Before I head up the walk, I pause and turn. I remember this agent. “You’re second in charge for the vice president’s detail, correct?”
He nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Leo Cruz.”
He nods again, his expression more guarded. “Yes, sir? What about him?”
“You know I’m friends with him, correct?”
“I remember you frequently visited here with Mr. Cruz, yes, sir. Weren’t you living together?”
“Yeah. Have you or anyone on the detail had contact with Leo since I returned to DC?”
“Not that I’m aware of, sir. I believe he’s on the travel roster with President Samuels.”
“Please pass the word that if Leo should contact anyone on Elliot’s detail before the president returns from her trip, no one is to tell him about me being here.”
His brow furrows. “Sir?”
“It’s a personal matter that doesn’t have anything to do with the vice president,” I lie. “I want to be the one to personally tell Leo that I’m back, and see the look on his face when I do. We want to surprise him. If I have to, I’ll get Vice President Woodley to make it a direct order.”
“Not necessary, sir. I’ll let everyone know.”
“Thanks.” With that bit of mischief managed, I head inside. I timed things perfectly, because the aides are still gathered around the large, formal dining room table with Elliot.
Distracted.
I head upstairs to the bedroom, put away my purchases, and then organize our laundry for the valet to handle. I also rig the paracord and snap clips, securing them to the bedframe and running the cord under the mattress, where it’s all easily hidden from sight. But I can now hook Elliot spread-eagled while he’s wearing the cuffs.
Sort of.
I think the ankle cuffs are long enough I can buckle the left one around his calf, just below his knee. If not, I’ll come up with something. Leo never used to hook Elliot’s ankle cuff to restraints like that, but I will.
Again with the whole this isusdeal. No one’s ever accused me of not being creative.
Once that task’s complete, I use my official tablet and log into the system to find out where POTUS is.
Busy with meetings today in Ottawa, but nothing being held out in the Arctic tundra where Wi-Fi hasn’t been invented yet.
Meaning Leo Fucking Cruz isreallystarting to piss me off for not responding to Elliot’s texts.
Between Elliot’s meetings with staff, I fix him lunch and sit him down at the dining room table to eat. Today, he’s wearing jeans and a button-up light blue Oxford shirt, no tie, his sleeves rolled below his elbows. I take his right hand in mine and, without fanfare, I fasten the bracelet around his wrist. Then I place my left wrist next to his, so he can see.
“Right for sub, left for Sir.” A frisson ripples through me as time merges, past and present, and I think about the night of Shae’s first inauguration, when Leo collared me. “They didn’t have matchies, or I would have bought us identical ones.” I bring his wrist to my lips and kiss his bracelet, then hold his hand tucked against my chest the way Leo did that night so many years ago. “Do you want to be my boy?”
His breath hitches. “Yes, Sir. I want to be your boy.” I don’t make him ask to wear my day collar, because I say sending a Secret Service detail after me in Tallahassee speaks to his determination and implies consent on his part.
“You keep that on, unless I tell you to take it off. We’re a matched set now, right?”
The hint of a smile curves his handsome lips. “Yes, Sir. Matched set. Can’t separate a matched set.”
My heart flutters. “Damn right, you can’t.” I lean in and kiss him. “Good boy. Eat your lunch. You’ve got about twenty minutes before your next meeting.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
I leave him alone with his food and the prep materials he’s reading. He doesn’t need me hovering and making him nervous. He’s good at thejobpart of his job.
It’s all the other shit he needs help with.
