I feel the air’s chill through the glass and suspect somewhere out there is a Secret Service agent silently swearing at me for standing here in full view like this.
But I’m not the president anymore.
I’m a private citizen. Let them look.
Therefore, as my Sir and Master would both likely say—fuck them. I hope they enjoy the view.
Still, it almost feels like I’m…lost. Like I’m forgetting something on this, my first morning of absolute freedom in what truthfully has been decades. Even my “vacation days” never felt like this because I knew it was a temporary respite from my usually grueling daily grind.
Shae assured me yesterday that this feeling will soon pass as I seriously begin to settle into my new life and eke out a new set of routines with my men. That I definitely should wait at least six months before making any decisions about what my next step should be.
Without the daily rhythm and worries, the responsibilities of keeping our country and people safe, it feels like I’m untethered to the earth.
No morning book, no PDB, no staff meetings. I can and will continue to receive security briefings but I asked for a couple of weeks off from them unless something serious happens and my input is truly needed. And they will be far less detailed than before. I could opt out of them totally except Ciro asked for me—and Shae—to continue receiving them so he can come to us if he feels he needs an ear.
I get that. I leaned on Shae quite a bit in my early days.
But now…
Now? There’s no need to lock us in my private study so I can be put on the floor and Jordan can run his hands through my hair and give me a desperately needed reset to force me into a healthier mindset and help drive away my debilitating imposter syndrome.
There’s also no need for me to lock us in my private study so I can use the slut and shut down his brain. And mine.
Last night we were so exhausted upon our arrival here that we stripped, left our clothes where they landed, and collapsed in bed.
“Here” being a rented house somewhere in Virginia, our temporary residence for the next two months.
Just knowing there was no way in hell anyone would awaken me in the middle of the night unless the house wasliterallyon fire—or Leo or Jordan wanted to fuck me—was so damnedamazing.
Behind me I hear the covers rustle in the bed. Jordan’s sleep-thick voice slides through the chilly morning air and warmly winds around me.
“Come back to bed,boy.”
That’s immediately followed by a sharp, meatycrackof a hand meeting a tight ass or thigh, and Jordan’s pained, “Ow!”
Then he giggles.
“Come back to bed,El.” Jordan now sounds not only a little more awake but years younger, as well as playfully, evilly amused.
I’m obviously not the only one who’ll have to get used to our new life in the private sector.
“That’s better,boy,” Leo rumbles. “Pet, come back to bed.” From the sound of his voice I can tell he’s nearly asleep again.
I’ve always envied his ability to drop into and out of sleep so effortlessly. Especially now.
I turn and yes, Leo, who ended up on the far side of the bed last night, now lies on his side facing Jordan, who slept in the middle. Leo’s spooned around Jordan from behind, one arm draped over him and the other stretched out as a pillow for Jordan, both of them facing me. Leo waggles his fingers at me and there’s no doubt in my mind what he means.
Come here.
I return to bed and slide in, facing Leo and Jordan and pressed tightly against Jordan, with my head resting on Leo’s arm, too. His arm will probably go to sleep and feel pins-and-needles tingly in a few minutes, forcing him to move it, but for now we’re squeezed together.
It feels like perfection.
The arm draped over Jordan slips around me as our legs all tangle together. A foot rubs against my right calf and I’m not sure if it’s Leo’s or Jordan’s.
Not that it matters.
I’m theirs and they’re mine. These initial few weeks will be spent getting to know each other all over again without outside pressures and stress weighing on us or any swords hanging over our heads, poised to fall at the slightest misstep on our parts.
