Page 41 of Indiscretion

I want him lying on the couch, his head in my lap, and that’s where we settle.

Smiling down at him, I hold a piece of pizza just out of reach. He opens his mouth—which is good, my pet’s a fast learner—and I wait to see if he can figure it out.

From the way his gaze moves from the pizza to me and back again, I know he’s trying to puzzle it through.

Finally, he lets out an adorable little whine that makes me giggle, and I hold the pizza so he can take a bite. With my other hand, I scratch his head. “Gooood boy.Sucha good boy.”

Annnnd there he goes, back into subspace.

Excellent.

We watch TV and eat pizza, and I love how he readily sucks the sauce off my fingers.

All while looking me in the eyes.

Dammit, this feels so frickingperfect. The longer this goes on, the more perfect it feels.

To a terrifying level.

Once we’re full, I sit there with one hand splayed across his abs and the other scratching his head. “When we’re together,” I tell him, “once I put that collar on you, I want you just like this.”

“Naked, Sir?” He smiles.

I reach up and cup his throat. “Naked is a given but I meant turning your brain off. Do you have any idea how handsome your smile looks when you’re relaxed?”

It takes him a moment to realize I’m serious. “You really think so?”

“I do. If you’re looking for a guy to bullshit you, that’s not me. You’ll get the truth from me, good and bad.”

His breath hitches a little in his chest. Then his hands close around mine, the one on his throat.

Not to pull me away but holding me in place.

“Can I really stay all weekend, Sir?”

Something inside me breaks loose and floats free. My schedule’s clear. “Absolutely, you can. Next weekend, too. If you’d like.”

He nods. “Please, Sir?”

“Then that’s settled.”

This poor guy. Igetit. I’ve seen plenty of guys through the years who were in the closet for various reasons. Family and jobs being the two biggies.

Elliot’s life is now lived on a national stage, even if congressmen who aren’t House leadership, or who aren’t committee chairs—or who aren’t enmeshed in a scandal—usually don’t catch the attention of reporters outside their home state. Hell, outside their home district, sometimes.

Increasing the pressure I’m using to massage his scalp makes his eyelids droop while his semi-erect cock twitches in renewed interest.

While I really want to haul him back into my bed, I rein in that urge right now. I suspect he needsthisas much as he does the sex.

A connection to someone who won’t judge him. Someone who will accept him the way he is, with no expectations placed upon him.

Skin-on-skin contact with someone. Intimate contact that’s not even sexual.

I decide it’s a good time to talk for a little while. “So your parents are farmers?”

“Yeah. Wheat. They’ve had trouble over the past fifteen years or so, ever since those stupid trade wars with China that…”

I get him talking about his parents, Norah and Oliver, and his little sister, Stella. She’s three years younger than him and has a communications degree. She was working for a non-profit out of Omaha, but now works for a conservative educational organization I’ll have to research later. She took that job only months after Elliot’s election and now lives in Indianapolis.