Page 3 of Number 10 Affair

She closed her eyes and continued to breathe, while I was losing my mind here.

“I’m really sorry … I didn’t mean to. This was a terrible misunderstanding. My roommate works for an exclusive club, and she must have—”

“Quiet! Just be quiet for a moment and let me think.” I paced. I was still painfully hard, and this whole situation had put me in a difficult position. Discretion was important—I couldn’t afford to lose my credibility and reputation. This woman could cost me my career because I had dangled my cock right in front of her mouth. Christ, what a fuck-up!

I turned to her. “So you’re telling me that you got a call earlier this evening? Someone asked you to get in the car. Why didn’t you question any of it?”

Chapter Two

Laura

I saw the Prime Minister’s cock. I saw the Prime Minister’s cock. I saw the Prime—

Did I just say that out loud?

Stop it, you idiot. It’s a misunderstanding. Pull yourself together!

Oh my God. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I felt paralysed, rooted to the floor, unable to speak or move. Each passing minute felt like an eternity. My throat was dry, and my knees shook as if I had been running for miles. My heart pounded, and I was sure he could hear it. God, I was such an idiot for thinking getting on my knees would help my chances of securing this job.

My phone had rung, and I’d answered it. The man had informed me that someone was interested in hiring me and I just had to go to that specific address on time. He’d hung up before I could ask questions, and that should have alerted me enough.

Damn, this man—no, Prime Minister Spencer Banks—was even more attractive in person than on the screen. Tall, jet-black hair, square jaw, perfect symmetry, great shape, and these incredible blue eyes that burned through my skin. He was every woman’s dream. Veronica would always call me over whenever he gave a press conference, commenting on his good looks.

“Well, the man on the phone told me it was urgent.” My voice quivered, and I fought back tears. His cock was huge and beautiful, possibly the most impressive I had ever seen in my twenty-seven years. I bit my lip, berating myself for such thoughts. Moisture pooled between my legs. I imagined how it would feel to have him in my mouth.

“Fuck,” he swore, his piercing gaze fixed on me. “Get up. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“There's nothing wrong with me, Mr Prime Minister.” I attempted to sound sarcastic but sounding desperate instead. This entire situation was so humiliating.

He strode forward, getting dangerously close. Dammit, why did he smell so good? His cologne was masculine. How old was this guy? I didn't know, but I would have to find out later.

“Do you kneel during every interview?” His muscles tensed.

A wave of heat coursed through my body. The azure hue of his eyes blazed even brighter.

“Why did you even do it?” he asked.

“No,” I replied and tried to contain my desperation, “but this is my fifth interview this week, and I can’t bear to mess it up. Can we start over?” I bit my bottom lip.

His gaze zeroed in on my lips, and the tension between us grew heavy. I felt an inexplicable attraction—deep and powerful—towards him. A man like him had no need for a nanny, so why was I even suggesting it?

The heat emanating from his body stirred something deep within me. How long had it been since I last had sex or experienced desire this intense? A very long time—years ago, since my heart was broken and I couldn’t find the willingness to start sleeping with other men.

“Start over? You want to be my escort for tonight?” he asked, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

I averted my gaze, since he was distracting me.

Being an escort was my roommate, Veronica’s, job. She played the role of a seductive mistress and occasionally slept with wealthy men. I could only ever be a nanny, like my ex claimed.

“No, I mean, I came here for the nanny position,” I repeated in a mumbling tone. Things had surely turned on their head. How could I tell him I was fantasising about him already, and he thought I was here to fuck him? How was that even possible? He was too attractive and powerful for me—the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom—while I usually settled for quiet guys, no matter how pathetic they were.

I took in his pecs, his defined jawline, and those intense blue eyes. My mind raced as I realised it was time for me to leave, so I headed to the door. There was no point in embarrassing myself further.

“Sorry, Miss Watkins, this just won’t work,” he said, firmly.

His irritation boiled my blood. I didn’t need his charity and certainly wasn’t planning to be his escort, even for one night.

“Fine,” I retorted, made eye contact, then turned around.

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