Page 34 of The Night Of
We didn’t have all the time in the world. Later, I’d do everything I wanted: suck him for hours, bring him to the brink, and then pull away. Rim him, move from his ass to his cock and back until he forgot how to speak. I’d make him suck my fingers, and I’d open him with his own spit. Work his hole with my cock until his eyes rolled back in his skull.
For now, this was what I could give him.
“Sean—” Jonathan’s thighs clenched around my shoulders. “Sean—” He clamped his lips together as I felt his balls tighten.
I could feel him start to lose control, start to tip over the edge. His hips fought against my hold, seeking more. I held him down and fucked his cock with my mouth, faster, sucking harder, deeper, until I was swallowing him feverishly, all of him in and out of my mouth and my throat at a furious, near-raging pace. Jonathan’s legs shook, and his back arched, and he made a strangled noise, a louder cry barely contained. His cock swelled, his salt-soaked release exploding, and I swallowed the rush of his come, greedy for every single drop.
Throughout it all, his hands stayed clasped to the edge of the desk over his head.
I sucked him until he was soft, until I’d cleaned every drop of come and saliva from his crotch. I kissed his exposed belly as I caught my breath, resting my head on the indent of his hip, the taut skin over sharp bone. The room was spinning, and I didn’t know if that was from Jonathan or from the rush of blood down south and the deprivation inside my brain. I was so fucking hard it hurt. Harder than I’d ever been. I could take my pleasure, order Jonathan to his knees or tell him to stroke me, but…
This was about him. I was answering a question, one he’d asked me both an hour and a year earlier. Did I want him, all of him, the way he wanted me?
Fuck yes, I did. It scared me, how much I wanted him. How much I needed him.
I thought I’d taken something from him. Done something unforgivable. I thought I’d destroyed the man I loved. This was giving back. Giving him answers.I want this. I want you. I want everything we can be together.Giving him promises.I’m never leaving your side again. I will be the man you need. When you go over the edge, Jonathan, I’ll be there to catch you. Always.
When I could see again, I sat back and tucked his cock into his pants. Zipped him up.
He hadn’t moved. He still held on to the desk in a death drip as he panted through his nose. Tears glistened at the corners of his closed eyes, caught on his lashes.
“Let go,” I choked out. My throat was ragged, my voice almost torn. I coughed, tried to clear my throat. I’d sound like I’d sucked cock for the rest of the day.
Jonathan’s hands flew off the desk and fell to his face. He exhaled hard, once, twice. A broken sob tore out of him.
“Come here.” I tugged, and he followed me off the desk, falling to his knees on the carpet in front of the presidential seal. I went with him, taking his hands away from his face and into my own lap. “Jonathan.” I rubbed my thumbs over his palms. “Look at me.”
His eyes rose and met mine.They were red with tears and sex-drunk.
I kissed both of his hands. “I know I let you down the last time. But I promise, I’m going to be the man you need. So don’t bury what you need or hide when you need it. I’m here, and I’ll take care of you.”There was something in his eyes, deep in the depths, that flickered as I spoke, some passing shadow. The memory of doubt, perhaps.
He breathed in as if he was tasting air for the first time. I waited, rubbing his palms with my thumbs, matching my breathing with his as it began to slow.He was coming back from where I’d taken him. Submission, release, freedom.
I wanted to kiss him, hold his face in my palms and memorize him, tell him in all the ways I could never say aloud what a fucking fool I was and how much I’d longed for him day in and day out, every single fucking hour since that night.
“Okay,” he finally said, his voice coming back to itself, back to the velvet-lined steel that defined him. “Okay.”
I helped him up, steadying him before he tucked his shirt back into his pants and straightened his jacket. After, he grasped my face in both of his hands. I held his wrists as he pressed his forehead to mine. “Sean…”
We stayed together for another long moment, then pulled apart. He cleared his throat. Squared his shoulders. Lifted his chin. “Agent Avery.”
“Mr. President.”
Nine
Carl Rose’sbody was still unclaimed at the DC morgue. The detective assigned to his murder was based out of the seventh district of the Metropolitan PD, which surprised me. I hadn’t realized Rose had been across the river when he was killed. I called the detective and asked him to meet me at the morgue and to bring the case file with him. He tried to push me off, but I played the Secret Service card, and, grumbling, he agreed to drive downtown.
On the way, I called Special Agent Nguyen. He was technically my boss. He’d been the presidential detail lead ever since I stepped down.
I hadn’t badged into Horsepower since the night of Baker’s death, and I hadn’t been showing up for shift change handovers. Since I wasn’t being hounded, Jonathan must have said something. We agents didn’t actually work for the president. We worked for the Secret Service, but in practice, we did exactly what the president wanted.
It didn’t sound like Nguyen was happy to hear from me. “Avery. What the fuck do you want?”
“Just calling to give you an update on my stat.”
“Your stat?” He snorted. “You’re off the rails on some kind of Secret Squirrel shit with the president. I don’t want to know what you’re doing. I don’t even want to know where you are. Just do me a favor, okay? Keep whatever you’re doing away from our job, okay? We don’t need to be wasting time on your bullshit.”
“Yeah, okay.” I immediately forgot everything he’d said. Nguyen was an okay enough guy, but he was an uptight fuck, even more than the rest of us. “Hey, I need some information. It’s for the president.”
