“Sure.”
Then she points at my crotch. “Wax?”
“What? No.” I cover myself for good measure. One perk of being a redhead—I don’t have a ton of hair between my legs, and what I do have is kind of cute. It’s staying put.
I shower and shave my legs before we go, and when we get there, Sasha surprises me by having my hair done as well.
“You’re the world’s greatest roommate,” I tell her as we sip mint tea in the waiting room.
“Care to reward me with any Parliament Hill gossip?”
“I can’t really tell you about political stuff…”
“I mean PM gossip.”
“Then…no.”
“Did he like the blouse you borrowed?”
Somehow I manage not to blush. “I can’t remember if I saw him that day.”
“Liar.”
Yep. “Are you all done with your marking?”
She accepts the change of subject. “Indeed I am. I’m heading to the cottage tonight, actually.”
“Did I know that?”
“I mentioned it. You’ve been distracted.”
“And now I’m the worst roommate ever.”
“Only if I wanted you to come with me, but I do not, because my brother’s brother-in-law is coming, and I’m going to angle for a double date.”
Sasha’s brother is two years older than us and is already on his second marriage. “Might as well while you still can?”
She snickers. “This is why I love you, Ellie. You’re sweet as can be, but deep down you’ve got an edge to you.”
“Do I?”
“You couldn’t be my bestie if you didn’t.”
Our conversation is cut off by the arrival of the aestheticians, and off we go to get beautified. Me for the PM, Sasha for a dirty weekend away at the cottage.
Eight hours later, my face hurts from smiling. The room isn’t as hostile as we expected—if anything, the leaked speech lowered expectations, so when he leans against the podium and tells the wealthy attendees that they can do better…well, who could argue with that?
I mouth along as he delivers the speech I’d written. He ad-libs in a few places—making it better, of course, on the fly like he does—but the key message is one I’ve now permanently engraved on my soul. One of respect and acknowledgement in the same breath as he pushes them to do more.
“The very fact you’re here,” he says, spreading his arms wide, his voice ringing strong as he smiles at the crowd. “That says so much to me. It says you understand there’s a need for change. A need to do better. It’s time for a new model of public-private partnerships in Canada, and I trust that the leaders of industry in this room will champion innovation—”
God, I love how he pauses here, mid-sentence, making eye-contact with more people than you’d think possible, those icy blue eyes silently gaining their promise that yes, of course they’ll champion anything he wants.
“And sponsor community projects that make a difference at the same level you back political parties. I don’t just believe that you can do that—I’m going to hold you to an expectation that you will do that. Some of you may be used to an older model of doing things. Buying a ticket to a dinner to shake my hand and whisper something in my ear.”
He shakes his head and I swear, I might just have a small orgasm if he bites his lip.
He grins, softening the room for what comes next. Then his face sobers and he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth.
I die.
“You want to impress me? More to the point, do you want to impress the collective strength of the House of Commons? Do something incredible for your community. Lead innovation and give back to the people who work for you, who live around you, and who support your company. Do that, and you’ll have the ear of the entire nation.”
And now my hands hurt just as much as my cheeks do, because everyone is on their feet and I’m applauding like mad along with them. It took a minute, but a few tables rose, and then everyone else joined them.
Peer pressure is a powerful motivator. Stew taught me that. I glance across the back of the room, looking for my boss. He gestures me over and I make my way through the boisterous crowd. Half of them are heading for the bar. The other half are crowding around the PM, and he’ll give them each a warm smile and a quick handshake, but nothing else. Not tonight.
“Fantastic speech, Ellie. Well done.” Stew lifts his glass as I beam at him.
Beth sees him toasting me and excuses herself from her conversation, joining us just as Lachlan materializes at Stew’s side and whispers in his ear.
My boss nods, then crooks his finger at Beth and me. “Come on. The PM wants a private word.”
My heart flails like a muppet in my chest as we follow the Mountie back through the hotel, weaving down one hallway, then another. We stop in front of a private room, guarded by another member of the security detail.
Lachlan pulls out a room key and lets us in.
Gavin is standing at the window, his back to us. He turns.
He’s got a drink in one hand and the other is tucked in his pocket, sweeping his open jacket back on that side.
Do not eye-fuck your boss’s boss.
Do not eye-fuck the prime minister.
Too late.
It’s his own fault, I whimper silently. He looks good enough to eat. Black suit, white shirt, black tie. Fitted and sleek like a panther.
And we’ve been priming for this all week.
So why are Stew and Beth here? Maybe I’ve read all the clues wrong.
We need a kinky affair bat signal. Like, handcuffs spotlighted on the Peace Tower or something. But subtle.
Clearly this is why he pushed me away last week. I don’t have the faintest clue how to be sly about this.
Luckily Beth pushes a champagne flute into my hand. I hadn’t allowed myself to drink before now, being too nervous, but now I take a sip and it’s lovely.
I take another and feel myself relax.
Then I hold the flute in front of my face because there’s a limit to how chill I can be, and any second Stew or Beth or Lachlan will notice how I keep staring at Gavin in that suit.
But it’s not my fault.
That suit is…
“Did you say something, Ellie?” Stew turns my way.
I shake my head like mad. “Nope.”
Gavin lifts one eyebrow at me, but the rest of his face doesn’t move. He’s either really good at sly or we’re not on the same page. My chest flutters with nerves, but I won’t let myself doubt that this means something more for the two of us.
Picking up the last flute, he raises it in the air. “To my staff,” he says quietly, taking the time to make eye contact with everyone in the room. “Thank you for helping me blueprint our policy in a clear and compelling way. We’re laying a strong foundation for a fall session of Parliament.”
“You’re the one who wowed them tonight.” Stew laughs and glances at me. “With Ellie’s words.”
Gavin was already looking at me, but his eyes darken. “Definitely.”
Beth says a few nice things about what she observed from the back of the room, then we’re interrupted by a knock at the door.
The guard pokes his head in. “Max Donovan wants to know if Beth would like to have one last dance before he turns in for the night.”
Gavin groans and lifts his free hand in a wave. “Send him in.”
Beth shakes her head. “No, I’m leaving. Because yes, I would like a dance.” She winks at me and heads for the door.
Max Donovan. The dark haired man in the picture on Gavin’s mantel. The name clicks with the face, and I realize who Gavin’s best friend is—a former child television star who retired from Hollywood at eighteen to move back to Canada. I vaguely recall that he went to medical school and is a doctor in Vancouver now.
He was here tonight?
“I’m heading back in. Need to do some glad-handing,” Stew says, looking at Gavin. “Are you done for the n
ight?”
“I think it’s for the best that I am. Can’t make a grand statement about separation of industry and the executive branch of government and then rub shoulders the same night.” He looks past me to his ever-present chief of security. “Lachlan, will you give Ms. Montague a ride home?”
My breath catches in my throat as Lachlan nods. “Of course. I’ll just arrange for another member of the security detail to cover for me. Give me five minutes.”
Stew taps my forearm on his way out, giving me one last nod of approval for tonight’s event. I want to revel in the success, but even more than that, I want to be alone with Gavin for a minute.
The door clicks shut softly behind us and I glance over my shoulder, making sure Stew and Lachlan are both gone.
When I turn back to face Gavin, he’s closer.
Much closer.
My fingers itch to reach out and grab the lapels of his jacket.
Instead, I flex my fingers and wiggle them at my sides. “Home?”
“My home.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re good at the sly thing.”
He gives me a knowing look that melts my insides. “Yes.”
“Good. I’m not.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What are we doing?”
“Whatever you want.”
“I want what you want.”
“Do you know what you’re asking?”
I shake my head. “Not really. But I’m not completely innocent. Do we need a contract, or anything?”
“A contract?”
“I’ve been doing some research.”
He smiles, a slow, amused curl of his lips. “Have you?”
“I know about safewords and hard limits.”
“Mmm.” He leans in, his lips brushing my cheek before he whispers in my ear. “Do you want a safeword, Ellie?”
My nipples do. Not that they’d ever use it. “I don’t know that we need one.”
“No. I react instantly to stop. Unless you ask me not to.”
“Stop is good. But I won’t be saying it.”
“We’ll see about that.” He brushes my hair out of the way as he gets closer to the curve of my ear. His breath is tantalizingly hot. Slow. Controlled.
By comparison, my chest is rising and falling like a roller coaster car halfway off the rails.
I suck in a shallow breath. “Do we need to talk about limits?”
He grazes the edge of my ear with his teeth. “I won’t be doing anything that approaches a limit tonight. You need to get in the car and go to my house. When you get there, you need to take off this dress. Take off your panties. I want you waiting for me, naked. That would please me immensely, Ellie.”
Oh.
“Do you want to please me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Now go with Lachlan, Sprite.”
Lachlan apparently knows that home doesn’t mean my apartment.
He also doesn’t seem to think this is a big deal, when in fact it’s the biggest deal ever.
It’s a short drive from the Chateau Laurier to 24 Sussex. We slide quietly through the gates and he parks right at the main entrance, then comes around to open my door.
“This way, Ms. Montague.” He guides me to the front door, where he punches in a code on a keypad. There’s a light on in the hall, and he turns on a few others as he leads me into a private sitting room. There’s one window, heavily curtained. It’s nicely decorated with antiques, but everything screams don’t touch. It’s like a museum.
“I’ll wait here?” I ask, my voice shaking.
The Mountie gives me a gentle smile that softens his usually stern expression. He’s probably about the same age as Gavin, maybe a little older. “You can wait wherever you’d like. The PM would like you to make yourself comfortable.” He hesitates, then adds, “There’s nobody else in the house. There are a few RCMP officers on guard outside, and the alarm system is armed. The only other person who will be entering the home tonight is the PM.”
Oh. “Thank you.”
He steps back, then stops. “Your privacy will be respected as much as the PM’s. You have my word on that.”
I give him a tremulous smile. “Thank you, Lachlan.”
“No thanks required. Good night, Ms. Montague.”
“Good night.”
I stand stock-still as I listen to him walk away. I have to strain to hear the quiet beep of him letting himself out of the house. Another beep tells me he’s re-armed the security system.
Naked.
Gavin wants me waiting for him naked.
I reach behind my back and tug on my zipper. My fingers slip the first time, but I take a deep breath and roll my shoulders. I shudder as the zipper slides open, freeing me from the snug satin and lace dress. I’m not wearing a bra, and my slight breasts feel impossibly sensitive at the brush of air.
I carefully drape the dress over an armchair in the corner. My underwear needs to come off, too. Leave my shoes on? He didn’t specify. But I feel like a fake porno character trying to tug my panties off over my heels, so I kick them off.
And once they’re off, once I’m fully naked, I realize I’m not putting them back on.
He wanted me naked. This is me. Small and slight, nervous and unsure. Ready and completely turned on, too.
Desire slicks between my thighs. No way can I sit on an antique. I look around the room. I could stand beside the chair, one hand casually draped over it. Or against the mirror. Just in the middle of the room, covering myself like Botticelli’s Venus?
“Do you want to please me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Heat pounds through my body as I glance to the floor. Maybe I should…
I halfway sink to my knees, then right myself again. Oh, God. I’m shaking now. I should have asked him for more specific instruction, clearly.
Worst sub ever.
So much for my research.
But kneeling does seem to be standard. At least on Tumblr.
I swallow and sink all the way to my knees, spreading my legs a bit as I get comfortable.
I twist my hair loosely so it curls together down my back and lift my chin. Yes, I’m nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.
But as a faint beep tells me Gavin’s arrived, all my fears are driven away by the sheer rush of anticipation that swirls through me.
I’m his.
17
Gavin
She’s exactly as Lachlan said he’d left her. Except naked.
The sight of her is like kerosene being dumped on the fire we've been stoking all week.
I undo the buttons on my jacket and shrug out of it, leaving it on the chair near the door. I flex my biceps and roll my shoulders as I look at her, while I try to figure the right way to do this.
She’s kneeling in some kind of pose I can only imagine came straight from the internet. Her legs are spread and her hands are clasped at the small of her back, forcing her perky breasts to stand out. My mouth waters in anticipation.
I loosen my tie and undo my top button as I approach her. She doesn’t move a muscle.
“You’re a good girl, Sprite.” I reach down and gently stroke her hair. “But that’s not where you belong. Give me your hand.”
She wobbles a little as I help her up from the floor, so I wrap my arms around her until she’s steady, then tuck my knuckle under her chin and lift her face to look at me.
"We haven't had a chance to talk yet," I say as I rub my thumb against her lower lip. She holds still, and her natural obedience thrills me. "So we're going to do that now."
She blinks slowly, a delicate frown tugging her eyebrows together. "Talk?"
I press my thumb a little harder, keeping her lips parted after her question. My first instinct is to slide in further and make her suck on it. Show her what her being on her knees makes me lust for. Her mouth. My cock.
But there's time for that later, and I owe my sprite a kiss.
&nb
sp; Curving my hand around to the back of her neck, I hold her in place as I force myself to stay in control. Just a kiss.
"It's been too long," I mutter as I curl over her, brushing our faces together. My nose against her nose, my forehead against hers. My lips just ghosting hers, savouring the feel of her breath against my mouth.
"A week."
"Too. Long."
"Gavin…"
And that's what does it. That's what breaks me. My name on her lips. The rest turns me on, but maybe I needed to know that she really wants me. Just Gavin. With all my limitations and dirty kinks.
I crush my mouth against hers. She reaches for my face and I catch her wrists.
One thing at a time.
I tug her hands behind her back and circle both of her wrists in a fist.
My other fingers itch to explore her body and discover where the edge of her pleasure is, but for now I satisfy myself by gathering her hair in a loose ponytail and holding her still as I love her mouth.
Slowly. Sweetly.
Sometimes that's my favourite kind of cruel.
But we must talk. With a tortured grunt, I release her and lead her to a big comfy armchair, where I sit before pulling her into my lap. She burrows her head in the crook of my neck and I wrap one arm around her while I stroke her hair with my other hand.
“Ellie, I should have been more open about who I am with you. I appreciate all the research you’ve put into figuring out what makes me tick. And I have to tell you, the whole Secretary thing? Blew. My. Fucking. Mind. But I’ll let you in on a secret. When it comes to BDSM, I’m really not all that complicated.”
She whimpers and tries to bury her face in my chest.
"None of that," I say roughly. "It worked to get my attention."
“I feel ridiculous. Embarrassed.”
“You’ve done nothing ridiculous. You tried to please me. You did please me in an unexpected way. It’s my fault for not anticipating your pro-active enthusiasm and giving you some direction. My only excuse, and it’s a shitty one, is denial. I was in denial about how I feel, I was in denial about what you could handle. Truth is, I was a coward. I was too scared to open myself up for rejection.”
“And now?”
Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1) Page 10