Yes, score another win for Leo the sadist. He was right.
Hey, I have no problem admitting when I’m wrong or when I fuck up. Contrary to popular belief I have plenty of experience in that department.
“I mean it, pet.” Leo’s serious tone brooks no disobedience. “I don’t want you digging around into any of this. Let me and Jordan handle it.”
“Yes, Master.” I mean, not that I would have time to deal with it in any way that wouldn’t get me caught squarely in the middle of an ethics investigation with which I’m certain McMurtry would be happy to snare me.
“Good boy. If we find out more that you need to be made aware of, one of us will tell you.”
I know he’s right. “I won’t dig into it.”
“Sorry I can’t be there right now. We’ll return to DC tomorrow and then I can start shaking a few trees. In fact, I’ll probably tell Jordan to stay out of it, too. No telling what’s going on.”
“Should it worry me even more that none of your sources told you any of this?”
“I don’t know.” He sighs. “Maybe not. It could simply be the natural chaos over the last several months. The transition and inauguration had everyone distracted in various ways. Plus the holidays on top of that. On the heels of the general election, I think everyone needed downtime. I know several political consultants who basically took vacations until just before the inauguration.”
These are also very logical reasons. Still doesn’t ease the new, low-grade tension residing deep in my gut and trying to slide around to reside at the base of my spine.
Mostly because Leo doesn’t sound like he completely believes that reason, either.
Meaning this feeling likely won’t go away until I know what the hell Stella’s really up to.
* * *
I muddlemy way through the rest of my daily schedule. I’d mostly forgotten about my little exchange with Jordan until that evening, when I’m in the elevator and heading upstairs.
Immediately my cock hardens in my slacks. Jordan left the West Wing about twenty minutes earlier after I told him he was done for the day. That means…
When I step off the elevator I deeply inhale to find the delicious aroma of homemade picadillo filling the residence.
I wonder…
Making my way down the main hall, I stop in the kitchen doorway and see that, yes, Jordan’s changed out of his suit and is wearing sweats and a T-shirt.
And his leather collar.
Fuuuuck me.
Did I mention how hot the boy is? Like, legitimately gorgeous. He’s not a twink but his lithe, toned body fits perfectly against mine.
I cross the kitchen and stop right behind him, where he’s standing at the stove. There, I grab him by the hips and grind my erection against his ass.
He’s not wearing underwear, either.
“Good boy,” I whisper in his right ear, making him shiver. “I think after dinner someone needs to give me a blowjob.”
He tips his head back even as his hips undulate against me. “Whatever you want, Mister President.”
Fuuuuck. I capture his mouth in a scorching kiss, hooking one arm around his waist and cupping his chin with the other to hold him in place. I could do this all night with him. Seriously.
When I step away he tries to follow and I chuckle as I plant a hand in the middle of his back so he doesn’t accidentally drag the skillet full of ground meat off the stove.
“I’ll be right back, boy.” I swat his ass. “Keep doing what you’re doing.” I head to the master bedroom and instead of getting comfortable and changing clothes like I’d planned I opt to shed only my jacket.
I have my reasons.
Next, I return to the entry foyer to order my detail to hang back for the evening, meaning they’ll retreat to the entrances and ignore everything they hear tonight, unless I call for help or we hit the panic button.
