It’s a long-ass week. The job I’m working goes sideways when it turns out there’s a far more extensive problem than the client realized when they hired my firm to clean their metaphorical house. We all grit our teeth and knuckle under and manage to slog our way through it. I’m almost regretting spreading myself so thin and accepting this assignment now, because I can’t just up and leave until it’s finished.
Except…Elliot.
How sick am I that I’ve downloaded several pictures of Elliot from his website and from news services and saved them in a private folder on my phone?
It’s nearly eight o’clock Saturday night and raining when I finally pull up in front of the strip mall where his office is located in Omaha. The lights in the front are off, and there are shades on the front windows and door which are drawn, but it looks like there’s a light on in the back, down a hall.
I grab my overnight bag, the box holding my piping hot meat lover’s pizza with extra cheese, and walk up to the door and knock.
There’s no response. I peek through a gap in the shade on the front door and can see down the hallway. I have to repeatedly knock for a couple of minutes, and I’m about ready to call him because my anxiety is starting to fire off, when I finally see a door open in the back.
And there he is, in his wheelchair, in a T-shirt and shorts, barefoot and without Duck.
My cock stirs and, of course, I end up adjusting myself.
He can’t recognize me through the door, I guess. He’s scowling as he rolls down the hallway, and he’s already got the front door unlocked and is pushing it open when his eyes widen as he realizes it’s me.
I smile and hold up the pizza. “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to try this great pizza place someone told me about. Don’t suppose I can eat it here, can I, Congressman Woodley?”
I’m terrified he’s going to hiss at me to go away and slam the door in my face but he smiles as he backs up and waves me in so he can lock the door behind me.
“Just in the neighborhood, huh, Master?”
My breath catches. “Yeah.”
He pulls me in for a kiss. “Hope you don’t mind low-class accommodations.”
“You’ve never been shipped overseas air freight by the Secret Service for advance team prep.”
He laughs. “No, but I’ve been shipped overseas by the US Army. That’s got to be worse.”
I need to ask it. “You’re not upset at me, are you?”
He smirks. “Upset that my Sir decided to stop in unannounced to make sure I wasn’t shacking up with someone else? No, I’m not upset.” I allow him to use Sir or Master as he wishes. To me, from him, they’re interchangeable.
I feel my face heat. “Was it that obvious?”
He actually laughs. “Sir, one of the things Iloveso damn much about you is how…intenseyou are. Especially regarding me and my safety.”
Our gazes lock for a moment as terror slams into me. We haven’t said this to each other yet. “I love you.” It’s out before I can stop myself.
I won’t take it back, either.
Fortunately, Elliot smiles and kisses me again. “Love you, too, Master. Thank you for putting up with me andmyfears.”
He leads the way back to his room. I am starving, and he grabs a roll of paper towels and a cold bottle of water for me from the small kitchen on our way down the hall. The futon has been pulled out into a bed, and it’s not the worst bed I’ve ever slept on.
Far from it.
The company makes it even better.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to save money, huh?” I set my bag down.
“Nope.” He doesn’t have a closet, obviously, but he’s got a small IKEA wardrobe in the corner with a mirror on the front of it. There’s a folding table holding a small TV and DVD player, and assorted other items that make it resemble a dorm room more than a freshman congressman’s apartment.
I kick off my shoes and settle on the end of the bed while he effortlessly transfers from the wheelchair to the bed.
“What time do I need to be out of here in the morning?” I know that’s a loaded question. He’ll either tell me, or tell me I can’t spend the night. I’m watching his face when I ask that so I can tell if I need to back it up a little. There’s a hotel less than a mile away where I’ve already booked a room and checked in. I can always retreat there to lick my emotional wounds.
