“True story,” I mutter. Even when technically it wasn’t Elliot running for POTUS, there were plenty of nights on the campaign trail, when Elliot and Shae were making appearances together, that I slept in Elliot’s room with him and had to calm and center him.
Elliot looks great in public. He’s got the handsome, winning smile, the personality, and the gold-mine of a backstory.
Or so people think.
The truth is, he’s a nervous wreck when he has to make public appearances. I’m honestly not sure how he managed to get himself elected to any office, much less the US House of Representatives, without giving himself twenty fricking ulcers in the process.
When it comes to the nuts and bolts of grokking the framework of lawmaking he’s amazing, brilliant, focused.
Put him out in front of people for a grip-and-grin, or a town hall?
Break out about a gallon of antacid.
He claims he wanted to be POTUS from a young age. I’m sure armchair psychologists who know as much of his backstory as I do would say it’s directly tied to him wanting to earn his family’s love and respect.
Especially his father’s respect.
But getting elected to local offices in Nebraska is a far different universe than making it to DC and seeing the bloody political machinations there first-hand. What Elliot thought he wanted, the ideals he’d held in his mind, were cleanly sheared off once he fully understood how dark and nasty the halls of our nation’s capital can be when it comes to trying to actually get shit done.
Yet his whole public persona, and especially his regional popularity, is why he was the perfect choice as VP for Shae. Elliot hadn’t planned on running for Senate for at least another couple of terms, much less being added to the presidential ticket the way he was.
One of the reasons they picked Elliot was because of my relationship with him. Meaning they knew I could keep Elliot in line. There’d be no backstabbing, or Elliot trying to one-up Shae once she was elected. No premature campaigning for his own election run before she’d even warmed her chair behind the Resolute desk. No stealing her limelight.
No trying to primary her in four years.
Elliot balances Shae right across the board, in nearly all demographics. He’s now perfectly positioned for his own run after Shae’s two terms are up, providing she’s re-elected.
Then again, there’s still time for Elliot to make that decision. At least four years before Elliot has to start signaling his intentions, and six before he needs to nut up or shut up and form an exploratory committee of his own.
A lot can happen in six years.
Including him possibly de-assing his head.
If I’m that lucky.
I damn sure hope I’m that lucky.
There’s always the possibility that I could simply walk away from it all, go back to work in the private sector, and take Jordan with me.
There’s something to be said about a quiet life.
We could live a relatively anonymous existence away from the harsh spotlight of DC national politics. I could take care of my boy and nurture his gentle, creative spirit, maybe even secure him a loan for his own design business. Support him.
Except if I do that without giving Elliot a chance to figure out what the hell he wants to do with the rest of his life outside of an elected office, I know I’d always be wondering what if?
I would also kick myself in the ass while watching from the sidelines for any missteps Elliot makes, personally or professionally. Because I’d always think that, had I been by his side—seen or unseen—maybe he wouldn’t have made those missteps.
I’d feel guilty that I abandoned my boy.
My other boy.
My first boy.
Well, not first-first, but you get my drift. Elliot was there before Jordan.
My pet.
“You’re right,” I admit. “Jordan has to come first.” Because Elliot might be a train wreck, but he is strong and has survived a shit-ton of stuff in his life, metaphorically and literally.
But not Jordan. He’s gentle and wide-eyed, sweet, and completely the polar opposite of the kind of creature one needs to be to survive in DC.
An innocent.
He’s not like me.
Not at all.
That’s one of the many reasons I love him so damned much.
Because with him in my bed, there’s part of me who thinks maybe I’m not some cold, callous, heartless asshole after all.
If I can live up to a mere fraction of the adoration I see reflected back at me in Jordan’s eyes, maybe it means I’m not totally evil.
Right?
Elliot isn’t an idiot, and he’s not some contemptible doofus, either. He’s a damned survivor, he’s brilliant, and he’s horrible at never giving himself enough credit.
During those all-too-rare moments, when we’re together and everything’s right, he makes me feel like I’m smart, like I’m the center of his world.
When he’s not terrified of the rest of the world finding out about us, that is.
I really want to be greedy and have both of them. I think, together, the three of us could kick ass. I think Jordan could help soothe Elliot’s nerves the way Jordan calms and soothes me. I’d be the Chris of our triad, and Elliot could be…well, Elliot.
“Of course I’m right,” Chris says, wearing that evil smile I’ve seen him wear a thousand or more times before. “But it’s nice to hear you admit it.” His smile fades. “And no, you don’t owe me anything. I know how much you’re covering our asses, literally. I can only guess how many times you’ll be doing that over the next four to eight years.”
“Please remind your wife of that the next time she threatens to castrate me when I have to wake her up early.”
He grins again, pointing to his face. “Sadist, duh.”
When I leave his office a few minutes later, I feel like a weight’s rolled off my shoulders. The more I ponder his words, the more I know he’s correct.
If I build this right, from the ground up, it absolutely can work.
The question is, will Elliot finally find a way through his fear and trust me to take care of them both?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Now
My alarm goes off too damned early on Friday morning, making me wish I had a gun so I could shoot my phone.
Except that would startle Elliot.
I reach over and silence it. It’s a vibration pattern that will jolt me awake even with the volume down low, but he’ll sleep through it.
I savor this moment, holding him close before I press my lips to his forehead. He’s deeply asleep right now and was thankfully too exhausted from the trip to have any nightmares overnight.
Closing my eyes, I deeply inhale his sweet scent.
He still smells the same to me as he did that very first weekend we spent together.
When I look into his blue eyes, I still see the same terrified congressman I met in the bar that night over twelve years ago.
I love this man.
If after everything we’ve been through I lose him, too, it’d kill me. What would be the point of having survived everything we’ve endured if we lose each other in the end? What’s the point behind the years of loneliness and deprivation we’ve subjected ourselves to?
I gently tighten my arms around him and nuzzle his nose. “Wake up, pet. Time to go to work.”
He startles awake with a sharp, gasping inhale, his whole body tensing before he finally relaxes in my grip and presses his face against my neck. “Master, I had this horrible nightmare I was stupid enough to agree to run for VP,” he mumbles.
I smile. This is a running gag between us. “Pet, I have bad news for you—”
He groans. “Nooooo.”
I kiss him. “There’s a Secret Service detail I can have come inside and explain it to you.”
“No, thank you, Master. Thank you for going with me on the trip.”
I massage his scalp. “I’m glad I could be there with yo
u, pet.”
We stay like that for a moment, him pressing his head against mine.
“I love you, Leo,” he whispers, and the brave honesty in his voice nearly makes me cry.
“I love you, too, El.”
“I’m sorry that Jordan—”
“Shh.” I silence him with a kiss. “We had a good trip together this week. I’m going to help you get ready this morning. Once you’re out the door, I’ll unpack for you and get the laundry ready for your valet before I leave. All right?”
He looks me in the eyes, searching for…something.
I cannot talk about Jordan this morning.
I cannot cry in front of him right now.
I cannot let him see my weakness in this, because he’ll take that to heart and think that he’s bad, when there’s nothing farther from the truth.
In some ways, Elliot is a pure soul. Wounded, yes, but still pure. There isn’t a malicious bone in his body. I wouldn’t be with him if there were.
He’s not like me.
Elliot makes me want to be a better man in many ways.
In this way, however, I can’t be weak in front of him. Later, when I go home and can lock my apartment door behind me, yes. Then I can break down and purge as best I can before the next round of holding it together for my pet.
This burden is mine, not Elliot’s, and I won’t allow him to share it when his own is weighty enough.
He nuzzles his nose against mine. “Can you spend tomorrow night and all day Sunday here with me?”
My breath catches and I think about the ticket confirmation e-mail. That trip is in four weeks.
I can always cancel it closer to the travel date.
Then my mind mentally skims through Shae’s schedule. She has an event tomorrow night, but both Kev and Chris are going with her, and my presence wasn’t required.
Kissing him calms and centers me. “I’ll cook us dinner,” I tell him. “And breakfast.”
That wins me a smile. “I miss your cooking so much, Master. You always take such good care of me.”
“That’s because you’re my very good pet, and I love you.”
And I could take even better care of you if you’d just break down that damn closet door and ask me to be yours forever.
It’d also go a long way to helping heal my broken heart.
Of course I don’t say it.
I clamp down on that like I do everything else.
Because I love him, and I don’t want to hurt him.
* * * *
This morning, I’m pretty good at pretending to be a functional adult, if I do say so myself. I shower with Elliot and he seems more relaxed today than he was on the trip. That’s a good thing, obviously. On the rare mornings like this, I completely take over for him. I bathe him, shave him. Once I’ve let him dress me, then I dress him, including helping him with Duck and tying his tie. I make him a cup of coffee and then, with a final kiss, I send him out the door and on his way with his detail.
In my mind I’m pretending I’m Mr. Cruz-Woodley, and it’s just another Friday in our household. That he’ll be coming home to me tonight.
I sort his laundry and get everything put away where it belongs, so he won’t have to do any unpacking later. Then, I go through his fridge and toss what’s expired, make a shopping list on my phone for what I’ll need for us for this weekend, and send that to the head of his detail. They take care of that for him, and for Shae and Chris. It’s a security thing.
I muss the guest room bed, so the housekeeping staff assumes I slept in there, and I leave a used towel hanging over the edge of the tub, which I splash water in. That, and the sink.
It’s always the little things that need to be remembered so Elliot doesn’t freak out later. That way, if he asks me, I can honestly say I remembered to do them.
I’ve delayed all I can now. I collect my things and I decide to ask Secret Service to drive me home.
When I’m unlocking the lobby door, that’s when the exhaustion attacks, like a freaking rogue wave. It slams into me and the prickle of tears catches me off-guard.
I need to get myself pulled together, somehow. Except I look up the stairs I still have to climb—to the third floor—and it’s all I can do not to sit down right there and start bawling.
After a few deep breaths, I opt to focus on one step at a time and trudge up them.
Except when I open my door and walk inside, the place feels…stale.
Dead.
Lonely.
It’s been almost three weeks since Jordan left.
These last three weeks have felt like the longest ten years of my life.
It’s finally starting to sink in that he’s gone and he’s not coming back.
I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do without him. It feels like he’s always been in my life.
Six years he’s been in my life. For half of my relationship with Elliot.
We had more of a relationship than Elliot and I have.
I lock the door behind me, strip, and faceplant into my own bed with my three phones next to me so I can hide from the world for a while.
* * * *
Early Saturday evening, when I let myself in, Elliot’s in the living room and in conversation with three of his staff. They didn’t go on the trip with us.
I know all three of them are terrified of me, though. I made sure to put the fear of me into them early on because they pissed me off during the transition when they tried to blow me off one day.
Yeah, I corrected them immediately.
They think I’m Elliot’s best friend, in addition to who I am in relation to the president. Their bullshit wasn’t enough for me to ask Elliot to reconsider keeping them, though. They’ve worked for him ever since he was in the House, and they worked hard on the campaign.
They just required a little attitude adjustment, was all. They needed to be taught their place in the food chain.
Now, all his staff know who I am. They also afford me the appropriate respect.
I’m at the top of the food chain, and I will eat them as a snack.
I don’t interrupt them. I wave a hand in greeting and make a point of making noise when I drop my stuff upstairs in the guest room.
I’ll move it once they’re gone. I head downstairs again, bypassing the living room so I don’t disturb them, and go to the kitchen to start cooking. That’ll give Elliot the hint to wrap things up with them.
This is work, so I won’t demand he run them off. He’s the VP and that’s not a joke. He works his ass off. His job is far more than mere PR junkets—he takes point with veteran’s issues for Shae, and is very hands-on in terms of agricultural and trade issues.
He keeps a Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen. I hook my phone to it and start playing our favorite Pandora station. Twenty minutes later, I’ve almost got the chicken deboned and ready to cook when I sense his presence behind me.
I turn, and he’s standing there, leaning in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his slacks. He had an event earlier and he’s still in his button-up and tie, although his collar’s unbuttoned and the tie’s loosened. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he’s traded his contacts for glasses.
He always melts me, looking like that. He always has. Even casually rumpled like this, he’s damned hot, and he’s got me wrapped around his fingers.
There’s the playful smirk that makes my heart skip. “I feel like I should be cooking for you, Master.” He walks over and slips his arms around me from behind, leaning in for a kiss.
In this sanctuary, once we’re alone, he always loosens up. My Elliot can come out for a while.
Damn, I’ve missed him.
“I love cooking for my pet. I wish I could do it more often.” I spot the flash of pain in his eyes and silently curse myself.
“Sorry, Master,” he quietly says.
I wash my hands and turn in his arms to pull him in for a long, sweet kiss. “Turn off that handsome brain of yours. I didn’t mean it
like that.” I mean, I totally did, but I didn’t mean to say it out loud. “We’re going to have a nice dinner and spend the evening cuddling and watching TV. And I’ll make us pancakes in the morning.”
He rests his head on my shoulder. “And spankings?”
I snort. “And spankings.” I reach up and rub his head. His eyes fall closed. Yeah, he is like a Labradoodle, in some ways, I guess. If Labradoodles liked to and could consent to be spanked, that is. “As many spankings as my pet wants.”
That finally wins me a smile. “Yay.” I get another kiss. “I’ll go up and change, Master.”
“You do that.” I slap him on the ass, which wins me another smile. “As little as possible, pet.”
“Yes, Master.” He won’t go full naked. Not outside the bedroom. Even here, in his sanctuary. And I won’t force him to do that, either.
Though I cannot tell you how glad I am to be here tonight, mostly because I didn’t have to ask him.
He asked me.
That’s…massive.
I go back to prepping the chicken, getting it and the veggies in the pan so I can start on the sauce for it. During moments like this, I can focus on the past before Jordan walked into my life. I can think about the times Elliot came over to my place and we cooked, talked—existed in a sweet, perfect bubble.
Not all sweet. Lots of dark and dirtiness inside that bubble, too. Nothing that either of us didn’t want, though.
This man’s been in my life twelve years. Maybe it was stupid and selfish for me to bring Jordan into all of that.
Maybe?
Okay, definitely.
When I hear a noise behind me, my breath catches when I turn to see Elliot standing in the kitchen doorway and using his walker.
Completely naked.
Not even Duck. I can see Duck out in the living room, by the sofa, and a bathrobe tossed over the end, easily pulled on, if needed.
His gaze meets mine as he lowers himself to his knees, pushes the walker out of the way, and crawls across the kitchen floor to me on his hands and knees.
My cock goes completely, achingly hard. Without thinking, I reach down to adjust myself.
Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 35
