“I’m having fun.”
“I bet you are.” I stretch my legs out in front of me, trying to ignore how distractingly wet my panties are. In public.
On a train. With no hope of stripping them off and demanding my husband finish what he started for…I glance at my watch. Another two hours.
Great.
Part of me wants the prime minister to have another idea that needs urgent input from his chief of staff. A phone call or an email would distract Stew from his current mission of touching me, lightly and not-so-lightly, innocently and not-so-innocently, all over and as much as he can.
He started as soon as we pulled away from Union Station and he realized that our seats were private enough that nobody could actually see us unless they walked past us. So he turned toward me and drifted his fingertips along my collarbone before brushing my hair out of the way. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered against the curve of my ear.
Hot, right?
So hot.
Too hot, really. Because he didn’t stop. By the time we stopped in Cobourg, I was warm and shifting in my seat. Belleville? I’d have agreed to whatever the train equivalent of the mile-high club is.
Now we’re nearing Kingston and I’m crawling out of my skin. It turns out, you can be too turned on. That’s a fun fact I wish I’d never learned.
“Go back to your book.”
“No.”
He laughs quietly. “Why not?”
“Because you keep reading over my shoulder and doing—” I lower my voice. “Whatever the hero does.”
“He’s got some great ideas.”
I’m reading a Regency historical romance. There’s a duke who is slowly seducing a governess. Stew latched on to the idea that I’m a governess of sorts, as a teacher, and he is, of course, the dashing duke.
He’s certainly playing the rake card to perfection.
I snap open my book and resume reading.
So does he, and his hand continues its leisurely crawl from my knee to…oh, God. I turn the page. This isn’t a scene that is going to end with a convenient mishap, ruining the duke’s chance to get a little something something.
Unlike the governess, though, I’m not wearing voluminous skirts that hide wandering fingers.
I toss the book onto the opposite seat. “That’s enough of that.”
“You should have worn a skirt…” He sighs. “Opportunity lost.”
“We can finish reading that scene together tonight when we go to bed.”
“Oh, we will.” He wraps his arm around me and tugs me close. “Now let me tell you a story I just thought up…”
We take a cab home from the train station. I haven’t called about the kids yet, because I’ve been distracted, but real life dictates that we collect them soon—and a big part of me is keen to hear how their weekend was.
Another part of me wants to tie my husband to our bed first and teach him just how bossy my inner governess can be.
After we pay the cabbie, I fire off a deliberately vague text to my sister.
Adrienne: How’s it going? Heading home.
Sandra: ETA? The boys just settled down with sandwiches and a movie.
I glance at my husband, unlocking the front door to our house. The right thing to do here would be to tell the truth.
I do the opposite. It still feels right.
Adrienne: Should be home in an hour or so. Do you want us to come pick them up?
Sandra: I can bring them over. Hour-and-a-half sound good?
It sounds perfect.
“Who was that?” Stew asks as I hurry up the walk.
“Kid update. We’ve got ninety minutes to finish what you started on the train.”
7
Stew
I know she thinks we need to rush, but as soon as Adrienne closes the front door, I take her bag from her hand and set it down. We’re going to do this right, and we’re going to do it slow.
“Now Miss Adrienne, whatever has you so worked up?”
She gives me an incredulous look. Incredulous, but aroused. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright. My dirty, delightful wife. “I am not an innocent governess and you are no rakish duke. Take off your clothes.”
I ignore her and press her back against the wall, looming over her. “I love your bossy temper.”
She reaches for my belt. “Fine, you can leave your clothes on.”
Ha. I catch her wrists and pull her hands up between our bodies. “Nice try.” I kiss her fingers. “An hour and a half, you say?”
She takes a deep, tormented breath and gives me a pleading look. “Yes.”
“Do you think I’m terribly cruel?” I move on to the knuckles, nipping at them as she glowers at me.
“Uh, yeah.”
I turn her wrist over so I can kiss the exposed, soft skin on the inside of her arm. “I can’t help it, you know. You’re too beautiful not to touch. To tease.”
“But now we’re alone,” she whispers, sliding her hand out of my grasp and winding her arms around my neck. I let her. I’d let her do anything she wanted.
Almost anything.
She doesn’t get to be in charge right now. I take her wrists and push them over her head, against the wall. “Exactly. We’re alone. And awake. No kids. In our home. You want to know why I couldn’t keep my hands off you on the train? Because I knew that for all the amazing sex we had this weekend, when I got you home, I’d get to make love to you. I thought it might be tonight, after you’d had to slide back into being mom, and I wanted you to hum all evening with the awareness of just how much I want you.”
Something bright flashes in her eyes. Excitement, maybe, but something else, too.
I lean down and drag my lips along her jaw. “We don’t need to escape from reality,” I say roughly as I breathe her in. “I want you just as much, here.”
She exhales quickly. Relief. That’s the something else I'd seen in her eyes, and can feel rolling off her body now as she presses against me. “Same.”
I hold her there, my reluctant prisoner, while I trace my fingers down her body and tease them under the hem of her shirt. She’s soft and delicious. I move my hand back up again, this time under the fabric, against her skin. I find her bra and cover the swell of her breast with my palm, not missing that her nipple is pulled tight already, a hard nub that must send jolts of awareness to her core as I rub against it.
More than twenty-five years we’ve been doing this, and I’ll never tire of that sex-glazed look in her eye, the way she goes soft and wanting when I work her up. Sure, I teased her on the train, but this is something else. This is foreplay with intent. So much intent.
I watch her melt for me. I imagine heat stoking inside her, turning her liquid from the inside out, and I amp up my touches. Firmer, brusquer. I pinch her nipple now, through the fabric of her bra, and she gasps.
Music to my ears.
I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing her desperate pleas for more. I kiss her until a primal need to take my wife—hard, fast, and so thoroughly she can’t walk for a while—is thudding in my veins.
Wrenching myself away from her, I grab her hips and pivot us both, pointing her toward the stairs. “Up you go.”
She scampers ahead of me and I follow, once again unable to keep my hands off her.
In our room, she moves to close the door behind us.
“Leave it open,” I tell her, and she gives me a wide-eyed, disbelieving look.
I don’t know why it matters, but it does.
She swallows hard, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t close the door, either.
“If they come home, the front door is locked. We’ll hear them better this way.” Lies. I like the element of danger way more than I’m being a sensible father right now.
Her eyes light up, knowing. She sees me to my core, my wife does. She licks her lips. “You’d like it if I had to suddenly be quiet, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d hate it,” I growl as I nudge her onto the bed. “Because it would
mean we’ve been interrupted, and I very much want to wring you out completely before the kids come home.”
I fall on top of her, being careful not to be too heavy as I fit us together. Still too many clothes in between. I peel her shirt up as she fumbles with my belt. We roll sideways in a tangle of limbs and clothes, until we’re both naked and I’m between her thighs, my cock jutting up against her belly as I kiss her again.
Never enough kisses.
Never enough time.
So much to pour into forty-five hours. Too much to say and words are definitely inadequate.
One last attempt to show her everything she means to me before this window of opportunity, this gift of time, closes.
She curls her legs around me as I work my way down her body, until my hands are full of her breasts and my face is buried in the sweet valley between them. I nuzzle her there, where her skin is sensitive and I know it’ll make her shiver. Then I lick my way over the field of delicious goosebumps on her skin, tasting every inch of her breasts before I reach her tight, ready nipple.
Ready for me to circle, to tease.
Ready for me to swallow, to pulse against my tongue as I suck on her flesh.
My wife.
She reaches between us, and I let her capture my erection with her clever, knowing fingers. She strokes me with a familiarity that makes my knees weak. Her thumb rolls over the sensitive head, flared and swollen and wet at the tip. I grow harder still. I’m so ready, but I want her on fire before I take her. I want her so hot that I can be rough, that she’ll need me to be that for her.
And in return, she can set me ablaze, too. Consume me with her heat and her beauty. I’ll thunder into her and she’ll wrap around me, taking every last inch.
I duck my head to her other breast, loving that nipple with my mouth, my tongue, my teeth, until she’s squirming beneath me, trying to bring us together.
I smooth my hand over her thigh, opening her wide for my touch. Her curls are slick, that’s how wet she is for me, and inside, she’s hot and soft and grippy as I give her first one, then two fingers.
“Now,” she breathes, and I’m not going to argue with that.
Even after a weekend of fucking, the first press feels like there’s no way I’ll fit inside her. I always do. She’s perfect for me. I just need to work for it. She throws her head back and groans in delight at the intrusion. The horny, happy sound only makes me thicker.
She wiggles beneath me, rolling her hips as we work together to get me deep inside her. Each pulse is wet and warm, like tongues against my cock. Like I’ve got a dozen Adriennes all worshipping my dick, and how do I keep control at an image like that?
I can’t. No way.
I hold her still as I piston my hips, rocking all the way into her. She cries out my name, then whispers, “Again, do it again.”
I push her hands above her head, our fingers linked. All of me presses against all of her as I thrust into her again. No chance of being careful now. I’m heavy and hard and demanding as I take her right to the edge, as I make her tremble and shake for me.
“Fuck.” That’s what I’m reduced to, single word, guttural curses.
But she’s right there with me in the sex-drunk haze. I feel her lips on my neck, then her tongue.
Blackness starts to crowd at the corners of my vision as I plow into her. Savage, desperate rutting. I can feel her tightening up, clutching at me inside and her limbs tensing too. As if she were actually climbing toward that figurative peak.
“Come for me,” I say roughly. The headboard slaps against the wall and we both reach for it, pushing it into the wall in a desperate attempt to not wake anyone up.
Oh, how conditioned we are.
But we’re alone.
We can make as much noise as we want. I reach between us and cup her breast, catching her nipple between my fingers.
“Oh, yes!” She grinds against me as I bury myself inside her, holding still because I’m so fucking close to exploding and that can’t happen until— “Jesus, yes. Stew. God. I’m coming!”
I thrust again, losing myself inside her pussy.
My. Fucking. Wife.
“Love you,” I say, my voice ragged as I brace my arms on either side of her.
She kisses me, her breath coming hard and fast. “Me, too. Okay. That was worth the wait.”
And we still have time to share a shower.
8
Stew
The return to work is a brutal, unforgiving return to reality.
Gavin has decided to stay in Vancouver all week, which pisses me off because work is piling up. We’re all working longer days since his work day out west doesn’t end until well after dark in Ottawa. Whenever he wants to get his head sorted out straight and get his ass back here, that will make me happy. Until then, I do the best I can.
Ellie is working like mad on a communications strategy around donors and fundraising. I like what she comes up with, and I tell her as much. She’s done a lot under harsh constraints, because I don’t want her to give any hint of Gavin’s new direction to the party activists planning his next event.
By Friday, Gavin signs off on the plan, too, and even better, he decides to come back to the capital.
Finally.
The relief I feel is so palpable, I’m sure he can sense it across the country.
I send the entire office an email ordering them to go home to their families, friends, roommates, cats, or house plants.
I don’t care where they go, I just don’t want anyone to stay late.
I know I’m not going to be at work after six. It might be the last chance any of us have for a few weeks to have a bit of a personal life, and my family—my wife especially—deserves me to seize that opportunity.
My entire day is oriented around getting out the door at quarter to six.
I manage to leave at five to the hour.
It’ll have to be good enough.
When I get home, the twins are skateboarding in the dead-end at the bottom of our street. I wave to them and head inside, where I find my oldest and my wife in a silent standoff of sorts in the kitchen.
I give Adrienne a look to ask, what’s going on?
She just shrugs.
I take a deep breath. “What’s for dinner?”
Adrienne points to the fridge. “Steaks are ready to go on the grill. I’ve got the potatoes almost ready, too. And a salad.”
“Your favourite,” Daniel says sullenly from behind his cell phone.
I sit on the bar stool next to him and nab the device from his hands.
“Hey!”
“Hey, what?” I keep my voice light.
“I was using that.”
“I could tell. Whatever you were doing, it can wait a minute. Look at me.”
It takes him a while, but his eyes finally flick up to meet my gaze. “What?”
He thinks he’s going to get in trouble, when really, it’s me that needs a talking to. “I’m sorry I’ve been missing a lot of dinners.”
He shrugs. “Whatever.”
“No. Not whatever. It’s not ideal. But it’s also not permanent, and I’d appreciate you not making your mom’s life that much harder just because I’m being an ass—”
“Okay, who wants to set the table?” Adrienne calls out, her voice unnecessarily loud.
Daniel cracks a smile and winks at me. “Don’t say ass in front of Mom, she doesn’t like it,” he whispers.
“Right,” I whisper back. “I forgot.”
He swivels off his stool and yanks open the cutlery drawer.
Adrienne waits until he’s grabbed forks for everyone and headed to the dining room before smiling at me. “Bonding through bad language?”
“Whatever works.” I get up and reach past her, opening the cupboard. I stop to give her a quick kiss. “Thanks for having faith in me.”
“Always.” She sighs. “Why is it so easy for you with him?”
“It’s not. That was just a brief reprieve. A
nd he pushes harder against you because he knows he can. Because he knows you’re our rock, and you’re not going anywhere.”
Her eyes soften as she leans into me. “You’re not going anywhere, either.”
“I need to do a better job of showing them that.” I kiss the top of her head. “Can I grill?”
“Please.”
“Give me five minutes to change out of my work stuff.”
She pats my ass. “Go put on those tight jeans from last weekend. Give me a thrill.”
“Mom!” From the doorway, Daniel covers his eyes as he howls about how gross it is that his parents touch each other.
An unforgiving return to reality, indeed.
I give Adrienne a light kiss on the lips. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
THE END
* * *
Interested in Gavin and Ellie’s story? A kinky Prime Minister, a vanilla intern, and a scandal that shouldn't feel so right or cost so much. Prime Minister is available now, and you can read the first five chapters now by turning the page! You can also find all the ebook links on our website:
www.friskybeavers.com
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~ Ainsley & Sadie
An excerpt from Prime Minister
Gavin:
Ellie Montague is smart, sensitive, and so gorgeous it hurts to look at her. She’s also an intern in my office. The office of the Prime Minister of Canada.*
That’s me. The PM.
She calls me that because when she calls me Sir I get hard and she gets flustered, and as long as she’s my intern, I can’t twist my hands in her strawberry-blonde hair and show her what else I’d like her to do with that pretty pink mouth.**
* * *
Ellie:
How much I like the PM varies on a daily basis. He’s intense, controlling, and a perfectionist in every way—and he demands the same of his staff.
Retrosexual (Frisky Beavers Book 0) Page 4