Madam Prime Minister

Wed, 10 Jun 2026 18:46:50 +0000

Second part of MR. CHIEF MINISTER

The doors of the Prime Minister’s private chamber burst open.
She turns sharply, “What are you…..” But the words choke in her throat.
He doesn’t speak. Not a single word.
In three furious strides he crosses the room, seizes her in his arms, and crushes her against his chest with a hunger that has been starving for long. His grip is iron, possessive, unyielding, trembling with everything he’s held back.
Her hands fist in his shirt, half pushing, half pulling, but her body betrays her, melting into his heat. “You shouldn't be here. What if someone sees you here?”
He didn't answer with words, he answered by lifting her effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pinned her hard against the nearest wall before she even could blink. The impact jars a gasp from her lips.
“I don't give a fuck.” he growls low, forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged and hot. “And I don’t want to hear about politics, the country, or any damn crisis. I only want to hear my wife.”
And his mouth claims hers in the next heartbeat, fierce, devouring, no gentleness left. It’s a kiss born of long separation, of buried promises and swallowed longing
And when his lips finally claim hers, the line between power and love blurs dangerously.
His tongue swept into her mouth without warning, claiming every inch like he was starving and she was the only thing that could satisfy him.
She kissed him back with equal ferocity, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails scraping through the fabric as if she could tear it off with sheer will.
No hesitation. No fear of consequences. Just raw, desperate hunger that had been locked away too long.
Her hips rocked against him instinctively, grinding down on the hard length pressing between her thighs.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest. He shifted his grip, one hand sliding under her saree, fingers finding bare skin and then higher, stroking the damp heat between her legs through thin fabric.
She moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by another bruising kiss.
A sharp knock echoed through the chamber and they both froze for half a second.
"Madam," came the crisp, professional voice of her personal assistant from the other side of the heavy door, "the Defence Minister is waiting for the meeting. He has been ready for the last five minutes."
Their lips parted with a wet sound. Breaths came in harsh pants. Eyes locked. His were dark, burning, daring her. Challenging her. Telling her without a single word that her next sentence would decide what kind of orgasm she would get…
or whether she would spend the rest of the day drowning in sexual frustration.
She swallowed hard. Tried to steady her breathing but failed.
"Ask him….," she called back, voice huskier than she intended. She cleared her throat once. ".... to wait ten minutes. I need... ten more minutes."
A brief pause outside. "Yes, Madam." The sound of retreating footsteps echoed.
The moment the footsteps faded, his mouth crashed back onto hers. Harder this time. Hungrier. Like her words had just snapped the last thread of his restraint.

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