Indiscretion (Inequitable Trilogy Book 1) Page 5

  * * * *

  I don’t use a cleaning service. I’m paranoid, yes.

  Besides, for the past six-plus years, I haven’t needed a cleaning service. The apartment is small and plenty easy for me to keep tidy, even without Jordan’s daily attention.

  Although, for the past two weeks, I’ve barely done anything, like take out the garbage.

  The very walls are infused with memories that now painfully tug at me.

  Elliot needs you.

  But does he? Really?

  Sure as fuck doesn’t feel like he needs me. Not anymore.

  Definitely seems like he doesn’t need me today.

  That’s my pain and grief talking, yes. I’m well aware of it.

  Today, however, I don’t have the mental energy to think past that pain and argue with myself. For now, the psychologist has chucked his concern into the fuck-it bucket, put up a Gone Fishing sign, and I’m on my own.

  Thus, I clean.

  I start in the bathroom and work my way through the apartment, to the living room, then the kitchen. I clean and scrub and reorganize, until it’s after seven that evening, and I’m exhausted and drunk because I’ve been working on a nearly full bottle of Grey Goose I forgot was in my freezer. I’m praying we don’t have some sort of national emergency that will require me to get dressed, return to work, and pretend to soberly adult.

  The burner phone remains on the breakfast bar, where it sits with my personal and work phones, which are charging.

  I could simply not charge it, let it die, stick it in a drawer, and forget about it, leaving Elliot’s response to me forever rendered a Schrödingerian paradox.

  Going dark.

  I swirl the remaining few swallows of cold Grey Goose in my coffee mug and stare at it.

  I’m really fucking drunk right now.

  Like, drunker than I think I’ve ever been, even in college.

  And I’ve been pretty damn fucking drunk in my life.

  In a mood like this, I’m sorely tempted to call Elliot, ream him a new one, lay all the blame for my current mood right on top of him, and then tell him to go fuck himself once and for all.

  Elliot needs you.

  It’s impossible for me to tell if I hear that in my voice or in Jordan’s now.

  I used to believe Elliot needs me. Does he?

  Really?

  What do I get out of this anymore? Something-something altruistic greater-good, something-something…

  I walk into the bedroom and stare at the picture of me and Jordan hanging on my wall. On my personal phone and backed up on a secure hard drive are hundreds of pictures, tame and not, of me and Jordan together over the years.

  I have no picture like this of me with Elliot.

  I have no personal pictures of me and Elliot, tame or otherwise. Sure, there are plenty of official photos or press photos where we’re both captured in the same frame but we’re not “together” in them.

  The closest thing I have is the picture Shae used for their Christmas cards two years ago, including me and Elliot on them, along with Kev, and Yasmine, the kids’ nanny. Jordan bowed out despite me wanting him in it, too. He actually went over my head to Chris and begged off doing it.

  The only time Jordan ever did anything like that.

  Jordan never would tell me why, but I suspect it’s because he and I had plenty of pictures together, and he was good and kind enough to want me and Elliot to have one without him in it.

  Hanging on my bedroom wall, next to the picture of me and Jordan, is a framed drawing Jordan made for me, in charcoal pencil, of me and Elliot. We’re sitting on a rock, my arm draped around Elliot’s shoulders, his head tucked against me, both of us smiling. It’s a partial duplication of a photo on my phone, one taken by my sister out in California five years ago.

  And the actual photo was of me and Jordan, our second Christmas together, and the first where I took him out to meet my family.

  My beautiful boy with his infinite heart. Despite me asking him not to buy me anything that Christmas, because I knew he was trying to save up his money, he still made that for me. I immediately had it professionally framed.

  Elliot’s never seen it in person, although I took a picture of it and showed it to him.

  I blink back tears as I study it now. Jordan perfectly captured Elliot—with his glasses on, of course—and in it, my fingers are tangled in his hair. Jordan even adjusted the proportions it so it’s Elliot’s build.

  Because Jordan loved me so much and knew how much I secretly resented not having a picture of me and Elliot together…he created me one.

  Honestly? I consider this my most precious possession. Irreplaceable.

  I also have a framed copy of the holiday card sitting on my dresser. But, right now, thinking about those holiday cards—that it’s the only “public” photograph I have of me and Elliot together, and it’s not even of just us—leaves me feeling bitter and…mean.

  Or maybe that’s the Grey Goose slamming into my liver and brain like a cheesy small-town flea-market wrestling act.

  Dark.

  Midnight. Ink. Coal.

  Sewers and ancient, crumbling catacombs full of rotted corpses.

  I tip my head back and drain the mug, leave it sitting on my dresser, and go take a shower. I should have gone for a run today, or at least worked out downstairs to burn off some of these dark and ugly thoughts, but I really don’t want to be around people right now.

  I try not to think about the alternate universe where Jordan and I probably went grocery shopping this afternoon, then cooked dinner together and made love before falling into an exhausted sleep ahead of a busy Monday at work tomorrow.

  I try not to think about the alternate universe where Elliot didn’t accept Shae’s request to join the ticket, didn’t run for re-election to the House, and it was him and me doing all those things today because he is no longer an elected official. Where, between my savings and my job, we have more than enough money to support both of us, meaning he can stay home and take care of me and be nothing more than mine.

  I try not to think about the alternate universe where it’s me and Elliot and Jordan in a happy triad, my two boys joking around with each other while I proudly watch them being together and know that I’m the luckiest man alive.

  Standing there alone in my shower, I close my eyes. In the self-imposed darkness, I let the water beat over my head while tears run down my cheeks before being washed away.

  Chapter Five

  Then

  I grab Elliot by his tie and wrap it around my fist, tugging so he’s forced to dip his knees and look up at me.

  I pause for dramatic effect. “I have no interest in forcing you to do something, unless you want to be forced. If that’s the case, I need you to tell me that. If at any time you need me to stop or slow down, you say red or yellow. Understand?”

  He nods. “Yes, Sir.”

  I head for my bedroom with Elliot in tow, barely giving him time to follow me. I want the boy mentally off-balance while I blow his mind.

  And his cock.

  I haven’t been laid in too damn long. It’s been way longer than that since I’ve been able to have any kind of emotionally satisfying scene.

  My last partner was absolutely a ten, but he was closer to vanilla than kinky. This man makes him look like a gangrenous slug in comparison.

  There’s something about Elliot Woodley that’s already dug deep under my skin, and I don’t even have his clothes off yet.

  That’ll happen soon enough.

  Smiling, I snap my fingers and point at the floor at the end of my bed. He looks down, then up at me as if he’s unsure.

  “Down, boy. On your knees.”

  “I…” He swallows, his cheeks growing red. “May I sit, Sir? Kneeling’s hard with this particular leg.”

  I immediately feel like a shit and pull him in for a long, sweet kiss. I use the distraction to back him toward the bed and lower him onto the end of that instead.

&
nbsp; Then I drop to my knees and smile up at him. “Let me start over, boy. Eyes on me, or I’ll stop.” I unfasten his slacks and am happy to find his gorgeous cock hard and eagerly pressing against his zipper through his briefs. I’m watching his face as I free him and wrap my fingers around his uncircumcised cock, slowly easing his foreskin back.

  He shivers.

  Fucking shivers.

  I wish I could make this moment last forever. I slowly swirl my tongue around the head of his cock and savor the taste of his pre-cum. His hands fist the covers as he watches me go down on him.

  Oh, he’s mine.

  He just doesn’t know it yet.

  Every soft gasp he gives me as I take my time going down on him becomes part of my soul. He shivers again as his cock pulses. When he grows even hotter and harder in my mouth, I know he’s close to the edge.

  Which is, of course, my cue to pull off and let him simmer for a while. I climb up his body, straddling him and pushing him down onto his back before I lean in to kiss him. That’s when I grab his hands and shove them over his head, pinning him to the mattress by his wrists.

  “While you’re with me this weekend, I want you to shut off your brain, boy. I want your focus only on me, and what I’m doing to you, and what I tell you to think about, and that’s it. Understand?”

  “Y-yes, Sir.”

  I sit up and yank off my blazer, tossing it over onto the chair next to my dresser. Then, I kick off my shoes and pull off my socks. I opt to stop there, for now. I want a psychological advantage over him once I get him naked.

  “Sit up.”

  He does, and I quickly strip his blazer, tie, shirt, and undershirt off him.

  Fuck me, he’s gorgeous. His body is a little softer than I would have guessed but he’s even more attractive for it, because he’s real. He bears a few scars on his torso I suspect are mementos from his ordeal.

  Kissing him again, I ease him back onto the bed. I’m going to take my time unwrapping this present. Never believed in god before but maybe Elliot is a sign there’s a benevolent creator after all.

  I’m talking this man is beautiful.

  Notice I didn’t say perfect—which is why he’s so beautiful. He’s real, not some guy obsessed with gym time so he looks like an Instagram model.

  Slowly, I kiss my way along his chest, back to his abs, where I ease his slacks and briefs down his hips. He might as well be a virgin, considering his lack of experience with guys.

  That’s even hotter, to me.

  I get to be the one to teach him, and I don’t take that privilege lightly. A good first experience can change a person’s life for the better, while a bad one can break them.

  The last thing I want to do is break him. I cherish my toys, even if I’m doing evil and nasty things to them in the process.

  The first serious hiccup occurs when I slide his slacks down to mid-thigh. That’s when it’s like he realizes he’s about to be naked in front of someone else. He flinches and starts to sit up.

  I can’t interpret his expression, but I put my left hand out, lightly splayed across his chest, and keep my voice low and gentle. “What’s wrong?”

  “I…” He swallows hard. “I…” He sucks in a desperate breath. “My leg.”

  “What about it? Am I hurting you?”

  “No, Sir.”

  I pause my efforts to get him naked but my right hand cups the top of his left thigh through his slacks. I feel where something that isn’t flesh starts, several inches below his hip. I don’t know the terminology, but I’ll have my boy teach me.

  So I can take care of him.

  “Then what’s wrong, boy?”

  It looks like he’s forcing himself to talk. “My leg. I-I don’t have one. I mean, I’m missing part of one.”

  “I kind of gathered that from our talk earlier. Is that a problem? Or is there something special I need to know so I don’t harm you?”

  “I… I just…” He stares at me and I wait him out. “It doesn’t freak you out?”

  “The plane I was on dropped out of the sky and I nearly died. I spent a lot of time in physical therapy. No, an artificial leg doesn’t bother me.” My left hand is still splayed across his chest but now I’m applying a little pressure, hoping to coax him into lying down once more.

  I reach up with my right hand and stroke my fingers down his abs, over his scars. “We all have scars. Some inner, some outer. Some more visible than others. I have plenty of both. It makes us who we are, in the end.”

  He still looks nervous.

  That’s why I keep my tone gentle. There’s plenty of time for him to meet the sadist later, but not right now. “Just say it, boy. Nothing you say or ask of me should embarrass you. Judgment-free zone.”

  His face turns an adorable shade of red. “I…sweat.”

  “Oookaay? I think most people sweat.”

  The pink deepens. “You’re going to want a towel before you take it off me. Or I can go take it off in the bathroom, if you’d prefer.”

  Now I’m tracking. I climb up the bed and kiss him until I feel him once again starting to melt and he reaches for me.

  “You stay right here. Don’t you dare move.” I’m up and off the bed before he can object. I grab a clean towel, dampen a washcloth with warm water, and return to find him watching me.

  Then I kneel in front of him and set the washcloth and towel next to me. Before he can object again, I hook my fingers in the waistband of his slacks and briefs and start tugging. Once they’re off and expose him completely, I look up into his face to find his cheeks are still beet red.

  “Watch me,” I gently say. “Eyes on me. Tell me what I need to do.”

  He talks me through rolling down the outer sleeve that holds his prosthesis on. I immediately grok what he means about sweating. It was a warm day today, and after our walk here, and a three-flight climb, he’s a little damp. I use the washcloth to swab his thigh and the inside of the sleeve, and dry both with the towel. Once I have his leg off and set aside, I remove the two limb socks he’s wearing over the liner that protects his leg.

  “The liner comes off my stump the same way,” he says. “Just roll it down inside out. Then I wash and dry it.”

  “Is it okay for me to call it your stump?”

  He finally looks amused. “I mean, yeah. That’s what it is. But thank you for asking. Some amputees don’t like that term. I personally don’t care.”

  Once I’m down to bare leg, I kneel in front of him again and kiss my way up his inner thighs. His cock has gone limp and twitches some the higher I go.

  I stare up at him. “We’re going to take a shower together, and you’re going to let me take care of you this weekend.” He shivers again and damned if that isn’t fucking erotic and sexy and twisting my heart into knots over him. “All right, boy?”

  He nods. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I take it you haven’t been with someone since you were injured?”

  “No, Sir. You’re the first to help me with Duck. I mean, besides when I get fitted for it. A new one. I mean, this isn’t my first one. I mean…” He takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to force his brain to comply with my demands. “No, I haven’t been with anyone.”

  I keep eye contact with him as I lightly run my fingers up and down his left leg, over the knee, over his shin and calf, what are left of them. “Duck?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I call my leg. I’ve got another one, a blade, for running and stuff.”

  “Why do you call it Duck?”

  He smirks, and that’s when I’m absolutely certain I’m in love. “Because I didn’t.”

  * * * *

  I spend the next twenty minutes or so convincing him that, yes, I’m fine with his body. That I’m not freaked out, I’m not disgusted, I’m not filled with pity or loathing or anything other than lust.

  Because he’s a hot guy who just happens to be missing a foot. Big fucking deal.

  I mean, it is a big fucking deal, obviously. It was a life-
shattering experience for him.

  For me, the fact that Elliot’s missing a foot only matters in the logistical context of making sure I don’t do something to make his life more difficult, or inadvertently trigger him in some way.

  Turns out the easiest way to convince Elliot of this is by licking and kissing him all over, to the point he’s too distracted and horny to feel self-conscious.

  He’s hard again, so yay, my cunning plan works.

  I roll him over onto his front so I can rub and kiss his back and tentatively start nipping his ass, the backs of his arms and shoulders, and the back of his right thigh. For obvious reasons I don’t want to mark or risk injuring his left leg where he wears the liner and where the sleeve rides on his thigh.

  Turns out he enjoys being bit.

  I am very careful not to bite him anywhere that he can’t easily hide with clothing. I don’t want him scared I might recklessly out him by my actions.

  There are so many filthy things I want to do to and with this delicious boy, I can’t even begin to tell you. Every moan he makes, every time his fists bunch the covers, every rock and buck of his hips has my cock throbbing and wanting to be buried inside him.

  Finally, I roll him onto his back once more and tug on his arm to sit him up so I can kiss him. “Get me naked, boy.”

  My gaze stays on him as he reaches up to loosen my tie. It breaks my heart a little that he looks so scared.

  So when I blow him a kiss, it makes me smile that his eyes go wide before a little laugh escapes him.

  “Sorry. I guess I’m nervous.”

  I catch his hand in mine and tip my face just enough I can kiss the back of his hand. “Nervous is fine. I can deal with nervous. Hopefully, you won’t feel nervous around me by the end of the weekend.”

  With my tie out of the way, Elliot starts to unbutton my shirt. Then he leans in and kisses the side of my neck as he parts the garment down the front.

  “That’s it, boy.” I reach up and massage the back of his head, noting how his eyes drop closed and he pauses before he remembers he’s supposed to be doing something.

  Finally, he looks up at me. The glazed look in his eyes makes me smile. In this moment, the boy is completely and utterly mine, and I know one thing without a damned doubt.