I hope.
Otherwise, it might finish destroying him. Until that time?
There’s me, and what I can do for him.
Which I’ll gladly do.
Because I love him.
* * * *
It’s nearly ten local time when Elliot’s finished at the dinner, Secret Service escorts us upstairs to the suite, and we lock ourselves inside after a final discussion with Elliot’s staff. With a detail standing guard in the hallway outside, now I can relax, and so can Elliot.
I hold out my hand to Elliot and lead him into the larger bedroom that’s “his,” where I sit him on the end of the bed. “Wait here.”
I retrieve my bags from the other bedroom and on my way back I put on the TV in the living room to help provide us with extra cover.
Once we’re locked inside his bedroom, and I’ve turned on the TV in this room, too, I stand in front of him, holding him and giving him a moment to simply breathe. He drapes his arms around me, his face pressed against me.
My poor pet.
I worry about him all the time but especially in times like these. When he returns from one of these trips without me, he’s always emotionally gutted and barely exhausted, barely sleeping. It compounds my guilt that I’m not able to do more for him. Doesn’t matter he has chosen to not let me—I still feel the weight of that responsibility.
Could I manipulate him into not running for president?
Sure, but that’s not fair to him.
His decision to run—or not—has to be his alone to own.
There’s a certain clarity of perspective to be gained by not being the one publicly inside the storm the way he is but I’m committed to staying by his side unless or until he asks me to leave.
No matter how much I’m hurting right now.
I know it’ll get easier. I also fully realize I’m self-medicating by focusing on Elliot instead of myself.
Hey, I’ve always been a multi-tasker.
Our very first weekend together comes to mind and I remember the terrified man breathlessly submitting to me, finally able to explore his darkest desires. We can’t stay up too late tonight because we will have a long-ass day tomorrow. I didn’t bring any implements with me, because,helllooo, security checks. I have my belt, and my hands, and my teeth.
I also don’t want to burn him out tonight.
Tipping his head up and back so I can kiss him earns me a soft, low moan. His arms tighten around my waist as he clings to me.
No, tonight needs to be about reconnecting, even though, yes, it’s been too damn long since we’ve had a good, hard scene.
Still kissing him, I ease out of his embrace and discard my blazer before I help him out of his. We’re still kissing as I unbutton his shirt and he works on mine, until we’re both nipping and sucking at each other as we strip to the waist.
I shove him back, hard, and he tries to rise from the bed but I jump on him. From the flash of eager, desperate need I see in his eyes, I know this was the right call.
He takes a swing at me and I flip him over, pinning him with his left arm wrenched up behind him in an armlock, almost to the point of injury.
“No, you don’t, pet. Not tonight.” I keep my weight on him while I kick off my shoes. He still struggles, so I know I guessed right.
He’ll keep fighting until he safewords.
Excellent.
I surprise him by jumping back and releasing him, standing again and giving him time to flip himself over while I unfasten my belt and slacks. He’s already working on his as I shove mine and my briefs down and off, leaving them where they fall. I also don’t help him with his shoes, or his slacks. This is an old routine for us, sizing each other up. He had unarmed combat training in the military but not nearly as much as I did in the Secret Service.
