I get why he thought it was so hot making me come earlier. And between my cock rubbing against the bed as I went down on him, and the sounds he made, of course I’m fricking hard again.
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me as he jerks me off. It’s close to one o’clock in the morning now, and I think we’re finally going to sleep. I know I’m ready to.
Except George is wide awake.
“Dammit,” he mutters as he lies there with me draped over his chest.
“What’s wrong, Sir?”
“We don’t have anything for breakfast. Or for dinner tomorrow night.”
“I’ll run to the store in the morning.”
He sighs, and I knowthatsigh. Not just from our new relationship, either, but from all the years I’ve known him.
There’s something he wants.
“What is it, Sir?” I ask when I realize this is athingthat needs to be handled.
“I want to go to the store.”
“It’s”—I lift my head and squint at the clock—“12:49 in the morning, Sir.” I drop my head back to where I was comfortably nestled against him.
“I know.” I feel his breath in my hair. “I want to go to the storewithyou. I haven’t been to the grocery store in two years. The last person I went to the store with was…”
His voice trails off.
It takes me a moment to process that.
The last person he went to the store with was Ellen. Literally, ever since he returned, he’s been governor and under security.
There’s a Walmart not far from here, and it’s open all night.
With a sigh of my own, I sit up and retrieve my work phone from his nightstand.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m calling the EPU duty officer, Sir, so they can have a detail ready to follow us to the store. They’ll have a shit-fit if I don’t tell them we need the detail and they find out we went without an escort. Not to mention Ma’am will wring my neck.”
That’s how, twenty minutes later, we’re in my Jag and I’m waiting just outside the main gate while the two officers fall in behind us for the short trip to the store.
George, however, is fuckingbeaming. I mean, he’s smiling like a little kid about to go see Santa. I don’t get to drive him very often, but he reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh.
“Thanks for this.”
We’re both in jeans and T-shirts, and wearing jackets against the cold night. Hopefully, we won’t be recognized.
I cover his hand with mine. “You’re welcome, Sir.”
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the store’s parking lot is practically deserted except for cars parked far out that are probably employees. We park along the front of the store in the fire lane—hello, executive privilege—with the marked cruisers parked in front and behind my Jag. No, not subtle at all. One officer stays outside with the vehicles while the other comes inside with us.
This is worth it, though, to see the smile on George’s face as he grabs a cart and starts off into the store. I follow him and use my personal cell to get a couple of pictures.
Sure, for Casey, but mostly for me. I have to pretend to be his staffer, not his boyfriend.
Except I’m not kidding when I say I haven’t seen him look this fucking happy in two goddamned years. This is a return to normalcy for him, in a way.
No, we can’t walk around holding hand and canoodling. But we keep our voices down as we walk and he asks me what I like, buys some of my favorite foods, and it feels…
