Bi-Partisan, page 25
“Which night?” I ask. “We shower together at least once a week.”
“When you fucked my thighs. You sort of gently bossed me around, and I think—well, I liked it,” he says.
“Thank you for telling me that,” I say, keeping my voice steady, calm. “If we’re going to do this, though, I’ll need you to talk to me, okay? I don’t want to accidentally misinterpret your body language and make you uncomfortable as a result.”
“I can do that.”
“And if you want to stop, or pause—“
“I’ll say so,” he promises.
“Thank you.“ I smile, then tighten my grip in his hair—not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to surprise him. “But don’t interrupt me.”
His breath hitches. “Sorry.”
“This is alright so far?” I ask.
He nods, then seems to remember and says, “Sorry, yes.”
“Good.” I lean forward to kiss him. “But you don’t need to apologize. We’re just exploring.”
“Okay,” he whispers.
I kiss him again, quickly, and can’t help smiling when he chases my lips once I pull away. “Patience.”
He exhales sharply.
“Now, I want you to stand and strip for me. Can you do that?”
“Yeah.” Untangling himself from my lap, he stands, staying within arms reach. He takes his time undressing, carefully undoing the buttons of his shirt, peeling the T-shirt underneath over his head, then slipping out of his jeans. He kicks them off to the side, then looks at me patiently, awaiting my next instruction.
“Underwear too,” I tell him.
Once they’re gone, I let my eyes rake over his body. It feels a little weird to be so blatantly admiring him while still fully clothed, but based on the flush that spreads up his chest and neck, he doesn’t mind it. And it makes me feel a little bolder. I’m tempted to pull him back into my lap, the idea of the power I’d have with him being naked in my lap while I’m fully clothed is incredibly appealing. But he said he liked it when I bossed him around, so perhaps I should give him something to do.
“Kneel.” I keep my voice gentle, but firm, as I spread my legs to give him room.
Without missing a beat, he falls to his knees in front of me. His hands go to my thighs, sliding up toward my torso like he can’t help himself. His pupils are wide, the warm brown color barely visible as he looks at me.
“God, look at you, so good for me,” I murmur, cupping his cheek. “So pretty on your knees for me.”
He whimpers, turning his face into my hand a little.
“Do you like being good for me, Jamie?”
He kisses my palm. “Yes.”
“Yes…?” I prompt, wanting to see if he’ll say it himself.
“Yes, I like being good for you. Let me be good.” His voice has a desperate edge as he slides his hands further up my thighs, as though wanting to go for the fly of my jeans.
My breath leaves in a rush. Fuck me, he’s going to kill me one of these days.
“Hands in your lap,” I instruct, and he gives me a confused, almost wounded look that immediately has me softening. “I want you to only use your mouth.”
He relaxes again and gives my thighs a quick squeeze before clasping his hands in front of him. I quickly undo my jeans and shimmy them down my hips just enough to give him access, then cradle his head with both hands to guide him forward. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he stares at my cock, then his eyes lift to mine.
“Still good?” I ask.
He nods. “Great, darlin’.”
“Then be a good boy and show me what that mouth can do.”
Without hesitation, he takes me in his mouth, swallowing down as much of me as he can in one go. His tongue swirls around me, and I barely stop myself from immediately bucking up into the wet heat. He’s gotten exponentially better at this over the past few months. Actually, that’s selling him short. It was always good—even the night of our one night stand. So good that I still struggle to believe that it was the first time he’d given a blow job. Now, he’s amazing, knows exactly how to make me fall apart within minutes. He’s still new at it, though, and I don’t want to make him choke.
He surprises me, though, moaning around my cock at the strained thrust of my hips.
“Do you like that?” I ask, a little hesitant.
He moans again, this time hollowing his cheeks.
“Do you want me to fuck your mouth?”
He nods, then seems to remember my verbal response rule and pulls off.
I can’t help tensing at the sudden loss of heat.
“Yes,” he says.
“Rest your hand on my calf.”
He gives me a quizzical look, which makes sense since I told him I didn’t want him using his hands. Since his mouth will be otherwise occupied, we’ll need a way for him to communicate if he needs a break. Despite the question in his eyes, he complies, wrapping a hand around my leg.
“If you need me to stop, squeeze twice, understand?”
He squeezes twice in quick succession. “Like that?”
I nod. “Just like that. Are you ready?”
He smiles softly, squeezing my calf once, which I take to mean yes.
I waste no time guiding him back onto my dick. I keep my thrusts shallow at first, testing the waters so I don’t hurt him or cross any of his boundaries. But after a few seconds, I feel him give my calf a single slow squeeze, as if to encourage me to keep going. I speed the snap of my hips, earning a low moan. I watch his eyes flutter shut as I keep moving my hips, fucking up into his mouth as I chase my rapidly building orgasm.
He continues to moan around me, and the vibrations push me closer and closer to the edge. Through my lust haze, I see his shoulder start to move—like he’s jerking himself off to me fucking his face—and it makes me snap. I come with a curse, bucking my hips one last time as I spill into his mouth. He takes over and works me through it, swallowing the best he can.
Once I’ve gotten hold of my senses enough, I fist his hair and pull him off me. He stares up at me, his face utterly wrecked, his arm still moving.
“I thought I told you no hands.” Technically, I said I only wanted him to use his mouth, which implied that was only for me. But I’m interested in seeing what he does—if he talks back or simply stops.
He does the latter, pulling his hand away from his own cock to wrap around my other calf. “Sorry.”
I can’t help warming at that. “No need for apologies. It’s hot that you were so turned on you couldn’t help yourself.” Tenderly, I stroke my thumb along his cheek. “Go get on the bed. I’m going to take care of you.”
“How do you want me?” he asks.
“On your back,” I reply.
He nods and slowly climbs to his feet, wincing slightly as he straightens his knees. He wobbles a little, and I practically jump to my feet to steady him.
“You’re not hurt, are you?” I ask.
“No, I’m alright. Just stiff.”
I spend a moment checking his face for signs of discomfort, then nod. “Okay, on the bed.”
I tuck myself back into my jeans as he lies down. I didn’t expect to, but I’m kind of enjoying the slight bit of power I’m getting from him being naked while I’m clothed. I spend so much of my life feeling out of control. It’s nice to take it, especially when it’s being given so freely. I pull off my sweater, though, leaving me in just a T-shirt and jeans.
When I turn to face the bed, I’m struck by how relaxed into the mattress he is. It’s a far cry from the pure tension that radiated off of him a few hours ago.
“Adrian?” He lifts his head, looking at me through slightly droopy eyes.
“I’m here,” I say, crawling over him. I straddle his hips and kiss him deeply, tasting myself on his tongue.
“You’re still dressed,” he observes once I pull back.
“I like having you at my mercy,” I tease.
A soft whine escapes his lips, and I capture it with a quick kiss.
“Now, I want you to be good and just lie here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I want you to trust me.”
“I do,” he replies instantly.
I smile, then dip my head to nip at his neck. I take him apart slowly, mapping his body with my lips until he’s writhing beneath me. If I had a shorter refractory period, I’d probably be hard as a rock again, by now—especially hearing the small whimpers coming from his throat with every brush of my lips on his inner thighs. But I’m honestly content just giving him pleasure. The orgasm earlier was amazing, but my needs aren’t what this is all about.
It’s about his, which is why, after one last bite at his hip bone, I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and suck him down in one smooth stroke.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands flying to my head. His fingers fist my hair, a little hard, but I actually don’t mind the dull ache.
I can tell he’s close to coming, so I pull out all the tricks I know drive him crazy. His breath leaves him in gasps with every swallow and flick of my tongue. Then, when I can feel him about to snap, I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard, and earn a low whine.
“Darlin’, I’m…” he keens, his back arching off the bed.
I lift my head for a second, just long enough to say, “Come, Jamie.” I barely have enough time to swallow him back down before feeling the first burst of salt on my tongue.
He shatters with a broken cry, and I work him through it, swallowing around him as he rides out the waves. When his body finally relaxes back into the mattress, I pull off him with a quiet pop. I look up, expecting to find him looking right back at me, but his head is tipped back to look at the ceiling. His hands go slack in my hair, but stay cradling my head like it’s grounding him. Smiling to myself, I kiss my way back up his body until I reach his face.
It takes him several minutes to come down from his peak. His limbs are even more malleable post-orgasm, so he moves willingly when I pull him into my arms. I hold him close, pressing my lips to his hair, his forehead, his temple.
Eventually, he starts to stir. He stretches a little—the best he probably can without changing positions—then nuzzles into the crook of my neck.
“Hi,” I say, dropping another kiss to his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
He hums happily and reciprocates with a kiss to my collarbone. “I think you broke me a little.”
“In a good or a bad way?”
“Good way. I’ve never come like that in my life. I’m all… floaty,” he says after a beat.
“That would be the serotonin,” I explain. “So, does your head feel clearer?”
“It does. I don’t know how long it will last, but it’s nice to feel a reprieve from the circus inside my head.”
“Don’t worry about later,” I tell him. “Just focus on this moment—how you feel right now.”
He nods against my shoulder. “Right now, I feel tired,” he says, then after a beat, “and thirsty.”
“I’ll get us some water, then we can sleep.” I carefully extract my arm from underneath him. “Do you want pajamas?”
“Can we sleep in just our underwear?” he asks. “I want to feel your skin against mine—see if it keeps me feeling all light like this.”
“Sure, I’ll get you a clean pair.”
“Thank you.” He catches my arm before I can climb out of bed. “And thank you for this—for being here. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
The statement makes my breath catch. Realistically, I know it’s probably just the oxytocin in his system making him say it. But even still, I find myself feeling the same way, and it’s more than a little terrifying.
Chapter 29
Adrian
Song: I Can’t Keep from Loving You – Andrew James
We’ve been in the conference room of his campaign office for the last hour going over last-minute prep before this evening’s debate. Well, Jamie and his staff have been prepping. I’ve been sitting in the corner watching and trying to keep my anxious energy under control.
The last thing I want is for Jamie to worry—which I know he would. Even though he understands that my anxiety can’t be fixed, it’s in his nature to want to help me manage it. It’s what he does—help people, put others’ needs before his own. So if he knew how frayed my nerves are right now, he’d push everything to the side to make sure I’m okay, even though he’s the one who needs support right now. Him needing support is the entire reason I’m here. My entire goal was to help him carry his stress, which I’m sure is a contributing factor to my own anxiety level. Like Ben Wyatt for Leslie in Parks and Rec, I Sham-Wowed Jamie’s stress last night, but there’s no one to wring me out, so I’m just holding onto it.
I think it will be worth it, though, because he actually seems okay right now, especially compared to how he was last night. His frantic energy is gone, replaced with a calm competence that would probably turn me on like crazy if I weren’t trying so hard not to vibrate out of my skin. Which is probably for the best, anyway, seeing as his parents arrived ten minutes ago to wish him good luck. They’re also staying to watch the live feed of the debate with me and the members of his staff not going to the news station with him—another reason I’m on edge. This will only be the second time I’ve met them, and this time I’m braving it alone, without Jamie as a buffer. I won’t even have Mina because she’s going with him.
“Alright, sir, we need to get going if we want enough time for you to get in the zone before you need to be on set,” Mina says, looking at her watch.
Jamie nods and steps out from behind the practice podium. He looks at me, something he’s been doing pretty frequently over the last hour, and I do my best to give him an encouraging smile. Then, his chief of staff pulls his attention from me.
“How are you feeling, sir?” Ben asks.
Jamie takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “I feel good. Ready.”
Ben nods once. “Good. You sound ready. Whatever you did between last night and now to get you your confidence back, keep it up.”
Jamie nods, then turns toward his parents.
“Kick his ass, sweetheart,” Shelia says before pulling him into a hug.
Paul rests a hand on his shoulder while his mom still has her arms wrapped around his waist. “You’ve got this, kiddo.”
“Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.” He pulls away, then looks around at the rest of his staff for a moment.
Daniel just gives him a thumbs up, while Riley wishes him good luck. Then Mina is at his side again.
“I just need a minute,” he tells her, then he looks at me and nods his head toward the door leading to the bullpen.
With a nod, I walk out, him on my heels. I feel his hand on my back as he leads me to the office kitchen slash break room to get away from prying eyes.
“How are you doing?” I reach forward and take one of his hands, giving it a squeeze. “How’s your reflux?”
“Good. The reflux has settled a bit since this morning,” he says, and it sounds genuine.
“And do you really feel ready, or were you just saying that to Ben?”
“I’m ready. Really.” He smiles a little and closes the small amount of distance between us to wrap his arms around my waist. “I just wanted a minute with you to recenter myself so I stay that way.”
I pull him close, resting my chin on his shoulder. “You’re going to do great.”
He nods and leans back a fraction.
I meet him halfway for a brief kiss, then let him go, not wanting to wrinkle his suit too much.
He takes a deep breath, then lets it out in a rush. “Okay, I should probably go.”
“Hold on.” I quickly straighten his tie, even though I know it’s probably just going to need to be done again before he goes on. “Okay, perfect.”
“You’re perfect,” he says fondly, sneaking in a quick peck on the cheek before heading to back out.
Mina is already by the door leading out of the suite, so I offer him one last encouraging smile, then watch as he meets her and walks out. Once he’s gone, I let out a controlled breath, easing up on some of my tight control on my emotions. I still can’t fully let myself feel my anxiety, but everyone else back in the conference room won’t be able to spot my tells half as well as Jamie, so I can let go a little. Slowly, I head back, and once I cross the doorway, Sheila is smiling and beckoning me over by patting the seat next to her.
“Come sit, sweetheart.”
I nod and round the table to sit.
“It’s good to see you again,” she says.
“It’s nice to see you again, too.” I smile at both her and Paul.
“I’m glad you could make it down,” Paul says. “Jamie said you wouldn’t be able to make it because of work.”
“I originally wasn’t, but I switched some shifts around when Mina said he wasn’t handling the stress well,” I explain.
“Well, it seems like you being here did him a world of good,” Sheila says before leaning over to rifle through the bag at her feet. She pulls out a skein of yarn, a hook, and what looks like the beginnings of a scarf.
“I hope so.”
Now it’s just a waiting game. I almost regret not bringing a book, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on it if I did. I check my phone for the time, and we’ve got almost an hour and a half until the debate is scheduled to start, which means I have an hour and a half to sit alone with my thoughts and anxiety.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sheila leaning over to reach into her bag again, this time pulling out another skein of yarn and another hook. She sets them in my lap, and I can’t help giving her a confused look.
“Having something to do with my hands helps me with the pre-debate waiting nerves. I think I made about forty scarves, hats, and mittens during Jamie’s debate team years in high school,” she says with a gentle smile.
Of course, his mother is as observant as he is. That’s probably where he got it from.
