Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1)

by Ainsley Booth

  Cameras flash as the room is silent for a minute, then someone claps, and everyone else joins in. The press conference continues, and Sasha sighs. “Okay. I’m done being suspicious of him. He’s perfect.”

  He’s damn near close to it. “Yep. That’s my man.”

  43

  Ellie

  All summer long, I couldn’t wait to get back to my research and teaching. It just takes one class for me to be second-guessing that decision.

  One of the down-sides of being a grad student at the biz school means having to teach…biz students. Some of them are incredible. All of them are smart.

  But there are a few complete jackasses. Self-entitled spoiled brats who I’d like to strip of their platinum credit cards for just a few weeks and make them live on the street so they could have even half a clue about how good they have it.

  And since I’m not a professor, but an instructor who’s learning about teaching as part of my graduate studies…I can’t even bitch about that to my advisor, because it’s unprofessional. And I can’t really complain to Sasha, either, because it’s kind of awkward. She was that kid in a lot of ways, and she gets prickly about it.

  So I go to the advanced yoga class after work and try to work it out there, but I’m still on edge when I leave the studio and start walking down Bank Street. My mood doesn’t lighten when Gavin calls and tells me his dinner meeting has been cancelled.

  The invitation is wide open, but I’m not sure I’ll be very good company tonight. “Maybe later? I need to go home and decompress for a bit.”

  “Turn around, Sprite.” I do a slow one-eighty, knowing I’m about to see a big, black armoured car behind me. He rolls down the back window. “Had a bad day?”

  “Something like that.” I open the back door and join him. Tim is driving tonight and I give him a little wave. “Hey.”

  He nods. “Ms. Montague.”

  I turn my attention back to Gavin. “Did you consider that I might want to go home?”

  He leans forward. “Tim, we’re going to Ellie’s apartment.”

  I shake my head. “No, 24 Sussex is fine.”

  “But you said—”

  “I…never mind.” I swallow my frustration. It’s not his fault that we can’t just go back to my place, and I’m not going to make a big deal out of it. “Your place is better.”

  He tugs my hand into his, settling it on his thigh as he rubs up and down my arm, his thumb pressing into my muscles. Over the wrist and up onto the forearm. Back down to my fingers. He pinches and twists the flesh here and there, and the tension starts to ease out of me. I close my eyes and sigh.

  “Do you want us to drop you at your place?”

  I consider it. But the fall is looming ahead of us, busy and with crossed schedules on every other week. In another month, I’ll regret not spending as much time as possible with him. “No.”

  “When we get back to my place, we’ll do something about your mood.”

  I shrug. “Okay.”

  But there’s really nothing to be done about it. I’ve got eight months of teaching to survive, plus a heavy research schedule, and I’m dating the most intense man—and sharing him with an entire country. There are just going to be some days where I want to pout for a while.

  When we arrive, Gavin keeps a firm hold on my wrist, cuffing it with his fingers.

  “Are you hungry?”

  I screw up my face, trying to remember the last time I ate. “Maybe?”

  He sighs and leads me into the kitchen, where he props me against the counter, kisses me quickly, then starts to pull stuff out of the fridge. Basil and tomatoes, a wedge of white cheese, and a package of fresh pasta.

  “Are you cooking?” Two months into our relationship and this is a weird turn.

  “You made me a sandwich once. This seems like fair turnaround.”

  “You’ve got real food.”

  “And you’re super lippy tonight.” He gives me an amused look. “Zip it and let me cook for you.”

  “I’m just curious—”

  He thumps the package of pasta against the counter. “Okay, dinner can wait.”

  My cheeks flame as I realize I’ve crossed the line from bratty to rude. “I’m sorry. I told you I was in a grumpy mood, and…yeah. I’m just going to zip it.”

  His eyes flash as he rounds the peninsula and grabs my hand. “Come on.”

  He’s moving so fast it feels like he’s towing me toward the library. He sits in his chair and I move to fold into his lap, but he puts his hand on my hip, stopping my movement. “Just stand for a minute, Sprite. Let’s focus on what’s wrong before you curl up in my lap and I get distracted by how good you smell.”

  I shift restlessly in front of him. “It’s just work stuff.”

  “As your boyfriend, I’d like to know about it.”

  “It’s seriously nothing.”

  He huffs out a frustrated breath. That was the wrong thing to say.

  I backtrack. “I mean, it’s only a small thing. An adjustment to spending time with a certain kind of student. That’s all. It’s mostly just something I need to deal with in my own head.”

  “But it gets you quite worked up.”

  I’ll have to do a better job of hiding that in the future, because he doesn’t need to worry about me. “I think we’ve already spent far too much time talking about my students and their over-inflated sense of importance. Maybe I need something more intense than yoga to get it out of my system.”

  “Maybe you need a good spanking.” He says it so levelly that I almost move right past it in the conversation, only to trip on it as I double back.

  My mouth drops open as I stare down at him, and the mood between us shifts. Darker, more intense on his part. A slide into…oh. Something that feels quite nice on my part. Calm. Docile. A place where I might give zero fucks about any work drama. I lick my lips as I look at him again, seeing not just the look on his face, but his entire body language. “Sir?”

  His cock is thick and straining at the elegant fabric of his suit pants. How does nobody else see him for the delicious pervert that he is? And how lucky am I that the monster is all mine?

  “You want to spank me?” Just like that? Not in the heat of the moment, but…calmly proposed, as an equal alternative to him feeding me dinner?

  I guess it’s not dissimilar to looking across at your partner and suggesting going upstairs to have sex, but…it’s totally different somehow.

  For all my open-mindedness, I still feel like such a kink newbie. And sometimes a bit of a kink fraud, like I’m really vanilla and Gavin’s going to realize that any day now.

  But this doesn’t feel wrong or weird. Just unexpected. And good. So good.

  “I want you to relax so, after I make you dinner, you’ll be of a mind to suck my cock like a good little Sprite. To that end, I think you need a spanking.”

  “To relax.” I say it with incredulity because seriously? But I’m already wet and achy at the promise of his hand on my ass. Yes. So much better than yoga.

  “To relax, to re-center. A release.” He takes one of my hands and guides me to his left side, then folds me over his lap, carefully arranging me. The calm detachment is a total ruse, because his cock is hard against my belly and his hands are big and strong, and it’s taking all his effort not to use them to rip my clothes off.

  That sounds so conceited, but it’s the truth. We’re crazy for each other. And maybe just crazy. But the little niggle of doubt that I’m enough is way outshouted by all the evidence that yes, I’m exactly what Gavin wants.

  His hand rubs against the curve of my butt, through the summer-weight trousers I’d worn to work today. The layer of clothing adds just as much as it takes away.

  This is really just a spanking.

  Not a punishment, exactly…

  But not not a punishment, either. Bad girl, bringing work home when Sir wants a blow job. My pussy clenches at the sudden ache the thought creates.

  The first blow
is hard enough to pop my eyes open. “Ahhh,” I say, not quite crying out.

  “Tell me about the best part of your day.” He says it calmly, like we’re still in the kitchen and he’s waiting for water to boil.

  “Uhhh…” Another blow and the sound catches in my throat. I tense my thighs against his legs, and he kicks his foot sideways, unbalancing me.

  “Don’t clench up. I don’t want this to hurt—much. Your day?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes, right now.” Thwack. “You can’t stop thinking about the shitty parts. I want you to tell me—” Thwack. He rubs the flat of his palm over that spot, smoothing out the heat. “About what was amazing.”

  I think about my lecture. No, earlier, when I got the email from the conference chair about the poster I’m presenting in Colorado. “I’ve been invited to speak in front of the entire conference about my project.”

  Gavin makes an impressed sound as he slides his hand between my legs. A dirty reward for positive thinking—I like how his mind works.

  But I spend too much time thinking about what a good plan this is and not enough talking, because he pulls his hand back and spanks me twice more.

  A rush of heat floods through me, starting at my upturned ass and spilling to every last inch of my body.

  “It’s a short mini presentation, but it’s quite an honour for someone at my level,” I say quickly, lest he think that I’m minimizing it. “And it should help move that project closer to publication, or lead to future collaborations with some of the attending academics.”

  “You didn’t tell me about that earlier.”

  “It slipped my mind.”

  “You let the students not only take over your day, but consume your good news as well.”

  “I did.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good girl.” He shifts under me, his cock harder than before, and when he spanks me again, it’s slow and lazy. Hotter, and his hand spends more time easing the sting and rubbing between my legs than it does doling out my punishment. Bad girl. Good girl. Turned on girl, definitely.

  I run my hand up and down his calf as I relax even further, the strength of his coiled muscles a delicious contrast to the boneless feeling of my body now. My head is resting on the edge of the wide seat, facing out in the library, but I slowly turn my face toward him, wanting to show him how happy I am. Relaxed, re-centered, exactly as promised.

  He’s staring down at me with barely-contained lust painted all over his face. He liked that even more than I expected, and his reaction takes my breath away.

  “Thank you, Sir,” I say with a whisper, and he shifts faster than I can process what he’s doing, pulling me up into his lap. His hands tangle in my hair as he kisses me. His teeth tug on my lower lip, his tongue spears demandingly into my mouth. Bad girl. Good girl.

  My blouse falls away from my body.

  One of his hands roughly cups my breast, his thumb rolling over my nipple. I arch into his touch. More, I want more.

  He lifts me in his arms, his large body flexing as he carries me across the room and spreads me out on his desk.

  We’ve fucked in that chair a few times, but never this desk.

  There’s a bucket list. All his desks. “How many offices do you have?”

  “What?” He unbuttons my pants and peels them open, revealing the bare skin of my lower belly and skimpy black cotton panties. They’re soaked and his eyelids are heavy as he glances back at my face for a second before burying his face there.

  “Remind me to ask you later…” I breathe. Intense waves crash over me as he tongues my clit through the fabric, licking down, stroking over the crest of my engorged nub, then swirling around to do it again.

  “More,” I beg, and he wrenches the fabric down my hips, trapping my legs together but baring the top of my cleft. His tongue slides through my curls and teases me again, differently this time. Just a glancing edge. I smack my hands on the desk in frustration. “More….”

  He looks up at me, his lips swollen and red, and asks hoarsely, “What do you say?”

  “Please, Sir…” My voice cracks and he yanks my trousers and underwear off, finally spreading my legs wide so he can touch and lick and suck my pussy.

  I come apart quickly, thrashing under his wicked tongue, and then he’s inside me, full and thick. He moves slowly at first, possessive thrusts that remind me I’m his, inside and out, and when I finish trembling and start rocking against him, he picks up his pace. He tugs my hips right to the edge of the desk and hammers into me, his rhythm blistering now as he watches me twist higher again.

  “Tighten your legs around me,” he orders, his voice hard and clipped. I grip him with my thighs and he shifts one of his hands to my belly, stroking above my mound, then lower. He covers my curls with his hand, his thumb pressing over the top of my clit as his fingertips press into the quivering flesh of my lower abdomen. “Come for me. Let me feel it, Sprite.”

  “Ahhh…” I roll my head and close my eyes. So close, but I’ve already come once, and this time it’s harder to get there.

  He slows down, leaving his cock inside me longer, but at the same time his thumb moves faster, stroking my clit back and forth, back and forth.

  “Yes, there, don’t stop.” I’m babbling now.

  “You’ve got the prettiest cunt,” he growls. “I want you all the time, Ellie. I want to be inside you. I want to lick you. I want to hold your pussy and feel it tighten around me. My fingers. My cock. My tongue. So gorgeous.”

  The rush of dirty talk sends me spinning again, out of control and free-falling. He keeps talking, single words grunted between thrusts as he follows me to a grinding climax. “Mine. Fuck. So tight. God. Ellie, yes.”

  He holds himself inside me, so deep my hips are stretching to their limit, then he slowly pulls back. But not all the way out. Even though we’ve both come, he’s still looking at me like he could go again.

  He slides back inside, sloppy now, and I whimper because it’s so sensitive.

  “Shhh,” he whispers. “Just another minute. Just let me feel you like this. Full of my come.”

  I gasp and roll my hips, wanting to come again at that single, filthy image. An aftershock ripples through me and he groans, burying himself one last time before easing away.

  He cleans us up quickly, then pulls me up off the desk and swings me up into his arms. “Shower, then dinner, then we’re doing that again.”

  Who am I to argue with such an obviously clever plan?

  44

  Gavin

  I’ve been dodging calls from my sister Pia for weeks now. We talk, but always when I’m on my way into a meeting. That’s a deliberate choice on my part, because I’m not ready for her counsel on my dating life. Politics, absolutely. Whether or not I’m handling a relationship properly…not at all.

  My mother’s calls, though, I can’t dodge. And she waited plenty long, so by the time Beth adds her to my call sheet, the sight of her name spears guilt through me.

  “Let’s do that one last,” I say, and when Beth narrows her eyes at me, I hastily add, “So I’m not on a time limit. We’ll do them right before lunch.”

  The morning’s meetings are all productive, so I’m at a minimal level of snarling when I sit back behind my desk. I get through the other calls I need to make quickly, then I dial the number for the mountain cabin myself.

  She answers on the third ring, laughter in her voice. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mom.” It’s like I’m nineteen again and calling her from university.

  “Gavin! It’s been a while.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No you’re not.” She laughs. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I have.”

  “And you’re seeing that young woman…”

  “I am. Ellie,” I add, which is unnecessary because the entire country knows her name. I’m sure my mother has a complete dossier on her.

  “When ar
e we going to meet Ellie?”

  As soon as possible and maybe never. The thought of introducing her to my family fills me with a ridiculous pride. They’ll love her. But I also want to keep her all to myself. “Thanksgiving, perhaps. Christmas for sure.”

  “So it’s serious.”

  “Very.”

  “Interesting.”

  “She’s incredible, Mom. Smart and kind. You’ll love her.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She waits a beat, then sighs. “It could have been a big scandal, Gavin.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t.”

  “Did you have anything to do with that?” There are certain arenas where my mother—and my sister—hold more power than I do. Women’s groups, some pockets of the media. It’s one reason I didn’t call either of them as news of the relationship broke. I didn’t want that on my call sheet. PM Strong Runs To Mommy For Approval.

  She laughs. “Oh, Gavin. You’re such a cynic. You think people don’t look at her and understand that you’re head over heels in love?”

  I am a cynic. I honestly didn’t think that the strength of my feelings was enough of a justification for our relationship. The fact that my mother thinks it is slides over me like a balm I hadn’t known I’d needed. “Thank you.”

  “Thanksgiving, Gavin. Don’t make us wait until Christmas. We can come to Ottawa.”