Leo cups my chin in his hand, his thumb and fingers pressing against my jaw on either side, and he gently shakes my head. “Stop, pet,” he says. “Get out of your head. You’re not losing either of us.” I must look shocked because there’s that chuckle again. “Pet, you are as difficult for me to read as a clear glass of water.” He firmly fists my hair with his other hand, which makes my cock stir and twitch with interest. “That’s why I knew that very first night I had to figure out how to make youmine.”
His possessive tone sends a shiver of pleasure rippling through me.
His.
That’s all I want to be. That’s all I ever want to be.
Even if it means never receiving that one accolade that seems beyond my grasp, no matter how hard I try. I would honestly give it all up to spend the rest of my life with my men. Except I don’t know how to completely release my deepest fears now that so many people depend on me.
Leo carefully untangles himself from me and stands, holding out both hands.
I know better than to argue. I reach for him, letting him help me to my feet despite not needing the help. Not when I have Duck on.
He doesn’t release my hands, though. He holds them, squeezing. “I know telling you to relax won’t help. I know telling you we’re never leaving you won’t help. All we can do is keep showing you how we feel and keep being here for you, pet. You’re only one hundred days into this, with almost four years ahead of you and possibly another four after that. We will be here for you. That fear needs to disappear from your mind so you can focus on everything else. No matter what, Jordan and I willalwaysbe here for you.”
I snort. “Unless you drop out of the sky again.”
He rolls his eyes and pulls me in for a kiss. “Brat,” he mutters, but he’s smiling.
“Yourbrat.”
He sighs, looking contented as his thumbs stroke the backs of my hands. “Yes.Mybrat. Exactly.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
NOW
Christmas Eve morning,I awaken to the feel of Jordan slipping under the covers with me.
I never even felt him get out of bed. Despite the dark bedroom I feel he’s wearing sweats and a T-shirt, so he’s been up long enough to get dressed, leave our bedroom, and return.
“Sorry, boy.” He pulls me close. “I was trying not to wake you.”
“Have you been up long?”
“No. It’s only five.”
I reach up and scratch at my neck. A momentary flash of panic washes through me when I realize my leather collar isn’t around my neck until I belatedly remember—again, as I have every morning for the past couple of mornings—that Jordan didn’t put it on me last night. While my parents are here he’s making me wear my day collar to bed instead. The chainmail bracelet is vanilla-friendly and won’t raise any suspicions.
I snuggle against him. “Are my parents awake yet?”
“I didn’t hear them. I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed in here and mess up my bed.”
Normally he doesn’t do that anymore, because both he and Leo ordered me to let go and stop worrying if my detail will say anything about what must be to them a very obvious sleeping arrangement.
They won’t reveal my secrets.
Housekeeping simply assumes Jordan makes his bed in the morning when he gets up, I guess. They’re not allowed in the residence before Jordan’s cleared it, and I prefer they take weekends off unless I won’t be here, or we have some sort of an event that they’re needed for.
For prefer those kinds of events happen downstairs.
Even over the few days Mom and Dad are staying with us I’ve asked the residence housekeeping staff to take days off and schedule only the bare minimum personnel. I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t be comfortable with their presence, or with them actually serving them.
With Congress on recess, it’s been nice having a lighter work schedule, too. Jordan’s picked up the slack keeping my parents occupied during my PDBs and what little work I’ve had to take care of down in the West Wing. I’ve had briefing books I need to look through sent up to the residence, where I’ve spent a couple of hours every night after Mom and Dad go to bed skimming through them to keep up to date.
This has been a nice visit with my parents and I’m not looking forward to saying good-bye to them. They’re not perfect—god knows I’m damn sure not—but I do love them and miss them.
Stella, on the other hand…
