“But it wouldn’t be fair to Ciro and the rest of the party for their incumbent to drop out in the middle of the campaign for anything less than a family or personal health emergency. You have nothing left to prove to anyone but yourself. You did what you set out to do, and that’s become POTUS. Regardless of the deeper reasons you ran the first time,thistime you have to run because youwantto,notbecause you feel you need to earn your dad’s respect.”
Slowly swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I contemplate his words.
He’s absolutely right, of course. One of the annoying things about Leo is that he usually is right, especially when it comes to psychological stuff.
I mean,duh. He has a degree in it, and spent years in the Secret Service.
Knowing what and why I should do or feel about any given thing is a completely different beast than being able to apply that knowledge to my soul in a healthy way.
I don’t need Leo’s psychology degree or years of training to know that, either.
Staring into my glass, I breathe in the easy, loving silence of my men sitting on either side of me.
They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t love me and mean every word they say. I know this because they show up for me every time, their actions always match their words, and they never give up on me or let me give up on myself.
Maybe I don’t deserve them but I know I’m damned lucky to have them.
Taking a deep breath, I raise my glass. “Fuck it. There’s still a lot of good yet for me to do. Let’s ram the rest of my agenda down the GOP’s goddamned throats and make every last one of those sanctimonious fucks choke on it.”
Jordan and Leo clink glasses with me, both of them wearing nearly identical, evil smiles before Leo takes a sip.
“That’s my boy,” Jordan says. Leo clears his throat and arches a warning eyebrow at Jordan, who sticks his tongue out at him. “Hey, heismy boy, Daddy. You said so. He’syourpet andmyboy.” It always amazes and amuses me to watch how effortlessly Jordan slips into and out of Sir and boy modes between me and Leo.
Leo chuckles despite his eye roll. “I suppose I did say that.” He leans in and kisses me and I taste the warm heat of the bourbon on his lips. “But once he’s done with the White House, you both belong only tome, and Sir can go retire.”
There’s more than a little possessive heat roiling deep inside Leo’s brown gaze. In this light the mahogany and amber tones swirl together, lit from within by the furnace of his love for us both.
But he’s not finished. “From this point on, Stella gets no quarter from us, either,” he quietly adds. “Wewilldestroy her, along with Ellis, if she sets one foot out of line again. Our priority is protectingyou.”
The chilling gravity in his tone sends an icy shiver through me as I nod. “Yes, Master.”
“No interference?”
I shake my head. “No interference.”
He kisses my forehead. “Good boy.” Those two words transform that cold shiver into a flood of warmth which races through me and makes my cock twitch. Then he throws back the rest of his drink and stands, holding a hand out to me.
I finish my drink, take his hand, and let him pull me to my feet while Jordan scrambles to follow.
“Ready for bed, pet?” Leo asks.
I smile. “Not exactly, Master.”
* * *
One of theperks of being POTUS, as I’ve previously mentioned, is that when I demand utter privacy inside the White House, I get it.
Without question or hesitation. With absolutely no need to justify myself.
Jordan goes on ahead of us and he doesn’t turn on any lights in the Oval while he pulls all the curtains shut, just in case. There aren’t any reporters on-site tonight, even the pool celebrating the evening at home.
But Jordan knows me and knows it’s too easy for me to be rudely yanked out of the headspace he and Leo want me in by real-life concerns.
Like if someone can see us fucking or not.
Leo locks the door behind us, makes sure all the other doors are also locked, and then settles on one of the sofas. There, he snaps his fingers, pointing at a spot on the carpet in front of him.
I immediately sink to my knees and look up into his eyes, which lay in deep pools of shadows in the dim, dappled light thrown by yet another Christmas tree, this one standing in the far corner. It was set up by the White House staff, professionally decorated and the perfect backdrop for photo ops, and there’s not a single ornament out of place. Jordan plugged in its lights after Leo locked us in.
