Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1)

by Ainsley Booth

  He turns pink. The PM. I can’t even with how adorable that is. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  He clears his throat. “The crush is mutual.”

  “Oh, good. I was worried there for a minute.” I wink, because one thing that I’m not worried about at all is how much he wants me. Gavin makes me feel like the most desired, precious person in the entire world.

  He strokes my cheek so softly it makes me want to cry, his eyes two mountain lakes of the clearest blue as he searches my face for something. I think he finds it because he smiles and steps back. “Now…breakfast?”

  19

  Ellie

  Gavin’s definition of taking a day off work means only spending two hours in the late morning reading briefing papers. I don’t mind, because I spend most of that time curled up in his lap, reading his favourite book from the last year—a pulpy thriller about black ops agents and a pharmacological weapon that’s turning people into zombies.

  It’s now my favourite book, too, although it could have used a kick-ass heroine. Before I can point that out, he says the same thing in a distracted way that tells me he really means it, and I kiss his neck.

  It’s going to be super hard not to fall head over heels for this guy. I’m not sure I’m going to even try to stop myself.

  Lunch is a delicious Cobb salad—apparently Gavin makes crisp bacon better than any other prime minister in the history of the country, or so he claims. I agree with him, it’s pretty good. I chop ham, cheese, cherry tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs. The eggs were already cooked and peeled, too, which is kind of unfair.

  “How many people are lucky enough to have perfectly hard-boiled eggs show up in their fridge?” I point at him across the kitchen. “You don’t just have a part-time housekeeper. Someone is spoiling you.”

  “I don’t ask for them!”

  “But do you appreciate them?”

  “Of course I do.” A hint of colour dusts along the top of his cheekbones. “And I’ll be sure to leave a thank you note in the tray on Monday.”

  “That’s better.”

  I don’t want to think too hard about anything domestic on our first date, but he gives me a funny look that makes my stomach flip-flop. This is turning into a marathon, ultra-domestic double sleepover.

  We spend the afternoon swimming in the private pool. It’s in a separate building, accessible through a tunnel in the basement. I feel like I’m being let in on a weird state secret. Then we end up back in the library, curled up together reading. That’s when Gavin informs me that I’m staying another night, but he has to leave first thing in the morning.

  “I can go home tonight,” I whisper, peppering his face with kisses. I drop my book and straddle him. I love this big leather wingback chair. There’s something seriously dirty about it, like it was built for sex.

  Or maybe that’s just us. Gavin strokes his hands up and down my bare thighs. I’m still wearing his shirt and nothing else.

  “Try getting past the RCMP officers stationed outside,” he rumbles.

  “Think they’d handcuff me if I tried to escape?” I gasp as he pulls my hands behind my back. That’s all it takes, and I’m grinding against his erection through his pants. “Take it out,” I pant, suddenly hot and desperate for him again.

  “Condoms are upstairs.”

  “I’ll be good. I just want to rub against it.”

  “Jesus.” But he does as I ask, releasing my hands so he can undo the fly of his jeans and fist his already raging cock. I watch him stroke himself for a minute, then push his jeans lower on his hips, making room for me to wiggle closer.

  I bite my lip as I fit my sex against the length of him. I’m on the pill. I trust him. But it’s our first date. And he bought all those condoms upstairs, so being safe is important to him, and I love that…

  “Sprite.” A warning. Like he can read my thoughts.

  “I’m just playing a little.”

  “Okay.” He flips up my shirt and palms my ass, then strokes up my back under the fine cotton. “But I’ll be most pleased if you remember to control yourself.”

  A tremor wracks my body. “I will.”

  “Good girl.”

  I roll my hips as he touches me, gently at first, then as my belly pulls tight and my desire starts to spin faster, he slides his shirt off my shoulders and begins to work on my breasts.

  Work is exactly the word for it. It’s methodical and precise, and incredibly hot. He warms me up by stroking and squeezing my flesh, his eyes flicking up to my face, then back to my breasts. Watching and learning what I like. It doesn’t take long until he’s pinching my nipples to the point of discomfort—and then pushing a little further, making me squeak.

  “You can take it,” he says with confidence. And I believe him.

  His erection throbs between my legs and it pleases me so much that this turns him on. I want to rub against him like a cat, except in a dirty, human way.

  “Do you want to come like this?”

  I nod through my lust-filled haze.

  “You are the sexiest woman, Ellie. God.” His voice catches and he pulls my face to his, kissing me roughly as I rock my clit harder against his cock, catching just the right angle that feels ohmygod so good. “I want to do so many things to you.”

  “Yes,” I pant, keeping myself this side of the point of no return. He doesn’t want me to come, I won’t come. I might die, but I won’t come. “Tell me.”

  “Later.”

  I whimper and he nips at my lower lip. The hot rush of his breath against my mouth makes me melt.

  “Right now,” he whispers, “I want you to come on my cock. And then I want you to use your juices to jack me off. I want to come all over your stomach, Sprite. And when I do, you’re going to rub it into your skin and wear my mark for the rest of the night.”

  “That’s so dirty.” I try to smile but I’m close now, so close, and all I am is a bundle of nerves between my legs, rubbing bare against the man of my dreams. It’s too much, and as he whispers again for me to come, I do, in a dazzling, dizzying orgasm that starts at my core and radiates out through my entire body.

  Even my fingers tingle, but I remember what he wants. Even as the aftershocks ricochet through me, I’m shifting back so I can wrap my fingers around his cock.

  He’s so wet from me already, and he groans at my touch. “I’m close, too.”

  “Good,” I breathe. “I want to feel your come. I want to touch it and taste it. I want you to come all over me.”

  “You’re the dirty one,” he grins, dropping his head back against the chair. I lean in and kiss his neck. His erection gets trapped between our bodies and I stroke him in the snug space, rubbing his wet crown against my belly.

  He grunts, a short, harsh sound that fills me with pride, and his hands clench and release on my hips. “Faster. You can be a little rough.”

  “That’s your job.”

  “Jesus…” With a shout, he shoots come all over me, and I start snickering. I can’t help myself. It’s hot and sticky. “No laughing, Sprite.”

  “Sorry,” I say sweetly. I’m not yanking my hand away or anything, so that’s something. Besides…I like it. And I’m pretty sure he knows that. I like everything he’s introduced me to, including messy hand jobs.

  He snorts.

  I wait for him to take a few deep breaths, then when he opens his eyes, I do exactly as he asked, and rub his mark into my skin. He watches, transfixed, and when I’m done, we tumble to the ground and make out for longer than I thought possible for two grown-ups who’d had sex a dozen times already in the past eighteen hours.

  And I’m only slightly exaggerating.

  Apparently “wear it all night” translated to thirty minutes, because we end up taking another shower together, and I actually put clothes on for the first time since Friday night.

  Which is the only reason an argument about what to order for dinner doesn’t turn into sex against the wall—not that I would have been co
mplaining if it did.

  “Chicken and caramelized onions is my current favourite.”

  He gives me a shocked look.

  “What?”

  “That’s not pizza.”

  “Excuse me?” I shriek as he advances on me and crowds me against the wall. I’m breathless by the time he cages me in, one of his arms braced beside my head, the other curled around my hips. “It’s delicious.”

  “You’re delicious. But that’s not pizza.”

  “What would you order?”

  “All pizza must have pepperoni on it, unless you’re a vegetarian. Then you’re allowed to substitute mushrooms or tomato slices.”

  “That’s it? Pepperoni?”

  “No, that’s the start. The base. Then you can pile on mushrooms, green peppers, sausage, onions—not caramelized. That’s weak. Red onions. Olives are good.”

  “Oh my God.” I lick my lips. I shouldn’t be turned on by a disagreement about what to put on pizza, but I am. “You’re a reverse snob.”

  “I am not.”

  I nod, seeing it so clearly now. “Your whole every-man routine. It’s not a routine. You’re actually a beer and pizza guy.”

  “Of course I am.”

  I laugh. “You’re so perfect it hurts.”

  “Hardly. I’ve got a beautiful woman over and I’m arguing with her over pepperoni. If that’s not a tragic personality flaw, I don’t know what is.”

  “I like arguing with you.”

  “Maybe after pizza and beer we can debate clean energy initiatives and whether or not we should eliminate the Senate.”

  “Seriously, take me now.”

  “Can’t.” He kisses me softly, then a little deeper when his first kiss sends a sizzle of energy down to my toes and I make a little sound that he correctly interpreted as a plea for more. But that’s all I get. “Need to order pizza. Two pizzas.”

  “I can handle pepperoni. If you get the black olives, I guess.”

  “This way I can have leftovers tomorrow while I’m prepping for the summit.”

  “If only the voters could see you now.”

  “Stop making me blush.”

  I’m still giggling when he picks up the phone and dials a number that he’s clearly memorized. He orders two pizzas, adding sundried tomatoes and black olives to mine. He winks at me when I raise my eyebrows. “What? I guess I can choke down the caramelized onions if there are other flavours around them.”

  “You’re a fascinating man, Mr. Strong.”

  He just grins.

  “And do you really order delivery like everyone else?”

  “I am just like everyone else.”

  “Well…”

  “No, that pizza place is vetted or something. Lachlan gave me a number I can call, and they get checked out at the gate. But I made it pretty clear that I wasn’t going to have catered pizza or something weird. I need this little bit of normalcy and they make it happen.”

  There’s something there that makes my heart pang, and I press up on my toes to give him a gentle kiss. Then I go back to my book while we wait for the pizza. He takes a phone call upstairs, then answers the door when the pizza arrives.

  “Here’s your pizza,” I hear from my perch just out of sight. “That’ll be thirty dollars.”

  “Thanks, man. Keep the change.”

  I follow him into the kitchen, where we plate up our pizza—and he takes a slice of mine, because even with his opinions, he’s still game to try it—and he offers me a beer. “Or we could open a bottle of wine,” he adds when I don’t answer quickly enough.

  I blink in surprise. “Do you like wine?”

  “Yes.”

  I search his face for signs that he’s fibbing, also being polite.

  He laughs. “I prefer red, but will drink white. Champagne is only for special occasions, toasts, and drinking off the body of a beautiful woman.”

  “Do that often?”

  “Not recently.”

  I smile. “Beer’s good.”

  “Was that some sort of test?”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. “No. Sometimes you just work at a faster speed than I do. I was still thinking about if I wanted one or not.”

  He holds out the bottle of beer, but doesn’t let go when I reach for it. “It’s really not been recently.”

  “I…” My pulse skips a beat. “It’s been a while for me, too.”

  “I don’t want there to be anyone else, either.”

  I nod. “Just us.”

  “Is this too heavy for our first date?”

  No, not too heavy at all. “You just bought me pizza. Maybe this is where the second date starts.”

  He gives me a crooked smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “When it comes to you, I’m going to be very possessive. Fair warning.”

  “Same.” I stick my tongue out. “Fair warning right back.”

  He lets go over the beer and we leave that conversation in the kitchen.

  After watching TV while we eat pizza, he opens the doors on a cabinet built into the bookcases, revealing a treasure trove of board games. “What’s your poison? Monopoly? Clue? Scrabble? Yahtzee?”

  The vintage Clue set tempts me, but I want to play Scrabble with the smartest man I’ve ever slept with.

  It turns out he’s a dirty stinking cheat.

  “Stop that,” I protest, pointing to yet another S he’s pulled off his tray. “How many of those do you have?”

  He shrugs and uses it to not only turn my HOOK into HOOKS—making a joke about how the S is called a hook in Scrabble, so it’s extra-fitting—but then he also builds STAINER down from it, using all his letters.

  “I hate you.”

  “That’s not a good sign for me getting lucky at the end of our second date.” He winks, and that’s when I realize that teasing aside, hate is exactly the opposite of what's coursing through my body.

  Scrabble cheating and all, how I feel for Gavin is rapidly shifting from a crush to something much more serious. “No,” I say weakly. “You’re pretty solid on that bet still.”

  20

  Gavin

  It was such a perfect weekend and I’m stuck on a plane headed for a climate change summit in Amsterdam, instead of learning my way around my sweet Ellie.

  I cross my legs and shift myself a little sideways to hide my inconvenient erection. I can’t even think her name without seeing her beautiful, naked body draped over the end of my bed, her ass freshly pink from my hand.

  I return my attention to the speech I’m meant to give on Wednesday. It’s fine, but it’s missing something. I make a note to get Stew to have Ellie do something with it.

  If Ellie and I are going to keep things between us on the down-low, it’s best to keep things absolutely professional at work. And that means not skipping links in the chain of command.

  According to my watch, there’s still another six interminable hours until we touch down. I need to prepare for this summit and I make a deal with myself. If I get through all my briefing material on the flight, I can call Ellie as soon as I settle into my suite at the hotel.

  As soon as I’m alone—well, as alone as I can be when I’ve got Lachlan camped out in the next room—I pull out my burner phone. Ellie’s number is already programmed into my contacts. I tap the number for Lee—nope, I couldn’t resist the Secretary reference—and wait. By the fourth ring, I’m mentally formulating the message I will leave.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, of course not. How’s your day been?”

  “Tedious. Yours?”

  “Same.”

  “Maybe some yoga might help.”

  “Any pose recommendations?”

  Hell yeah, I did a bunch of yoga research after I’d discovered how much she does. “One or two.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh…Cow, Locust, maybe Reclining Twist…” I grin at the thought of her in Locust Pose. Mental bondage at its finest.

 
“Mmm. Too bad yoga will have to wait until I get home from work.” Her voice is light and teasing.

  “Just remember what I said about controlling your inner light,” I warn.

  “Namaste.”

  I just want to talk to her for hours, but I know she’s at the office. And we’re already taking huge chances. The time difference is almost as unbearable as being away from her. Friday night can’t come soon enough. “I should let you get back to whatever I interrupted. Call or text anytime you need me.”

  “I will.”

  We disconnect and I return the phone to my briefcase. Then think better of it and move it to the bedside table. I don’t want to be fumbling around for it when she needs me.

  I lie on the bed and replay our conversation in my head. My hand slips down the front of my pants and I rest my palm at the base of my cock while my fingers tease at my balls. I want to come, but not without her.

  In this, my self-control is rock-solid. Just because she has to wait until Friday night for relief doesn’t mean I have to. But I will. Even if I did let myself go, I know in my heart it’ll be nothing more than release—not the mind-altering bliss I only seem to find when I’m with Ellie.

  I’m hit with the realisation that Ellie seems to have a thing for roleplay. I stop fondling my balls and start thinking. Then I reach for my phone and start tapping away.

  BJ: Have a good day. Make sure you get that paper submitted on time and don’t forget your apple.

  I’m tempted to send the text right way, while she’s awake, but I want to draw this out over the coming days, so I schedule it so it’ll arrive around the time she wakes up for work. Conveniently, that should work out to be around the time I’ll have a break for lunch tomorrow.

  I’m not so crass as to text while I’m in meetings, but I’m not above taking every little opportunity that comes my way.

  I’m in the meeting that just won’t fucking end when I feel the phone vibrate in my pocket. We were originally supposed to have broken for lunch, but some asshole suggested we have food brought in and continue.