Page 7 of Accepted Precedent
“Thanks, Daddy,” Evie teases, letting out a full laugh.
“Ten minutes, angel. Or when I return, I’ll bend you over and fuck that attitude right out of you.”
Without another word, Mick leaves and I whisper-shout to her, “What are you doing?”
“What?” She shrugs. “It’s not like he’ll actually do it. He’syourboyfriend.”
Except, she’s wrong, so very wrong. I wouldn’t put it past Mickey to teach her a lesson. I’ve learned the hard way—being edged for hours isn’t as fun as it sounds.
Evelyn and I make quick work of washing up, then hurry out of the shower. Though his staff is discreet, I’d never want anyone to walk in on me with my cock hanging out. Once we’re dressed, there’s a knock on the bedroom door and Aisling, the incredible woman who manages Mick’s staff, calls, “Mr. Adams, I have dinner ready for you and your guest. Would you prefer I leave it outside of the door?”
I open it and insist, “No, thank you. Would you like to have a slice with us?”
“Oh, no thank you, I already ate. Enjoy.”
Aisling offers me the pizza box, two glasses, and a bottle of red wine. As she walks away, I ask, “Are you ever going to call me Andrew?”
“Perhaps one day, but today is not that day, Mr. Adams. Please ring downstairs should you need anything else.”
Chapter 4
Evelyn
It’s every girl’s dream to marry the love of her life—her soulmate, her best friend.
Lucky for me, I’m not every girl.
Marriage is a contract, nothing more. Washington likes to take things a little further—indenturing women like 1950s housewives, complete with bright smiles and stiletto heels. There’s nothing sexier to a politician than a woman who will remain his faithful little bunny, pop out a few kids, and ignore his sexual indiscretions.
I vowed to never marry a man in politics, but Andrew isn’t like the others. He’s pure, with a heart of gold, and will bring about so much change for this country if given the opportunity. Marrying him will stop the asshole who is hell-bent on rolling back women’s rights from getting into office—it’s a small price to pay.
Over the years, I’ve watched Andy date a variety of partners, and I’ve never seen him as in love as he is with Mickey. He’ll be giving up just as much as I am, forced further into the shadows.
I hate it. All of it.
Since we stepped into Mick’s bedroom, everything seems to have shifted back to normal for us. It feels like we’re back in college—drinking wine and eating pepperoni and olive pizza in our pajamas. Still, guilt swirls inside me after kissing both of them. The idea of sleeping with two men has always intrigued me, but I got caught up in the moment. We all did. It’s wrong to fantasize about my best friend and his boyfriend, yet I can’t help wondering what it would be like to have two men worshiping me—two sets of hands, two mouths, two hard cocks desperate to fill me.
I’m lost in the fantasy when there’s a knock at the door. I pause with the slice of pizza halfway to my mouth as Mickey enters, shrugging off his jacket. My gaze falls to his wet shirt and slacks. It’s not raining. Even more curious, his hair is dry. Andrew kisses my temple and whispers, “Stay here,” then rushes off the bed. He helps Mickey out of his soaked clothes. It isn’t water—Andrew’s hands are stained crimson.
“What the fuck?” I shriek, tossing the pizza and box haphazardly to the side as I throw back the covers.
“I told you to stay there,” Andrew growls.
My questions come out in rapid succession. “What’s going on? Whose blood is that? Are you hurt? Do I need to call the cops?”
Mickey’s eyes meet mine, and while he’s known for a trademark scowl, this is different. Darker. Pinned with his intense gaze, I struggle to breathe. His voice is soft but sure when he replies, “No, I’m okay, angel. Listen to Andrew. Finish dinner and put on a movie. I could use a distraction once I’m out of the shower.”
“Fuck that,” I snap, stalking toward them. “Let me help. You’re covered in blood. At the very least, I can ask Aisling for trash bags or something so you don’t destroy your bedroom.”
Mick nods with a grunt and unbuttons his shirt as Andrew helps him out of his shoes. I rush out of the bedroom in search of her. His house is huge, and I take a few wrong turns, but eventually find her in the kitchen.
“Hey, Aisling. I was wondering if I could have three or four trash bags, cleaning rags you don’t mind tossing later, and your strongest all-purpose cleaner.”
She purses her lips as she nods. “Of course. Mr. Gallagher must’ve snuck past me after his errand. Is there any pizza left?”
“Pizza? Uh, um, I think so. I’m not sure,” I wince, then lower my voice. “I’m more worried about the—how do I put this lightly—blood on his clothes.” I shudder. “What sort of errand did he run that he returned like that?”
“Don’t worry yourself with the details, Ms. Proctor. Mr. Gallagher will share when he feels it’s appropriate. For now, he’ll be hungry, and he’ll need Mr. Adams tonight to cheer him up. I’ll have someone bring him something to eat. Also, I’ve made up your room next door to theirs—it’s available whenever you’re ready for bed.”
