White House Men #4
Two stubborn alpha men meet the one boy who wants them both…
Denali knows what he wants. He loves his job in the Residence of the White House, but what he craves is serving. A Dom. Or in his case: two.
When tragedy strikes once again, Denali offers himself to Milan, the president’s brother in law. Milan accepts, but he insists Secret Service agent Asher joins them as well. Denali is more than fine with that. Two hot, dominant men is even better than one, right?
One encounter leads to more. Asher warns Denali that he can’t fall for Milan, that the tough, closed off Dom will break his heart. He’s learned that the hard way himself. But Denali knows no other way than to give himself completely, and he’s willing to deal with the consequences.
When Milan and Asher prove to be too stubborn to see the truth, it’s Denali who shows them that love is worth taking a risk for. But will it be enough to bring them together? And how will everyone heal and move on after the most devastating blow yet?
Serve is an MMM gay romance with an age gap, featuring a Dom, a switch, and a super sweet boy. It’s the fourth book in the White House Men series, a continuing MM romantic suspense series set in the White House that needs to be read in order. Serve ends with a happily ever after, but the suspense plot ends on a cliffhanger and will be continued in the rest of the series.
1
Denali balanced the tray on his hand as he walked into the West Sitting Room. Kenn Shafer, the president’s son, and Professor Duvall, his tutor, sat at the elegant mahogany table that probably cost more than Denali made in a year. It had replaced the equally expensive antique couches when Kenn had come home from college and the President and First Lady had hired a private tutor for him.
Still, this room was one of the lighter and cozier rooms with its pale yellow drapes, cream-colored paneling, and furniture in pastel colors. And the famous half-moon Tiffany window was spectacular in and of itself, though the view outside wasn’t all that grand—drab buildings. But all in all, Denali would much prefer something less formal for himself any day. And less expensive. The fear of accidentally damaging an expensive piece of furniture here was real.
Both men looked up as Denali came close. These two never made him feel invisible, and he appreciated them for it. The Shafer family, in general, was super grateful for the work Denali and the other staff did to take care of them in the White House residence.
“Can I get you anything else?” Denali asked as he put down the latte in front of Kenn, then served Professor Duvall his tea. A small plate with home-baked cookies completed it, courtesy of Mrs. Morelli. She ran the informal kitchen and was, in Denali’s humble opinion, the best baker in the world. Plus, she was amazingly sweet and supportive. It was like having an extra grandmother.
“Thank you.” The professor never failed to be polite. Denali liked him and not only because he treated the White House staff with kindness. He was smart, his lessons were captivating, and from the snippets Denali had caught, he was teaching the law in a way that emphasized systemic injustices built into the system.
“No, we’re good. Thanks,” Kenn said, sending a shy smile in Denali’s direction.
Denali smiled back, then retreated into the adjoining kitchen. He and Kenn—the president’s son had insisted Denali call him by his first name, and after a conversation with Francis, the head butler, Denali had gotten permission—had chatted a few times now. They got along well. Kenn was shy, and Denali wasn’t the most outgoing person himself, so he could relate. He couldn’t imagine how hard it had to be for Kenn to be the president’s son, to constantly have this gigantic spotlight focused on him. If nothing else, Kenn deserved empathy for that.
“Did they want anything else?” Mrs. Morelli asked.
“No, they’re all set for now.”
“Good. I’ll make sure to bake more oatmeal cookies. The professor seems to like those.”
“He does. Kenn prefers your chocolate chip cookies.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Young Mr. Shafer is fond of them, isn’t he? Well, so is his father. The president thinks I don’t know he raids them from the stash I leave for the Secret Service, but I’ve got my eye on him. I’m making extra now so the agents won’t get cheated out of their cookies.” She winked at Denali.
“You’re the best, Mrs. Morelli. Little escapes you.”
“Very little,” she confirmed, studying him for a moment. “I’m glad to see you and young Mr. Shafer connecting. Seems to me you could both use a friend.”
Denali sighed, taking a cookie from the box she held open for him. Snickerdoodles, yummy. “Maybe? I mean, I like him well enough, and we seem to click, but I’m not sure how to navigate a deeper friendship with him. I foresee a lot of complications.”
“He’s lonely,” Mrs. Morelli said, her tone warm and maternal. “That boy is plain lonely. He needs a friend, and right now, with things locked down the way they are, he’s got no one else but the people working here.”
Denali nibbled on his cookie. Mrs. Morelli wasn’t wrong, but did she fully appreciate how tricky the whole situation was? “I know, but…I don’t want to lose my job here. And Mr. Funnell seems awfully strict.”
Mr. Funnell was the chief usher—the manager of the residence. He’d been the one to hire Denali a year before, and Denali respected and feared him in equal measure.
“He is, but he’s also a fair man with a much bigger heart than you think.”
Denali would have to take her word for it. Even if the man was fair toward her and others, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be prejudiced against a gay employee befriending the president’s son. Even in this White House, a complete lack of homophobia was not a guarantee.
“Talk to him about your fears. I promise he’ll listen and offer good advice. Now, shoo, so I can bake.”
Denali nodded, then pushed all thoughts of Mr. Funnell out of his mind and focused on his job. He checked the fruit bowls in the living room and dining room and concluded they needed some additions, so he got fresh oranges—the First Lady’s preference—and bananas—the president’s daily snack. Mrs. Morelli would use the overripe bananas he took out in her banana bread, which was to die for. The apples were still good, so he left those.
Next was taking everyone’s lunch order so Mrs. Morelli could prepare it in time. The First Lady was in the center hall, talking to her chief of staff. She had her own office in the East Wing, but as she still wasn’t feeling well, she preferred to work from home. And in her case, “home” was one of the most iconic buildings in the world.
“If I may interrupt for a moment, ma’am,” Denali said when there was a lull in the conversation and he was certain he wasn’t cutting in in the middle of a sentence. Rogue, who had been sleeping at her feet, looked up for a moment, then dropped his head back down.
Like her son, the First Lady always had a kind word and a smile for him. “Of course, Denali. I’m assuming you’d like to discuss lunch plans?”
“Yes, ma’am. Can you tell me who’s having lunch in the residence today?”
“The president has ordered lunch in the Oval, so I think it’s me and Kenn. And maybe Professor Duvall, depending on how long his session lasts today.”
“They’re doing an afternoon session as well, ma’am. Until three if I remember correctly.”
“You usually do,” she said. “I’m always impressed by how well you keep these details in your head.”
Denali’s face lit up. “It’s my job, ma’am.”
“That may be so, but you excel at it. So, me, Kenn, and Professor Duvall, then?”
“Mr. Bradbury won’t be joining us?” Denali checked.
As always, thinking of Milan Bradbury, the First Lady’s brother, made his stomach swirl. The man was deadly, at least to Denali. He was older, seriously hot, dominant as fuck, and he pushed all those needy buttons deep inside Denali—buttons he hadn’t dared explore further, not while working at the White House. If he wasn’t careful, the man could become his kryptonite.
“Yeah, where is our resident bad boy?” Ms. Guice, the First Lady’s chief of staff, asked. She’d been a longtime friend of Mrs. Shafer, just like Mr. Musgrove, the president’s chief of staff, had been to the president. Both had chosen to work closely with friends, a decision Denali could understand.
Mrs. Shafer rolled her eyes. “He’s off to god knows where, doing god knows what…and thank goodness for that. I love my brother, but there’s only so much smothering I can endure.”
Ms. Guice snorted. “I wouldn’t mind being smothered by him, let me tell you…”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but my brother seems to reserve the smothering for family members. Other than that, he’s still very much of the wham, bam, thank you, ma’am variety. Or thank you, man, because I don’t think gender matters to him.”
Denali’s cheeks heated at the First Lady’s frank words about her brother. It never showed because his skin color was a smidge darker, courtesy of a Dena’ina indigenous grandmother—something to be grateful for.
Being president or a member of the First Family was an incredible pressure that required playing roles and wearing a mask, so at home, the president and his family should be able to let go of that. When he’d hired Denali, Mr. Funnell had warned him he’d hear many things he could never repeat to anyone, things that might shock him or sadden him. He’d stressed the importance of both confidentiality and not reacting so the inhabitants of the residence would feel free to be themselves, at least at home. They had to be able to act as if the staff weren’t in the room.
Denali had been working in the residence for less than a year, and he’d already heard more than he could ever have imagined. No wonder after everything that had happened. First President Markinson’s assassination and then Mrs. Markinson had died in a sailing accident.
But this tidbit about Milan Bradbury felt ten times more personal, maybe because it wasn’t about his job or something he’d said or done but about his sex life. Knowing this was…intimate. Not that it was necessarily news. He’d gathered as much from other conversations he’d overheard, including a few between Milan and the president. Those had been even less censored than this one, and Denali had waited in the hallway before coming in until he’d been certain his face was blank. That had taken considerable effort.
But Mrs. Morelli was waiting on him to give her the lunch orders. “Any specific requests, ma’am?”
The levity on Mrs. Shafer’s face disappeared, and she let out a sigh. “Better make it a salad for me. Gotta take good care of myself, according to my husband, my son, and my brother, not to mention the chief of staff and half the White House staff, if not all of them. As for Kenn and Professor Duvall, I’m not sure.”
“I think Kenn will prefer an egg salad sandwich on Mrs. Morelli’s home-baked whole wheat bread. And Professor Duvall will most likely go for a club turkey…or a chicken salad sandwich.”
“You’re well informed on the preferences of your customers, for lack of a better word.”
“I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”
“How’d you end up in this position, if I may ask?” Ms. Guice looked at him with curiosity. “You’re from Alaska, right? That’s a long way from DC.”
“Yes, ma’am. Born and raised. My mother is half-indigenous, and she grew up there as well, but my father was an import. From the lower forty-eight, as locals call it. He moved from Virginia to Anchorage for a job, then met my mom and stayed. But his brother, my uncle Rob, works for the White House on the groundskeeping crew. He recommended me for this position.”
Mrs. Shafer nodded. “From what I’ve been told, it’s common that current employees recommend family members for positions. It’s easier on the clearances as well, since the FBI already knows the family. For example, Francis Wedmore, our head butler, has two grandsons working here. One works in the laundry, the other in… What was it again?”
“He works in the transportation department, ma’am,” Denali said. He’d met Gavin, the grandson in question, and hadn’t been impressed. The guy had seemed lazy as fuck to him, but what did he know? Besides, he didn’t have to become friends with every coworker, and that guy was definitely not on his Christmas card list. A list that was woefully short anyway, but that was a whole other problem. God, he missed Josiah.
“Right, and Mrs. Morelli’s niece works in the flower shop,” the First Lady said. “I’m sure more examples exist, but these came to mind first.”
“Interesting,” Ms. Guice said. “I can imagine it makes recruiting easier, since the qualifications for these jobs are so specific.”
“Even more so since Del became vice president. He’s asked for a commitment to hiring a diverse staff in every aspect, including ethnicity, religion, gender, background, social status, and not in the last place, sexual orientation.”
Yup and Denali classified as the last one, though he’d already been hired under President Markinson. Uncle Rob had told him for years to get out of Alaska and find freedom away from his parents. Sexual freedom and the space to live his own life above all. It had been the scariest decision Denali had ever made, but he’d done it…and he’d never regretted it.
Admittedly, Josiah leaving at the same time had made it easier, as neither of them had felt like they’d left the other one behind. They’d always known their paths would diverge at some point, but it had still been hard not to have Josiah close.
“But I’m sorry, Denali. We’re keeping you from your work,” the First Lady said.
“Not at all, ma’am. I’m always happy to be of assistance.”
And wasn’t that the truth? If only he could find a boyfriend who could appreciate that, he’d be perfectly happy. A big, strong, older boyfriend. One who would tell him what to do and allow Denali to serve him.
Like Mr. Bradbury.
Denali wasn’t sure what label the man preferred, if any, but he definitely wasn’t straight. He’d known that before the First Lady’s remarks about her brother. Not with the way he’d checked out Denali, his eyes lingering on Denali’s finer attributes…like his ass, which he had to admit, was a work of art.
Multiple bed partners had told him that. He had too much softness and roundness on him to be a classic twink, but his ass was even more pronounced, giving him a full-on bubble butt that made him popular with men, especially older men and strict tops. One guy he’d hooked up with a few times had filmed his view while fucking Denali, and when Denali had watched the video later, it had been hot as fuck to see his round ass jiggle while taking that cock.
A man like that was what he wanted. What he needed. Was that too much to ask? Considering he had trouble scoring so much as a decent hookup, the unfortunate answer was yes. Sadly.
Nora Phoenix is a bestelling author of MM romance. She writes in various subgenres of gay romance, including contemporary, mpreg, and sci fi. Nora is known for a mix of steamy romance, usually a dash of kink, all the feels, and some suspense.
Proud single mom. Book addict. Eternal optimist. Unapologetic feminist. Ace. Panromantic.
EMAIL: nora@noraphoenix.com
Serve #4
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