Chapter 61 #2
The shower knocks both our horny asses out.
It was like a real-life rodeo in there, and when we stumbled back to bed, the combination of afterglow and our warm bodies melded together hit like an anesthetic, dragging us both under.
Sunlight wakes me, and the knocking on Graham’s door becomes persistent.
He pulls the sheet over me and tells me to give him a minute.
At the door, Graham has a murmured conversation with another man before crawling back into bed with me.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Derrick. One of my security guys.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“To go get breakfast because I have some calls to make.”
“How long do we have?” I ask.
“At least an hour.”
“Wanna warm your cock in my ass?” His morning wood isn’t exactly subtle back there.
A little lube, and he’s in, his arms around me and his forehead bent against the nape of my neck. For the moment, he’s being still. I kiss his forearm and close my eyes, letting my head sink into the pillow. He feels fucking perfect. Of course he does.
“How long are you gonna be in DC?” I ask.
“I can come home this weekend.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Congress is in session for three weeks.”
“Ah.”
“I’ll be home this weekend,” he says again.
If he insists, I’m not going to talk him out of it. “I’m having dinner with Chris and Gibson tonight.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Chris made it very clear that I’m not allowed to ignore his husband for the silly reason of ruining my life. Imagine that.”
“Why are you going, then?” he asks.
“To tell him so long. Let him know if he’s ever in Florida to look me up.”
“I hate this conversation.”
“Do you ever wish we never met?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Me, too.”
We both sigh. And then he moves, a slow deep stroke that makes me groan. “God, that feels so good.”
“I know. It’s so fucking good. Silas…baby…please…”
He doesn’t finish that one, now too busy fucking me, and I forget all about what he was saying because I get busy making it even better for both of us.
We come at the same time with our mouths attached and his hand wrapped around my cock.
I didn’t even need his touch, but I wasn’t about to tell him to let go. I never want him to let go.
This is so wrong. The fact that it feels so right defies all reason.
“I’m gonna think about all this,” he says after a few minutes as his dick goes soft inside me.
“All what?”
“What we talked about. Options. How I feel about things. Issues. The future.”
My stomach does a pathetically hopeful flip. “Okay.”
“Let me try now. Give me an issue, and I’ll try to say how I really feel about it.”
An issue? “That’s stupid.” Also, I’m not sure I want to know how he really feels about anything that happens in the government.
“No, do it. I’ve heard that sometimes what you really feel is the second thing you think of after you regurgitate what you were taught to feel.”
“Who said that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Maybe I heard it on a podcast or a TedTalk. Do it. One issue.”
I sigh heavily and say, “Abortion.”
“Okay—that’s a good one. Should be easy for a Catholic, but I’ll open up my mind and give it a try.” With his cock literally lodged in my ass, he takes a minute to think silently before talking it through out loud.
“I would never ask someone to abort a baby. I probably wouldn’t suggest it as an option if someone came to me asking for advice.
But I understand why it happens—especially when there are complications.
But also I get what it feels like to feel like I can’t take care of someone.
Thinking about the women in my life—Theresa or Rowan—the idea of telling them they couldn’t do something seems kind of high-handed coming from a man with no stake in the outcome.
I guess I think people should be able to do what they can live with. ”
“Weird answer, but technically pro-choice.”
“That was a pretty pro-life answer.”
“They aren’t opposites,” I tell him. “Advocating for life and allowing people the choice to make their own decisions is still pro-choice. Basically, it means you’re not a total asshole.”
He huffs against my neck. “Give me another one.”
It’s not that I want to play this game with him, but I do want him to understand he’s more than he thinks he is, so I humor him with an easy one. “Gay marriage.”
“Is that a trick question?”
“No.”
“I have no problem whatsoever with gay marriage. I’m gay. Give me a harder one.”
“I don’t want to spend our last twenty minutes talking about this stuff. I’ll text you a tough one later.”
“Really?” he asks, like I’m offering him an award.
“Sure,” I humor him. “I’ll make a list on the ride back to the city.”
He kisses my neck. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“Can I call you tonight? After your dinner?”
“Yeah.” I might as well let him. It’s not like fourteen hours of mind-blowing sex and intimate conversations has made me less delusional about us.
I want to trust him. I want to know him again. I don’t know whether it’s possible, but I want him with the same kind of tenacity that had me taking an escort job to keep my mom alive a few years longer.
Maybe I should give up on him. Maybe I should have a long time ago. But I haven’t. And maybe that means I can’t. “Can I take a picture of us?” I ask.
“Right now?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ve got worse things on your phone.”
I don’t anymore, but I don’t tell him that.
I reach for my phone and turn on the selfie camera, smiling at his messy hair and kiss-bitten lips.
I avoid the lovesick look in my own eyes by framing the photo to include only our faces side by side.
He smiles softly, the angle of his gaze telling me he’s not looking at himself either.
I manage my own vague smile and snap three photos. “I’d send them to you, but…”
“Send them to my other phone. Here, I’ll put the number in.” He grabs my phone and deftly adds a second number under his contact. Then he gives my phone back. He waits while I text the pictures to the new number. Something somewhere beeps.
His cock, still inside me, stiffens again.