He grabs me and kisses me, hard and deep and I release his throat, grab him by the ass, and grind my hips against him.
“Thank you, Mister President,” he whispers.
“You thank menow, slut.” I smile. “Let’s see if you’re still thanking me by the time I’m out of office.”
CHAPTERSIXTY-EIGHT
Late that afternoon,once we’re all safely back at the White House and Leo’s asleep in bed with his leg carefully cradled by pillows, I follow Jordan into the kitchen, pin him against the counter, and reach between his legs from behind. He’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier.
My fingers trace the smooth curves of the chastity cage. “Did you use a zip-tie on it?” They’re not huge ones and easily snipped free with large fingernail trimmers, which is another reason why I like using them instead of a more bulky lock.
“Of course, Mister President.” I hear the smile in his voice.
“Good boy.” I release him and when he turns yes, he’s smiling. I snap my fingers and point at the floor in front of me.
He drops to his knees, his eyes widening as I unfasten my jeans.
“Open.”
He does, the fear in his gaze turning my crankhard.
What he doesn’t know is I ordered the detail to clear the residence for the night unless we call for something. But Jordan’s trust in me means he’s absolutely committed to doing this.
Good. Because I plan on scaring the crap out of him in countless ways over the next several months.
I’m certain he’ll enjoy every second of it, too.
Cupping the back of his head, I quickly fuck my balls empty in his mouth because I’ve had a semi ever since I let him grind one out earlier. With Leo safely through his surgery and back at home I can finally focus on other things. Like running the country.
And fucking this gorgeous man.
As I stand there and catch my breath with my softening cock in Jordan’s mouth, I reach down and ruffle his hair. “That’s better.” I pull out and zip up. “Make us dinner, baby. Grilled chicken salads. Don’t be surprised if Leo doesn’t wake up to eat.”
“Yes, Mister President.”
I offer my hand and he takes it, smiling as I pull him to his feet. “I hope you’re hard right now,” I say.
He grins. “I am. Sort of.” He wiggles his hips. “Kind of cramped down there.”
“Good. It’ll remind you who owns you.” I spin him around and slap his ass, hard, as I shove him toward the doorway. “Strip and put on your leather collar before you make us dinner. No clothes for the rest of the night for you, either. The day collars stay on your right wrist.”
He throws me one of his adorably playful smiles over his shoulder. “Yes, Mister President.” He blows me a kiss.
I return it.
Let’s hope he’s still feeling this playful after a few months of being my full-time fucktoy.
* * *
I’ll spareyou the details of my Tuesday morning PDB.
Suffice it to say it is by farthemost enjoyable daily briefing I’ve ever endured. I barely wait until the briefers are out the door and it swings shut behind them to reach between my legs, grab Jordan’s head, and spill my load deep into his eager, waiting mouth.
Fortunately, Jordan and I didn’t have to argue with Leo this morning to convince him to remain upstairs in the residence instead of going to work in the East Wing. He’s hurting from yesterday’s surgery and isn’t supposed to put any weight on his leg for a few days.
Leo’s reached a point in his life where he won’t argue with medical advice or our logic about not pushing himself too soon and risking re-injuring his knee.
Which is good, because it would have been tricky explaining why Jordan crawled out from under my desk had Leo needed his assistance before my PDB ended. I mean, it wouldn’t have been trickyexplaining—the reason would be obvious—it but it likely would have made the briefers uncomfortable had that happened.
