Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1)

by Ainsley Booth

  “Gavin…”

  “Say stop or no, or bend your ass over my desk.”

  I walk forward on shaky legs, painfully, deliciously aware of the slide of my skirt against my legs, the slickness already painting the tops of my inner thighs, and his gaze, hot on my back. Setting my palms against the edge of his desk, I hinge forward at the hips, slow and controlled, until I’m bent at ninety degrees and my ass is stretching the confines of my skirt. My heels come off the floor as I settle, and I ignore the stretch across the bottom of my feet as I press onto tiptoes.

  “Oh, Ellie, what you do to me…” He paces forward, bumping me into the desk.

  I hold still.

  He fists his hand in my hair and turns my head, pressing my cheek against the desk. I suck in a shaky breath as he folds himself over my right side, hot and heavy, and nips at my ear. “When were you going to tell me that we don’t need to use condoms?”

  “When we were actually speaking to each other.”

  “We’re talking now.”

  “Does this count as talking? Because I have some things to say—”

  His hand lands sharp on my left butt cheek. I gasp and drag in another breath as he smooths his palm over the same spot. “Too late.”

  That one swat against my bottom has my blood churning, and I press my body against the desk, trying to keep control. My breasts ache and my thighs want to spread wide. I bite my lip to keep from begging him for more.

  “The last time you were in here, Ellie, you were very rude to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I pant.

  “And now tonight you tell me something that makes it very difficult to take anything—” smack “slow—” smack “and easy.”

  “Ahhh!”

  “So what should I do to you, Sprite? What will correct this misbehaviour?” He yanks up my skirt, baring my basic white cotton panties. I flush with heated embarrassment as I remember pulling them on this morning.

  His fingers trace along the elastic waistband. Pull them down. But he doesn’t. He just touches me, gently, all the way across my lower back.

  Smack.

  I cry out again and my legs, now free, spread apart as I press onto my toes, presenting myself shamelessly for another.

  “Fifty-four hours since you stormed out of my office, Sprite.”

  I can see where he’s going with this. Eeek. My thighs tighten up. No, no, no…

  “Can you take that many strikes?”

  “Yes, Sir.” What? Who said that?

  He’s tracing one of the leg holes now, his finger sliding off the elastic and onto my butt cheek as he follows the curving line closer to where my legs meet. “Good girl.”

  And just like that, I’m eager and pliant again, getting wetter by the second.

  He pulls his fingers off my skin before he gets to my swollen sex and rains a series of gentle blows on my backside instead. None of them hurt, and by the tenth one, I’m rocking into them.

  I’m warm and ready for more. “Please…” I plead. “Harder.”

  He presses his hand between my shoulder blades, stilling my body. “Forty more to go, Sprite. You don’t want them harder yet.”

  Yes I do. But I swallow the whine, because I don’t want to talk back.

  He tugs my underwear between my cheeks, pulling the gusset tight against my clit, and baring more flesh at the same time. “You’re strong and brave, though, wanting more.”

  He slaps my bare skin, where it’s already warm and I’m sure quite pink, and the next five taps are sharper.

  “Ow,” I gasp, but the complaint turns to a throaty moan as he shoves his hand between my legs and rocks his fingers hard over my pussy, holding them flat as he gives my clit the attention it’s been aching for since he stepped into my office.

  Even through my underwear I know he can tell how wet I am, and he’s breathing hard as he pulls away.

  “Thirty-five,” he grunts. “Thirty-four…” Each whack lands in a different place. Some are softer and others sting, but after each one a lovely warmth blooms deep inside me, each time bigger and brighter than the last.

  When he gets to the last ten, he drops to his knees behind me and tugs my panties down my thighs. My shoes slip off my feet as he discards my underwear and my toes barely touch the floor without them.

  Gavin doesn’t give me a chance to find my balance again before he leans in and licks through on my soaking wet pussy, swirling the tip of his tongue around my clit twice before sucking it into his mouth. The sweet tug is almost more than I can bear.

  “Ahhhhh!” I cry out, so close to coming, but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…

  Then his mouth is gone, and I don’t. Disoriented, I scramble to catch my breath.

  “So good, my Sprite,” he says as he kisses the back of my shaking thigh, right below the first of his many marks that start right at the top of my leg and fan across my entire backside. “Thank you for controlling yourself.”

  A shudder wracks through me at his praise and I grin to myself.

  “Ten more, baby. Then you can come.”

  His fingers trail over my sensitive skin, then lift away for just a second before flicking back. Barely a tap, but it’s overwhelming now. Ten.

  Nine is harder, but eight is soft.

  Seven makes me scream and six and five happen together.

  I’m buzzing for four, and it’s like the countdown has a direct line to my clit. Three, two.

  The last one is hard enough to make my eyes water, but then his fingers are inside me, curling against my g-spot, and pleasure vaults through me, boosted by the sting and the burn, reaching a new, unbelievable height.

  I come hard, clamping down on his fingers, and he strokes me through the orgasm until I’m temporarily sated.

  When I finish quivering, he stands me up and roughly unbuttons my blouse as I stand boneless, his doll to do with as he wishes. My skirt joins my blouse and panties on the floor, but he leaves me in my nude bra as he turns me around.

  His eyes roam over me, hungry, like he hasn’t seen me naked in ages instead of just four days.

  But the last time I was freshly fucked in front of him, we weren’t alone. And he looks like he’s been made to wait a lifetime to reclaim what’s his. Suddenly I feel like I have so much more to say sorry for than a simple tantrum.

  “Gavin,” I start, but the look on his face has me stopping and trying again. “Sir?”

  “Yes, Sprite?”

  I carefully lift myself up onto his desk, scootching myself back just enough to keep my balance on my oh-so-sensitive bottom.

  Good. I deserve that sting.

  I spread my legs and run my hands up the insides of my thighs, stopping just short of my still swollen core. “I should have told you sooner that I’d gone to see the doctor.”

  He steps closer, his fingers chasing the path I’d just blazed. “You should have.”

  “What would you have done?” I ask breathlessly.

  “What I’m going to do right now.” He skirts around my pussy and grazes his knuckles up my belly. When he reaches my bra, he hooks his fingers into the stretchy mesh fabric and plumps up my tits as much as they allow, spilling my nipples out onto a makeshift platform.

  “And that is…?”

  “What do you want me to say, Sprite?” He squeezes the nape of my neck, using his thumb against my jaw to tip my head up. He pinches my nipple as he gets so close he goes blurry. I try to pull back but he doesn’t let me. His hold on me tightens to the point of pain as his breath puffs against me, raw and ragged. “You want me to say that I want to claim you?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Then tell me that. Don’t play games.”

  “I want you to take back what’s yours,” I say, my voice cracking. “In a way that nobody else ever has. Just you and me, skin on skin.”

  “Ah, Ellie.” He crushes his mouth down on mine and I pull at his tie. I need to feel his muscles play under my fingers without anything in between.

 
He breaks off the kiss and strips out of his shirt.

  I reach out to touch his skin as he toes off his shoes. His muscles bunch against my fingers, hard and unyielding as he strips in quick, efficient movements. He's never out of reach and the way he's acting tonight, I think I might not get many more chances to touch him again until he's left his mark on me. So I stroke and squeeze his arms and his chest, memorizing this moment with my hands as much as my eyes.

  Once he’s completely naked, he spreads my legs wide and moves between them.

  The tip of his cock drags through my folds, grazing over my clit until he’s pressed against my entrance.

  My heart is beating a mile a minute. I've never fucked without a condom before and there's something base and primal about the sight of his erection sliding against my sex, stretching my pussy open without any barrier between us. Only Gavin gets this part of me.

  Grasping my hips in his hands, he squeezes them hard. As he leans in, gently touching his lips to mine, his gaze locked on my face, he snaps his hips forward and buries himself so completely, I think it could be permanent.

  “Mine,” he growls.

  He kisses me again, this time more insistent as his tongue teases my lips open and swirls around in my mouth.

  His hips ease back until he’s barely inside me, then he thrusts again, stretching me to the limit. He fucks me with his entire body, his pubic bone finding my clit with each snap of his hips, his thighs spreading my legs wide, making sure I take every last inch of him.

  And still I want more.

  I let out a little whine when he lets go of my hips and withdraws from my body.

  “Don’t worry Sprite, we’re not nearly done. But I can’t be as rough with you as I’d like when you’re on that hard wood.”

  Rough. The word sends a violent shiver through me, a tremor of want the likes I've never felt before. Yes. Use me. I'm yours.

  He picks me up from his desk and carries me across the room to the black leather chesterfield. “After my desk, this is the piece of furniture I’ve most wanted to fuck you on.”

  I yelp at the cold leather against my skin as he begins to arrange me like his own personal fuck-doll. Which I am. My right foot on the floor. My left leg along the back of the sofa. My head propped up on the arm.

  He climbs onto the sofa, looming over me as he repositions my left leg so it’s over his shoulder. “Make sure you keep doing yoga, Sprite. I love having a bendy babe.”

  He traps my wrists above my head, anchoring them to the side table, then plunges into me, reaching so much deeper than before. This position keeps me pinned down and I can't even grind my clit against him.

  My pleasure is completely at his mercy. And I’m so good with that. Bad feminist. What happened to being responsible for your own orgasm? Gavin: the man who makes me come harder than I’ve ever managed on my own, no matter how powerful the vibrator.

  He drags his cock out and rams it home, again and again. The sofa shifts slightly with each thrust and just as I’m about to beg him to let me come, there’s an almighty crash behind me.

  Instead of slowing or stopping, he speeds up, fucking me harder. Like he doesn't give a fuck that he's literally destroying the room around us. Like nothing else matters beyond being inside me, deeper and harder than anyone else ever has. “Come now, Sprite, or you’re going to have to wait until I’m feeling benevolent.”

  His words send me spiralling out of control. I’m like one of Pavlov’s dogs, except instead of salivating at the sound of a bell, I’m conditioned to come when he tells me to. His dark promise of withholding unless I come now works like a charm, and the coil of desire that's been winding tight inside me unspools. Faster, faster, higher, higher I spin, until I don't know which way is up and there's no safe way to fall.

  I'm still spasming around him as he pumps his hips two last times, jerkily now, before he freezes above me, all his muscles clenched in stark definition as he comes deep inside my body, marking me as his.

  It takes me a minute to return to reality. I don't want to let go of this moment, of the way he's looking at me. Then I remember the crash, and panic starts to build in my chest. “What did we break?"

  "A lamp." His chest is still rising and falling and he's covered in a light sheen of sweat. I want to lick him all over.

  No. Fuck. Focus, Ellie. "We need to get up. Surely someone heard that and will come and check.”

  “Don’t worry." His voice is rough and low, drunk on sex like we don't have a care in the world. "Nobody is coming in to check anything. Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  I don’t care what he thinks. That was a loud crash and even if Lachlan doesn’t come through that door, someone downstairs may have heard and come looking.

  Gavin being caught with his pants down with an intern would be political suicide.

  “I need to go.” I push at him to let me up.

  He strokes my cheek and I just want to lay there and let him do that all night. “Ellie, it’s fine.”

  “No. It’s not. Gavin, let me up. Now.”

  His gaze locks with mine for a moment, then he nods and shifts off the sofa.

  I can’t breathe and I need to get out. I stumble across the room for my clothes.

  “Ellie…”

  I don’t answer. I pull on my underwear and skirt. I forego the bra, folding it into as small a square as I can manage. I'll shove it in my bag when I get back to my desk. Gavin tries to help me as I fumble with the buttons on my top. I shrug him off. “Don’t mind me, just get yourself sorted out.”

  “Ellie, slow down. We need to talk about this.”

  His words have the opposite effect. My heart is beating a mile a minute as I slide my feet into my shoes. I finish with the last button on my blouse, my hands shaking and slipping as I smooth the fabric. “No. I need to get out of here right now. And I suggest you get your clothes on lickity split.”

  My voice speeds up, catching and twisting as I spit out the last sentence. Then I open the door just enough to slip through, careful not to look towards where I know Lachlan is standing near the elevators. I dash to my desk, grab my purse, then make my speedy getaway down the stairwell.

  I’m so over waking up at four in the morning. Although waking up is a generous term for still being awake after a night of drifting in and out of quasi-consciousness, bumping into worry and panic every time my eyes close for more than a second.

  Every muscle in my body aches.

  I feel like a failure. Last night is proof that our relationship has undermined my professionalism—and his, too. That’s on him as much as it's on me.

  We both fucked up, royally.

  But the internship was always temporary for me. I'm the one who can walk away and nobody will notice.

  Nobody except Gavin.

  I numbly shower and get dressed. Go through the routine I'd come to love and hate at the same time. Normally I'd pack a lunch, but I'm not going to be there that long. Just my coffee to go in a travel mug this morning, and even that sits like battery acid in my stomach.

  I go to Langevin Block. I can’t even look across the street.

  I love him. And if we keep this up, I’m going to destroy his career before he gets a fighting chance.

  I log in to the internal network and open an email to Stew.

  If I got spanked for storming out of his office, what will he do when he finds out that I’ve just quit?

  27

  Gavin

  The next morning, Ellie is noticeably absent from my briefing. She was supposed to be there—she was included on the meeting invite list in my schedule. I know this because I checked. I’m bothered, but I can’t address it until the meeting is over. Thankfully it’s only fifteen minutes. I can hold out that long. Barely.

  I know something’s very wrong. Through the entire briefing, Stew looks everywhere but at me.

  By the time the last of my staff files from the room, I’m in full-blown panic mode. My heart is racing and my head feels wonky.r />
  "Where's Ellie?"

  “She quit."

  “What do you mean she quit?”

  “Quit. As in no longer works for me.” He’s furious, and no longer trying to hide it.

  Fuck. I ask what is probably the stupidest question ever. “Why would she quit?”

  “Really? We’re going here?”

  “For fuck’s sake Stew. Why?”

  “Well, she told me it was because something came up and she had to return to the university early.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Yeah, I know. So how about you tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  It’s killing me that I cost Ellie her internship, and I need to find a way to fix it. Coming clean with Stew is the first step.

  “I’m dating Ellie Montague.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Thanks, I’m glad you’re thrilled that I’ve finally found someone special.”

  “This is why she quit.”

  “Most likely.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You already said that.”

  “Okay, so she’s not quit, exactly. She’s finishing up the internship at the university. No, I’m not fucking happy about that because she’s smart and we were lucky to have her for the two months that we did before lust got the better of you.”

  He should be grateful there’s a desk between us. “It’s not like that.”

  “Give me a break, Gavin. You think I’m blind to—”

  “It’s. Not. Like. That.”

  He chews on his bottom lip instead of responding.

  I don’t want to have to explain anything to him, but I do trust him even if he’s callous. And in order to get ahead of the story it will inevitably be, he needs to know the truth. “Not that it’s any of your business, but lust got the better of me on her first day on the job. And since I took six weeks to think about it, try and talk myself out of it, and do everything in my power to push her away, I also discovered in that time that I love her.”

  Silence fills the room as the words crack out of me. Stew stares at me, shocked. I know the feeling. That’s the first time I’ve admitted just how serious my feelings are, even to myself.