Until Senator Samuels came along.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Shae. I do.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t using her as much as she was using me. In the beginning, anyway. Four years into whatever it was, I realized this was a relationship of some permanence. That was a little terrifying, except I felt comforted by the fact that she made no demands on my heart. I could still secretlylove Kev from afar, keep him tucked within my soul in an undisturbed pocket of perfection, and have a relationship with her.
A relationship in which I could take out my anger and frustration on her body. Which she was totes cool with, because that was exactly the kind of sex she wanted and needed.
That was the irony, right? That I existed in a Schrödingerian purgatory of hating Kevin’s gutsand desperately missing him to the point that it literally tanked every relationship I tried to have before Shae.
Then Kev had his public meltdown right when Shae was desperate to find a campaign manager so she could declare for her run for POTUS. I knew Shae was my best chance to get my hands on Kev and keep him close to me.
Tous.
Because I also knew Kev could help Shae get elected, if anyonecould.
I was absolutely right, even though in retrospect I assumed it wouldn’t happen that first election cycle. I think part of me was convinced Shae wouldn’t make it this time, not on her first attempt, and we’d have a couple of years of peace before she cranked up the machine to try again, or she’d run to regain her Senate seat.
Shae is a strange woman, in some ways. She is human and hasneeds and desires, but shehaaaaatesthe idea of being emotionally vulnerable. She isn’t looking for Prince Charming to swoop in and seduce her and give her a fairytale romance.
She wants the Black Knight kept on retainer to periodically drag her off to the dungeon, have his way with her, and then go away once she’s had her fill of him so she can get back to work.
Lucky for her, I can handlethat.
And her.
Even luckier for her that Kev is homoflexible enough he can handle her, too.
The other quirk she has, and one of the reasons I’ve come to love her so damn much, is that she desperately wants to take care of her loved ones. She accepted the kids without hesitation, despite knowing it’d completely disrupt our usual lives. She was pissed off that she couldn’t be home with me withthe news broke about Charles and Tory.
She’s nearly lost her mind over not being able to help Kevin when we lost Lauren.
My girl is a fixer at heart, a doer. Her mother instilled into her at a very early age the drive to help others.
Now I need to figure out how to re-tune her a little so she’s helping Kev instead of draining him of energy and strength he can’t afford to lose right now.
** * *
As I suspected, Kev doesn’t awaken when I ease myself out of bed well before my alarm goes off. I dress and shut off all the lights and head downstairs, where I neatly fold his discarded clothes and leave them on the couch for him. I never got to use the implements on him that I’d brought in the duffel bag, and that’s okay. He’s asleep, he let go, and he vented, which is the important part.
In the kitchen, I preset the coffee maker for him, adding an extra scoop of coffee the way he likes it, and set the timer on it to start at seven. He’ll probably already be wide awake and lying there in bed, unable to ignore his work phone despite me begging him to.
When we take time off, Kev doesn’t. We could be at Camp David and curled up in bed, the three of us, and he’s still checking hisphone. He’s dedicated, he’s sharp, his mind is agile and flexible, and he’s able to stand his ground with POTUS.
Even at his own expense, when he really doesn’t have the strength to spare, like now.
I check the fridge and silently curse when I see he’s down to pot pies and frozen pizzas. I wouldn’t care about that if he was coming in to the White House every day, because I feed him there. Idon’t let him leave until I’m sure he’s had food. But when he’s upset and not dealing well, he defaults to crap food he doesn’t have to think about to prepare.
I grab my personal phone, put in a delivery order with the secure courier service we use, for basics like milk, eggs, veggies, and other items, and have it set to deliver to the unit next door before noon. We own that unit and “lease”it for a dollar a day plus utilities to the Secret Service as their base of operations for guarding our house. They’ll receive the order, check it, and and put it away for Kev. This company is a verified provider for us, under contract and cleared by the Secret Service, and it means I don’t have to feel squicky about asking my former coworkers and subordinates to do my shopping for me. No risk ofan accidental “scandal” because the First Family is using government employees for personal business.
Can’t do this for us at the White House, because SOP is only staff buys and cooks for the First Family, unless the First Family is cooking their own food upstairs in the family kitchen. It’s a security issue.
I check the laundry to make sure he didn’t forget anything in the washer and find thedryer standing open with a mixed load of jeans, underwear, and other items in there. Meaning he’s been fishing stuff out right from there and wearing them.
He’s barely existing right now,
With a sigh, I grab a basket, empty the dryer, take the laundry out to the couch, and fold it for him.
What? You think Dominants don’t do shit like this? That it’s beneath them?
