Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1)

by Ainsley Booth

  “And the sight of two men in suits carrying their lawn chairs away is heaps more interesting than a couple on a date, right?” He kisses the curve of my ear. “See? Nobody’s watching me right now.”

  And he’s right. Now that the show has begun, we’re totally anonymous. I relax against his solid, broad chest and let myself enjoy being wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his scent. At least for tonight, I’m just a girl on a date with a guy who really, really likes her.

  For the next thirty minutes, the history of our country plays out in a spectacular light show that uses Parliament as a movie screen of sorts. The building adds texture and an unexpected emotion to the display, and we’re both completely absorbed. When the national anthem begins to play at the end, we stand together, and as the last notes fade into the crowd’s applause, Gavin snatches up the blanket and takes my hand.

  Lachlan’s waiting a few feet away, and points us to the car. Nine minutes later, we’re pulling up to my apartment and I’m still grinning.

  “Thank you,” I start, and Gavin silences me with a press of his fingertips against my mouth.

  “Upstairs. I’m walking you to your door.”

  “Okay,” I mumble against his fingers.

  He grins.

  Lachlan goes first, and when we get up to my landing, he heads back downstairs, leaving us alone.

  “I had a wonderful time,” I say, glancing up at him from beneath my eyelashes and try to see him as a real first date. Imagine the will-he-or-won’t-he question of a goodnight kiss. I’ve got butterflies, all right, but they’re more about how long it’s going to be until our second date, our third, our tenth, and when he’s going to tie me to his bed again.

  But this man in front of me is also lovely. He’d take my breath away even if he was a stranger, a blind date, or a guy from work. He’s tall and handsome, attentive and smart. He likes his mom and his sister, and cares passionately about his job, which just happens to be pretty intense.

  This is a side of him I didn’t really get to see when I was working with Stew. I was too close. Coming at him from the wrong angle, so I saw the fighter, the raw underbelly of the caged tiger. The secret, buried needs of a man locked up tight.

  That had been hot as hell.

  This is something else. Something infinitely more dangerous than the risks of a forbidden affair.

  I already love him. So why is the idea of Gavin being a forever kind of guy so frightening?

  Because you’re so simple compared to him. His sister is famous in her own right. His mother changed an entire education system. His niece is a Rhodes Scholar.

  And I’m a yoga enthusiast who can’t cook.

  I suddenly need a hug quite desperately. Gavin’s right in front of me, shifting closer, and I close the gap, pressing myself flat against his body.

  “Hey,” he says gently.

  “Really wonderful time,” I repeat.

  “Ellie.”

  I don’t move.

  “Sprite.” His voice deepens and I step back like I’ve been zapped by a gentle electric current. One that’s hot-wired to my erogenous zones. He gives me a warm but firm look. “Where did you go just now?”

  “I just realized this is different. A little overwhelming.”

  “Than what?”

  “Than before.”

  “Dating is scarier than…” He lowers his voice and leans in, backing me up against my apartment door. “Kinky fuckery?”

  I lick my lips. “Maybe yes.”

  “Why?”

  Because when it comes to sex, I don’t doubt my appeal. “You’re on a whole other level,” I whisper. “This isn’t a conversation for my landing, I guess.”

  “Ah, whatever.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “But it’s not where I want your head at on our first date. Because you’re everything I want. Never doubt that. That bullshit your roommate said…I’ve never had a workplace affair before, and never will again. It’s entirely incidental that you were my intern. It was you. Your wit and your sweetness, and yes, your beauty. I’m captivated, Ellie.”

  “But I’m just me and you’re…perfect.”

  “Did you ever consider that maybe I’m just perfect for you?” He exhales roughly and twists his fingers into mine. “I do a good job of being a persona, Ellie. But I’m just a regular guy, with weaknesses and failings. You’ve seen that more than anyone else. I don’t even know that I am perfect for you. I worry that I’m too old, too risky, too busy.”

  “No.” I press my hand against his chest and his muscles flex beneath my touch. So I’m not the only one who’s feeling unsure. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

  He nods, then his face shifts again. Determination is incredibly sexy. My breath falls into a shallow, anticipatory rhythm. “I’d like to see you again, Ellie.”

  It should sound formal and stiff. Instead it’s sexy, dripping with intent. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Lunch tomorrow.”

  “Aren’t you going to Washington tomorrow?”

  “In the afternoon.” He brushes a lock of my hair off my cheek. “You want to come with me?”

  I laugh. “That would be an inappropriate use of a government plane.”

  “It’s going there anyway. I could pay the Bank of Canada for your ticket.”

  “Are there actually tickets?” A crazy, fluttery feeling has taken over my entire body.

  He winds his hand tight into my hair. “I’d make one for you.”

  Now his face is right over mine and he’s holding me still, my hair wrapped around his fist, and I want him so much it hurts. A physical, heavy ache that only intensifies as he brushes his lips against mine.

  “Until tomorrow, then,” he murmurs, and the ache turns to actual pain. “You can wait that long, can’t you, Sprite?”

  “Yes,” I breathe. I really need to get control of my vocal cords—they don’t know what they’re talking about. But as I say it, I believe it. The pain inside is like the burn of him spanking me. Once I know rubbing it away isn’t an option, that it can’t be replaced with something sweeter and easier, I realize I want more. I want to lean into the sharpness of my longing for him.

  “Good girl.” He tugs my lower lip into his mouth, sinking his teeth into my flesh until I gasp, then he covers my mouth with his and I’m lost. His tongue is slick and clever as he slides inside. Want rushes through me, a harsh current of dirty thoughts. His exploration slows, turns leisurely, as he tastes every last inch of my mouth. I push up on my toes, needing to do the same to him, but he tugs my hair.

  Hold still, the command is clear.

  My thighs start to shake. My breasts are swollen and if he rubbed his thumb across my nipples, I think I’d probably spontaneously combust.

  This is a hell of a state to leave me in, but that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

  He eases back, his mouth lingering on mine even as his body shifts away from me. When our lips finally slide apart, he grazes his thumb across my lower lip. I open a little more, and he groans.

  He dips the tip into my mouth, just enough for my tongue to swipe at it, then he takes a big step back.

  I look down at his erection and bite my lip in a failing attempt to contain my glee.

  He rubs his jaw as he chuckles. “Okay. Good night, Ellie.”

  “Night, Gavin.”

  “Until tomorrow.”

  “Sweet dreams,” I say softly.

  His gaze lingers on mine as he nods. “Most definitely.”

  31

  Gavin

  I didn’t tell her not to touch herself, mostly because there’s zero chance I’m going to abstain. When I get home, I jerk off in the shower, the memory of her hair wound around my fingers taking me over the edge.

  I’m hard again as I get into bed. I want her waiting for me right here when I get back from Washington.

  Four and a half hours later, my alarm goes off. I jackknife out of bed before my inner lazy guy has a chance to suggest otherwise, and push myself through a ten m
inute high-intensity workout that both wakes me up and justifies the cold pizza I eat for breakfast.

  I have Tim do a loop through the grounds of Rideau Hall, across the road, so I can tweet a picture of the first rays of the sunrise over the Governor General’s official residence.

  @therealgavinstrong Beautiful morning to be in service to Her Royal Majesty. Off to work. #morningperson #atleasttoday

  By the seven a.m. briefing, #morningperson is trending. Stuff like that has zero to do with the job of running the country, but it makes the new communications director happy.

  After the disaster of our last speechwriter leaking the fundraiser speech, Stew quietly moved the last communications director into another role and hired someone from BC, Caroline Miller-Best. She and her husband have a PR firm in Vancouver, and she’s only promised us six months of her time, but that’s all I need.

  Caroline has made a #morningperson sign and has it propped up on my desk when I walk in.

  “You liked that?”

  “I loved that. Can we have a minute before the briefing?”

  I shake my head. The briefing doesn’t start late for any reason. “But you can have five after.”

  “Deal.”

  Stew gets us started thirty seconds early, and we finish with forty-five seconds to spare. This is why he’s my CoS.

  “Thank you all,” I say, standing as they start to leave.

  Stew glances at Caroline, who remains seated. I shrug. He can stay if he wants. He closes the door and starts to pace back and forth.

  I laugh. “God, you’re such a fucking pessimist.”

  Caroline keeps a neutral face. “Is he pacing because of a blind item about you on a date last night?”

  “Probably.” Well, that didn’t take long. “Do they have her name?”

  “No. I think it’s truly blind for now. There’s a Snapchat video of you holding someone’s hand and carrying a blanket. It’s a few seconds long. Any chance this is the real reason I've been hired?”

  "Yes. Every chance."

  “Who is she?”

  Stew doesn’t let me answer. “She’s a PhD candidate at the University of Ottawa’s business school. They met earlier this summer, through work.”

  Caroline’s face doesn’t change. “Here?”

  I nod.

  “What’s the most important thing I need to know about your relationship?”

  “I love her.”

  “Okay. Stew can fill me in on the rest?”

  “Yes, but I want to see anything and everything that’s drafted on this. Nothing comes out of this office on the topic of Ellie without being approved by me first.”

  “No problem.” She stands and gives me a little nod. “It’s smart to do this now, before the House is in session.”

  I give her another terse nod and they leave. I’ve got two minutes before Beth bustles in with the next thing on my agenda. I spend every second of it wondering if Caroline’s right and I’ve decided to shove Ellie into the limelight because it’s politically advantageous to get this scandal over with sooner than later.

  32

  Ellie

  Our second date begins the way our first one ended, with a kiss that leaves me distracted beyond measure.

  Gavin picks me up at the university this time. I get a single knock-at-the-door warning before he’s inside my office, the door closed and locked. Within two strides he’s got me backed up against my desk, his hands in my hair and his lips pushing mine apart.

  “I was going to meet you downstairs,” I say, my voice hitching as I try to think about something other than getting him out of his navy suit. My hands aren’t cooperating.

  “I’ve been hungry for you since I left last night, and this is our only chance to be alone today.”

  I should have taken him up on the offer to fly with him to Washington. “Let’s send your security detail down to the cafeteria for sandwiches and stay here until you have to go. I’ve never used the lock on my door. This would be an excellent opportunity to break it in.”

  “A virgin lock,” he says, groaning as he lifts his hands off my hips and tries to back away.

  I’m having none of that. I grab his hands and slide them down my thighs. “And I wore stockings today.”

  “You’re killing me.” He kisses me again. Ruthless and possessive. God, I love him. I’m out of my mind, head over heels in love with him.

  “No panties today, either.” I’m lying. I wore those to work. I just took them off ten minutes ago.

  “Fucking hell, Sprite.” He lifts me up and shoves me back on my desk. “Feet up.”

  I kick off my heels and bend my legs, resting my silk-covered soles right on the edge of my desk. The dress I’m wearing today has a full, twirly skirt, and it falls away from my body, leaving nothing hidden from his hungry gaze. “I want you inside me,” I whisper. “Every minute of every day.”

  He shakes his head. “Just kissing I said. For the first few dates.”

  “I know you did…”

  He leans over me, bracing his hands on the desk on either side of my hips. “But?”

  But nothing. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “So what’s the rule?”

  “Just kissing.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  I shake my head. “I love kissing you.”

  He smiles. “Good girl. I love kissing you too, Sprite.” He pushes himself up again. He smooths his tie, then adjusts his erection before smoothly dropping to his knees. “Everywhere.”

  Heat shoots through me as his head obscures my view between my thighs. I feel his breath next, on my thigh, then the tease of his tongue along my slit. Like we’ve got all the time in the world instead of just an hour, and oh my God all the things I want to do to him. If he’ll even let me. He might not.

  His next lick is slower, dirtier, his tongue wide and flat, and I want to shoot off my desk from the pleasure of it. He’s so unbelievably good at this I want to cry and scream and kick my feet. Instead I press my heels harder against the desk and swallow a moan. Lips tight together, eyes closed, I give myself over to him. My body is his to tease and devour, light up and set aflame however he sees fit.

  Devour.

  That’s the right word for how he’s going down on me, but it’s soft at the same time. Hungry and insistent, a gentle but thorough dismantling. He’s everywhere, licking and sucking, his fingers holding me open so he can explore every last inch of my flesh with his tongue and—sometimes, carefully—his teeth.

  Consumed. That’s another good word for how I feel as he tugs my clit into his mouth and suckles on it until I climax in a shuddering, whimpering, happiest-girl-ever-who-maybe-bit-her-tongue kind of way.

  My eyes are still screwed shut when I feel the blunt, swollen head of his cock rubbing against my entrance.

  I bite my lip harder to keep from moaning at how good that feels—rub, rub, oh God, put it in already, rub—and ask, “What about just kissing?”

  “Rules are stupid.” He bottoms out inside me and holds still there as he presses his forehead against mine. It feels incredible—better than I ever imagined. “I’m going to miss you tonight. I want you in my bed tomorrow when I get back.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’ll be late.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He rocks his hips back, then pistons forward again, hitting the sweet spot on the first thrust. “Do I have to pull out? This could be messy for our lunch date.”

  He can’t be seriously still thinking about food. I kiss him breathlessly. “I’ve got wipes, it’ll be fine.” I lick his lower lip with the point of my tongue. “You taste like me.”

  “Then I taste fucking amazing.”

  I gasp as he fucks into me harder, his hands tightening on my hips.

  “Gonna come again? Come on my cock, babe. Let me feel that sweet pussy tighten up all around me and I’m going to fill you up.”

  Those words shouldn’t work on me as well as they do, but I’m j
ust as dirty as he is, because yes I want that. I want it all and I want it now and if he just keeps it up— “Yes, there.”

  He holds himself buried inside me. “There?”

  A grind of his hips tests it out and I throw my head back. “Yes.”

  His hips pump, barely moving but doing all the heavy lifting as far as my G-spot is concerned.

  I’m whisper-chanting his name now, Gavin yes Gavin yes Gavin yes, and I’m pretty sure I’m being quiet, but he folds himself over me again, this time whispering that I need to be quiet. I am, I think. And in the silence he does it again.

  “Shhh. Be a good girl and come for me.”

  I shatter. He follows me into the orgasm, fucking me roughly again for the last few desperate strokes, then he groans as he spills himself inside me.

  Messy. Perfect.

  “Shhh,” I tell him as he buries his face in my neck.

  He laughs.

  “So we can make it one date without sex,” he says a few minutes later as I pass him a wet wipe from my emergency stash in my drawer. It’s previously been used to erase evidence of me devouring a donair before my office hours and scrubbing white board marker off my forearm when I got a little hyper in a lecture about microaggressions in the workplace.

  I shrug, too blissed-out from two orgasms to worry about the fact that we’re clearly sex addicts. “Well, that’s longer than some people.”

  “You’re shameless.”

  “You made me so. I used to be such a good girl.”

  “That is not a complaint, I assure you. And you are still a very good girl.”

  “How much time do we have now?”

  “An hour. How about we go to the cafeteria?”

  “That’s not exactly low-profile.”

  “Yeah.” He gives me a level look. “About that.”

  “Gavin…”

  “Someone took a video of us last night at the Sound and Light show.”

  The bottom drops out of my stomach. “Oh.”

  “It’s just me. The video shows your arm, the back of your head, and it’s dark, so right now it’s just a non-story, the PM went on a date.”