Full Mountie

by Ainsley Booth

  “On my knees,” he whispers, then drops his head to my shoulder and drags in a ragged breath. “I need to go get changed. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I pat his ass as he heads out of the room. He doesn’t go far. It looks like his bedroom is across the hall. I watch through the half-shut door as he pulls off his clothes and throws them in a hamper, then he disappears and the shower turns on.

  I turn to the breakfast I brought, and grab one of the coffees.

  Fucking hell. Pressing my hand to my still swollen cock, I try to think of drill routines. That doesn’t work. I just see Lachlan half-dressed in our red serge.

  Paperwork makes me think of Beth.

  Mmm. Beth. Right. I don’t need to wait until Lachlan gets back to have some fun.

  I cross my legs at my ankles and take a long, slow sip of coffee.

  14

  Lachlan

  I take a three-minute shower, then pull on a clean pair of sweats and rejoin Hugh in the kitchen.

  He hands me a coffee.

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.” He gives me a dirty grin as he takes a sip from his own cup, and I feel my cheeks heat up.

  Then I yawn.

  He shoves a sandwich in my hand and I gesture to the table. We sit and eat, and don’t talk. It’s perfect.

  When I’m done, I sit back and watch him finish eating. He sees me looking at him, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Like, look your fill, Mr. Ross. Get hooked on the big, bad Hugh.

  He quietly gathers up our garbage and disposes of the wrappers, then rinses out the travel mugs. I don’t miss that he leaves them on my dish rack to dry.

  I stand, too, and I yawn again. These all-nighters. I can’t do them as easily now as I could when I was younger.

  He points across the hall. “Is your bed through there?”

  “You’re not tucking me in.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I…” I lick my lips. Because I tuck Beth in. Because I don’t need him to take care of me. What we have is different. He’s not going to like any of those answers. So instead I pull him against me and put his hands on my bare torso. “Because I’ll see you out, and kiss you goodbye properly,” I whisper before I nip at his lower lip.

  “You’re a chicken, you know that?”

  “Yeah. There’s a difference between reticence and being a coward, and I’m not sure where chicken falls on the scale, but sure.” I kiss him hard on the mouth. “Now get out of my house so I can get some sleep.”

  He pats my cheek and shakes his head, but he makes for the front door. I follow and watch him saunter down the drive.

  From the kitchen, I hear my phone vibrate.

  I close and lock the door, then go to find it. I’ve just received a text message from Beth.

  Beth: Are we still on for dinner tomorrow before you fly out west? A little birdie named Gavin mentioned that you had to pull another overnight shift last night.

  Lachlan: Wild horses couldn’t keep me away. Where do you want to go?

  Beth: How about you come over to my place? I can make spaghetti.

  The next night I clock out of work at six on the nose. I’ll need to be at the airport at nine, and I’m already packed, so I’ve got three hours, and they’re all hers.

  I stop and pick up a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers on my way.

  I’ve arrived at her apartment just a minute after she does, she explains after giving me a quick kiss. She’s still in her work clothes. She excuses herself into her bedroom and comes back a few minutes later in yoga pants and a t-shirt that has an oversized watercolour flower on it.

  “You look good enough to eat.” Again, I think to myself, picking her up and swinging her onto her kitchen counter.

  She laughs and leans into me, her arms wrapping around my neck. “You’ve confused me with my unforgettable spaghetti sauce,” she whispers.

  I’m not confused at all, but maybe I’ll save Beth for dessert. Right now I settle for a kiss, long and slow, one that leaves us both panting a little. She’s so responsive, I just can’t get enough of her.

  “I’m an idiot for waiting so long to do this,” I admit when I hug her again, my mouth next to her ear, my words quiet.

  She doesn’t say anything, she just squeezes me back. Then she slides off the counter and leads me around the kitchen, getting me to help her as she pulls together a quick dinner. The sauce is already made and frozen in individual servings. She pulls out two packets, then does an exaggerated look up and down my body and grabs a third from the freezer.

  Smart girl.

  She throws the freezer bags into a hot water bath to start them thawing as she directs me to fill a pot with water. Then she rifles through her fridge. “Do we need a salad on the side?”

  “I’m easy either way.”

  She pulls out a clamshell of baby spinach. “Can I just add this to the sauce instead?”

  I crowd against her and take the spinach. “You can do whatever you want.”

  She leans back against the counter and raises her eyebrows. “That’s dangerous.”

  And she says it like we’re not just talking about food. Not just talking about fucking, either.

  “I know.” Fuck, do I know. But I’m spinning pretty hard out of control for her now, and I’m finding it hard to care.

  She presses her hand against my chest and looks up at me, her eyes full of concern. “You’ll tell me, right? If this is all too crazy?”

  No. There’s not a chance in hell I’ll tell her that. No matter what, I’m in now. “It’s not crazy at all. It’s…” I think about Hugh in my kitchen yesterday morning. I pull her close. “This feels right. Exactly as we’re doing it.”

  Right, completely out of control…those two things can co-exist for me. They have before.

  And then it all went sideways pretty spectacularly.

  Yeah, well I’m a decade older and at least a modicum wiser now.

  And when she gives me a wink, I’m reminded that she’s more than capable of drawing her own boundaries. “It feels right for you, too?”

  She nods definitively. “Yep. Now put the pasta on.”

  Okay, then.

  I measure out a larger portion of spaghetti for myself and a smaller one for her, double-checking before I slide the noodles into the boiling water. She gives me a hip bump as she nudges me out of the way so she can add some salt, then she sets a timer for eight minutes.

  I find a corkscrew and open the wine, and while we wait for the sauce to heat up and the noodles to cook, we share a drink.

  It all feels delightfully domestic. It’s been ages since I’ve done this with a lover. Friends, yes. Group munches. Gavin and Ellie a few times.

  “Do you want Parmesan on yours?” She moves around me to the fridge. Her hand stays on my hip as she pulls the door open and grabs a chunk of cheese neatly wrapped in plastic and bearing a sticker from the cheese shop at Byward Market. “I dashed over at lunch and picked this up.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “There’s a rasp in that drawer there—” She points with the block of cheese. “Can you grab it?”

  Once our dinner is plated up and we’ve done a quick tidy, we eat at the table. I tell her about the overnight shifts at 24 Sussex, which morphs into a bit of a history lesson about the time someone broke in and a previous prime minister’s wife had to defend herself with an Inuit carving.

  “I think I heard about that,” Beth says, shaking her head. “How scary!”

  “I think it probably happened when you were in high school.”

  She winks. “Right, because you’re so much older than me.”

  The eight years between us doesn’t feel like much now. “I was young at the time. I was…” I trail off, trying to figure out how old I’d been. “In university, I think.”

  That twists into a conversation about school, but Beth isn’t very forthcoming. She went to college in Fredericton, near where she grew up, she shares that much, but
quickly slides the conversation back to our respective moves to Ottawa.

  “So you’re fully bilingual?” I’ve heard her speak French, and she slides back and forth with ease, but my own French is hard-fought, and it’s difficult to know sometimes.

  She shrugs. “Yes, but…” I give her a don’t-brush-this-off look and she laughs. “Yes. I am.” She takes a sip of wine. “It was really my mother’s doing. She enrolled me in the immersion stream of school from the beginning. In hindsight, I should thank her for that, although I’m not using it as she’d like me to.”

  “What would she rather you be doing?” That doesn’t make any sense.

  She waves her hand dismissively. “Ah. Well. My mom is a whole other conversation. She’s an artist, and sees the world through a very special, totally impractical lens.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “How about your family?”

  “The complete opposite of that. My dad was a city cop in Guelph, my mom is a nurse. Now he’s retired and coaches hockey, and she goes to work to avoid him.” Ah, my parents. I shake my head.

  She laughs. “Yep. That’s different. Do you go home often?”

  “Nah. Once a year or so. We don’t have a lot in common.”

  She curves one eyebrow up in obvious disbelief. “He’s a cop and he plays hockey.”

  Shit, I walked right into that. I swirl my wine around in my glass. “Those aren’t enough to make up for the fact that his son is bisexual.”

  Her face falls. “Oh. Oh, Lachlan. I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “Old news now. We just don’t talk about it.”

  “Your mom…?” Her eyebrows draw together. “Surely she…”

  I shake my head. Surely nothing. “She’d rather not talk about it, either.”

  And we haven’t needed to. It’s not like I’m a dating machine. But old wounds run deep. That’s not what I want to think about now, though.

  “This is delicious.” I change the subject in a firm way. “That’s smart, to make the sauce up in advance. I’d eat way less takeout if I did that.”

  “What do you cook?”

  “I’ll make stew sometimes. I can fry a mean egg. Steak and salad.”

  “Mmm.” Her eyes light up. “Make me a steak sometimes.”

  “As soon as I get back.” I tell her about my back deck and the new barbeque I treated myself to at an end of summer sale last year.

  When we finish eating, she stretches her arms above her head and rolls her neck. Her breasts bounce under her t-shirt and my blood starts to hum. I’m ready for dessert, definitely. I add more wine to her glass. “I’ll do the dishes.”

  I don’t give her a chance to argue. I take our plates and quickly rinse them off, then fill the sink with soapy water. She doesn’t have a drying rack out, so I find a towel and dry them off.

  She’s followed me into the kitchen, and now is watching from the doorway to her small galley. I like her watching me. I like being in her space and feeling at home. I take my time putting the plates and cutlery away, finding where the pots go. Then I grab a cloth and start to wipe the counters.

  Her hand comes down on mine and she sets her wine glass on the counter. “Stop teasing me,” she whispers.

  “Doing the dishes?” I grin as she slides her body between me and the counter. “That counts as foreplay?”

  “And I think you know it.” She presses up onto her toes and I take her mouth. She tastes like wine and warm desire. It doesn’t take much for that heat to ratchet up, for her to lift her leg and urge me to pick her up.

  I brought a condom with me, but over dinner I decided not to use it. Like Hugh did for me, I’m going to do for her—give her something to think about while I’m away.

  “When I get back, we’re going to have an entire night together,” I tell her, my voice rough as I trace the curves of her body. “All night. My place. I’ll cook for you, and I want you to sleep over.”

  Yes. I want that so much it hurts. Heat pulses deep inside me at the thought of her in my bed.

  “That sounds amazing.” Her breath catches as I rub my thumbs under the waistband of her pants, and ease them down her hips. Underneath, she’s wearing pink cotton underwear, and those can go, too.

  I don’t take her shirt off. I like the flower. Instead, I cup her breasts through the material, rubbing and tugging on her nipples until she’s squirming against me. Then I finally ease the fabric up, baring her flesh for my mouth. I lift her up and sit her on the counter. She gasps at the coolness of the granite beneath her.

  “Shhh,” I say before kissing her.

  She groans as I move my way down her neck, then to her nipples. I cover one peak with my mouth, then the other. She’s so soft, her tits overflow my hands. And she squirms perfectly when I roll my tongue across her skin. Here, and lower.

  I ease her back, getting her to lean against her hands, and I lift her legs so her feet rest right on the edge of the counter.

  So she’s wide open for me. On display.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say.

  “Me, or my…”

  “Beautiful pussy? Shhh. I’m reacquainting myself with your perfection.” I wink at her before stepping back so I’ve got enough room to brace my forearms on either side of her hips. I lean in, kissing the smooth, sweet skin of her inner thighs.

  Her legs fall away, revealing more of her perfect pinkness, and I breathe her in. Gorgeous. My first taste is light, encouraging her to swell for me, but I have no self-control, and at the first lick against her slick skin, I lose my mind a little.

  She’s the perfect mix of sweetness and musk, and tasting her again is like coming home. A familiar hit of a private drug. Something to hold us both. And there’s another element to my desperate need to consume her.

  I want her on me, in me, as I fly away from Ottawa.

  She obliges, lifting her hips. Offering herself to me. I take. I gorge. I spear two fingers into her snug pussy and fuck her with my hand as she writhes under my tongue, because one way or another, I need to feel that clutch of her heat around me.

  Her inner walls clamp down on my fingers as she tenses up, her clit hard and throbbing against my tongue. I suck her over that peak of pleasure and she explodes into an orgasm I can feel everywhere she’s touching me.

  Each trembling shudder gives me more to lap up, and I continue to lick her until she slumps back, pleased and worn out.

  When I push myself up, she reaches for my belt, but I wave her off. “That was just for you.”

  Her eyebrows hit the roof. “This is the point where the sex-drunk girl recklessly proposes marriage to the perfect man.”

  I laugh. “That would be dangerous, because I’d probably accept.”

  She sits up and grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me close so she can kiss me. She licks my lips and into my mouth, whimpering as she tastes herself on my skin. “Don’t be a martyr. Let me do something for you,” she whispers.

  “I gotta go. Rain check.”

  She smiles softly. “Okay.”

  “And…” I’m not going to send her running into Hugh’s arms. But… “Don’t miss me too much.”

  Her eyes sharpen as she watches my face. Still a lot unsaid there, but now’s not the time. “I won’t be lonely.”

  I exhale roughly and nod. “Good.”

  “While Lachlan’s away, the mice will play…” she whispers.

  Oh, Jesus. That makes my dick twitch. How does she know what to say? “Have fun.”

  “I will.”

  I’m fifteen minutes late getting to the air field. I park in the reserved spaces and jog through the small terminal. I arrive at the prime minister’s plane at the same time as his car pulls up, followed by another armoured sedan carrying some of my security team.

  Gavin gives me a surprised look as I approach. “Running behind schedule?”

  “Something like that.” I wait for him to climb the stairs into the plane, then I follow him. There are four of us accompanying him on this trip. Another
two are on the advance party already in Winnipeg.

  We take our seats and get comfortable. Our scheduled departure is at ten, so we’ve got about half an hour. “You know, really, you’re a bit early.”

  He gives me a bland look. “So you always cut it this close and I just don’t notice?”

  “No.” I clear my throat. “Extenuating circumstances tonight.”

  His expression shifts from bland to wary. “Do I want to know?”

  I’m not sure. There’s a fine line here. But the last thing I want is for him to have a problem with this later on. Better to be upfront, but with limited disclosure. “Beth and I had dinner.”

  Beneath us, the plane shakes as a cargo door is closed. One of my officers in the set of seats behind Gavin starts watching a playback of tonight’s playoff game.

  The prime minister just looks at me. Finally he sighs and reaches for his briefcase. “It’s about time,” he mutters under his breath.

  And that’s thankfully the end of that conversation.

  15

  Beth

  I sleep in on Saturday morning. It took me ages to finally drop off. I tossed and turned and smiled and longed, and it was well after midnight—and after Lachlan texted that they’d landed in Winnipeg—that I finally gave in to the sandman.

  When I get up, I do laundry from the week and think about going swimming at the YWCA. Thinking about it is as far as I get, though, because after lunch I get a text from Ellie Montague.

  I didn’t even realize Ellie had my phone number.

  Ellie: Hey! It’s Ellie.

  Beth: LOL what’s up?

  Ellie: I was wondering if you’d be free to get coffee today.

  Ellie and I have a weird relationship. I like her, and I want to be friends with her, but…she had a threesome with Lachlan. At a time when he was refusing to acknowledge the zing between us.

  Jerk. Lachlan, not Ellie. That wasn’t her fault. And now I understand that wasn’t about sex for him, but kink and service, but still…

  No. Gah, it’s not healthy to hang on to even that little bit of resentment.