Case must know Aussie was at the house, because she doesn’t call or text me. She would’ve received the alert from the alarm about Aussie disarming it. We each have a code of our own. Then again, I’m not even sure if they’re out of their meeting yet.
But usually during one of these meetings she’s texting me updates, asking me questions.
Not tonight.
Is she mad at me for what I did with Declan? Or mad at me for the order I gave him? Or is she just giving me and Aussie father-daughter time?
I’m not sure I want to know the real answer.
Once I’m alone the silence rapidly settles around me, stifling, smothering. I try to sit on the sofa and watch a little more TV, but my gaze keeps drifting to the nearby bookshelf, where Ellen’s urn sits next to a family picture of all of us.
I want to text or call Declan, but he’s at the meeting with Casey.
Or…
Maybe he’s with Casey.
Hey, why the fuck should I feel guilty? She let him go, what, two weeks before she thought to check to see how he was doing? Couldn’t use the excuse she never saw him, because she saw him nearly every frigging day at work. That was negligent on her part. Not a very good owner, in my book. No telling how many other times there have been, or how long he’s gone without before. Maybe there have been times where he was forcibly celibate even longer than that.
I don’t sleep that night.
At all.
Not even after reading more of Ellen’s favorite books and jerking off twice while picturing Declan’s O-face in place of the bottoms in the stories.
I’m grumpy as fuck when I reach the office Friday morning, and even grumpier when it’s Casey and several staffers handling the morning meeting, but no Declan.
“Where’s Dec?” I snap.
Casey arches an eyebrow at me. “Meeting with a couple of House aides this morning about stuff we covered at the budget meetings last night, governor.”
The subtle emphasis she places on that word is a crystal-clear warning to me—knock it the fuck off, George.
She continues without missing a beat. “Let’s start with today’s schedule…”
I have meetings this morning, both in my office and over at the State Assembly, phone calls to deal with, and it’s either Case or one of the other aides with me for all of that.
I want it to be Declan.
Yes, last year Dec took point on the budget talks, too, so this isn’t exactly unexpected. It’s his fucking job. He knows the damn thing inside and out.
I try to shut down the humming in my brain, dark voices whispering that Casey’s deliberately trying to keep him away from me. I know that’s not the truth, that it’s pain and confusion and a lot of intangible anxiety chewing at my common sense and gaslighting the logical part of my brain.
Still doesn’t help, even knowing all of that.
Tomorrow, I have to be at a barbecue at one, a GOP fundraiser. I only have to stay for about an hour, though, and Case has already arranged to have a driver pick me up at noon.
She’s going to ride separately so she can stay longer and schmooze donors.
By one o’clock that afternoon I’m practically climbing the walls again. I still haven’t seen Declan, even though I actually walked down to his office once on the pretense of needing to ask him a question.
He wasn’t there.
Neither was Casey, and that…boils me, for some reason.
When I check their schedules, I realize they’re out at a working lunch, meeting with the House Speaker’s staff—about the budget—which finally calms me a little.
Then I see on the schedule that Casey is attending a charity event at the Country Music Hall of Fame tonight.
Declan has nothing listed.
The sound of the screaming claws against my mental bulwarks. Somehow, I’ve lost the ability to dampen it the way I used to. I force myself not to go hunt down Declan and lock us in the closest office so I can fuck his brains out.
Adding to my stress is the fact that Casey hasn’t made any attempt to have a private discussion with me. I mean, I know she said no to any of this happening at or around work, but you’d think she’d lambaste me about it, at least.
Nothing.
I mean…she knows it happened, doesn’t she? Did she not ask Declan about it? Or did he not volunteer it?
Or maybe they haven’t even…talked?
Or—and this one simultaneously conflicts me and makes me victoriously hard—maybe he lied to her because he does want to be mine as much as I want him to be mine.
At two o’clock, I pull out my personal cell and call up Declan’s contact. I have to make sure I send this to his personal cell.
I don’t want an official record of any of this, duh.
I compose a text.
My house. 9 tonight. All night.
It takes me five minutes before I force myself to hit send.
After it’s launched into the ether, I set my phone aside, face-up on my desk where I can see it, and try to focus on my work. But I keep glancing over at it.
I want him to respond.
I…need him to respond.
I’m tempted to send an official text to his work cell demanding he checks his personal cell, but that would defeat the whole purpose of using personal cells to keep this secret.
At four, Declan and another staffer, Ryanne, appear in my office doorway. My elation to see my boy is tempered by the presence of someone else who’s not Casey, and whom I absolutely have to remain completely professional in front of. With my office door open, they settle in to go over stuff with me from the budget meetings.
Then Declan stands, rounds my desk, and holds his large yellow-lined notepad propped up on my desk like he’s showing me something on it. Without missing a beat, he grabs my personal cell—which is concealed by his positioning of the notepad—and motions for me to unlock it.
I do, and he quickly installs something on it, even as we’re talking and Ryanne is contributing to the conversation.
Somehow, I manage to ask budget-related questions of her and him both as we’re doing this to help cover his actions. Once the app is installed, something called Signal, he opens it, sets it up with my personal phone number, changes a couple of settings, then adds his number to it as a contact.
Once that’s done, he makes sure my phone is set to silent mode. Only then does he return to his seat in front of my desk, next to Ryanne.
I sit back and while Ryanne continues talking, Declan casually pulls his phone out of his pocket and does something, like he’s checking messages.
On my desk, my phone vibrates a moment later.
Yes, Sir. 9pm. Leave the disappearing setting in place. Use this app to text or call me. Won’t leave a trail or show up on phone bills.
I suck in a sharp, relieved breath and can’t help looking up, into his gaze.
He drops me the tiniest of winks, his smile barely concealed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Now I can get some work done. Before Casey leaves at six, she sticks her head through my open office door. “I have that charity thing tonight. Are you good?”
I don’t sense any tension or issues with her. Nothing…different. “I’m good. Have fun.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Next time I sign up for one of these things, please do me a favor and smack me.”
I laugh, because she says that every time. Then she smiles and holds up a hand in a wave before she takes off.
Maybe everything is copacetic.
I don’t know.
My plan is to work until seven, which will give me plenty of time to go home, eat, and prepare for Declan’s arrival.
I cannot fucking wait.
Just to be safe, I text Aussie to make sure she isn’t planning on stopping by tonight and tell her I have work stuff I’m doing. She says no problem.
We’re pulling through the entrance to my development when I realize I should’ve asked Declan to stop and get lube and con
doms, because it’s not like that’s something I can easily buy for myself.
I mean, I can order them through Amazon and have them delivered, but I can’t stop by a grocery store. Just what I need showing up on some gossip news site, or circulating on Facebook and Twitter—pics of me buying rubbers and lube.
It’s bad enough I still get love letters a few times a week, e-mails and actual snail-mail, from mostly women—and the occasional man—who want to go out with me, or who even propose to me.
Ew.
I’m flattered they think I’m handsome, although I’m sure at least a few of them have ulterior motives, but no. Not going out with someone who might also be proposing to jailed serial killers, or randos on the Internet.
At first, Casey didn’t even tell me about those. It wasn’t until three or four months after my return she finally told me about them. Rightfully, she’d been afraid of that overwhelming me in bad, dark ways.
It would have.
That’s just one of countless reasons why I need that woman in my life.
Again, I feel conflicted.
I do need her.
But I need Declan, too.
I eat, tidy up around the house, and even change the sheets to prepare for tonight. I pre-position a couple of towels, the implements I want to use on him, the bottle of lube Case gave me the other night, which still has a little in it, but we’re going to need a lot more than that.
A lot more.
Case has texted me a few times on her personal cell from the event. This is something else she frequently does with me, leading me to believe everything really is okay. Right now, she’s bored, she’s snarky, she doesn’t want to be there, and it’s making her cranky because she has to wear her public face. While she’ll be a plus-one for one of her string of boyfriends, she rarely takes a plus-one to these events, unless it’s something we both can attend. Then we’re each other’s plus-one. Sometimes she takes Declan, and in retrospect I realize she only does that with work-related events, or campaign events where it would make sense for her to be seen there with him.
He’s definitely her secret as much as he is mine.
Still, she’s said nothing to me today about Declan.
At 8:55 I’m starting to pace, hoping he actually shows up, wondering if he’s going to be late, if something’s happened, if—
I see headlights sweep across the foyer windows and I hurry to the door to look out the viewfinder.
It’s him.
I’m practically dancing in place as he gets out, grabs a garment bag, overnight bag, and his laptop case from the backseat of his car, and heads toward the front porch. He’s still dressed for work, blazer and everything, although he’s loosened his tie. I time it to open the door before he can even reach to ring the bell. I grab his hand, drag him inside, and slam the door shut behind him, locking it.
Then I press him against the door and kiss him. “Fuck, I’m so glad to see you,” I growl against his lips. I don’t stop kissing him as he manages to drop his bags. I reach for his blazer and shove it down and off his shoulders, then start unbuttoning his shirt.
I need him.
My cock’s throbbing as he helps me get his shirt off. “Sir, I—”
“Shhh.” I don’t want to talk right now. That can happen while we recover after round one. “I’m going to take you to bed, fuck your brains out and empty your balls, then we can talk.”
“But Sir—”
I kiss him again. He’s down to just his slacks and shoes. I start working on his belt and as I get his slacks and briefs shoved down—
I step back. “What the fuck is that?”
There’s a black…thing covering his cock and balls, and a small padlock attached to it.
He blushes. “Ma’am locked it on me before she left the office tonight,” he softly admits.
That confirms it. It’s a chastity device. “What the hell?” And right between his navel and where his pubic hair starts is a fresh hickey, very dark, nearly purple, surrounded by teeth marks and a smear of plum lipstick.
Goddamned bold statement, and I know exactly what she’s saying.
It’s a delayed answer to my marking him the other night, I’m positive. And more, most likely.
“You can still fuck me, Sir,” he softly says. “Or I can go down on you, however you want.”
“Yeah, see, I got a problem with not being able to make you come, though. I’m going to fucking kill her.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, intending to call her.
He grabs my hand and stops me. “Sir, no, please. It’s okay.”
“No, Dec, it’s not okay! I wanted to play with you.”
“You can still play with me. And I’m spending all night and going to the barbecue with you.”
“She put it on you at work? What happened to the no playing at work rule?”
He actually arches an eyebrow at me. “Really, Sir? I think blowing you at the office in the middle of the day falls in that category, too.”
Shit. “You told her?”
“I can’t lie to her, Sir. I won’t lie to her. Just like I won’t lie to you, either.”
“So she knows you’re here right now?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Fuck this shit. “I’ve got bolt cutters in the garage.” I start to turn, but he grabs my arm.
“No, Sir, please? She said she hid an emergency key here if we need it.”
“We fucking need it, Dec.” I’m…now I’m pissed.
Not simply pissed—enraged.
I don’t know if I’m more enraged because she’s interfering with my ability to play with Declan how I want to play with him, or because she’s easily outmaneuvered me.
Or because I feel like I might have lost a little leverage with him.
Or because she’s now actively engaged in a tug-of-war with me for him.
I’ve got a hot news flash for her—she’s going to lose. I might not have been at the top of my game for the past two years, but the sadist is back, and he is extremely unhappy in this moment.
I pull my hand free from his and text her.
WHERE IS IT?
I never use caps lock unless I’m literally screaming.
She must be sitting there trying not to laugh her ass off, because she texts me back almost immediately.
Where’s what?
She has the utter balls to follow that with the angel emoji face.
YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT. WHERE IS IT?
She sends me the smiling devil face emoji.
Then—
Is there something you’re looking for, George?
Followed by the happy cat face emoji.
That.
Bitch.
I love the woman, but in this moment, if she was standing in front of me, I might literally consider strangling her.
I guess because it’s been a couple of years since I’ve practiced law with her, and because of my own emotional wasteland, I’d forgotten what a stone-cold terror she could absolutely be when she was pursuing a win in a case. Brutally effective, no mercy.
TELL ME
I impatiently await her reply.
I’ll be home around 11 and will come over. You can play in other ways until then. I suggest you enjoy yourself and stop worrying about one little thing. If you want to be fucked, I sent him with the strap-on. He can use that on you.
That just…infuriates me and stokes my rage as if she’d injected pure oxygen into the flames.
TELL ME WHERE IT IS OR I’M GETTING MY BOLT CUTTERS.
She sends me the middle finger emoji in reply. Then—
I’ll call you in 5 minutes. You cut that lock off for ANYTHING other than he’s LITERALLY bleeding or his skin’s turning black, and my resignation letter will be on your desk and my office cleared out within two hours. Try me.
Shocked, I stare at her response. She and I have had some pretty heated disagreements over the years, called each other names, and always hugged it out immediately after.
Never, a
nd I mean never, has she ever threatened to quit.
Ever.
And she never bluffs with me, because she knows I’ll call her on it.
Declan’s reading it, too. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “Well, that escalated quickly. I think she means it, Sir.”
Fuck.
Terror fills me as my rage evaporates. My cock’s wilted now, anyway. The last thing on my mind in this moment is sex.
I want to know I haven’t just fucked up my professional life beyond all recognition.
Or my friendship with her.
I cannot do this without her.
Not just being the governor—I can’t live without her.
I would not still be alive if it weren’t for her. I would’ve killed myself long before now.
I send Declan upstairs to my bedroom while I go all the way down to my home office in the basement to await her call.
It comes four minutes and thirty-nine seconds later.
I answer, and she doesn’t even wait to see if I’m going to say anything. Her voice sounds low and dark and dangerous and makes my guts shrivel, because I know that tone.
This is a dangerous woman who will burn everything to the ground just to prove her point, and I know she will.
“Let me tell you something. I told you both no play in the office. I overlooked the petty bullshit of you marking him, because I didn’t tell you that was off-limits, but I know damn well why you marked him like that. He is a loaner. He is mine. He will not lie to me, and he will not keep things from me. Also, fuck you and your rule that I don’t get to make him come without your permission. You don’t get to make those kinds of rules with him. You would do well to remember that.”
Dirge (Devastation Trilogy 1) Page 20
