I’m still lying here staring at the ceiling when Declan, on my right, snuggles closer and tucks me against his body. George is sound asleep on my left, but stretched out on his right side and facing me. It’s a king-sized bed. I do have to admit the goobers are right that it sleeps all three of us quite comfortably.
I don’t sleep with them every night, but last night was special. Even I couldn’t deny them when they both asked. Some nights, Declan stops by my place and we have private time before I send him to George. Sometimes, I come over here to George’s. We only live four houses apart.
For Declan’s sake, because I know how much it means to him, I try to spend at least one night a week with them, but I’m usually up and out of bed early, before George is even conscious.
Bless his heart, he’s not a morning person. Declan isn’t one naturally, but years spent being at my beck and call, and living with me when he was in college, have trained him to work aroundmyschedule.
I feel Declan’s breath against the nape of my neck. “Please stay in bed with us this morning, Ma’am,” he whispers.
I sigh. “How’d you know I was awake?” I whisper back.
“I felt it. You’re the only person I know who can be so loud even when perfectly still and silent.”
My beautiful boy. In some ways, he knows me so well.
Better than anyone alive.
And yet in other ways he doesn’t know me at all. Mostly because I haven’t let him into those parts of my life. Both for his own safety and peace of mind, and because it’d break my heart to scare him off like that.
I don’t want to taint him. He’s a sweet, loving soul with a specific need for revenge. That doesn’t darken his nature the way it does mine.
One of the results of what I endured years ago is I became a chameleon, able to blend in to avoid notice. I learned to be ruthless and cunning, making me perfectly suited for law and politics. Even George needed to be trained in the art of war because he, ironically, didn’t have a single bloodthirsty bone in his body despite his penchant for being a Dom in bed. If it wasn’t for me, he would be running a family law office, spending his days creating wills, or maybe even—shudder—real estate law.
In my mind, if thereisa literal Hell, the boring drudgery of real estate law is one of its more depressing circles, losing only to IP and trademark law, and to tax law.
“Please, stay,” Declan whispers.
That settles the question for me. As much as I’d like to leave this bed and go work out for a couple of hours to try to quietmymental voices, I will give in to my boy this morning.
I find his hand and lace my fingers through his, making him happy when I squeeze.
He soon falls asleep again, and I feel his grip on my hand go slack.
Leaving me staring at George’s outline in the dim room.
I haven’t actually made love to George yet. I…can’t.
Not yet.
He was my girl’s Sir, my best friend’s husband, the father of my godchildren. My closest friend, next to Ellen.
My boss.
Not that the last one would stop me. But due to the very public nature of his position as the governor of Tennessee, he has a highly visible job, meaning caution is warranted.
And here I’ve delivered unto him yet another slave, another love, pre-trained by me.
Once again, I will step back and see what happens, even though I suspect I will eventually be left behind in the aftermath. Maybe not, who knows?
Except neither man knows my darkest truths.
They both claim they want me with them. George keeps pointing to Carter, Susa, and Owen in Florida. George was shipwrecked with Susa, who was also on the plane. They were rescued together after three weeks, along with three others, when we thought they’d long since died.
It was a miracle.
Although I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago, I do believe in luck. Susa and George and the other survivors worked their asses off to stay alive. They made most of their luck. When they were rescued, Susa was literally nearly out of luck and close to death.
Haven’t I used up my life’s supply of luck already?
