Her Bodyguard Read online

  Those goddamned pouty lips.

  That fucking dress.

  Her haughty, royal-pain-in-the-ass attitude.

  I have to ball my free hand into a fist to keep from reaching up and grabbing that ponytail, high on the back of her head, and using it like a leash to drag her out of the nightclub right now. "You're leaving."

  "I don't need a fucking babysitter," she huffs.

  "No. What you need is a daddy."

  Where the hell did that come from?

  Her eyes go wide. "And you think that's you, because you slapped my ass a couple of times?"

  "You're goddamned right I do, princess," I tell her, my lips close to her ear. "Your ass is mine. Your mouth is mine. Your pussy is mine. I'm done playing. I'm going to claim what's mine. So if you don't turn your naked little ass around and walk out that door and get into that car, I'm going to pull your skirt up and fuck you right here, right now, against this wall with every single person in this club – hell, with every single person in the fucking world, once the videos everyone takes go viral – watching."

  She sucks in a breath so sharp I swear I can hear it over the noise of the nightclub. Then she gives me a long look, as if she's contemplating what exactly she wants to do.

  Part of me expects her to tell me to go right ahead and do it, to fuck her here in the middle of everything.

  But she doesn't.

  She turns around and walks straight out of the club and slips into the waiting car.

  30

  Alexandra

  I think my heart is going to pound right out of my chest. Blood rushes in my ears and my pulse throbs in my head. That throbbing isn't nearly as urgent as the throbbing between my legs, though.

  Max's words echo in my head over and over as the driver heads away from the nightclub. Only a few minutes later, the car stops.

  We're not at the summer house. We've pulled just inside the palace gates and stopped at the end of the drive near the wall.

  When the car door opens, Max is standing there with his hand on it, glowering at me. "Let's go," he orders. "The driver will take the car up to the palace."

  I don't ask why he's stopped, even though the fact that he orders me out of the car here causes my breath to catch in my throat. "We're not being followed by the rest of the security goons?"

  "No. You're safely inside the palace walls, and you wanted to take a walk." But the way he says it isn't a suggestion or even an explanation; it's a crystal clear directive.

  I could easily tell him no. I could shut the car door and tell the driver to return me to the summer house.

  I could protect my heart, which I fear is in very real danger of actually feeling something for this infuriating man who thinks he can tell me what to do.

  That's exactly what I should do, if I knew what was good for me.

  But then Max places his hands above the car door and gives me a look that says he means business. "I wasn't joking when I said I was done playing, Alexandra."

  Not princess. Just Alexandra.

  I have to squeeze my thighs together in response to the heat that surges through me. Leaving my coat, I slide across the seat and out of the car. Max taps the side of the car with his hand and the driver speeds away.

  Outside in the cooling summer evening, I shiver. The air goes straight through the sheer fabric of my dress, my nipples immediately hardening. Max definitely notices that part, his expression darkening. "I'd offer you my jacket, but I'd rather see those pretty little nipples in that dress."

  I cough out a laugh. "That's very gentlemanly of you."

  "I have zero fucking intention of being a gentleman with you," he says, his voice thick.

  "Oh? What is your intention, then?" My heart is already racing because I know full and well what his intent is. I just want to hear him say it again.

  "I already told you, Alexandra." He steps close to me, his hand going straight for my ponytail and yanking back, forcing my face to turn up to his. Max's lips are close, but he doesn't press them to mine the way I want him to. "I'm claiming you."

  "You think you can claim me? You think that I could be anyone's?" I ask. I can hardly breathe, not with the way he's looking at me right now – angry and lustful at once, like he wants to devour me.

  "You're mine," he growls. "If I have to handcuff you to the damned bed, I'll do it. I'm tired of arguing with you."

  "You're a lunatic," I whisper. But, heaven help me, I'm soaked at the thought of being cuffed to the bed underneath him.

  "And you're a brat," he counters, his lips near mine.

  "You're controlling." I want him to kiss me, but I don't ask him to because I'll never ask him. He wants me to beg him, but I'll never beg.

  "And you're spoiled." He doesn't kiss me. He yanks my ponytail, turning me around so I'm in front of him, his hardness pressed up against my ass. Arousal surges through me as his other hand moves up the side of my hips, and I have to bite my lip to muffle the sound that immediately escapes.

  Then he pauses, his hand still gripping my hair.

  He's not stopping, is he? I don't want him to call this off, not when every part of me is desperately wanting him, right? "Bossy asshole," I whisper to spur him onward.

  It works. He pulls me, leading me by the hair a few steps forward through the grass, toward a group of trees that border the palace wall. I stumble once in my heels, but he grips my hair tighter, keeping me upright even as a shock of pain surprises me.

  I think I might like the pain.

  Near the wall, I lose my shoe and I'm barefoot in the grass, but I don't care. He doesn't seem to notice, backing me up until my back is pressed against the wall. My breath comes short as he looks at me, his eyelids heavy with lust, still tightly gripping my hair.

  "Rotten brat," he whispers, running his palm over my breast, covered only by a sheer layer of fabric and tiny sequins. He teases my nipple to a peak, his fingers pinching and squeezing until the pulsing between my legs is insistent.

  "Overbearing, rule-following, boring bodyguard."

  "Boring?" He pinches my nipple extra hard, chuckling under his breath as he does it. It sends a sudden shock of pain through me, but instead of whimpering or whining, it makes me moan. "You're calling me boring, sweetheart?"

  "The boringest," I whisper.

  He takes my mouth in a fury, his tongue colliding with mine. The kiss is anything but boring, sending a thrill of arousal rushing through my entire body all the way down to my toes. He kisses me and kisses me until I'm dizzy and breathless, my head spinning. When he finally pulls his mouth from mine, I take in a loud gulp of air, the gasp audible.

  "Still boring?" he asks.

  My heart pounding hard, I answer. "Really, really boring."

  A slow smile spreads over his face. Then he reaches down to the edge of my dress, takes it in his hands, and tears it.

  He tears my damn dress.

  Sequins fly in every direction as he rips my dress in half, right up the middle, until he reaches the top of my stomach. He tears my clothes like an animal, with no regard for the fact that we're right out here in public, in the middle of the palace grounds.

  "Is that boring enough for you?" he whispers.

  "I'm not entirely sure," I tell him. "I guess it all depends on what you do next."

  Max's palm goes to my inner thigh, and he slides his hand up further until it reaches its destination between my legs. When his fingers press against my clit, I think I stop breathing. He rolls over and over my clit until I'm hanging on every move he makes. Then he whispers into my ear as he finds my entrance with his fingers. "What I do all depends on what the hell you call me right now, Alexandra."

  He thrusts two fingers inside me without any hesitation, filling me up. I let out a long moan, the sound louder than I expect, as my hands go to his chest, yanking at his shirt to pull him closer to me. I want his mouth on mine again, but he doesn't kiss me. With one hand, he grabs my wrists and yanks them above my head, pinning them underneath his hand and