Chapter Four
Now
Because it’s easier for people to come to us than it is for us to go to them since my election, we opt to spend Christmas in DC at the townhouse. It’s a small family affair—myself, Christopher, his brother and sister-in-law Charles and Tory and their three children, and Tory’s parents, and Kevin and Lauren.
With Christopher and Charles’ parents deceased, Hudson and Shawna Harris have become adopted parents to the brothers. Charles looks like a slightly younger version of his beefy older brother. Dr. Tory Harris is mixed race, her father white and her mother black. She’s an only child, and the grandparents dote on their grandchildren. Twins Ivy and Myla, who are four, have their mother’s light brown skin, curly dark brown hair, and Charles and Christopher’s green eyes. Little Hudson, who’s barely two, looks more like his father in the face, only with the same light brown skin and curly dark brown hair as his mother and sisters, and his gorgeous green eyes.
Charles and Tory give the okay for the official photographer to shadow us throughout the day, getting plenty of pictures of Christopher and myself cooking, the kids unwrapping presents under our tree, and then later of them playing out in the backyard on this unseasonably warm December day in DC. Carefully selected pictures and video will be released to the pool and make great PR for us.
Although I privately grumble to Chris about the staged picture Kevin and Chris set up, of Kevin sitting in one of our easy chairs with Lauren draped sideways across his lap, his arm around her waist and her arm around his neck, both of them smiling as they watch the twins playing a video game on our TV while Christopher and Charles coach them.
A picture that implies something that isn’t really happening.
A picture to sell a silent story.
I get why. It’ll help fuel speculation that the couple might be getting back together, or that they’re still intimate, which is a nothingburger.
It’ll also distract people from the fact that Kevin still lives in the townhouse with us.
Late that night, once Kevin returns from borrowing Christopher’s SUV to drive Lauren home, I practically tackle him onto our bed.
Yeah, I want to re-stake my claim on him. He might be my Sir, but he’s mine. I agree Lauren is the best person to be my press secretary and director of our communications department, but honestly?
Sometimes, I want to cut a bitch.
Unlike me, Lauren can get away with touching Kevin in public or in front of witnesses and cameras. She can lean against him, drape an arm around him, kiss his cheek. He might be her boss, but they have a history. Everyone knows this, and it would actually be weirder, and attract more attention, if that familiarity wasn’t on display in appropriate forums from time to time.
I am not allowed any of those familiarities with Kevin in public, because it’ll indicate a level of intimacy we’re not supposed to have, not even as friends.
And, sometimes?
I’m convinced Lauren does it on purpose. Especially when I catch her looking at me with a slightly smug smile that screams, “Hah!”
I know she thinks Kevin is only involved with Christopher, but I wish to holy fuck she’d get herself a boyfriend and leave mine alone.
It’s also no coincidence there are days Kev locks us in his office at my headquarters and puts me on my knees between his thighs so he can sit there smiling down at me while I worship his cock.
During these times, he whispers that I’m his good girl, tells me how much he loves me, and what a good job I’m doing, how happy he is with me.
How proud he is of me.
It helps settle and reset my mood and cranks back my homicidal urges.
In public, I’m all smiles and besties with Lauren, though.
Don’t get me wrong—I respect her, and even like her, when she’s not touching my boyfriend. Just because she’s a Republican doesn’t mean we don’t have common ground. When she officially came to meet with me the day after the election, a sit-down between her, myself, Christopher, and Kevin, she was bluntly frank about where she disagreed with me on policies foreign and domestic.
Only she also discovered we have a lot in common.
It’s not like I’m going to make her go out and lie her ass off to the press corps every day. Of course there’s an element of spin—that’s just a fact of life. But as Kev likes to say, facts are. She might not agree with all my positions, but then again, she reported on things and had to portray a party line she didn’t agree with at FNB.
At least now she can have a back-and-forth with others to help clarify issues, and she gets a chance to make her opinion heard with me before we finalize talking points and official positions.
I also decide that, on the White House staff organizational chart, press secretary is head of communications, and answers only to the chief of staff, and then me. This puts Tim Bayard, our social media director, under her. Lauren recommends hiring Angela Shibata, one of Lauren’s very capable and driven producers from her former show on FNB, to be communications director/deputy press secretary. Angela is a Democrat who is loyal to Lauren, which was the only reason she stayed at the network for as long as she did.
Kev makes it so.
Thus our communications department is born. I give Lauren complete discretion, with Kevin supervising, to winnow through our campaign’s communications and speech-writing staffers and decide who comes aboard and who doesn’t, and in what capacity. In the process of hiring, Lauren taps two more producers from her old FNB show, as well as Kevin’s old producer, Lou, to help round out the main contingent of speechwriters, communications specialists, and staff. Some of the staff who don’t end up under Lauren will go to work in the East Wing with Christopher, or will be sent to other departments for their communications staff.
Kevin confides in me that Lauren did vote for me, even if she doesn’t want others to know.
I don’t care. Even if she hadn’t voted for me, as long as she’s dedicated to working with me and not against me, and Kevin trusts her, that’s all that matters.
What amuses me—and Kevin—is that as New Year’s rolls around, FNB is howling in rage that we’ve eviscerated them by pilfering what was obviously their best and brightest talent. Their ratings are tanking, and they’ve aired an unprecedented number of corrections and retractions over the last three weeks due to errors in research and writing.
Word reaches Kev that management over there seriously considers forcing everyone to sign a loyalty pledge that’s also a non-compete agreement, and would include a clause forbidding working for my administration during its existence. Fortunately, their legal department shuts that down before it comes to fruition.
Doesn’t matter, because we’ve gotten what we came for and left them a smoking ruin as far as true talent goes.
Let the SEC investigation finish destroying their reputation.
Even better?
That investigation started over a year ago, during a Republican administration, not mine.
* * * *
As we slip into New Year’s, the three of us opt to spend it alone at home. We’re going to spend the next four to eight years in front of cameras and engaging in public celebrations.
I want this.
I need this—them.
I need time alone with them before we are swept up into the public eye and I’m not able to enjoy a holiday night hidden away without it conjuring wild speculation as to why I don’t want to be seen in public.
After dinner, Chris and Kevin build a fire in the fireplace for us. We curl up together on blankets and make love there with music playing. Tonight, I picked the Pandora station. The electronic music gods must love me, because we get a mix of jazz and modern classical that allows us to focus only on each other.
You’d think that with the three of us together we’d have sex a lot more often than we do. Except a presidential campaign—and transition—is a massive undertaking. Every night we’re actually in bed together, we usually collapse, exhausted, sometimes with no energy to do anything more than snuggle and kiss each other good-night.
Tonight though, we focus on us. Christopher is always in charge, and Kev and I prefer it that way. Sometimes he’s in a mood to bottom to Kev, but tonight I’m on the bottom of the pile, so to speak.
Christopher and Kevin can easily shut off my brain. Tonight, they set out to do just that. Christopher holds me first.
“Come here, girl,” he says, patting his bare thigh.
Already suspecting what’s in store, I happily comply. With him sitting up and leaning back against the couch, my back is to him and his arms wrap around me, firmly anchoring me against his chest while I’m impaled on his cock and my legs are draped over his thighs and forced wide open by them.
Kevin flashes us both a playful smile before bending his head and using that sweet, sexy tongue of his to explore and tease me, where our bodies are joined.
Guessing from the sound of Chris’ gasps and moans, Kev’s probably working his way lower, to our husband’s balls. Up again, his tongue playfully swipes around my sensitive flesh, taking me close to the edge but not quite getting me over. This is one of their favorite games with me, the men sometimes swapping positions back and forth several times as they take turns making me come before they finally finish inside me. According to them, they love the feel of my body squeezing them while they’re embedded within me.
I love it, too.
I love that in these increasingly rare moments we can shove worries aside, ditch the condoms, and they can fully possess and mark me, inside and out.
With the house surrounded by Secret Service we really can’t play like we want to, with spanking and loud squeals and pained grunts.
Thus, we improvise.
Tonight it’s Christopher’s hands cupping my breasts and pinching my nipples until I gasp while Kevin makes me moan with need and pleasure. It’s Kevin biting and sucking along the inside of both our thighs, marking me and Christopher in secret places only we can see, while Christopher kisses me and swallows my sounds.
It’s giving myself to these two men who’ve given everything to be with me and help me follow my dream.
Kevin makes me come three times before Christopher can’t hold back any longer. He grabs me by the waist and fucks me while Kevin sits up and kisses him over my shoulder, with me sandwiched between them.
“Come for us, Sir,” he whispers to Chris. “Fill our girl.”
I never get enough of watching them together, the raw, unfiltered passion between them. Christopher’s sadism with me is physical, primal, sometimes brutal, digging into my fantasies and safely fulfilling them in ways that helps distract and disconnect my thinking brain, and leaves me physically spent.
Kevin’s sadism with me is the mental and emotional kind, strict obedience demanded while in that mode, leaving me focused totally on him, begging for more, and desperate to earn his praise.
They’re perfect for me, and for each other.
Then the men switch positions. Now it’s Kev cradling my body against his while Christopher dives between our legs and puts that talented mouth of his to good use on both of us.
Under me, I feel a shiver rock Kevin’s body. I tip my head back and receive his sweetly greedy kisses. I taste myself on him and love that, too.
I know he’s mine—ours.
I know in my heart he’s nothing more than friends with Lauren.
I have the satisfaction of knowing he’s dedicated his life to this crazy, impossible thing we have together that’s now been made very, very real.
Lives will depend on us—literally.
The country depends on us.
And this fragile secret we protect and nurture during stolen nights like this will have to suffice for all three of us until we once again enter private life.
Kevin captures my hands and laces fingers with me, crossing our arms over my chest and holding me in place. While we kiss, Christopher works to send me over once more. Only this time, once I’ve made it over, he lifts and maneuvers me so Kevin’s cock slips free of my body.
I spot his wicked smile before Kevin’s low moan in my ear makes my body clench and yearn for more. The gentle rasp of the stubble on Christopher’s cheeks against my inner thighs as he swallows Kevin’s cock teases and taunts me.
Then he slides two fingers inside me, and my brain shuts down. Christopher is a master in many ways, including knowing how to focus both his pets’ attention fully on him.
I tip my head back again, my lips seeking and finding Kevin’s. His breathy moans fill my mouth as, down below, my husband eagerly seeks his wife’s and boyfriend’s pleasure.
Moments like this sustain all three of us. The maestro expertly plays our bodies, even managing to lick my clit and Kevin’s cock at the same time with long, slow swipes from that talented tongue, until I finally give it up first and Kevin soon spills in his mouth.
Kev and I lie there, panting and spent as Christopher rises to his knees and slides his cock inside me again. Pinned between them, I enjoy it as he takes another round of pleasure from me. Sometimes that happens with him. He might be a sadist, but he enjoys making us moan for him. He takes great pride in knowing he has that effect on us.
Finally, we’re stretched out on our sides in front of the fire, me between them and Christopher’s arms around both of us as we watch the festivities in Times Square on TV.
I can close my eyes and relax, let go, and just…breathe. Christopher will watch over us, vigilantly ensure the security and logistics to support and protect us. Meanwhile, Kevin is diligent when it comes to my fledgling administration, building a solid foundation that’s free of scandal and which will allow me to do great things for our country.
My Priest and my Prophet.
Mine.
I can’t do this alone. I couldn’t do this if I didn’t have both these men. I don’t know how I ever thought I could. I don’t see how any president can effectively do their job without maybe not bedfellows, but at the very least ride-or-die advisors who will honesty guide and support them.
It reminds me to trust, the way I trusted Christopher when he asked it of me two years ago. The way I trusted Kevin, because Christopher asked it of me.
That trust got us here in the first place.