Page 141 of Pervade London
James sat close to me, his arm pressing into mine and my left hip crushed against his so that I felt his body heat through that sharp suit. The sensations were almost too much for me to handle…these electric pulses of excitement from our intimacy. His subtle cologne filled my senses with a potent mixture ofhim.
I tried to distract myself by looking down at the grand sight below. The chamber was easily recognizable from when I’d watched Charles Wildwood, the Prime Minster, debate members of the opposition. This was where chaotic shouting occurred during the speeches, a cause for anger, bravery and much swagger from men and women born of privilege, and others who’d clawed their way up to the highest ranks of politics, all fighting over policy, change, and ideology.
I’d not really watched them debate on TV for any length of time, to be honest. I often found myself changing the channel because of the disruption from politicians shouting at each other over their podiums. Or worse still, the terrible jeers from the members of the opposition.
My pulse spiked when I saw him.
Tall and lean and handsome in that academic way, his coattails flapped behind him as though he’d just stepped out of that preppy university in Oxford that he’d once attended. I was looking attheCharles Wildwood, the Prime Minister himself.
He glanced furtively around at the few people in attendance, his gaze flitting to James but not showing recognition, which I found strange. After all, we’d been in his office. I’d sat at the Prime Minister’s desk as James had told me that he owned this man.
That grand PM stood about ten feet away from the podium, checking his phone. Glancing over at Ballad, I was surprised his ego hadn’t been bruised that he’d not received a wave from the Prime Minister.
With a loud bang the doors were closed by a young man wearing round glasses, looking preppy in his duffle coat. He approached the Prime Minster.
My breath hitched when I saw it—a folder that looked startlingly like the two I’d carried and then left behind on the coffee table. Even from my vantage point, I could see where I’d worried the corner with fretful fingers.
“James,” I got his attention.
His hand came down on my thigh. “Shush.”
“It’s your folder.”
The warmth of his palm soaked into my skin and I was calmed a little by this, and by his seeming serenity. I had to wonder if our pause for tea had been planned all along.
The young man handed the Prime Minister the folder. It was carried off by the PM with an air of assuredness as he stepped up to the podium.
“This is all very impressive,” I muttered.
“I’m giving you a code name.” James lowered his sights on me. “In public, I’ll address you as Ms. Kingston.”
“Why?”
“It’s what we do.”
“Can’t I choose the name?”
“Hush, now.” His palm slid to my inner thigh.
His touch ignited a flame inside me. My skin quickened beneath his caress, legs opening farther so he could slide his palm higher. The pleasurable sensations caused my nipples to bead.
“These things can be tedious,” he whispered.
I bit my lip suggestively. “Don’t want you to get bored.”
“I’m afraid it’s unavoidable.”
Shielded by the seat in front of me, I hoisted my skirt to show James I wasn’t wearing any panties. “I want to please you.”
My body shuddered as he cupped my bare pussy. “Well done, Ms. Kingston.”
“Do it again…what you did back at the house.”
He rested his palm against me, still and firm.
“Will Xavier mind?” I whispered.
“I’ll let him punish you,” replied James, turning his focus back on the Prime Minister.
