Once he cleans up and we finish our shower I make Jordan stand there with his hands clasped behind him while I snip the zip-tie with a pair of fingernail trimmers and free him from the cage so I can wash him and check for any irritation.
After we’re out of the shower and dried off, I put the chastity cage back on him, replacing the zip-tie. “There you go.” At least the soft silicone makes it more suitable for long-term wearing than one of the metal or hard plastic ones.
He sighs as he stares down at it, an adorable smirk curving his lips. “Ah, the things we do for love.”
“Is that a complaint?”
He giggles. “Not in the slightest, Mister President.” He meets my gaze head-on, heat once more filling his sweet eyes. “I love doing this with you.”
“You do?”
Jordan’s eyebrow arches. “I know damned well how to safeword.”
I laugh. “That’s what I told Leo.”
CHAPTERSIXTY-SEVEN
TWO WEEKS LATER
“You arewaaaymoreworried about this than I am, pet.” Leo’s tone sounds slurred from the IV meds they’ve already pumped into him ahead of his surgery, a little something to relax him.
“Considering how high you are right now I don’t think you’re worried at all,” I snark back.
A sloppy, lopsided grin quirks his mouth. “Bingo! Relax and enjoy the poll bounce, pet.”
Yes, I’m ashamed to say I did note my bump in the polls because the public knows Leo’s having surgery today.
And also yes, logic and reason and plain old solid medical knowledge tells me Leo’s surgery is low risk, both during the actual surgery and any complications through his recovery. Hell, barring any unforeseen circumstances he’ll be back home tonight in the White House.
Still, tell that to my nervous stomach, which wants to pull rank and order the doctors to let me scrub in and sit next to Leo and hold his hand during the surgery.
I won’t do that, obviously.
Maybe.
No, I can’t do that, because even if I tried Jordan would overrule me and there’s no way in hell he’d let me flip him or pull the POTUS card over something like this.
Besides, from the moment we all woke up early on this Monday morning, Jordan’s been firmly back in Sir mode despite enjoying his stint as the president’s full-time fucktoy over the past two weeks.
I knew I shouldn’t have let him out of the chastity cage last night.
Even if I hadn’t, Leo reinforced Sir’s return by dropping me hard into subspace first thing before he even let me out of bed.
I suspect they coordinated this.
Still, me taking charge of Jordan definitely helped alleviate much of his excess stress over the past two weeks, keeping him occupied from worrying too much over Leo’s bum knee and reduced mobility. It’s not like I was fucking Jordan in my office every day but I know keeping him in that mode helped his state of mind. Helped mine, too, because I poured all my fears and obsession into tormenting Jordan.
Win-win.
Fortunately, no major issues have cropped up in the world to interfere with what little playtime I’ve been able to sneak with Jordan. Right now, Congress is trying to pass a major tax reform bill ahead of their summer recess and I’m dealing with unexpected resistance from a couple of more conservative Democratic senators who it turns out receive a lot of financial support from a few mega-corporations who will have to pay more in taxes if the bill passes.
Belyaevskin is still the target of an active investigation because he left the drug trafficker’s compound the day after he arrived and no one’s sure where he went. He shook his tail when he reached the city. But several more sus financial transactions popped up within seventy-two hours and triggered reports. Enough that I’ve told my team they can keep pursuing leads until they’ve definitively ruled his motives in or out.
I’m receiving daily briefings about him now, whether or not they’ve learned anything. My gut tells me to stay on this until we know more, that this is a ball that absolutely shouldn’t be dropped.
Except right now, at this moment, tax reform and Belyaevskin and lots of other topics are not on my mind. As the three of us sit in the special hospital room suite at Walter Reed and wait for them to come take Leo, I can’t help clinging to his right hand while Jordan sits on his other side and holds his left. I opted to wear jeans and a charcoal, long-sleeved Henley this morning. I wanted comfort. Fuck my image—this is my husband and I’m worried about him. Jordan’s wearing khakis and a button-up with a tie and a jacket, but for him this passes as “casual” while he’s on the clock.
Which, technically, he is.
