He hasn’t set it, of course.
Dumbass.
I turn off the motion-sensor lights and gate chime before I open the gate and pull in. I don’t drive all the way up, either. Instead, I veer off to the side, where I know my car isn’t visible from either the street or the house, and park in the grass. When I get out, I grab my purse, but I lock the car door from the inside before I close it, instead of with the remote.
No chirp.
The master bedroom is on the back side of the house, the opposite corner from where I’ve parked. Unless someone’s driving a huge, noisy diesel truck or something, you can’t hear it from there.
I pull out my key to unlock it but find it already unlocked. Thank god I’m not a home invader, since he didn’t bother to set the alarm, either.
Dammit, George.
He really needs to be more careful.
Except I can imagine exactly what happened as I stare at the messy pile of clothes on the floor just inside the front door.
Declan’s clothes.
Meaning George got…distracted. Too distracted to remember to lock the door or turn the alarm on.
Understandable. Seeing Declan naked tends to distract me, too.
It’s just…odd for me to get used to this new reality, because before I forced them together in January, both men were straight.
Turns out they were more flexible than they ever imagined.
Heh. Lookit that. The pundits weren’t lying when they say politics breeds strange bedfellows. Although maybe it’s more due to the Bard’s rendition of it.
“Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.”
George was arguably pretty fucking miserable before I intervened and shoved him and Declan together. Yes, primarily for my reasons, but it all worked out, right?
So far, anyway.
I set my purse and keys on the bench inside the front door, slip off my shoes, and quietly make my way through the foyer and toward the stairs. That’s when I hear the faint, meatyslapof a hand against flesh, followed by a familiar moan.
Sticking to the inside wall, I creep up the stairs. By the time I hit the top I hear George’s low, throaty tones, even though I can’t make out words yet.
My bare feet make no sound as I pad down the hallway. A sliver of light spills out of the master bedroom doorway while the voice gains clarity. The door stands open just enough I can peek into the room without nudging it open wider. George is mostly not visible, except for an arm snaking into view as he reaches out and strikes Declan, or his head when he leans in to bite him.
He worked fast.
Declan lies on his stomach, his legs butterflied, bent at the knees and tied ankles-to-ass with blue rope.
He’s had to get really flexible since being with George. The man loves his rope bondage. It was something Ellen enjoyed the hell out of, too.
Declan’s arms stretch over his head, wrists and forearms bound together with red rope, which is also tied to the headboard.
George spanks him bare-handed, his voice sounding deep and growly and, admittedly, making me wet.
“Who’s my good boy?”
“Me, Sir!”
SMACK!
“What’s my good little slut want from me this tonight?”
