Valor on the Move (6 page)

“Sorry if I was overzealous.”

Rafa forced himself to meet Shane’s gaze with a smile. “Don’t be. I really appreciate everything you guys do. Honestly.”

Shane nodded, and then they were at the gates, and Rafa turned to look out the window. He thought of seeing his mother any minute. There was nothing better to kill a potential hard-on.
 

With his hand down his boxers that night, Rafa gazed longingly at his laptop. His left hand was bandaged, even though he’d gotten worse scrapes a million times as a kid.
At least my right hand wasn’t injured. I’d probably die of blue balls.
But his mother had called for the doctor. It was overkill, but it had still been nice to be worried about, he had to admit. Shane and Alan had apologized again, and Rafa had been relieved his mother wasn’t angry at them. She said she’d rather he got a hundred cuts and bruises than one bullet.

Flexing his left hand with a twinge, he smiled as he thought of Shane examining it. He bit his lip, staring at the computer. Maybe it would be okay, just this once. Maybe he could just watch some porn and jerk off like every other guy in America without having to worry that the White House monitoring staff would notice. Not that they
cared,
but porn was…well, it was personal. The fact that he was gay was personal. It was just better to keep it completely locked up until he had his freedom back. Besides, nowadays
nothing
online was safe.

When Adriana’s accounts had been hacked a few years before, along with posting her sexts and half-naked selfies, the gossip sites had gleefully screamed that she visited sites about big black dicks. And knowing his luck, some hacker douchebag would spread the news to TMZ that the president’s son liked to watch twinks get fucked in the ass by hairy daddies.

Because
damn
, did he like to watch that.

But he’d always been vigilant—it had to be on Ashleigh’s computer. She’d give him alone time when he needed it, and never judged (although sometimes she teased mercilessly). And most of the time he was happy to just jerk off to his fantasies, but tonight that wasn’t working. Well, it was working, but every time he closed his eyes and took his cock in hand, his mind was filled with Shane. The rumble of Shane’s voice, and the weight of him pressing Rafa down. A shiver rippled through him, and he cupped his balls.

He groaned in frustration and opened his eyes.

If he was going to be around Shane for months to come, he absolutely could not use the guy for his spank bank. Not because he had a moral or ethical dilemma—fantasies didn’t hurt anyone—but because he’d likely spontaneously come in his pants the next time Shane so much as brushed against him.

Despite himself, Rafa thought of how Shane’s callused hand had felt on his head as he’d flattened him to the sidewalk. How his breath had been hot against the back of Rafa’s neck, his big body covering him completely. Willing to die for him.

Rafa’s cock twitched, and he gripped it. He knew it was stupid—Shane was willing to die for any asshole he was assigned to protect. It didn’t mean Rafa was special. It didn’t mean Shane
cared.
It didn’t mean there was anything between them whatsoever. Rafa could have been a Labradoodle—it wouldn’t make a bit of difference to Shane. He needed to nip this crush right in the bud. Adriana had mooned over one of her first agents so obviously that the poor guy had been reassigned. Rafa could hide it the way he hid everything else, but it would be better to just not crush on the guy at all.

“Did I hurt you?”

Kicking off his boxers, Rafa gave in and spread his legs, reaching for the lube he’d brought out from the bathroom (purchased by Ash, of course). Closing his eyes, he imagined Shane’s warm, comforting touch. In his mind, those rough hands were skimming all over his body now. Shane kissed him, his lips soft compared to the scratch of stubble on Rafa’s skin, and murmured that he’d go slow in that gravelly voice.

But as Rafa pinched his nipples, he wanted it harder. In his mind, he got on his hands and knees. His hair wasn’t tamed with pomade, and Shane ran his hands through it, pulling Rafa’s head back as he bit his shoulder. His stubble sent shivers over Rafa’s skin as he kissed down his spine, and Rafa shoved a slick finger inside himself, imagining it was Shane’s tongue.

Whimpering, he bit back a groan as he fucked himself with another finger. The first time he’d made himself come with just his fingers, it had felt like a miracle—somehow even more intense than when he jerked his dick.

In his mind, he held his cheeks open with Shane’s face buried there, and begged Shane to shove his cock inside. Of course there were no condoms in his fantasies, and when Shane rammed into him, the burn of flesh on flesh heated every pore. Panting, he jerked himself faster, his fingers pistoning in his ass. He imagined Shane heavy behind him, Shane’s hairy thighs and balls slapping against him, his cock like a hot poker.

Rolling over, Rafa went up on his knees, burying his face in his pillow to muffle his cries. It was awkward to get deep into his hole now, so he concentrated on his cock and balls with his other hand, imagining it was Shane touching him. He pulled down the foreskin, teasing the head of his cock. All the while in his mind, Shane pounded his ass, grunting and murmuring a litany of dirty talk about how tight Rafa was, and how he was a cum slut, and Shane was going to fill him up until it gushed out.

With a groan into his pillow, Rafa came, toes curling as his orgasm vibrated through him violently. After a few gasps, Rafa lifted his hand and licked it clean, imagining it was Shane feeding him his own spunk as he filled his body—cum in his ass and in his mouth, hot inside him and salty on his tongue.

Collapsing onto his belly, he swallowed the bitter drops, knowing he was probably a total freak for eating his own jizz. But until he could eat someone else’s, it was all he had. He moaned softly as he wondered what Shane’s would taste like.

I’d kneel at his feet and let him fuck my mouth. Suck him until he came down my throat, his hands pulling my hair. Maybe he’d smile…

As the glow faded, Rafa hurried to the bathroom and cleaned himself, thanking God that Shane wouldn’t be able to read his mind when he saw him again.

“Kendrick.” Brent Harris motioned him into the Secret Service office as he approached down the center hallway.

Inside, Shane glanced at the protectee locator, the electronic box listing the location of the president, vice-president, and their immediate families. Rafael was upstairs on the third floor. “What’s up? Pearce should be here soon.” Alan’s text had only said he’d be late and not to wait for him. Being late wasn’t acceptable, but it was their second week on the midnight shift, and they’d only seen Valor once. Odds were that Rafa was staying put upstairs.

In the three weeks since the false alarm at the park, he’d only gone out to foundation events or meetings, aside from one barbecue hosted by an old high school friend. He’d talked and laughed with his former classmates while eating hot dogs and drinking beer, but Shane had the feeling his heart wasn’t in it. There seemed to be a switch he flicked on when he had to be polite and friendly. He didn’t talk much otherwise and kept to himself most of the time. It made for an easy detail, at least.

“Actually, Pearce isn’t coming in,” Harris replied. They stood in the corner of the office, the other agents monitoring the live feeds from security cameras. This late at night there was fewer staff, but the office was of course monitored twenty-four seven. Harris went on. “He’s got a family emergency.”

Shane’s stomach dropped. “Serious?”

“His son has an infection. He’s been hospitalized.”

“But Al said he’s been doing okay.” Just the other day he’d shown Shane a video of the boy laughing as he and Alan played catch in the yard. There was a gap between Dylan’s teeth that he’d been eager to show to the camera. “Damn.”

Harris nodded grimly. “I told him to stay at the hospital and I’d cover if need be. I called Nguyen, and we’ve discussed it. If Pearce can’t come in the rest of the week, how do you feel about taking the night shift alone? Of course you’d have backup from the uniforms if need be, but Valor isn’t one for taking off at three o’clock in the morning to go party. Odds are you’ll barely even see him all week. Good thing it’s the mouse’s detail and not his sister’s.”

“Sounds good. It should be just fine. You can’t get anyone in to cover for Pearce?”

Harris sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “We’re short-staffed. This election season is killing us. Between Livingston and Margulies and their veeps, we’re stretched thin.” He laughed humorlessly. “Fucking cutbacks. They keep asking us to do more with less, and who’ll get blamed if something goes wrong? My buddy’s on Livingston’s detail, and they’re constantly on the road. He’s barely slept. Working eighteen hours a day, but of course he’s only officially on the clock eight of those.”

“I hear you. Look, head on home. I’ve got this. Like you said, the kid doesn’t go anywhere at night. Pearce and I would just be shooting the shit anyway. I can handle this.”

“Great.” Harris gave Shane’s back a slap. “Have a good night. Call me if there are any issues.”

“You got it.”

Shane grabbed his radio and headed up to the state floor. Within the executive residence on a quiet night like this with only one protectee on site, they used small walkie-talkies that clipped on their belts instead of the ear pieces connected to wrist mics and radios. The president was still overseas, and Venus had left that morning for Los Angeles to stump for Margulies’s campaign. All was quiet. He stayed near the back stairs, since they were the ones Valor was most likely to use. As he took a seat in a wooden chair left there for agents, his phone buzzed. He answered quietly. “Al?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure things are okay there.”

Jesus, Alan’s voice was wrecked. Hoarse and wavering. “We’ve got it covered. Don’t give it another thought, okay? How’s Dylan?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“Not great. Fever’s high. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. He was still supposed to have a year before he got really sick. At least.”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay.” He wasn’t sure at all, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah. Thanks. Fuck, man. We just got this detail and I’m causing problems. They’re going to shitcan me first chance they get. I need this job.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. They understand.”

He laughed bitterly. “Nguyen and Harris, sure. But the top brass couldn’t give a shit. I barely made it back after…last time. My old boss fought for me to get back on a detail. They don’t want agents who can’t be on call constantly or work doubles or triples. They don’t want agents who have a life outside the job.” He paused. “Shit, I’m sorry. Listen to me—I’m a goddamn mess. I wouldn’t want me on the job either.”

“You’re fine. Everything’s covered here. Just concentrate on Dylan and your family.”

“Sorry, man. This just really blindsided me. Like I got hit by a sixteen-wheeler.”

Shane could only imagine. “Nothing to apologize for. I’ll call you in the morning and check in.”

“You’re a good friend. Thanks, Kenny.”

It was hard to sit still after hearing Alan so raw with pain, and Shane paced a little circuit to the door of the Red Room and back to the rear stairs. He thought of Dylan’s gap-toothed smile. No one should have to watch their seven-year-old child die. Especially not after Alan already lost his little girl. Shane didn’t believe in God, but he grimly thought that if there was one, the bastard was a sadistic fuck.

Shit, he needed to focus on something other than dying kids. He pulled out his phone and Googled the president to catch up on the latest news. Vagabond had finished up glad-handing at the G7 and was now in Vienna, the neutral location for the Chechnyan peace talks, which weren’t going well. The Russian dictator was making things difficult, but what else was new?

Shane thumbed through some other news stories about President Castillo, then did a loop of the floor and radioed in an all-clear report to the office in the basement. He ended up in Google images, and tapped on a picture of the Castillo family from last Christmas, which led down a rabbit hole of scrolling through pages of pictures. The president was a handsome man—around six foot, with thick, dark hair accented with gray at the temples. He was a regular jogger, and according to agents on his detail he was in damn good shape for fifty-four.

His wife was a few years younger, and also in trim shape. She truly was a beautiful woman. So far he hadn’t interacted with her much at all, but the other week he’d seen her bark a command to one of her agents to be careful with a garment bag as her detail schlepped her suitcases to the car. As far as working the first family went, Shane was more than happy to stay with Valor.

The whole family was damned attractive, although Shane winced as he flipped through older pictures of Rafael. Valor had certainly had his awkward years well documented. Although even in later pictures, he always seemed to fade into the background, hunching a bit as if he was trying to make himself less visible. Shane scrolled through the shots, wondering idly what was going on in Rafael Castillo’s head.