“Yeah. I told Stella I’d rearrange his schedule.”
“Not that he needs it, but you realize it’ll probably mean a bump in polling for him, right? Sympathy factor?”
“I’m way ahead of you there.” Yep, I am.
I’m not a heartless human being—all evidence to the contrary not withstanding—but it is a side effect of being a political wonk, to look at all the angles.
When we eventually return to the residence that night, it’s nearly eleven. I’m still trying to process that Elliot’s no longer in danger, and neither am I, apparently.
I’ll never celebrate what I did. I’ll never be happy about it.
I’ll probably have nightmares about it for the rest of my life.
But I’d do it again to protect Elliot.
After I set the alarm, I lead him upstairs to our bedroom.
A bedroom I can’t claim is mine, with a man I can’t claim is mine.
Not publicly.
Except heismine. In many ways, he’s far more mine than he is Leo’s. Cumulatively, I’ve spent more time with Elliot than Leo has.
I reach up to unfasten his tie and our gazes lock. What happens next is kind of a blur. He fists my tie, I grab his, and we sort of pull each other in to kiss. Some of our clothes hit the floor, he shoves his slacks down and yanks Duck and his socks and liners off, but we’re all tangled up together.
Doesn’t even slow us down.
Somehow, the two of us end up on the bed, and we’re both still wearing our glasses, shirts, and ties when I push him onto his back, lube his cock, and impale myself on him.
He feels like heaven, like he’s my salvation.
“Do it, baby,” he hoarsely says, his hands settling on my hips.
My hands close over his and squeeze. Slowly rocking, I stare into his eyes and let my brain drain away and my balls take over.
This is a gorgeous, brilliant, sweet fucking man, and he belongs tome.
No one’s ever going to take him away from me. I’ll fight for him.
I’ve already proven I’ll kill for him.
I lean in and kiss him. Then, when I brace my hands on the bed on either side of his head, he takes me by surprise and effortlessly flips me onto my back without dislodging his cock from my ass.
It’s game on.
I plunge a hand into his hair and wrap my other arm around his neck as we kiss. He tastes like forever and I shove the rest of the world out of my head for a while. He pulls my legs around his waist, and then his hands cage my head.
When this man willingly drops to his knees for me, it’s sometimes easy to forget how damned strong he is physically.
And how tightly he holds my heart and soul.
He looks down at me before his lips crash onto mine once more, raw, unbridled passion flowing between us.
Slowing his thrusts, he nips my lower lip. “Beg me for it, Jor.”
I dig my heels into his ass and arch up against him, wanting all of him inside me, and he knows it. This is part of the dance that we do, the charade. He belongs to me—willingly gave himself to me.Askedto be mine.
But he owns me, too. Even when I’m “in charge” in bed, I’m needy and greedy for him. Even more when he’s feeling his own Toppy oats, like right now.
