Jordan arranged for the main kitchen to prepare our dinner tonight and I’m certain he had everything timed to the minute to cue the staff to have it on the table and waiting for us.
When I arrive in the residence I find Jordan standing in the front hall where he awaits me while checking his phone.
He’s probably texting Leo that he’s home and telling him goodnight.
“MisterPresident,” Jordan says as he looks up and tips his head to me. “Good evening.” The way he says it is in the tone of our secret code.
I force myself to return his head tip while my cock hardens in my slacks. “Good evening, Jordan. Let’s go eat.” I catch his gaze and hold it for a moment.
My cock presses against my zipper, prompting me to start moving so I don’t give away too much. I falter when Jordan falls into step next to me and I catch a whiff of him. No one else would likely notice but I do.
As he did the other night, he smells like sex.
He smells likeLeo.
I stop myself—barely—from leaning in and sniffing him right there in front of my agents.
God, I want to bypass dinner, drag him to our bedroom, and work over every square inch of his body with my lips until I’ve licked every bit of Leo off him that I can.
I want to nuzzle my face against his flesh so I can smell and taste our Master. I also want to check Jordan for the fresh marks Leo no doubt left on him, and leave my own for Leo to find tomorrow. Stake my territory.
Make him smell likemeagain.
Ihatethis part of my life, the separation. I hate the necessary secrecy.
But maybe with Leo at my side permanently, publicly, I can finally start learning how to not hate myself.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
There areno household staff in the private dining room but our dinner is on the table, steam gently wafting off our plates, meaning they were placed there less than a minute ago and the staff scampered ahead of our arrival.
Sucking in a deep breath, I force myself to not go after Jordan right there on the dining room table. We take our usual seats, me hesitating until Jordan lowers himself into his chair. Protocol dictates that if the president is standing, everyone’s standing. When we’re alone, however, I follow Jordan’s lead.
After I’m seated I await Jordan’s signal that I can start eating even as he shakes out his napkin and takes his time settling in.
While I usually crave these cues, tonight I’m…antsy.
Finally, Jordan glances my way and I receive two fingers casually brushed in my direction as he moves to pick up his fork. It’s a gesture anyone else—except Leo—wouldn’t even notice.
My Sir is very subtle. The more he wants me to pay attention to him, the more subtle he is. Whenever I’m eating in public view he positions himself so I can make eye contact with him. Then he tips his head while maintaining eye contact as my cue that I’m allowed to start eating. The only time I’m allowed to start eating without him is if he’s not present, or he’s been called out of the room and it would look weird if I didn’t start eating. In either instance, I have to first slowly run the alphabet through my head twice, then silently thank Jordan for letting me eat before I can dig in.
As we eat dinner tonight Jordan eyes me in that way of his.
Or, rather,His.
Sir in the house, totally. Watching me. Evaluating.
Planning what’s to happen next, if I had to guess.
He drops his voice, mindful of any household staff who might still in the private family kitchen next door. “Are you all right, Mister President?”
A rippling shiver rolls through me as I nod. When he says it like that,Mister President, he manages it in such a way that it hardens my cock and makes me want to drop to my knees to worship him.
I tip my head toward him, another of our cues, while attempting to focus on shoveling my dinner into my mouth.
I want him in bed.
Now.
