’s a congressman.
There’s…a connection there.
I stare down into his blue eyes, my thumbs stroking his cheeks.
It feels like maybe I finally found the person I was meant to be with.
Which also means I might be on the road to getting my heart well and truly broken like never before, although I desperately hope not.
“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you this weekend, my sweet pet,” I murmur.
If a man can melt into a bathroom rug, Elliot does. That’s something else—that this soon I’m able to talk him into subspace. I’ve had good rapport with partners before, but this is well beyond that.
Dangerously so.
Because if I decide I don’t want this after all and he still does, that leaves me in a bit of a sitch.
Except sometimes I like riding that edge. Nothing in his body language so far has said “boiled bunny,” so I’m going to keep pressing the gas until I have to slow for a curve.
By the time I finally get him up off the floor fifteen minutes later, yes, he’s definitely deep in subspace again, and while he can’t quite deep-throat me, he made a damned good effort at trying with no persuasion needed on my part.
That bodes well.
He sits on the edge of the tub and easily turns around so he can put his leg inside and then kneel in the tub. I step into the tub with him and turn the water on, kneeling in front of him.
Some guys, when it comes to being a Dominant, they think if they do certain things, it automatically makes them less of a Dominant.
Like going down on someone, or bathing them. Like what I did earlier with Duck and Elliot’s socks and liner. Washing them, taking care of things. That it’s beneath them to do those kinds of things.
But that’s not true.
Far from it.
I believe if you’re accepting responsibility for someone you are required to care for them. You wouldn’t buy a dog and then just chain it out in the backyard and ignore it, would you? Not unless you’re a callous asshole shitheaded fuck-stick, you won’t.
No. You take care of your dog, you keep them in the house, love them, play with them, feed them, groom them, train them—everything.
Yes, I want my new pet to eventually serve me. Part of how he’ll serve me is as my kinky canvas for what I want to do to him.
In return, I will nourish his soul in ways like this. I’ll train him, and care for him.
After I arrange the shower curtain and the water’s warmed, I get the shower running. Kissing him keeps him needy and hard and definitely responding to me. Tomorrow, I’ll introduce him to cleaning out, because I’d be willing to bet he’s clueless.
I grab a washcloth and soap. As I kiss him, I start to bathe him. I’m also willing to bet he’s never experienced how erotically intimate this routine can be.
It’s a bonus I can let my fingers explore and slip across his skin, dip between his legs—which gets me a very needy moan indeed when I find his hole and play with it a little.
I like that reaction.
Hopefully, I can get myself fucked by the end of the weekend. That’s another thing I’ve heard some “dominants” say, that bottoming means you’re not a Top.
Fucking bullshit.
&nb
sp; Elliot’s got a gorgeous fucking cock I’d love to feel rubbing against my prostate. I’d love to tie him up and play with him and finish us both off by straddling him and riding him like a champion racehorse.
The evening’s still early, though. Hell, the weekend’s young.
Right now, I want to keep him in subspace, and I seem to be doing a pretty good job of that.
I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. I maintain that soft, gentle tone that so far has proven effective with him. “You never hide your body from me. You never feel ashamed, and you never feel self-conscious.” I gently shake him to emphasize my point. “Understand?”
Those blue eyes stare at me. “Yes, Sir.”
“Sometimes, I have pain issues. Sometimes, I’m not at my best. In winter, there are days I’m not sure I can make it out of bed. I ask for your understanding and compassion, and you be my pet and take care of me during those times. Just like I’m sure there are times you aren’t at your best, and I will take care of you during those times. Part of this thing is remembering we’re both human and making allowances for that. I don’t expect you to always be my pet, and I might have times I’m not your Master.”
Oh, shit.
I used the M-word.
But Elliot looks relieved. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”
His eyes are gorgeous, with flecks of midnight scattered through them. “In those times, we’ll make do as we can, we’ll snuggle, we’ll talk, and we’ll be there for each other. Never be afraid to tell me if you aren’t feeling well enough to do something, or if there is something you need from me, or if you just need to be Elliot instead of pet. I can’t take care of you without information, right?”
He nods a little. It’s all he can do, because of my firm grip on his chin.
“What we’re going to do this weekend isn’t porn—it’s real-life. Our lives. You always have permission to be messy and imperfect and a work in progress. Understand?”
He smiles. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
I lean in and kiss him, slowly, sweetly. “There will be times I beat your ass and make you call me an evil motherfucker, because that will amuse me. And there will be times I want to lie on the couch with you snuggled against me while we watch TV. Balance.”
“Balance.” He licks his lips. “I’d like that.”
“Honesty, communication, and an open mind. Don’t cheat on me. If you ever want to be poly, then talk about it with me first.” He looks confused. “Question, pet?”
“What’s that mean?”
Bless his heart.
“It means seeing other people. Dating others. Right now, I don’t want either of us to see other people until we figure out exactly what it is we have between us. No dating, no sex with anyone else.”
More relief in his expression. “Yes, Sir. I think it’s safe to say I won’t be dating anyone else.”
He says that now but, with his cherry popped, he might find more bravery than he imagines. “You cheat on me, we’re done. There’s no excuse for that when we’re adults who can talk. Just talk to me. Okay? I’ll do the same for you. Questions?”
“Later. Not right now, Sir.”
Dammit, that sounds so natural rolling off his tongue. I hand him the washcloth and soap. “Then why don’t you take care of me? That way, we can have some more fun.”
Chapter Eight
Now
Once I’m home, I ask the cab driver to wait for me and hand him a twenty in addition to the fare I’ve already paid. It takes me longer to climb the stairs up and down than it does to actually pack. I’ve done this so many times over the years, I can throw together a week’s worth of clothes and needed items in under five minutes.
Like I do this morning.
I pause though, before I zip my toiletries bag. After a moment’s consideration, I finally reach into the nightstand and grab condoms and lube and tuck them into the bag.
Don’t know if either of us will be in the mood to need them while we’re gone but I might as well prepare, just in case.
Pausing by the photo of me and Jordan hanging on my bedroom wall, I stare at it.
That night, I thought anything was possible. That everything was possible. I thought my dreams would eventually come true.
I thought there’d be a happily ever after for all three of us. Or, at the very least, for me and Jordan, if Elliot decided he couldn’t deal with reality.
Fuck was I wrong.
I kiss my finger and touch it to the glass, over Jordan’s face. “I miss you so damn much, boy,” I whisper.
Elliot needs you.
My sweet boy. I didn’t deserve him. Not really. He had so much love within him. He deserved to have someone devoted only to him, whose soul isn’t trapped in a perpetual tug-of-war with someone else. He didn’t deserve to spend the past six-plus years stuck with me.
I can’t stand here all day because I have my marching orders and a waiting cab.
The cabbie is still there when I make it downstairs. He’s scrolling through something on his phone.
I climb into the backseat with my bags and pull the door shut, and away we go again. I’m feeling my age, feeling my old injuries, feeling…old.
Elliot’s only four years younger than me but in some ways it’s like he’s ancient. I’ve never had to kill in the course of my duties, thank god. Never lost anyone I was responsible for protecting, either in the Secret Service or after it, working for a private company. My men who died in the plane crash…
I will always feel survivor’s guilt over their loss, especially Brad. Except I know I had no control over the circumstances of their deaths. I didn’t cause them.
Not directly.
The psychologist wages regular battles with my psyche on that front and usually comes up winning.
Mostly.
Elliot’s not only killed people but men in his charge died, and he feels his failure to react soon enough caused their deaths.
That is something I have never experienced and, if I’m lucky, never will. Although we came close with Kev’s shooting. Except I wasn’t there that day—I was out in California with Shae.
Jordan, at eighteen years younger than me…
I honestly don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I wasn’t trying to recapture my youth, because in some ways Jordan’s soul felt even older than Elliot’s.
The problem was and is crushing loneliness when it’s only me and Elliot. Here I have sat back for years, begging Elliot to simply reach out and ask me to do this thing with him.
And when he finally does reach out, I’m not there.
It’s a self-inflicted emotional wound.
Somehow, I still manage to beat Elliot to the White House, even after I’ve gone upstairs and stowed my bags in my office and said good morning to the kids as they’re on their way to school with Yasmine. I find out they already did Pecan duty and got him corralled in his pen in the residence. Shae’s ensconced downstairs in the SitRoom with NatSec for her morning PDB. I’m standing in the hallway outside Elliot’s office and chatting with his admin assistant when he arrives.
Glasses today, and it looks like he slept like shit. His tie’s a mess and his gaze darts away from me when I look right at him. He’s carrying his Morning Book under his arm and I know NatSec wants to give him his briefing, because they’ve popped up out of seemingly nowhere and are standing there, waiting to speak with him.
Time for me to take over. “Vice President Woodley,” I say, tipping my head to him.
He nods back in that special way that acknowledges me as his Master. “Leo, thank you.” He glances at his administrative assistant and the NatSec officials. “I need a few minutes alone with Leo first, please, to get up to speed. Hold everyone, and my calls.” I notice he says to “get up to speed”—not to get me up to speed.
“Yes, sir,” she says.
I immediately follow Elliot into his office, closing—and locking—the door behind me.
When he turns, I’ve already moved in, righ
t behind him and catching him off-guard. I fist the back of his hair and pull him in for a long, deep kiss as I take the Morning Book from him with my other hand and set it on his desk.
A soft moan floats free from him as I ease him back and down, into his chair, even as I still kiss him.
His arms grab me, holding, clutching, desperate.
My poor, sweet pet. Elliot is a fantastic lawmaker and a sucky-ass politician. He doesn’t have the cutthroat nature for it. Not really. Not at this level.
I gentle my kiss, nuzzling his nose with mine before pressing my forehead against his. “It’s all right, pet. I’m so sorry. I was an asshole.”
He blinks, his eyes going too bright. “I’m sorry, Master,” he hoarsely whispers. “I know since Jordan—”
“Shhh.” I can’t do this today—take care of him—and be gutted by memories. I can only focus on Elliot. That’s all I have the emotional strength to do right now, and I can barely do that.
Truth be told, I need the distraction.
“I’m here, and we’re not talking about him right now. That’s an order.”
He nods.
That he called me Master here, right now, with people waiting outside to talk to him, tells me he’s in horrible shape.
I change my grip in his hair to a gentle massage that makes his eyes drop closed.
“Good boy.” After a moment of that, I remove his glasses and set them on the desk, then untie his goddamned tie and fix it.
You’d think after the army, and after all his years of ROTC, and his years being a politician and wearing a suit, that he could at least tie a tie, but no. Before he appears in public, someone always fixes it for him. That someone should always be me, except I can’t always be there for him.
Once it’s knotted, I stand there holding him pressed against me, his arms around me, his face against my abs, my hands on his back, my fingers flexing and rubbing between his shoulder blades through his blazer and shirt.
Just…standing there.
Because we both need this. We need each other, and I’m lying to myself if I think I could ever walk away from him, no matter how much pain I’m in right now.
Because I love him.
Because he loves me, and, more importantly, because he needs me.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 7
