Page 35 of Indiscretion

He’ssofucking close. It only takes a few more thrusts to get him over. Once he’s coming, his gorgeous, heavy-lidded expression of wonder and desire is everything I hoped it’d be, and I pound my cock into him to catch up and finally explode.

When I fall still buried inside him, I release his hands and his arms immediately encircle me. We’re still kissing but it’s gentler now, trying to catch our breaths.

Pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, I smile. “There’s one item checked off your list.”

He grabs my head and kisses me again, still hungry, still needy despite the puddle of cum between us. “What next, Sir?” The blatant desire in his gaze burns up at me like a blue-hot flame.

Nipping his lower lip and tugging earns me another moan as he tightens his grip around me with his legs. “We’ll clean up, I’ll cook us dinner, and we’ll talk ahead of round two.”

* * * *

That’s the truth, too. I want to talk. Weneedto talk. So I can keep Elliot naked and completely bare, I grab the office chair from my desk in the living room and he uses that to get into the bathroom before he joins me in the kitchen. I’ve opted to stay naked. I’m usually naked at home, so it’s no stretch for me.

I put him on the floor right there, on a couch cushion I’ve tossed a towel over. He’s naked, of course. He looks a little self-conscious, but I’ll get him talking and hopefully distract him.

Fortunately, I have a couple of pizzas in the freezer, and it’ll only take a moment to toss them into the oven.

He watches me as I prep them while the oven preheats. “How do you manage at home?” I ask. “When you don’t have your leg on?”

“I have a wheelchair, a walker, and crutches. I have a shower chair, too. I use the walker in the bathroom, mostly. I don’t like using it in public, though. Hate the way people suddenly act like I have the plague or something.”

He laughs but I don’t miss the sharp and slightly bitter edge to it. “Like an amputation might be contagious or something. I prefer using the crutches in public, if I need the help, like if my leg’s hurting. Mostly because I somehow become invisible in my chair. Crutches aren’t practical for three flights of stairs, obviously. They also kill my shoulders if I have to do a lot of walking. The wheelchair isn’t practical in my building. If it’s a really bad day and I know I’ll need to use my chair at work, I can take the freight elevator downstairs. I try not to do that too often, because it irritates the crap out of the super, even though he can’t stop me from using it.”

“That guy sounds like an asshole.”

“He is. He didn’t believe I’m an amputee until I sat in his office and rolled my damn pants leg up to show him. Honest to god, he thought I bought a wheelchair just to fake it and use the freight elevator.”

“Isn’t that illegal, to make you prove your disability like that?”

A shrug. “Probably.” A sly, sexy grin curves his lips. “One of the few times I shamelessly used my wounded vet status to make him feel like shit. He doesn’t hassle me now, but I still get dirty looks from him sometimes.”

I hate the asshole already. The super, I mean. Wish I had contacts in Treasury to get the fucker’s taxes audited. Howdarehe doubt my pet?

Which brings me to another point. “Can I ask a stupid question?”

“Because it was the only apartment I could afford in that area.” He’s smirking. “I really didn’t want a roommate, for several reasons, and I refuse to stick my hand out to lobbyists.” His smirk fades. “Although there was a guy, another congressman, telling me about a rooming house some of the guys in his prayer group—”

“No.” I already know where he’s going with this. “Whatever you do, donotaccept an offer to room on C Street.”

He looks understandably confused. “That’s right, you asked me about that earlier. What’s the story?”

I take a deep breath. “You religious?”

“You mean what do I honestly believe, or what do I tell my constituents?”

I manage a laugh. “What do you honestly believe?”

“I’m a live and let live kind of guy. Don’t shove your religion down my throat, and I won’t bore you with what I think. I used to believe more, before I grew up and learned things. They say there are no atheists in foxholes but, I gotta tell you, I don’t want anything to do with a god who allows the kind of shit to happen that we put up with in this world.”

The oven chirps that it’s preheated. I slide the pizzas in and set a timer on my phone. “You know about the group that’s really behind the National Prayer Breakfast, right?”

His brow furrows. “Not really, no. I mean, I attended this year. It was my first one, obviously. I kept my mouth closed and my ears open, and nodded in the right places, I suppose. Got out of there as soon as I could. Didn’t do any of the extra events that week and used the excuse my leg was hurting, which wasn’t completely a lie. Why?”

“Called The Family, or The Fellowship, and sometimes they go by other names…” And I proceed to detail what I know of them.

The highlights, anyway. The problem with that particular religious organization is that it claims it doesn’thavean organization. There are several congressional prayer groups that meet which are affiliated with it, and from there it’s difficult to track them. It’s deliberately designed with discrete cells scattered all over the world, so there is no one organization you can home in on and target. Researchers have written books about their shady practices, including tax evasion via declaring they’re a religious organization, cozying up to dictators and authoritarian leaders, supporting anti-LGBTQ laws in other countries, and arranging backroom meetings that are little more than shadow foreign policy end runs around the administration.

“So the bottom line is, keep them at arm’s length,” I finish. “Because if any of them ever got dirt on you, maybe the lower level members like you might all preach love and forgiveness and trust but don’t put it past anyone else at the higher levels to use kompromat to strong-arm you into voting for what they want, or doing favors for them.”