Full Mountie

by Ainsley Booth

  By Friday, I’ve made up my mind that not only do Lachlan and I need to have an adult conversation, we should probably do it sooner rather than later.

  Pretending that everything is fine at work isn’t going to cut it. I spent most of last night tossing and turning, my bed sheet twisted around my sweat-slicked limbs as I slipped in and out of filthy dreams featuring both Hugh and Lachlan.

  Hugh, at least, I can handle. He passed through my office earlier today and gave me a dirty wink, but other than a quick good-morning text, that’s been our only contact. He seems to have picked up on the fact I need a bit of time to figure out what I want, and I’m grateful for that.

  Lachlan…I can’t handle him, at all. I could, until Hugh showed up. I can see now that the unraveling started then. Hugh lit a long-burning fuse, and now two months on, Lachlan’s getting pretty close to exploding.

  Unfortunately, after our brief conversation about the PM’s wedding, I don’t see him again. So late Friday afternoon, I open an email window, and then promptly close it.

  It would be the height of stupidity to send this message using a government email address. Or really any email address from inside this building.

  Instead, I grab a blank piece of paper and a pen.

  Lachlan,

  * * *

  From the day we’ve met, there’s been something special between us. I know I can trust you to be a good friend, right? And good friends talk about their problems. Talk out their problems.

  I don’t want there to be any secrets or confusion between us.

  I’d like to see you this weekend. You are welcome to come to my place, or we can meet for coffee. I think we need to talk, and I hope you agree.

  * * *

  Beth

  I read it over, then I scrawl my personal phone number and email address at the bottom of the page. I could call a page to take it to him, but he’ll freak out if anyone else’s hands have been on it. Hell, he’s going to freak out enough if he knows I’m the only one who’s seen it. So I carefully fold it up, then wrap it in another piece of paper to ensure the message can’t be read though the envelope I seal it in.

  Then I grab an intern to sit in my seat until I get back, and head for Lachlan’s office.

  Most of the time, he works at a desk nearby, preferring to be on Gavin’s personal detail as much as possible. And sometimes he works out of the guardhouse at 24 Sussex. But he also has a formal office deep in the basement of Centre Block, where his files are kept and he meets with his officers when he needs private space.

  My heels click on the stone stairs as I make my way down there, echoing in the quiet of a Friday afternoon in May on the Hill. Everyone who could get away—either to their local constituency or head off on a long weekend—did. It’s the first really nice weekend, a precursor to the always too-short summer.

  Nobody is around.

  My heart rate picks up at the idea of finding him alone in his office. I’d give him the letter and maybe we’d get that coffee now.

  But when I arrive at his door, it’s closed. I know he’s not done for the day, so I slide the envelope under the door. I can send him a cryptic email letting him know I dropped something off.

  I turn to head back upstairs, and collide with a hard wall of muscle.

  “Whoa, what’s the rush?” Hugh slides his hands up my arms, and even through my blazer, my skin remembers his touch.

  I sway into his body before remembering where we are—then I take a big step back. “No rush.” I take a deep breath. “I was heading back upstairs. I just dropped something off for Lachlan. Have you seen him?”

  Hugh shakes his head. “Not in the last hour.” He points to the staircase. “We can walk and talk if you want.”

  I give him a grateful smile. I’m not looking to hide anything from Lachlan, but I don’t want to goad him, either.

  I want us all to be mature adults about whatever this is, and Lachlan finding me in Hugh’s arms outside his office would be a shitty start to turning over a new leaf.

  “So other than saying good morning,” he murmurs as we climb the stairs together. “We haven’t talked. But I’ve been thinking about you.”

  I give him a genuine smile. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.”

  “Terribly inappropriate thoughts, I hope.”

  “Of course.”

  He laughs. “Good. Maybe we should talk about that second date, then.”

  “We should.” I hesitate. “But maybe next week? I’ve…” I trail off, but then I think better of being vague. No. They work together. They have a history of conflict. I want everything to be as on the table as possible. “Honestly? I need to talk to Lachlan this weekend. I promise that doesn’t affect how much I want to see you again.”

  To my surprise, he doesn’t even blink. “Yeah, of course. I was actually thinking about trying to get together with him this weekend, too.”

  “Yeah?” For some reason, that makes me feel better. Maybe their history isn’t as hostile as I think it is. “Good. Maybe next week we can compare notes on how to handle him.”

  He touches my arm, and I stop on the next step. He gives me a serious look. “I can’t lie to Lachlan, though.”

  “No.” I press my lips together. “Neither can I. I don’t want to hurt him. But…he’s overreacting. We’re grown-ups, and who we kiss is nobody’s business. It doesn’t mean anything other than I want to kiss you.” I look at his lips. I want to kiss him right now, but that can’t happen. “So don’t let him get under your skin.”

  Before he can respond, a couple of House staffers enter the stairwell, and I wave goodbye.

  6

  Lachlan

  The doorbell rings about twenty minutes after I arrive home from work and I groan.

  Of course, someone would have to show up right after my shower. I’ve finished towelling off, but I’m still naked. I slip into a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with underwear because whoever it is won’t be staying.

  Between the letter from Beth and the shit day I’ve had, I’m in no mood to socialize. All I want to do is grab a beer from the fridge and veg out in front of the television.

  Or maybe think about her note and what it means.

  My irritation at being disturbed on my down-time is amplified when I open the front door to Hugh standing there holding a large pizza box.

  He’s still wearing his work clothes. I instantly regret my decision to skip the boxer briefs. If he’s here longer than the time it takes to slam the door in his face, my dick will be at serious risk of pitching a tent in my sweats. It should be illegal how good he looks in a suit.

  I scowl. “What are you doing here?”

  He shoots me a slow, easy grin. The one that ten years ago would’ve had me dropping to my knees and devouring him whole.

  “I brought your favourite.” He says as he opens the pizza box with a flourish.

  I am not surprised when I see the ham and pineapple toppings. That had been Hugh’s favourite, not mine. And considering the pizza joint in Moose Lake didn’t offer pizzas topped with sundried tomato, artichoke hearts, olives, prosciutto, and feta cheese, I had seen no point in letting Hugh believe any differently.

  Still don’t. That’s hardly the biggest problem we have. “I ask again, why are you here?”

  He gestures to the pizza, but his eyes stay glued on my face. “I couldn’t ignore the craving any longer. And I’m pretty sure you’re hungry, too.” I ignore the double entendre, but when his tongue pokes out and slides across his upper lip as his gaze wanders down my body, all I can think about his how good that tongue used to feel on my skin.

  I don’t react.

  But I don’t slam the door shut either, and that speaks volumes about my choice.

  Hugh tries another tack. He’s always got another angle. “If it makes a difference, Beth knows I’m here, and she’s good with it.”

  I’m surprised by his words and I don’t want to believe him, but even though Hugh is the kind of guy t
o say whatever it takes to get in someone’s pants, it won’t be a lie. “She does?”

  He nods, all serious now. “She said she wanted to talk to you this weekend, too.”

  Ah. So she knows he’s here to talk. That’s not exactly the same thing as showing up with a pizza as a pretense for a quick and dirty fuck.

  On the other hand, she’s gone out of her way to underline that she’s a grown up. We’re all grown ups. Hell, I’ve seen an NHL player play with her on the St. Andrew’s Cross in Max’s basement.

  It’s not the same thing and you know it.

  No. It’s not. But tomorrow I’ll tell her everything and we’ll see where the chips fall.

  I should make him leave, I really should…but I’m tired of fighting against the decade-old unfinished business between us, so I open the door wider and gesture for him to enter.

  “Have a seat and I’ll go grab us a couple of beers.”

  I’m feeling way too vulnerable in front of him topless, so I detour to my bedroom to grab a t-shirt.

  When I return to the living room, Hugh’s jacket and tie are lying across the back of the sofa where he’s reclining—his shirt half undone and his bare feet propped up on the ottoman.

  Fuck.

  “Feel free to make yourself at home.” I let the sarcasm drip from my lips as I place a bottle of beer on the coffee table in front of him.

  He slides a slow appraising look over me. “You needn’t have bothered with a shirt on my account.”

  Ignoring his jab, I grab a slice of pizza and the remote before dropping into the armchair—because the sofa isn’t big enough for both of us.

  I turn the television on and flip to TSN before chucking the remote back on the table. Sports recaps are just the thing to help me ignore the big, sexy suit-wearing elephant in the room.

  After a minute, Hugh leans forward, and instead of grabbing another slice of pizza or his beer, he snags the remote and hits the power button.

  I don’t react on the outside.

  On the inside, I’m sliding back ten years. To bossy commands that would yank me out of a pissed-off, post-work funk and get me hard as a rock.

  “Beth came to a holiday play party organized by a friend of mine,” I finally say. I stare straight ahead at the dark television.

  “Do you want to talk about Beth tonight?”

  That gets my attention. I turn and give him a hard look. “Always.”

  Something moves in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Understanding, definitely. “She’s gorgeous. And smart. And funny.”

  “Yes.”

  “And lonely.”

  Fuck me. “Yeah.”

  “You need to treat her better.”

  “I know.”

  He gets up and crosses to stand in front of me. “What are you going to do about that?”

  “That’s what I was thinking about when you interrupted me.” Fucking hell. I don’t want to think about this right now. I don’t want to think about how I’ve let her down, or how I can’t handle Hugh properly, or—

  “Maybe you need to stop thinking, and start doing.” From anyone else, it would sound like a line.

  From Hugh, it is a line, but it works.

  I roll my head back and look at him through heavy, hooded eyes as he unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way and peels it off, baring his torso.

  In theory, this would be a chest I could have seen a dozen times already this year.

  In practice, I’ve avoided working out with my team since he’s arrived, because this view undoes me every single time.

  I still remember the first time I saw him naked—in the only gym in Moose Lake. I’d invited him to workout with me, and when he stripped down afterward and walked into the shower, I’d died a little inside.

  He hadn’t been the first guy I’d been attracted to. He wasn’t the first guy I’d fooled around with.

  But he was the first man I’d wanted with my entire being.

  He was a lot of other firsts, too.

  Some onlys.

  Now as his eight-pack ripples in front of me, decorated with a few new tattoos, I die all over again.

  Thinking time is definitely over.

  Whatever Hugh wants, Hugh is going to get, at least for tonight. I lick my lips.

  “Tell me what to do.”

  7

  Hugh

  Oh, that’s tempting. If anyone needs a firm hand, it’s Lachlan. He’s wound so fucking tight. But we’re not in a good place for that kind of strict power exchange right now. Probably not any kind, but I’m not a play-it-safe kind of guy.

  I kick his feet wide, making space for me to get closer.

  The groan I get in return is magical.

  I give him a dirty half-grin. “Take off your shirt. Let me see you shiver for me.”

  He grabs the hem and peels it up his body, tossing it to the side. He’s beautiful. Big and broad, hard planes of muscle running flat across his body. A familiar line of hair running down his lower abs, thicker now than a decade ago. His muscles are different, too. He’s bulkier, harder, but not as cut as he once was. Not as lean through the chest, but those narrow hips are still carved from granite.

  My cock flexes, thickening in reaction to a sight I’ve been deprived of for far too long.

  Lachlan’s gaze drops, and I know he can see the bulge in the front of my dress pants.

  “Touch me,” I tell him, my voice low. Smooth.

  He’s so fucking eager. His hands shoot out, one landing on my thigh, the other going straight for the goods. Ah, fuck yeah. I grow against his fingers, throbbing under his touch. He traces my length through my pants, up and then down again. He cups my balls and I rock up onto my toes, flexing my thighs to give him more space.

  We need more space. More skin. More than however long he’ll give me until he kicks me out because he regrets this.

  Fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this if he’ll regret it.

  But I won’t.

  And maybe I can make it good enough that he won’t, either.

  His hands go to my belt, then he pauses. I die a little inside, but his fingers tighten as he glances up at me. “Do we need a condom for this?”

  Relief pulses through me. I shake my head. I wouldn’t put him at risk. “Haven’t been with anyone since I cleared my physical for the transfer.”

  The hungry grin he gives me is a dirty promise I have no doubt now that he’ll keep. Deftly, he gets my pants open and they fall down my thighs. I step out of them, then sway my hips toward him again. He leans in, his breath ghosts against my skin. Yes, yes, more. I don’t wait for him to do it. I shove my boxer briefs down my hips, and my dick bobs out, hard and heavy.

  His hand wraps around me and his mouth, wet and hungry, covers the tip. Yeah, fucking eager. And perfect.

  I growl as he swallows me deep. Not all the way to the root, but right to his fingers and that’s good enough. I tangle my hand in his hair and start to control his movements a little. Force him to slow it down, and hold me at the entrance to his throat when his lips are wide around my base. Ease him off when he’s greedily swallowing more of my flesh, making him moan a little from the denial.

  But it doesn’t take him long to give in to me and let me set the pace. Long, slow strokes in and out of his mouth, with a pulsing hold at either end. His hands start on my hips, but as I fuck his mouth, he curves his fingers under the elastic of my briefs and finds the curve of my ass. I flex against his touch there, and he makes a helpless sound for me.

  “Yeah, baby. Missed my ass, didn’t you?”

  He growls around my cock, and I grin. I want to go dancing with him. We never got a chance to do that. We danced, just the two of us, drunk and horny, but it would be so much better in a club. Pulsing lights, grinding bodies.

  I’m getting close now. That little tingle at the base of my spine pushes me to thrust faster, chasing my release.

  I hold his face tight against me as I come harder than I have in longer than I care to remember.


  I’m still twitching as I pull out of his mouth. I drop to my knees and drag him to the edge of the chair. He’s a big beast of a man, but so am I, and I’ll manhandle him wherever and whenever I want. Right now, I want to taste myself on his lips. I stroke my hands up his chest and squeeze his shoulders, holding him in place as I kiss him.

  Our first kiss this year was angry. This is decidedly not. I just came like a fucking champ down his throat and he lapped it up like a hungry alley cat. Now he kisses me like he’s starving for this, too, and I need to hold him steady. Oh, Lachlan. How long has he deprived himself? Need vibrates off him.

  “Did I not teach you anything?” I ask gently as I push him back, my hand flat against his chest.

  He licks his lips. “About what?”

  “You can’t be a monk. It’s not healthy.”

  “Not everyone can be the hedonist that you are.”

  I roll my eyes. “You should try it. You’re a powder keg about to go off.” I hook my fingers into his waistband. “Although going off is exactly what I want you to do now.”

  He groans and rolls his head back against the chair as I slowly fist him. His cock is a thing of a beauty.

  “I haven’t been a monk.”

  “Tell me…” I slide my thumb over the head of his cock. I lean in and breathe in his scent. I want to know all his secrets. “Tell me everything. And I’ll reward you for each story.”

  He bucks his hips, driving his cock through my fist, but I dodge my head out of the way. He’s only going to get my mouth one way, and that’s by opening up.

  I squeeze him tighter by way of warning. “What was the last dirty thing you did?”

  “Can’t tell you. That’s a matter of national security.”

  I jerk my attention to his face. “Really?”

  His cheeks flame. “Yeah.”

  “With the PM?”

  His eyes go wide. “Not just…” He tries to slide his hips back onto the chair, but I’ve got a firm grasp on him. He’s not going anywhere. “Uh…”