The first thing I notice when my senior team files into my office for our daily briefing at seven is Ellie Montague. This doesn't surprise me, because I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since yesterday. She looks tired and my imagination takes off in search of a likely explanation. Most of them involve her being kept up all night by a man. Narrowing down her type was proving problematic. She didn’t seem like she’d go for the muscle-bound studly type with more balls than brains, but I’ve been surprised more than a few times by what can get a woman wet and needy.

I watch her from the corner of my eye as Stew talks to my staff—his staff—about what's come up overnight, what our priorities are for the day, and a number of other things that he doesn't need me to listen to. Which is good, because I'm too busy cataloguing all the ways she fascinates me. What I notice most is Ellie’s fidgeting. She keeps catching herself, and I find it hard not to smirk.

She smooths the front of her skirt with her hand and leaves behind a long streak slightly darker than the khaki fabric. Her palms are sweaty. She’s nervous. I barely have time to wonder why when Stew invites her to speak.

Her head comes up at the sound of her name and our gazes lock for a moment, then she drops her clear grey eyes to the binder she’s holding in her shaking hands. I’m glad I’m sitting down because I’m pretty sure waving my raging hard-on around the room is not on the briefing agenda.

I watch her lips as they form the words I’m not really hearing because I’m busy imaging what they would feel like on my cock.

I should be paying more attention to what she’s saying, but I already know I’m going to agree with whatever plan she’s laying out.

She wouldn’t be speaking right now if Stew wasn’t already going to back her recommendations on how to keep these outrageously expensive rubber chicken dinners that are supposed to be party fundraisers from becoming opportunities for big business to buy some private time with the prime minister. Pay to play, they call it.

Confident this embarrassing little hiccup is already handled, I drift back into my fantasy. Something I shouldn’t be doing for so many reasons, not the least of which is she’s young enough to be my niece.

But I can’t help myself.

She’s on her back, draped over my desk with her head tipped back over one edge, her legs dangling over the other.

I unzip my trousers and free my long-suffering erection.

“Open,” I demand.

Her lips part and I trace them with the tip of my cock until they’re glossy with pre-come. I want to be rough, make her take me all the way down, but for some unknown reason, I hold myself back. Her tongue swirls around the head as I slide in.

The sight of my fluid smeared all over her lips makes me want to mark her other places. Her tits, her back, her ass.

As I slip farther into her hot, eager mouth, I take her hands, weaving our fingers together. I hold them against the surface of the desk and lean forward, stopping just above her mound of soft red curls. In my fantasy they're a bit darker than the strawberry blonde waves I've seen her twist her fingers into more than once.

She’s ethereal and bright. Impish and totally captivating. “Spread your legs, Sprite.”

I slide out and in with shallow strokes as I move my head lower so I can tickle at her clit with my tongue. She squirms and I stop.

“Don’t move.”

Curious to see how much she can take, I push my cock in until it barely touches the back of her throat. Her belly lurches a little, but she swallows against it. Her mouth is hot and wet and tight around me, and I want her to take even more but I won’t push her. Not the first time.

“Good girl,” I say. Because she is. I resume my shallow thrusts into her mouth and lower myself back down to feast on her pussy.

This time she stays perfectly still while I suck and lick at her clit. I catch that firm nub between my lips and tug gently. She struggles to keep still and I get a thrill from her obedience.

While I’m consumed with her delightful pussy, she’s working away on my cock. Even with the position of her head restricting her movement, she does an excellent job of giving me all the suction and friction I need to get me where I want to go. She’s gotta come first, but her mouth is unbelievable. Distracting.

Fuck, I want to rut against her and let myself go, but I can’t.

I concentrate harder on my goal. She starts to moan and—

Ellie’s lips stop moving and I’m yanked back to reality. Not that I was all that far away. I may have been having wildly inappropriate fantasies about my Chief of Staff’s far-too-young-for-me intern, but I was present enough to keep from making a complete fool of myself.

“Thank you for your presentation, Ellie. I’ll take it under advisement.” Stew gives me the look. The one that says I am going to have some explaining to do. And I am going to have to do some fast thinking, because I sure as shit won’t tell him the real reason my mind wasn’t where it should be.

“Okay everybody, I think that’s everything for today.” Stew gestures towards the door, but doesn’t exit with the rest of the group.

I watch as Ellie leaves. Damn that skirt looks good on her from the front, but it hugs her ass tight, and the rear view is spectacular.

The last person is barely out of the room before Stew shuts the door.

There are only two men in the entire world who know me for who I really am. Who would watch me in that briefing and see where my mind really went. One of them is safely on the other side of the country living his own life.

The other is standing in front of me, trying his damnedest to keep my life on track.

Stew shakes his head. “What the fuck got into you?”

I haven’t thought fast enough and I’m saved from having to give an excuse by his ire, because he's already worked up and intent on pointing out how much of an ass I just was.

“That girl was working all night because yesterday at lunch I told her to have that presentation ready for this morning’s briefing. The least you could have fucking done, you inconsiderate piece of shit, was listen to her proposal. Instead, you had your head up your ass thinking about God only knows what, and I don’t want to know.”

I wince. “Was I that obvious?”

“Only to me. You’ve got to come up with a new phrase when you mentally return to meetings because it won’t be long before others will figure out I’ll take it under advisement means my brain had more important matters than whatever twaddle you’re peddling.”

“Twaddle?”

“Gavin, it was her first briefing. She was nervous and you were unbelievably rude. And that’s not like you.”

“You’re right. I should apologise.”

“Nah, she was too nervous to notice you were being an asshat. I think you’ll do more damage than good by drawing attention to it.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re willing to blindly accept my recommendations when it comes to how we deal with this fundraiser business, but on something as trivial as this, you question my wisdom?”

“Fuck, Stew. How did I even get here? Two years ago I was happily spanking shitty employers for mistreating their workers and now I’m running the fucking country.”

“Not for much longer if you don’t keep your head in the game. What if that had been Question Period instead of your morning briefing?”

He’s right and I know it. “Point taken. Now, don’t you have work to do?”

Stew shoots me his middle finger and walks out the door.

I lean back in my chair and prop my feet on my desk, crossing them at the ankles. The same desk I’d just been—Fuck. I need to get laid. This dry spell is completely fucking with my judgement.

And I need to stop thinking about Ellie Montague's ass. Her mouth. How pink her pussy will be when she's wet and swollen for me.

Most of all, I need to stop finding her fidgeting so damn endearing.