Get Over Me, page 1
GET OVER ME
M/M GAY ROMANCE
BY LINA LANGLEY
© 2017
Lina Langley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is intended for adults only. It contains explicit sexual scenes and is not suitable for children.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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BLURB
Special Agent Rocky Knight has spent half his career keeping Sean Connor out of trouble. The president's son is nothing short of irresponsible, reckless, and completely out of control--but when Sean's sent home in disgrace after practically flunking out of school, the last thing Rocky wants is to witness his fall from grace.
Especially when Sean isn't the little boy he remembers.
The mischievous wild child has been replaced by a funny, ambitious, sensitive man. One who's stunningly gorgeous. One whose soft, kissable lips draw Rocky's gaze every time he speaks. One who's far too young. One who wants Rocky all to himself.
And one who's completely off limits, if Rocky wants to keep his job and any sense of self-respect.
But no matter how much Rocky tries to distance himself, every alluring glance and enticing laugh draws him deeper and deeper under the younger man's spell. Can Rocky keep things professional between himself and Sean, when Sean grows more determined every day--and the more he falls, the more Rocky knows he'll never be able to get over him?
CHAPTER ONE
“Are you sure about this?”
It was the secretary who was asking. She was a prim and proper woman, with a pixie hair cut that barely went down to her ears and a plump face. She looked concerned for him.
Knight nodded. Even if he hadn’t been sure, choice was no longer in his vocabulary. Ever since he had taken the position in the Secret Service, he had done many things he wouldn’t have been comfortable with.
Protecting the president wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, Knight thought. It had been when he was acting president and Knight got to go on the plane and direct a team of secret service agents to canvass a college or a golf course before President Connor was due to stop there.
The president trusted Knight, and much like other secret service agents before him, the family had wanted to keep him on. His job had changed. He was in charge of protecting former President Connor and his family, but no longer in an official capacity.
He did it at their countryside Virginia home with a handful of other people. He lived in the mother-in-law cabin behind the colonial mansion and tried his best to stay out of the family’s way.
He crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Tilda. “No,” he said with a smile, cocking his head slightly. “Has that ever mattered?”
She snickered. “You don’t have to worry,” she said. “The entire staff is going to have your back.”
He grinned. “Except for a nanny,” he said. “Or even a governess.”
She sighed, then leaned forward over the island counter. She dropped her voice to a whisper before she spoke. “I wish I could help you more,” she said.
“You’re already helping me,” he said. “By being sympathetic. At least I have that.”
The moment the cook walked in, Tilda straightened up and brushed her clothes off. “He can’t be as bad as he used to be.”
Knight felt like he should laugh, but there was a knot in his throat as he recalled the wily teenager he’d had to follow around on Dolores’ instructions. He’d sipped a virgin cocktail in the corner of a dingy night club as he vetted any other young men approaching Sean, wondering if they wanted to fuck him or fuck with him.
He had to make that judgment in a split second and he hadn’t always been right. Sean had grown to slowly dislike him, but things had taken a turn for the worse when Sean had met Rocky Knight’s little brother, Don. It had been a chance meeting, but the two had become quick friends and Knight found himself in the impossible position of having to look both after the president’s oldest son and his wild as fuck little brother.
Ever since then, Sean Connor and Don Knight had been inseparable. At least this task would mean he would get to see his little brother more often, he supposed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
Tilda put her hand on his. “Do you want some coffee?”
He opened his eyes and nodded, her touch instantly grounding him. “Yes,” he said. “Coffee would be great.”
He watched her as she walked toward the espresso machine. It wasn’t part of her domain, but a hot drink had always made him feel better.
“How long has it been since you saw him?” Tilda asked.
He sighed again, twisting his lips. He could remember exactly when the last time he had seen Sean Connor, the clock hanging over his head, the white sheets wrapped around his waist and hanging limply down to his knees. Knight could remember how hot his cheeks felt, how he had to turn away instantly and find something to hold on to, how his gaze had drifted toward the window, to Sean’s reflection, smirking at the back of Knight’s head.
Knight tried to swallow down the knot in his throat as he thought about that day. He could still remember the ticking of the clock mixed with Sean’s quickened breathing. He thought about it sometimes, as he was drifting to sleep. It popped into his head sometimes when he was getting ready to pleasure himself and it never failed to ruin his plans for the evening.
He pinched the bridge of his nose again as he noticed Tilda was watching him. “Has the president told Sean yet?”
Tilda laughed, throwing her head back. Her laughter wasn’t exactly melodic. He found it a little difficult to smile back at her, knowing that she was mocking him for his question. He straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest.
She noticed his glare and her expression schooled. “Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t joke about it.”
He shook his head, waving his hand in front of his face. “No,” he said. “It’s okay, really. I’m just… worried.”
“Ellie will be fine,” Tilda said.
“Yeah,” Rocky replied, biting his lips. “It’s not Ellie I’m worried about, Tilda.”
She nodded. “I have heard he’s gotten better, for what it’s worth,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. Tilda only thought that Sean had gotten better because she didn’t hear all about his escapades from Don, who retold them back to Rocky as if they were the most hilarious thing in the world.
“Yeah,” Rocky replied, licking his lips. “I’m sure he’s not as bad as I remember.”
He mostly said it to convince himself.
Tilda flashed him a tight-lipped smile. He downed the coffee almost instantly, because he found that he didn’t want to be around her anymore. He wanted to go back to his room and hide until it was time to see Sean.
He needed to get rid of all the anxiety building up inside of him. It was making him jumpy. He couldn’t afford feeling like that, his position meant that he always had to be at an even keel. Especially if he wanted the next month to go well.
He nodded toward Tilda, not saying anything, and turned around to walk out toward the mother-in-law suite he occupied next to the pool.
It’s okay, he told himself. It’s just looking after a kid. How hard can it be?
CHAPTER TWO
Sean Connor looked out the window of the van as the driver pulled up to his father’s estate. He had been there for weekends, but it had been years since he had gone to Virginia to stay.
He rolled the window down and looked at the sprawling green field in front of him, the colonial house still a tiny spot in his vision. The driver was humming a song Sean didn’t recognize and the secret service guy that occupied the front seat hadn’t said a word since Sean had first gotten in the car.
He had wanted Don to come with him, but Don couldn’t just stop going to school because Sean’s father had decided he couldn’t look after Sean’s little sister.
It wasn’t him who’d had a child at fifty-six. If he’d had a child, it would have been an outrage. Because his father—the former president—had a baby with his third wife, it had been a huge cause for celebration. What the press didn’t know was just how unstable Yvonne was. After giving birth to Ellie, Yvonne had been shipped off to Colorado to get therapy there. She couldn’t go to an in-treatment facility because that would disgrace James Connor’s presidency, despite the fact that Connor was no longer sitting president.
The Democratic Party still relied on him.
That meant Sean’s father had to focus both on his career and raising a small child he had made with a woman that was only about ten years older than Sean himself.
Sean hadn’t hated her at first, but when he noticed that Yvonne left Ellie in her crib for a long time while she was crying her little lungs out or didn’t pick her up when she reached out with her plump little arms, Sean started to get a bitter taste in his mouth about her.
He couldn’t blame her, he supposed. He had never really been around children much. He had never had any siblings—and his mother had barely been in his life after she had divorced his father. His stepmother, Jillian, had desperately wanted a baby, but regardless of all the treatments she went through, it never seemed to happen for her.
Sean had been close to her, but the further she sunk into her illness and into her depression, the harder it was for him to see her as a mother figure. He couldn’t resent her, not for getting sick, but he had been the one who ended up taking care of her.
Jillian had stuck it through his father’s presidency, but she had gotten progressively sicker and passed away when his second term was over.
Sean missed Jillian dearly, despite the tension at the end of her life. She was much better than Yvonne, who seemed to have had her eyes on Sean’s father ever since they had first met at a party. She was set for life and it wasn’t as if James Connor could get divorced again. The very scandal that would cause sent a shiver down Sean’s spine.
The van stopped. Sean took a deep breath as he heard the ignition being turned off and the driver get out of the car. He went to open the door, but the driver already had and was extending his hand to help him out onto the gravel.
Sean looked him up and down. Most men didn’t get helped out of vehicles, but since he was openly gay, members of his dad’s household sometimes treated him like they would a lady. He had half a mind to be offended, but he wasn’t about to swat the man’s hand away, so he held on to it as he got out of the van.
The man’s hand was clammy. Sean got out, thanked him in a mumble under his breath and looked at the colonial he had grown up in. Nobody needed that much house, he thought, and he had always found it far too ostentatious. Since his father had been president, however, it wasn’t as if they could live in an apartment building.
Isolated and beautiful suited their family just fine. It just didn’t suit Sean.
He walked up to the door without waiting for the secret service guy or the driver. He stuck his hand in his pocket and began to look for his keys, which jingled in his jeans.
The door opened before he managed to find his keys.
“Mr. Connor,” a female voice said.
He looked up, a smile on his face. He expected to find Betsy there, but it wasn’t her. It was a woman he had never seen before wearing a uniform he had never seen before. Her blondish brown hair was up in a tight bun on her head and she was glaring at him, waiting for him to say something.
He blinked. “Uh, you’re not Betsy.”
“Miss Betsy retired,” the woman replied. “A year ago.”
He cocked his head. He couldn’t believe it had really been that long since he had been in the Virginia house. He cleared his throat and tried to smile at the woman, who was watching him like he had lost his mind.
“Sean,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Brenda,” she said. “Come on in. Your room has been made. Would you like something to drink?”
“No,” he said, watching her. “Thank you. Was it my bedroom that was made up?
She shrugged her shoulders. He blinked but wondered if that should be enough for him.
He walked into the house, wondering when his bags would get brought inside. “Is my father gone?”
“He took Ellie to the park,” Brenda said.
“Right,” he said. “Thank you.”
Branda nodded and he watched as she turned on her heels and started to walk toward the kitchen. There were beads of sweat all over his forehead, making his hair stick to his skin. His clothes were crinkled from the long journey and he knew his father expected him to look good when he first saw him.
Sean didn’t know if he had it in him. That life, where it was far more important to keep up appearances than to be happy, had never suited Sean. He wasn’t going to follow in his father’s footsteps.
Effecting change was all well and good, but Sean didn’t think he had it in him to deal with the pressure of having a political career. He would just have a midlevel position as an executive somewhere, aware that he could rely on a trust fund if things got bad and he could cook at home, for his husband and his children.
If he ever had a husband and children, he thought with a wry grin. The way things were going, he would be lucky if he had a kitchen to cook in.
He sighed as he started to walk up the grand staircase. He looked down at the ridiculous living room that was three times the size of his college apartment and sighed.
He couldn’t believe he had let himself be talked into this. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling how coarse and wet it was from the journey and grimacing.
He walked into his childhood bedroom. It was essentially the same as it had been when he had grown up there, with his bed the first thing he saw the moment he walked in, a big custom-built bookshelf that directly faced him, and a television five times the size his TV had been as a teenager hanging on the wall. The closet had been renewed. It was all sliding doors in dark mahogany, which reached all the way up to the ceiling.
He walked to the right and into the en suite bathroom next to the closet. He closed the door behind him, locked it and leaned against it.
When he was at his father’s estate, being in the bathroom was the only chance he got to be alone. He wasn’t exactly an introvert, but when he was surrounded only by service staff, he didn’t really feel like being outgoing.
The moments in the bathroom were precious and they never felt like enough time. He opened the cold faucet, determined to at least wash his face, when someone knocked on the bathroom door.
“Mr. Connor,” a familiar voice said. “The president would like to see you downstairs.”
Sean rolled his eyes. Of course his father couldn’t just go and fetch him himself. That would be far too difficult for a perfectly healthy middle-aged man, having to go up all those stairs and knock on his door.
“I’ll be right there,” he said to the door.
“Okay,” the voice said to him.
Sean pressed his ear to the door and waited for footsteps to start receding. There was no sound coming from outside his door and he was worried.
Sean sighed. He wanted the person outside the door to go away, but it wasn’t as if he could just ask them to. He grabbed the handle and opened the door, ready to ask the person who had come to collect him to give him some space.
He was looking down at his feet as he stepped out onto the wooden floor. He was about to open his mouth when he looked up and his breath caught in the back of his throat.
He blinked a couple of times as he tried to process what he was seeing. The person in front of him was the same man who had cockblocked him a million times, the man who had carried him out of clubs when he couldn’t stand up anymore, the one who had sat next to him at his stepmother’s funeral as he cried his eyes out.
He didn’t look like he had back then. His dark green eyes looked a little darker, there were lines on his forehead that hadn’t been there before, and his skin looked lighter somehow. He was furrowing his brow, not saying anything, watching Sean and waiting for him to say or do something.
Sean looked right at his face, opening his mouth to say something but finding himself unable to find the words.
“The president will see you now,” Knight said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s in the main lounge.”
He was about twice Sean’s size, his shoulders and back broad, his entire presence extremely imposing. He was still wearing that expensive suit he had always worn, though Sean was almost certain it wasn’t required anymore. It was perfectly tailored, snug at the top and looser in the middle, and if the man hadn’t been a secret service agent, he could have been a Gucci model.
Nah, Sean thought. He’s such a square.
Sean smirked, getting close to his body and looking up at his face. “Are you his secretary now?”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought that he saw a tug at the corner of Knight’s lips. “If I were, I would like to think I would be getting paid more.”
