I nod. Lying to him’s not an option.
“Okay. No workout, then.” He perches on the edge of the bed and reaches for my coffee mug, which he’s left on the nightstand. I sit up and lean against him, taking the offered mug and sipping.
Prepared perfectly, as always. “Thank you, Sir.”
He drapes an arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “Sorry you’re in pain, buddy.”
I suck in a ragged breath and try to maintain my composure. His simple, sweet compassion sometimes drives me to tears way faster than any of the more painful attentions he lavishes upon me when we’re alone.
Probably because I’m not always convinced I’m deserving of the gentler, innocent facets of his love.
Instead, I wrap both hands around my coffee mug and continue sipping. “How does this impact our schedule?”
He glances at his watch. “We just gained forty minutes. How would you like to spend it? Boy’s choice.”
How, indeed?I know I should opt to have my morning book brought to me but the pain currently ruling my body isn’t the fun and sexy kind, meaning I need this extra time in Jordan’s care to nourish my soul before tackling my day.
“Can we snuggle, Sir?”
“Absolutely.” He takes my mug, returns it to the nightstand, then stretches out in bed next to me. I immediately roll to face him, my head cradled on his arm as he embraces me and our legs tangle together.
I deeply inhale His scent and peace fills my soul. I recall my earlier nightmare and how Jordan soothed me awake.
Because of his sweats and the tee, I easily feel the lines of his body pressing against my naked flesh, the warmth washing from him. I wish we had time to do more than snuggle this morning but after my nightmare last night I know a rushed session would only stress me out more.
I can wait until tonight.
“What’s my day look like?” I mumble against his shoulder.
Usually, unless there’s a meeting to prep for or I’m traveling, I don’t know what’s going on when I awaken beyond my early morning schedule up until my presidential daily briefing by NatSec—the PDB. Jordan informs me of what I immediately need to know at any given time. This reduces my stress, allowing me to focus on whatever’s right in front of me instead of trying to game out several plans in my head. Jordan handles all of that and I unerringly trust him.
He’sneverlet me down.
Ever.
Jordan reaches up and hooks a finger through the D-ring on the front of my leather collar. “PDB, followed by an hour with advisors regarding trade policy with Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, and Venezuela. Then lunch with the Speaker of the House in your private dining room in the West Wing.”
My groan rolls free. “He’ll want to introduce me to his daughter again, won’t he?” I’ve already dodged several not-so-subtle “hints” from the man that she’s single and has a law degree.
Jordan nuzzles the top of my head. “Embrace the suck, buttercup.” He chuckles, and so do I.
I swear to myself I’ll come out in two years, win or lose. It’s my last viable excuse. Because I can’t keep lying to myself and say my fear flows from my worry about negatively impacting my own re-election chances as well as down-ballot races.
When I come out it’ll be to declare to the world that I love Leo and want to marry him.
Except I know I should do it now. Delaying this isn’t fair to Leo when I’ve already kept him waiting for far too long. Coming out would also mean he can be at my side during a grueling campaign slog. One everyone assumes I’m making but I technically haven’t officially announced.
Unfortunately, once I come out and publicly claim Leo, it means Jordan’s put in a difficult position. We’ll lose some of what little logistical wiggle room Jordan and Leo currently benefit from if they can’t freely and anonymously go out together. They’d lose what few vestiges of normalcy they currently enjoy, since Leo would be in the spotlight and constantly surrounded by a security detail and reporters when out in public. And Jordan would, once again, be relegated to the shadowy sidelines.
The upside would mean almost zero chance of anyone suspecting something’s going on between me and Jordan, or prompt questions about his living arrangement with us.
Yet I have mixed emotions. Leo’s already spent years denying himself because of me and my career. I can’t do that to Jordan, too. That’s additional and avoidable guilt I don’t think I have the strength to bear.
Sure, we have alone time we can greedily snatch in private in the residence—or in a hotel suite, if I’m traveling—when my duties aren’t pulling me apart at the seams.
But I’m the one who ran for office. I chose this path for myself and chose to remain on it, even when forks appeared in the road that led to paths of far less resistance.
Leo and Jordan did not get a choice. They never asked to be thrust into the public eye. Doesn’t matter they reassure me they’re here for me for life and not going anywhere—Ifeel guilty. Feeling guilty is something I’ve excelled at throughout the years.
