26. Graham
26
GRAHAM
T he trip to DC changes something between me and Silas—again. During the four hour train ride, I came six times inside him. I’d drift off, wake up hard, get off, and drift back to sleep. But I did what he wanted. I kept my dick in his ass until the train rolled to a stop. That night, in the hotel, I stayed inside him all night. I slept marginally better in the moments between needing to relieve my frequent erections, and in the end we concluded it wasn’t something we could do all the time.
It’s hard to get any rest when you’re constantly turned on. Go figure.
I spend the first day on Capitol Hill in meetings with other senators, interviewing potential aides, expressing my interest in certain committees and name-dropping my father. But the second day, I want Silas with me.
His first words when I bring it up are, “Bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Because how are you gonna explain me?”
“As an aide. From New York. It’s not a complete lie. You’re very helpful. ”
His look from the foot of the hotel room bed is dark and smoldering. “You want to bring sodomy to the capitol.”
“No. No, I just want to spend time with you. You’re not just a little interested in seeing it all up close?”
He studies me, seeming to weigh my words. “I’ve never been all that into how the government works. But now that I know you…”
He’s tempted. I can tell. Capitalizing on this, I drop to my knees between his spread thighs and look up at him, my hands hooking around his calves. He smashes his palm over my face. “Don’t. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I manage to say.
“With fuck-me eyes. You’re acting like an addict.”
“I like having you with me. You need more space? You had all day yesterday.”
Moving his hand into a gentle caress of my jaw, Silas shakes his head, staring at me.
“Are you worried you’ll get me into trouble?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
“Tell me in your own words then.”
“You don’t think I scream secret gay lover?” he asks.
I laugh. “No. I don’t.”
“And I’m not constantly looking at you like I want you to fuck me?”
“Well…we’re never really out in public together except at the gym. You’re pretty standoffish in public.”
“It’s a defense mechanism,” he says.
“Against what?”
“Maybe it’s a product of growing up in Queens. I don’t want anyone to think they can fuck with me.”
“Did you have issues growing up?” I ask, because I’ve never told him about mine.
“A few. But I’ve got a lot of cousins who had my back. ”
“I didn’t have any cousins. I ended up being homeschooled. Maybe that’s why I never got the tough exterior.”
“Maybe that’s also why you didn’t get laid until you were in your thirties.”
I chuckle. “Maybe. But I’ve come a long way, right?”
“Yeah.” The word is soft and laden with something I don’t understand.
“Come with me,” I ask him again.
“Whatever you want, Senator.”
I make him kiss me, pulling him down by the fabric of his shirt. His tongue on mine gets me hard quick, and I pull away before my increasingly desperate body gets involved. “Put on your suit,” I tell him.
“Yes, sir.”
Damn. I have a feeling he’s going to be saying that a lot today, but I doubt I’ll be the first man in the history of Capitol Hill to commit an act of sodomy on the premises.
Avery calls while Silas is getting dressed. I almost send the call to voicemail, but I did that all day yesterday, responding with brief texts that indicated I was busy.
“Hey,” I say, picking up the call and walking onto the balcony.
“Hey! How’s it going. Did I catch you at a good time?”
“You did. It’s going great. I had a good conversation with the majority leader and a few other important people yesterday.”
“All that Harvard Law stuff finally coming in handy?”
“Yes,” I say, unable to help my smile. Guilt tugs at me as my mouth stretches. No matter what I do, I’m betraying someone. Maybe Silas is right. Maybe I should come clean with Avery about my affair with him. He’s proven his discretion. Prioritizes it even. And he has a point about getting Avery pregnant. If I give her that, I’ll have completed my end of the deal, at least for now.
I’ve done all I can do not to lead her on. While she usually sleeps in my bed after we have sex, I don’t hold her or kiss her. But she does hold me. She does kiss me. Not on the mouth, but on my back while she burrows in for sleep.
Before we fucked at my parents’ house on Thanksgiving, I’d had to remind her to turn on some porn. Briefly, I’d caught the stricken look on her face until she covered it with an “of course, silly me act,” and pulled something up on her tablet.
Before we’d even begun, I took the tablet into the bathroom alone and gotten myself hard, but mostly to the sounds on the video and my own thoughts of Silas. It wasn’t until I came into the bedroom erect and edged that I gave her a nod and she responded like she understood. She got on her hands and knees, and I’d fucked her from behind with my eyes closed. She’d been quiet, the men in the porn the only noises I could hear.
Afterward she asked if she could try getting me hard on her own next time. She’d sounded more confident than insecure. But I said, “If you’re ovulating, maybe there won’t have to be a next time.”
We left it at that until the night before I left New York with Silas. She told me she’d been invited to a girls’ dinner, but the look she gave me indicated she would stay in if I asked.
It was awkward, but I told her she should go, and I’d invoked the original deal we made. “If we need to renegotiate so you can be more…satisfied?—”
“No.” She’d cut me off. “You’re already going above and beyond. It’s just like me to get a crush on a gay guy. I’m sorry. I want this life with you. I want your babies. I won’t read anything more into it.”
“I’d give you more if I could,” I told her. Because for her, I would.
“I know. That’s why I love you.”
I considered telling her then. That I had a lover. That she could have a lover, too, if they could be discreet.
I need to tell her about Silas. What stops me is this confusion I have about her possible pregnancy. It scares me and thrills me in equal measure. It will change everything in ways I can’t begin to imagine. I know Silas feels it. The uncertainty is like an axe hanging above all three of our lives, swaying like it hasn’t determined who to fall on.
But if we can have honesty…maybe…
“I’m trying to decide what to wear to brunch with your mom tomorrow. It’s like everything I have is either slutty or prissy.”
“Err on the side of prissy then.”
“I wanna go shopping.”
Of course she does. Our credit card bills are giving me heartburn. “You have plenty of clothes. My mom likes prissy.”
She sighs. In so many ways, I don’t live up to the hype. Another wash of guilt moves through me. I was clear with Avery about my financial situation when I proposed to her. She said she understood, but Avery’s concept of money isn’t as realistic as I’d like it to be. I can’t see getting through next year—especially if we have a baby—without either selling the Chelsea apartment or asking my father for help.
I absolutely hate this. I’ve grown ridiculously attached to that apartment in a few short weeks.
The Washington Monument stares back at me as Avery sighs in defeat. “Maybe she’ll take me shopping.”
I should text my mom and give her the idea myself. “You don’t want to get too much,” I remind her. “If you get pregnant, you’ll need a whole new wardrobe.”
“Oh my God, you’re right.”
We chat a few more minutes, and I hang up, turning around to see Silas leaning on the door jamb, listening, waiting. “I should tell her, shouldn’t I?”
He reaches up and runs his thumb underneath my left eye. “Unless you want these bags to be permanent.”
“What if she’s pissed?”
“She’s gonna be pissed, Graham. ”
I nod and take a deep breath. “What about you? Will you be pissed if I don’t?”
“Come inside.”
I step into the hotel room. He closes the door behind me and runs his fingers through my hair, fixing it the way he likes before combing his fingertips through my beard. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “But you’re carrying a lot of guilt.”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“I hate being one of the reasons for that.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I know you don’t. That’s why you feel guilty.”
“Do you not?” I ask.
“I do,” he says. “So maybe you’d be doing both of us a favor.”
“What do you feel guilty about?” I ask.
“Stressing you out. Spreading you too thin. Being your dirty secret.”
“Don’t make me worry about losing you, Silas. Not yet.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” he says. “Tell me what a convincing senator’s aide does on Capitol Hill.”
Walking through the press corps is unnerving as Silas and I make our way to the senator’s offices. Cameras flash, and I stop to answer a few questions that likely won’t see the light of day because my answers are bland, and I haven’t been sworn in yet. Silas keeps his head down, eyes on his phone, looking busy. I take him to my office first, which has recently been cleared out from the last man who held it. It’s a bright, sunny room, large and stately with a fireplace, heavy furniture, and thick drapes.
“Okay, it feels real now,” Silas says.
“What does? ”
“That you’re a senator.”
“I’m just relieved it came furnished,” I say.
“Want help rearranging anything?” he asks.
“Like what?”
Silas scans the room. “Like all of it.”
I laugh. “Sure.”
We get to work, moving the desk in front of the window, setting up a seating area for meetings around the fireplace, repositioning the rug. It takes about an hour to get it the way he wants it, and I can’t help but approve of the flow. “Much better,” I tell him.
We’re both stripped to our shirtsleeves with the cuffs rolled up, our ties loose. He sneezes at some of the dust we kicked up.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks.” He leans back on the desk, arms crossed and surveys the space, including an up and down perusal of me. In a serious tone, he says, “Don’t let this place turn you into an asshole, okay?”
“I won’t,” I promise him, approaching slowly.
“Like if I ever see you voting down a minimum wage increase, I’m out,” he says.
“Anything else?”
“Remember trans people are humans with rights.”
“I can do that.”
“And don’t ever use the phrase, my thoughts and prayers are with the victims’ families.”
I give him a small smile, wondering what he thinks of me sometimes—how many morals he feels like he’s having to sacrifice to lie in my bed. “I won’t.” I probably would have said that at some point, but I won’t now .
He loosens his arms and holds onto the edge of the desk. I put my hands on his and lean in.
“Is the door locked?” he asks.
I nod .
He kisses me lightly then breaks away and heaves a breath like the kiss was much hotter and heavier than it was.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I like you too much.”
It scares me every time he says something like that. I’m constantly afraid he’ll turn it into an excuse to pull away or leave before I’m ready. If that’s even a thing—my being ready to let him go. “It’s mutual, if that helps.”
“I’m not sure it does.”
“You don’t have to think about it so hard,” I tell him.
He glances at me with hooded eyes. “What’re you gonna do to make me stop thinking about it?”
I take a deliberate look at his belt buckle. He undoes it before doing the same to mine. We fall into a deep kiss as we unbutton each other’s shirts. Silas is naked before I am, and he doesn’t want to wait anymore. Once again, we’ve found ourselves without lube and a desperate need to fuck.
I bend to take his length into my mouth, knowing it always gives us spit to spare. He lies back on the desk, his fists in my hair as he rocks himself gently into my throat. My mouth slides up and down easily, hooked on the taste and feel of him against my tongue. There’s no way I could ever want Avery or any woman as much as I want this. His body is amazing. Every inch of it turns me on. I could suck him for hours.
“Graham…please…Jesus.” He puts his feet on the edge of the desk, his hole opening for my saliva to slide in. I rise, my hands on the underside of his thighs and I push them back, bending him in half. Aiming myself carefully, I breach his outer ring with my cockhead.
“Fuck,” he gasps, tossing his head. “More.”
Slowly, I give it to him, the oversized desk an ideal height for me to do exactly this. His precum leaks onto his abs in a near-steady stream. He’s as turned on as I’ve ever seen him. I don’t know if it’s the office or the brief, intense conversation we had before we started undressing each other, but his dick is hard, twitching, and dark with arousal, shining from what my mouth did to it.
“You’re so hot right now,” he says, like he stole the words from my head.
The words spur me to snap my hips, make him brace himself to take me. He makes a noise that’s too loud, and I still, fully sheathed inside him, to bend over and whisper, “If you want to be fucked, I need you to be quiet.”
He stifles a whine in his throat, and he nods, the look in his eyes both pleading and frantic. I secure him with my hands on his waist, holding him still while I drive inside him again and again.
With one arm over his mouth to muffle his cries and the other hanging onto the edge of the desk, he takes every inch of me. Banging away at him the way my body craves, I watch in surprise as his cock erupts with cum, jetting up his chest and continuing to gush with every rough drive of my hips.
The sight sets me on fire, and I let myself go entirely. I fuck into him quick and hard, his channel spasming—milking me until my thighs are trembling, and the harsh contraction of release takes over. Because I’m trying very hard not to make a sound, the orgasm feels like an implosion, wrecking my insides and rattling through every nerve. I shake as I continue to release my load inside him. It coats my cock, and I draw out enough to see the milky white liquid dripping from him. Immediately I shove back inside, and we both grunt. I lower myself onto his chest, and he lifts his head to kiss me hard and long.
Eventually we pull away. “Do you feel like a real senator now?” he asks.
I grin against his lips. “Like one of the most powerful men in New York.”
“It’s hot as hell on you.”
I caress his face and say, “I think I like you too much, too.”