Page 137 of Incisive

Unfortunately he wears an evilly playful smile that tells me flipping him into boy mode won’t be a simple chore because, suddenly, I don’t know how “subby” I’m feeling tonight after all. Something inside me shiftedhardwhen I caught that unmistakable whiff of Leo. There are nights where it’s more Jordan and Elliot between us than Sir and boy, especially if Jordan’s had a rough day and I can get by without being drop-kicked into releasing control for a while.

But tonight Iwantthat control even though just a few minutes ago I was ready for my Sir to take me in hand.

Struggling not to wolf my dinner, I take deep breaths and imagine waves of Leo’s scent washing off him like a fine cologne. That’s when I spot his tie and home in on it.

It’snotthe same tie he wore when he left earlier. Dark blue silk with fine, emerald green diagonal stripes.

Iknowthat tie.

That’s Leo’s tie.

IgaveLeo that fricking tie our first Christmas together. I have one just like it—which was why I gave one to Leo. That was kind of thepoint.

Matchies.

Since that Christmas we’ve given each other quite a few matching ties, our blatantly obvious secret. Ever since Jordan’s joined us we’ve included him in that tradition.

Butthatparticular tie, that’s one Leo couldn’t find a third for, so it’s something special only he and I have. Just like there are sets of ties only Leo and Jordan share, and sets only Jordan and I have in common.

Jordan catches me watching him, obviously follows the path of my gaze, and his lips slowly curve in a knowing smile. He sets down his fork, reaches up, fingers the knot that I’d be willing to bet Leo tied for him, and slowly slides his hand down to smooth his tie, letting the fine silk slip through his fingers like he’s stroking my cock.

Fuck.

Over the years I’ve been bound with that damn tie I don’t know how many times. Because Leo always loved my recognition of it, wearing it when he worked with Shae and knowing it was a silent signal from him to me that I was on his mind.

To see it around Jordan’s neck brings a mix of emotions bubbling to the surface, including a conditioned wave of lust that practically steals my breath.

“How’s Leo?” I whisper before taking a bite of delicious food that I’m not even tasting tonight. I don’t know how many staff are still up here, or where they are.

Jordan’s hand pauses where he was lifting his fork to his lips. “Do we need to go talk, Mister President?” His lips barely part while he speaks before he takes his bite of food.

Sucking in a breath I give him the slow, sorta-head shake that almost looks like I’m trying to crack my neck. Another of the chorus of silent cues in the symphony of our hidden orchestra.

Jordan can accurately interpret them all without hesitation. I dare say that, in many ways, he knows me far better than Leo.

Scratch that.

Inmostways Jordan now knows me better than Leo does. What Jordan couldn’t know, Leo filled in the gaps for him.

Jordan sets down his fork, dabs his mouth with his napkin, and sets it aside before looking me dead in the eyes.

“Excuse me for a moment, Mister President.”

Noplease.

Another cue. Alone like this, he doesn’t ask—hetells.

I obey, no matter what the command.

Although the commands come far too few and infrequently for my liking. Because Jordan is exceptionally careful, as is Leo. He’s a master of optics and learned so much from Kevin and Leo both over the years.

Jordan slides his chair back and heads into the kitchen, where I suspect members of the household staff await us finishing so they can clear the table and complete their duties for the evening.

I don’t know what Jordan’s doing. I hear the low murmur of voices, including his. His throaty chuckle.

I silently bristle that someone besides me is making him laugh.

He returns a moment later and retakes his seat. “Sorry about that, Mister President.”