Her Bodyguard Read online

  green-juice-guzzling, chirpy cheerleader type?

  I would definitely have to go celibate.

  In my closet, I reach into my drawer and pull out a lacy pink thong, singing to myself as I slip it over my hips – and realize there's something wrong with it as soon as the cool air hits my pussy.

  That's weird.

  I don't own any crotchless panties.

  Yet that's exactly what these are. I reach into my underwear drawer and pull out another pair and it's the same – a long slice right up the middle of the fabric.

  A giggle starts to build up in my chest, and I rummage through every pair of underwear in my drawer.

  That asshole cut up every single pair of panties I own.

  Well, two can play this game.

  I dress, purposely choosing the short plaid pleated skirt that seemed to make Max crazy before. I pair it with a white oxford shirt, unbuttoning it down my breasts and tying it above my waist. Then I pleat my hair in two braids.

  It's very Britney Spears, circa late nineties.

  When I leave my room, one of the non-Max bodyguards gives me a bored look from his post at the end of the hallway. "Your Highness," he says, his voice clipped. "I've been instructed by the future queen to tell you that you and the future princess Isabella are to meet the future queen to be fitted for your dresses for the wedding."

  I groan loudly, then sigh exaggeratedly and let my shoulders slump. "You really know how to ruin a girl's day, James," I say reflexively, pausing as soon as the word comes out of my mouth. James doesn't feel as appropriate a name for my bodyguards now that I've been calling Max that for so long. It somehow feels reserved for him. "What's your name, anyway?"

  "I'm sorry – my name, Your Highness?"

  "Yeah, you know, that thing people call you? What is it?"

  "Bradley, Your Highness."

  "Well, Bradley," I say, grabbing the agenda from him and looking at the location. "You're ruining my good mood. Did I tell you that already?"

  "I apologize, Your Highness."

  I let out a long exhale, ignoring the very small impulse inside of me to go run back to my room and drink copious amounts of booze to get through the horror of a dress fitting for my father's wedding to the Ice Queen. "Let's just go get this over with."

  When I arrive, I see that ne of the sitting rooms has been converted into a dressing room with three separate dressing areas sectioned off by large wooden privacy screens. Two dressing areas flank each side of the room, semi-circles of ornate screens that go all the way up to the walls, and then there's a large circle of screens in the middle that has a huge array of full-length mirrors and a platform nearby.

  Inside the room, a team of at least ten people bustle around busily, carrying fabrics and pins and tape measures, all with serious expressions like they're surgeons in the middle of a life-threatening operation. Someone in a tuxedo carries flutes of champagne on a tray, and a freaking pianist plays music on the grand piano in the corner.

  It's completely ridiculous.

  Belle walks up behind me. "This is crazy," she whispers. "I'm glad you're being forced to do it with me."

  "Your mother sure knows how to make something out of nothing," I add. "Why couldn't we just try on the dresses in our rooms like normal people?"

  Belle rolls her eyes. "Because my mother will want to control every part of this event." She giggles. "There's a piano player. Can you believe it?"

  The Ice Queen is already inside the room and when she looks up to see us, she waves us away, pointing to the next door. "Go around to the next rooms and through the doors to get inside your dressing areas," she orders. "They've already been set up for you and the dresses are inside. I'll send in staff to help you."

  "Um, no," I protest. "I'm pretty sure I can try on a dress myself without assistance from anyone else, thank you very much."

  "Ditto for me, Mom," Belle says. She leans over and whispers, "Solidarity."

  "Fine, fine," Sofia says dismissively, waving us off – and then glaring when we're still standing there. "On your way."

  Belle gives me a look and rolls her eyes before heading toward the other room. I do the same, but when I open the door to the newly-created fitting area, it's not empty. There's a table inside with my accessories laid out neatly on it.

  And Max.

  Max is standing there beside the dress form where my dress hangs, a floor-length lavender silk number that's prim and proper and shows zero cleavage.

  He puts a finger to his lips, as if I would announce to everyone that he was standing here. Even if he was talking out loud, I'm not sure anyone would hear him over the piano player and Sofia's tipsy directions to the people dressing her.

  Even so, he shouldn't be here. There are a million people bustling around a few feet away from us. Not just people – my new stepfamily.

  And staff.

  And a pianist.

  And this room isn't even a room; it's a screened-in area, easily accessible if someone wanted to barge in here.

  "What do you think you're doing?" I hiss.

  Max smiles and steps close to me, taking one of my braids in his hands and sliding his fingers down it. "I like the braids," he whispers. "I assume you found my gift?"

  I snort, immediately covering my mouth with my hand. "Is that what you call cutting up all of my panties?" I whisper. "A gift?"

  "Well, it's a gift for me," he murmurs. "Are you wearing them? Spread your legs and show me."

  "Not here," I protest. "Everyone is right outside."

  "I'm aware of that fact," he says softly, his lips near my ear. "And I still want you to spread your legs for me."

  He knows I can't resist him. Heat floods my body as I do exactly what he requests. When I spread my legs, his fingers go immediately underneath my skirt and straight to my pussy. He lets out a low rumble near my ear. "You wore them," he observes. "Such a bad girl, wearing panties with a hole in them made for my cock."

  "Unfortunately, all of my panties have holes in them now."

  "Mmm." He reaches behind my back to my skirt, unzipping it, and it falls to the floor around my feet. "It's funny how that works. I guess that means I'll always be able to get what I need."

  What he needs.

  No one's ever needed me before.

  He palms my ass cheeks, murmuring approvingly in my ear before untying my shirt and sliding it over my arms.

  "What do you think you're doing, exactly?" I whisper.

  "I'm going to help you get dressed, since people are waiting for you."

  As if on cue, Sofia calls loudly, "I hope you girls will let us know if you need any help!"

  "I'm fine," I yell.

  I'm almost disappointed when Max pulls the dress off the form and slips it over my head, pulling down the puffy layers of skirt around my hips before I can protest. "I thought you were helping me undress," I whisper. I slide my palm down the front of his pants where he's very, very hard. "You were obviously enjoying helping me take my clothes off, so why are you helping me put them on?"

  "If you keep doing that with your hand, you won't have to worry about what you're dressed like, because I'll make you suck my cock right here in the middle of the fitting," he warns. "With everyone out there listening."

  I bite my lip at the thought, the idea so filthy I can hardly stand it.

  Max can read my expression immediately, and he grins. "Oh, you love that idea, don't you?"

  "You should get out of here," I tell him. "I have to show them this dress."

  "Or, I should bend you over and fuck you right here in your bridesmaid's dress."

  My heart races. That's the dirtiest thing I've ever heard – and it makes me wet.

  Max's hands go to his pants, and before I know it, they're down around his thighs and he's stroking his cock right here in front of me. Right here, in the middle of everything. He gives me a look that says he means business now. "I'm going to bend you over and fuck you right here behind these screens and you're going to come on