Chapter Twelve
Leo speaks with Elliot on Monday and then asks me to move in with him on a trial basis. He helps me move all my things to his apartment and we agree that I’ll keep my hotel room, because it’s already paid for by the campaign. That way, if we realize this isn’t working out, I can always return to the hotel.
No pressure, right?
Except…thisisworking out.
In a scary-good kind of way.
He even holds me when I wake up crying from nightmares where we didn’t get away from the club in time, and the shooter made their way inside, where we were hiding. He never makes fun of my tears.
It feels weirdly good having this man as my guardian angel.
The next several weeks pass in a whirlwind, and I mean that as close to literally as I can get without invoking actual tornadoes.
Life is frickingcrazy.
Not just because of work, but because every spare second Leo and I have together where we’re not sleeping is usually spent naked and fucking. Forget being a thirsty bitch—it’s like we’re bothstarvingand just discovered a free 24/7/365 all-you-can-eat buffet.
Seriously.
I don’t even mind him spending time with Elliot, which isn’t much time. Because I have three modes right now: work, fuck, and sleep.
Don’t know how I’ll feel once the inauguration is behind me, but I’ll cross that bridge and all that bullshit. I don’t have time for petty jealousy.
Okay, that’s not…entirelytrue.
Elliot—as I think of him in my mind, even though I’d never dream of calling him that to his face in front of others—and I have been engaged in a silent, secret tug-of-war for Leo’s soul. We end up leaving love bites somewhere on Leo, a call-and-response that seems to amuse our shared owner. Elliot frequently bites him on the arm, because they don’t have time or privacy to get fully naked very often.
Neon green jealousy always rolls through me when I find a mark somewhere I know meant Leo was undressed enough to likely be having sex with Elliot.
Like at the base of Leo’s cock, or inside his thigh, or on his pec.
Or finding scratch marks on Leo’s back, or ass.
I don’t like to ask Leo if he’s going to see Elliot, or if he’s been with him, although I know I can ask and he won’t lie about it. Sometimes, I prefer to pretend Elliot exists in a vacuum and is apart from what Leo and I share.
It’s not that I’m jealous ofElliot. Not totally. On the contrary, if it was the two of us togetherwithLeo, I’d think that was hot.
Reallyhot. I mean, come on, Elliot’sdamnedhot.
Honestly? I’ve admitted to Leo that the fantasy of being pinned between the two of them, helpless and at their mercy, and being used as a fucktoy by them, would be a dream come true if we could ever make it happen.
Absofuckinglutely, I’d love that.
The jealousy part, from my end, is more because Elliot seems to have zero interest in making that happen. Zero interest in…me. A rejection I’m trying not to take personally, because I understand that I’m the newcomer to this, and don’t have a right to elbow Elliot out of the way. The only reason I can have a relationship with Leo is because Elliot allows it.
I’m under no illusions that if Elliot tells Leo no, he can’t do this with me, that Leo would sadly bid me good-bye. Rightfully, Leo’s not interested in ordering Elliot to be with me in bed. Also, to be fair, I remind myself that Elliot’s under a lot of stress and pressure right now, and I’m glad that getting laidisn’tthe man’s first priority. Because he’s trying to wrap up things for the House, and he’s stepping into the second most important office in our country.
Soo…priorities.
Leo says that once the inauguration’s over, then he’s going to schedule private time for the three of us and start easing Elliot into the new world order.
I’ll be patient. I have no choicebutto be patient.
Leo and I haven’t said “I love you” to each other, either, even though that’s how I feel and I’m reasonably sure that’s what Leo feels for me.
Again, the whole patience thing. I’ll wait until he says it first. I don’t want to rush things just to have it blow up in my face.
