Her Bodyguard Read online

  The thoughts flood my head, swimming around and momentarily distracting me from Albie's touch.

  Albie seems to sense the internal shift in me, and he pulls away to look at me, his fingers continuing to dance inside me, his movements sending pulse after pulse of pleasure through my body.

  "No words anymore, Belle?" he asks, his voice low. Guttural.

  "Words," I say stupidly. What were we talking about, before he slid his fingers inside me?

  Albie chuckles. "I like the speechless version of you," he says, his eyes trained on mine as he reaches underneath my t-shirt and cups my breast, the warmth of his hand enveloping me. He doesn't take off my bra, doesn't slide his hand under the fabric the way I desperately want him to do.

  My skin aches to feel his skin against mine, and I hate myself for wanting him the way that I want him right now. I curse my body for its obviously appalling taste in men.

  "Not…speechless," I say, the words coming out in gasps, despite my attempt to produce a coherent sentence. Albie makes a 'come hither' gesture with his fingers, applying more pressure to the perfect place inside me, and I clutch his muscular biceps tightly, my fingers digging into his skin as increasingly powerful sensations wash over me.

  "You're so fucking wet for me," he says, squeezing my breast just a little too hard, sending a twinge of pain through my body that somehow has the effect of heightening the pleasure.

  Is this what I like – pleasure mixed with pain? Fucking someone I'm not sure I even remotely like?

  "There's going to be no fucking." I blurt out the words again, my voice breathy. I'm not sure if I'm trying to reassure him or myself.

  I can't think clearly. I'm so close, so on the edge. All I know is that I want to crash over. I want him to send me over the edge.

  But he just smiles.

  He slides his fingers slowly – excruciatingly slowly – from my wet pussy, and I think I hear myself whine, but that can't be true, because I don't whine. I definitely don't whimper, brought to the brink of orgasm by a man and then denied. He presses his fingers against my clit, but doesn't move. He just pauses there, his fingers pushed against me, the heat from him radiating into me.

  I hear myself begin to whimper again and I bite my lip to stop. I won't do it.

  "I already told you, Belle," he says, squeezing my breast. His thumb grazes the skin above the fabric of my bra, and I can’t help myself. I arch my back, pressing against him. His fingers are so close to just slipping inside the cup of my bra that covers my nipple.

  “Told me what?” I ask, my voice breathless. I tell myself to ignore the throbbing between my legs. I tell myself that I should take this momentary pause as an opportunity to shut down what's happening between us.

  But my body seems to have a mind of its own when it comes to Albie.

  “I told you,” he whispers, bringing his lips close to my ear. I close my eyes lightly, savoring every sensation as his warm breath caresses my ear and my neck. He strokes me with the tip of his finger, gentle now, a feather-like touch. “I’m going to fuck you. That wasn’t an idle promise, Belle. You’re going to beg me to fuck you, luv.”

  “I…don’t…beg.” I somehow manage to whisper the words, barely able to form a coherent sentence with Albie’s breath against my skin, teasing, promising more. My body feels on edge, every nerve ending more sensitive than they’ve ever been, brought to the precipice by him.

  But hell, I have my dignity.

  Even if I’m standing in a back alley with my jeans pulled down over my hips while a man with a fake seventies pornstache has his hand inside my panties.

  “I’ll remember you said that,” he says, slipping his hand out from between my legs. I look at him with a mixture of confusion and disbelief as he takes away his fingers – his glorious, magical fingers – from where they were a second ago, pressed against my clit.

  “Wha –“ I start, my words trailing off as I watch him bring his fingers to his mouth. He makes a show of slowly licking them, his eyes closing as he makes a satisfied sound.

  “All you have to do is ask, luv,” he says, his voice low. The corners of his mouth turn up, a smile that has to be the smuggest, most arrogant expression I’ve ever seen on anyone’s face. Or maybe it’s just compounded by the fact that I’m the most sexually frustrated I’ve ever been in my life.

  “You’re such a…jerk,” I say, unable to think of a word more clever than that. I’m pretty sure that all of my brain cells have evaporated, or have been turned to mush because of this man.

  I yank my jeans back up, fumbling with the button, my hands shaky and my heart pounding wildly in my chest as adrenaline pumps through my veins. Smoothing my hair, as if by that simple gesture I can calm my rebellious body, I look at him through narrowed eyes.

  And the pompous ass just grins. He’s thoroughly pleased with himself. The fact that he’s so damn smug, as if he’s planned this the whole time, sends a surge of irritation through me.

  “Just remember that,” he says, bringing his fingers to his lips again. “I’m going to fuck you, Isabella Kensington. That’s a foregone conclusion. And I’m going to lick that sweet pussy of yours until you’re begging for release. And when I give you permission, when I say you can come, you’re going to come on my tongue.”

  My face flushes red. I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks, the throbbing between my legs so insistent now that I swear I consider saying “please.” I actually consider asking him to finish what he started, to plunge his fingers back inside me and make me come. But I don’t. I’ll never beg. “Permission?” I ask, choking out the word. “I don’t know what kind of women you’ve been with in the past, but you’re not giving me –“

  He cuts me off, putting his fingers – the fingers that were just inside me – on my lips to silence me. “Shhh,” he says. “I’m not finished. You should let me finish, Belle.”

  I push his hand away. “I’m not listening to –“

  Before I can react, his hands are on my wrists, pushing me against the wall, and my heart races. I’m not sure whether I’m frustrated, angry, or aroused. All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about him inside me. And, despite the rational part of my mind that screams ‘walk away,’ every part of my body is crying out for his touch. I want to know what he wants to do with me.

  I want him inside me.

  “You’re going to come on my cock, Belle,” he says. “I’m going to own you in every way possible. And you’re going to beg to be mine.”

  A secret thrill rushes through me at his words, and I hate myself for it. I steel my jaw, wrenching my wrists from his grasp. “Never,” I say. “And you’re delusional for thinking that.”

  And yet, in spite of myself, I’m already wondering what he means by saying he wants to own me “in every way possible.”

  He chuckles, and the self-satisfied sound makes me want to slap him across the face. But I don’t. Instead, I mentally congratulate myself on my incredible self-restraint.

  Then he steps away, turning around and walking toward the end of the alley, ambling like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Come on, luv,” he says. “Noah’s bound to be sending a search party out for us. I wouldn’t want you to get caught with your pants down.”

  68

  Albie

  Belle is ignoring me, sitting in the helicopter with her headset on, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s practically pouting.

  I hate pouting. Hate it more than anything in the world. I hate whining and sighing, the passive-aggressive crap I get from women when I don’t want to see them again. Which is, obviously, every time.

  I should hate the way Belle sits there, silent, acting as if I don’t exist.

  I should hate the way her lower lip protrudes slightly, displaying her displeasure.

  I should hate the way she was excessively friendly the rest of the afternoon, formal to the point of ridiculous, all “Prince Albert this” and “Prince Albert that.”

  The problem is, I don’t ha