He flings his arms around me and holds on tight, his face pressed against my stomach. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and lean over so I’m engulfing him.
But I already know what his answer will be. I know my pet.
He won’t ask.
Not tonight.
Sometimes, he has to reach a breaking point before he willfinallyreach out to me.
I know a large part of himwantsme to force him to submit, but that’s not a long-term recipe for success.
In fact, it’s a guaranteed recipe for disaster. Because he’ll be able, at some future point, to convince himself that he’s not responsible for anything that happened. It’ll allow him to justify blowing it all up.
I need him totally invested in this, inus.
Yes, I’ll happily do any number of dark and dirty and perverted things to him and enjoy every second of it.
I’ll gladly own him.
But he has to own those desires.
He has to ownus.
He has to own his part of it, if he wants me to give it to him.
After all these years, I hate that I’m starting to secretly wonder if he’s capable of owning it.
I cup one hand around the back of his head and plunge my fingers into his hair so I can massage his scalp.
He practically melts.
If only sex were enough to convince him to relinquish every bit of his fear. We’re great in bed. That’s not an issue for us. And alone together outside of bed, things are easy.
It’s everything else that’s difficult as hell, things others might witness, due to Elliot’s fear. It’s not easy with him, like it is with Jordan. I’m increasingly catching myself comparing the two of them when that’s not fair to either.
Of course Jordan was free to commit himself to me. He’s not a public figure, not really. Adjacent? Yes. But no one looks at a picture in the paper and says, Oh, there’sJordan Walsh. Because as far as the public’s concerned, Jordan is one of the First Spouse’s staffers. That’sall. Just another nameless White House wonk. For all they know, he could be staff from the EEOB.
Elliot finally sits back. “I’ll probably head home soon. Did Jordan get home safely?”
That’s a minor win, I suppose. That he’s asking. “Yeah. He texted me when he arrived.”
He nods. I know Elliot feels something for Jordan but he’s conflicted. Goes back to his fear.
Damned fear.
He looks into my eyes. “You should go home, Master. You must be exhausted.”
So that’s…that.
He’s not even going to chew on me to mark me tonight. His most common target is my arm or stomach, somewhere he can easily bare and I can easily hide.
He hasn’t done that in a few weeks.
I swallow my feelings, my pain, my anger, my fear—my disappointment and the rejection.
You’d think I’d be used to all of that by now but today’s events leave me feeling raw and emotionally shredded.
After one last kiss, and anI love you, I say good-night and head home via cab. It’d be too damned easy to say fuck it and walk away from Elliot. For numerous reasons, I can’t and won’t do that.
