Solace (Devastation Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  At least we have good weather today, easy flying. Between me and Casey, we keep George calm without a Xanax.

  That evening, as we sit in front of TVs at the campaign headquarters, eating pizza as the returns roll in, it’s obvious to me and our hired consultants that while George’s victory in November is not exactly a slam-dunk, there is very little doubt he’ll be able to pull in more votes than whoever the Democratic candidate is.

  That’s if George isn’t hobbled by stupid scandals, or self-inflicted political injuries.

  Like being linked to fucking a male staffer.

  Not even the Petula Bounce would pull us out of that fire, if we were ensnared by it.

  Late that night, it’s the three of us in George’s bed. We’re exhausted from a day of travel and stress, so instead of sex, we sit up eating Ellen’s favorite ice cream—strawberry—right out of the carton while watching episodes of Grey’s Anatomy.

  It feels…fitting.

  “I’m not going to jinx this and say I think I have it won,” he says. “I’ll keep working my ass off.”

  “Good,” Casey says. “Because I’d have to punch you in the snoot if you jinxed us.”

  She’s sitting in the middle tonight. We’ve had some movie nights and cuddle times where she was in the middle, but with those she’s always clothed.

  For sexytime, it’s me in the middle.

  One thing I have noticed, but haven’t mentioned to George, is that when it’s just me and Casey in bed, she’s never let me fuck her from behind.

  Not once.

  No doggy style, not on our sides, not even reverse cowgirl—nothing like that. I don’t know why that’s a bad trigger for her, because she’ll gladly fuck me from behind with a strap-on, but it’s something on my list of topics to discuss with her once we’re through election season and can fucking breathe again.

  They’re both better about communication with me, too. No more blow-ups on my part, either.

  George and I both understand Casey’s dealing with her own demons, and we can’t force her to rush that process. We’re okay with that, because at least she’s trying.

  In her own way.

  We’re both very patient men.

  And now the next chapter of our life begins.

  I get picked to take what’s left of the ice cream back downstairs to the freezer. When I return, they’re sitting there talking, Casey’s head tipped over onto George’s shoulder, and I pause in the bedroom doorway for a moment to watch them together.

  I know Casey loves me. I know she’s in love with me. All this other stuff aside, I do know it.

  And I can see how much she loves George, and how much he loves her.

  Something has subtly shifted between us ever since the flood. Casey is still cautious, but maybe she’s finding her own healing, finally, the way George and I both are, too.

  Casey and I are still working on our long game. She’s had more contact with Junior because of the campaign, but she’s worked to keep his contact with George to a minimum to help my state of mind.

  I don’t know how or when that’ll eventually play out, but she’s promised me it will.

  All I can do is wait.

  Meanwhile, tonight the three of us can fall asleep knowing our hard work has positioned George for likely re-election. Tomorrow starts the next crazy-making phase—scheduling debates, filming ads, targeted polling in areas where I’m not feeling certain about his chances so we can see what we can buff up to help his numbers.

  Four more years.

  Four more years of pretending, of standing to the side and watching him in the public spotlight, of working for him while denying to everyone else what I feel for him.

  Four more years.

  Worth it?

  Absofuckinglutely. He’s a thousand times the governor any of our most recent state executives have been. And the job is his for the taking, meaning we can get busy next year with some of Ellen’s initiatives.

  We just have to stay focused and dedicated.

  Also, we just have to not fuck it up.

  The End

  http://www.LesliRichardson.com

  George, Declan, and Casey-Marie’s story concludes in Release (Devastation Trilogy 3).

  Preview: Governor (Governor Trilogy 1)

  The following is the first chapter from Governor (Governor Trilogy 1, MMF, political romance) by Lesli Richardson.

  Meet the Governor…

  I kneel for only one man—Carter Wilson, my best friend, chief of staff, and bastard extraordinaire.

  It’s a price I willingly pay to be owned by Her.

  His wife.

  Who is also, as of when we were sworn in this morning, my lieutenant governor.

  I am Owen Taylor, governor of the great state of Florida.

  * * * *

  Chapter One

  Now

  It’s hard not to shiver when the AC kicks on as I kneel, naked, on the floor of my new office, the carpet doing little to cushion my knees. My hands remain clasped behind my head, back straight, elbows out.

  This is how he’s trained me, and what he expects of me.

  My knees are spread as wide as I can manage and still keep my heels tucked under my ass.

  He circles me, inspecting me as he smiles and tugs on his shirt cuffs, adjusting the lay of the cufflinks. I know he wants to strip off that suit he’s wearing and fuck me right here, spread over my new desk, but he’s holding himself back.

  Waiting.

  I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, even though my hard cock has a will of its own and is probably dribbling a puddle all over the towel Carter thought to put down before ordering me to kneel.

  He might be a bastard extraordinaire, but he’s also very practical.

  He looks pleased with himself, and he has every right to be. He’s the only man I kneel for and he damn well knows it.

  It’s a price I willingly pay to be owned by Her.

  His wife.

  Who is also, as of when we were sworn in at one o’clock this very afternoon, my lieutenant governor for the great state of Florida.

  * * * *

  Carter Wilson, bastard extraordinaire, is eight years older than me, a decorated Army veteran, my best friend, college roommate, one of my two closest confidants, my chief of staff…

  And he’s the Master and husband of Susannah Evans.

  Susa owns me—mind, heart, soul, and body—and has ever since I first met her in college.

  Since she owns me, that means I belong to Carter by default. It was the deal I willingly accepted all those years ago.

  Susa grew up the daughter of a lawyer, a progressive Republican who pretty much ran the state GOP for decades. Still does, unofficially now. Benchley Evans was a county administrator, then a county commissioner, followed by four terms as a state rep, and two more as a state senator. The only reason he didn’t run for the big G or a national office was a massive heart attack that made his wife put her foot down and demand he choose his family over party and politics for once in his damn life.

  He also hailed from a family that first made their fortune in citrus and cattle. As freezes and canker and greening took down the citrus industry, and the exploding housing market chipped away at cattle lands, he’d already moved on to land development, jumping in early when acreage was still cheap.

  That meant he could easily afford to send his only daughter to any college she chose, for any degree she wanted.

  It was my luck—good or bad, you decide—that we ended up in Tampa together, selecting majors and minors that would help us with law degrees.

  But she’s also smarter than me in many ways. Far more ruthless politically. That’s why, when Carter decided we could change our home state in good ways, Susa insisted it should be me who ran for governor on a third-party ticket.

  This time.

  After eight years—if I win re-election, that is—she’ll be perfectly positioned for her own gubernatorial bid.

  I’ll do my best t
o get her elected. Once I’m out of office, I’ll return to the private sector while still championing a few key causes that are near and dear to my heart.

  But what I’ll be looking forward to most by then is time out of the public eye.

  For at least the next four years, my official residence is the Florida Governor’s Mansion in Tallahassee. I can’t simply choose to not live there, because it’d be a logistics nightmare for my security detail, as well as an unnecessary expense for taxpayers.

  Considering two of the key planks in the platform we ran on were better budgeting and smarter spending, I can’t do something that would so blatantly fly in the face of those ideals.

  I especially can’t cite wanting to be with Susa and Carter whenever I choose as the reason.

  I still own my house just outside Tampa, next door to Carter and Susa’s house and sharing the same backyard fence. But for the most part, I won’t be staying there during my term. Besides, there’s already a calendar full of official state functions, and many of them will be held at the mansion that is now my home.

  My only consolation is that Carter, as my chief of staff, is expected to either be with me or be on call for me twenty-four/seven. No one will suspect anything untoward if he’s spotted coming and going at odd hours. Susa’s presence, both as Carter’s wife and my lieutenant governor, will not raise many eyebrows, unless she regularly shows up at the mansion at an unusually late hour without Carter or staff of her own. One of the trade-offs we’d already talked about and figured into our plans was that by embarking on this path we’d lose privacy.

  Carter is more than ready and willing to give me what I need and crave when Susannah is unable to. He’s also ready and willing to be a warm body in my bed so I won’t feel so alone every night.

  Because before the whirlwind that was my campaign to become governor, the three of us shared a bed nearly every night.

  * * * *

  Where I’m kneeling about three feet from the far end of my desk, I can’t be seen when Carter answers the knock on my office door after unlocking it and cracking it open to see who it is. He moves aside just enough to allow someone else to step in, and my breath catches, my pulse races.

  Her.

  “I only have a few minutes,” Susa says in her usual clipped, all-business tone.

  Carter closes and locks the door behind her and, moving faster than it seems possible for a human to manage, grabs a handful of hair, tipping her head back.

  “What was that, pet?” he softly growls.

  She’s never allowed to use that tone on Carter and she damn well knows it.

  Her entire posture and voice change, needy and soft, even as my own body responds to Carter’s tone. “I only have a few minutes, Sir.”

  I struggle not to smile, not to laugh. With today’s craziness, she likely forgot herself.

  I only wish I could be there later tonight to watch when Carter reminds her who she belongs to.

  He marches her around behind my desk and I allow my gaze to follow them. He bends her forward over the desk, making her put her hands flat on it, and hikes up her skirt. Since she’s also wearing three-inch heels, it means her gorgeous ass sticks out nicely.

  “Who said you could wear panties today, pet?” I hear the fabric rip and a quiet meep from her.

  “Sorry, Sir. I thought—”

  “You thought wrong.”

  Another violation.

  She’s going to have fun sitting tomorrow.

  She’s lucky we already did a sound check one evening last week, before I took office, and we discovered Carter can’t spank us in here if someone’s in the outer office.

  Like Julia, my administrative assistant.

  Who, right now, is sitting out there at her desk, along with a trooper from my security detail.

  Holding out the offending material, Carter walks over to me with a playful smile on his face. “Do you believe this shit? Looks like a certain pet has forgotten her place.”

  “I see that, Sir.”

  He turns from me, stuffing her ruined panties into his left front slacks pocket. I have a feeling they’ll probably end up in my mouth later.

  Not the first time he’s gagged me with her panties.

  Not saying I mind it, either.

  “Loyalty.”

  I immediately relax into the position, knees still wide, but my back now rounded, my left hand on my thigh, my right flat on the floor, my gaze focused down.

  It’s a Carter thing.

  It works—that’s all that matters. Countless times he’s put me into this position during the day behind a locked office door, but with my clothes on. Especially if it’s been a rough day and I need a quick reset.

  I can think about Him, about what we have together.

  It’s not a one-way street. Carter is loyal to us, always putting us first no matter what. That might sound odd to someone who doesn’t know the three of us. There’s a lot of bullshit out there about what people “should” or “shouldn’t” do.

  Carter sets his own path, trims his sails, and we follow.

  Loyalty.

  When I first idly floated what at the time I thought was a ridiculous proposition—running for governor—it was Carter, and then Susannah, who had my back and were my most vocal and vicious supporters.

  Loyalty.

  She is my queen, my heart and soul, my sun and my moon, all rolled into one. My muse, my reason for living. I would kill or die for her if it came down to it. I would—and have—embarrassed the hell out of myself just to make her smile.

  Loyalty.

  All of these things I think of as I slow my breathing and my back muscles loosen, enjoying a break from the more formal Primed position.

  Primed is always performed naked. Frequently for long stretches of time. The bastard extraordinaire takes great pride in sometimes torturing me while in that position, expecting me to maintain it.

  Or expecting me to fail to maintain it, which brings punishment.

  Win-win.

  But that’s life with Carter.

  I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.

  * * * *

  In Loyalty, I can hear what’s going on but, because of where I’m kneeling and with my head bowed, I can’t see.

  But I can imagine, based on the sounds.

  Her low, pained grunts as she struggles to stay quiet probably means he’s pinching or maybe even biting the insides of her thighs.

  Which are now, most likely, covered with her own juices.

  She enjoys life with Carter, too. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t. While this is not a place I ever envisioned myself being, now that I’m here I cannot imagine being anywhere else.

  I don’t even mean this office.

  I mean with these two people, and especially with Carter.

  Carter at his best is a loving, kind, gentle, compassionate, funny, brilliant, gorgeous, sexy man.

  Since I consider myself straight, those last two are pretty damn fine compliments.

  Carter at his worst is evil, sadistic, mean, brilliant, gorgeous, and…

  Yeah, sexy.

  It pains me to admit that.

  No, I’m usually literally in pain when I admit it.

  Not that he would consider any of those descriptors an insult.

  And, again, not that I’m complaining, because I’m not. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.

  I know I don’t have to speak up and remind him of the time. It might not seem like he’s watching the clock, but I’m sure he’s calculating exactly how much he can cram into what little time the three of us have alone together right now.

  Maybe perhaps literally cram.

  That doesn’t even bother me anymore.

  After a few minutes of him torturing her, he speaks.

  “Boy.”

  I’m on deck. I smoothly rise to my feet even as they sting, full of pins and needles and protesting they still need a moment to recover.

  Carter smiles at me and my cock twit
ches. “Come here.”

  His fist is buried in her hair, her cheek is pressed against the desk, and her skirt is now rucked up around her waist. She’s gorgeous and mussed, her blue eyes wild with that special kind of energy Carter has a particular way of building in both of us.

  That please fuck me look.

  Our times together have been few and far between lately, first with our grueling campaign schedule, and now with taking office. We went from sleeping together every night to sometimes barely seeing each other for days at a time.

  That, above all, has been the most difficult part of all of this, losing that privacy, that time together. Not even sexy time. I mean being able to close our eyes, take a deep breath, and relax with our heads in Carter’s lap.

  We’ve all had adjustments to make. Susa and I trust Carter to take care of us, though.

  Like right now.

  I’m sure whatever Carter has in mind will carry us through until the next rare time the three of us can be alone together.

  Because it will have to.

  * * * *

  You can buy all three books in the Governor Trilogy (Governor, Lieutenant, and Chief) in e-book and print. Followed by the Determination Trilogy, and the Devastation Trilogy, and other standalone spin-offs coming soon and set in the same world as the Governor Trilogy.

  http://tymberdalton.com/books/series-info/governor-trilogy/

  About the Author

  Author Lesli Richardson, who is better-known by her more prolific wild-child Tymber Dalton pen name, lives in the Tampa Bay region of Florida with her husband (aka “The World’s Best Husband™”) and too many pets. She writes a wide variety of heat levels and genres, from mainstream sci-fi all the way to scorching ménage.