BODYGUARD - Part One (The BODYGUARD Series, Book 1) (3 page)

I feel his hot breath on my face, and I squirm as his hand slides down my stomach.

Can he feel the butterflies inside?

The hand drops lower, and I shudder as it passes over my core, and then exhale as it starts to travel down the inside of my thigh. His lips brush my nipple, and I shiver with ecstasy. We are lying side by side on his bed.

I made up my mind this morning. I'd go ahead with the date and somehow manage to avoid the singing bit. I'd work it out as I went along, whatever it took. I had to have him, remembering that old saying, 'Feel the fear and do it anyway.' So I did.

When I arrived at the Karaoke bar, my knees were shaking, and I felt like an invalid. He was wonderful. First, he kissed me, and I tasted the sweetness of his lips, inhaled his masculine aroma, and I was lost, weak with desire. I'd almost have stood naked in Times Square and sung God Bless America if it would've sealed him to me. Almost. Our lips parted, and I sucked in air.

"Tiffany, it's good to see you. I wasn't sure if you'd stand me up."

He slid a hand around my left hip, and he's caressing me. It's oh, so gentle. I flash a smile. "I've been thinking of this ever since you called."

He delivers another kiss, and this time it's a quick peck. "How do you feel now? You weren't so good when I left you. Have those friends of yours been looking after you?"

I give him a brave smile. You know the kind of thing, 'I'm days away from certain death, but I'll keep going, just for you.' "Sure they have," I reply.

"You haven't recovered. I can see that in your face. Are you sure you're up to this, or would you like to have a quiet night in? My apartment is quite close, so we could go home and catch a movie on the cable channel. Or we could so something else."

We're doing something else. His lips move to the other nipple, and now his hand is exploring my body. The soft touch on my inner thighs is almost too much, and I know my body is arching toward him.

Come to me, Jamie, give me more. I want all of you. Now.

I reach for his shaft, and he gives a tiny groan as I put my fingers around him. It's hard, very hard, and when I touch the tip, his whole body stiffens. I stop. The shock is something else, as he parts my quim, and his fingers touch my clit.

Touch doesn't give it justice. It's a slow, gentle slide across my most sensitive spot that seems endless. My need is desperate. He must take me now before the agony of waiting is too much. He's having none of it. His fingers apply a tiny, miniscule pressure, and then he pulls them out. His tongue stops licking my nipple, and I feel desolate.

"What..."

He puts a finger on my lips. It is that finger. I can taste my sex, and it excites me. "Don't say a word. Lick me."

The foreplay isn't about to end. I can live with that. Even though my whole body is flushing as if I have a fever, a fever of rampant desire. I twist around and my face is staring at his rigid dick. The tip is bared, and tiny droplets of fluid have seeped out. I move my head lower and flick out my tongue. I touch him with the tiny tip. Less is more. He rewards me with a groan. A few more licks and I up the ante. I open my mouth and slide it over his tip, past the crown, and cover it. My tongue is working overtime, and boy, is he enjoying it.

I'm settled into a kind of stasis, the strange, half-world of foreplay, where sex is both more and less powerful, and I'm content. He is my sex slave. There's no way he can...oh, sweet lord, hot damn!

Something’s touching my core, and my tormented mind knows it’s his tongue. Probing, touching, and reaching places I didn't know existed. It stops, and I have to stop myself from crying out. Then he says, "I need you now."

I'm his, and between us, we shuffle our bodies around until we are face to face. His body is over mine, and he slips a condom on his member. With a quick movement of his slim hips and strong arms, he flicks me around. I am on top of him, and he's put me in the exact place where...oh...dear...god. He’s impaling me with his hot, hard shaft. As he slides into me, I'm lost. Lost to the gentle, but firm, rhythmic movements of his cock.

It's like a hot and cold spa treatment, except they're never like this. One moment he's inside me, touching the deepest part of me, and the next he's pulling back. Sloooow. Oh, so slow. I gasp as he plunges even deeper inside me, and it takes all my self-control not to...no, I don't have that much self-control. I come, squealing with unimaginable ecstasy, and in that moment I have become his slave.

He withdraws his iron hard shaft from inside me, and I goggle at the amount of pleasure this organ can give me. He eases me off him so once more I'm beside him, and he pulls off the condom. It's gleaming with his fluids. Like its been varnished with the very essence of love.

"Lick me again."

Down there, in my core, there is an ache for more, so much more. He knows this, I can tell, and is teasing me. I can take it. For this man, there're no limits. I bend my head, and my tongue darts out to taste those exquisite juices. They are part of him, and therefore I want them. I lick and I suck for what seems like forever. I cannot believe any man has this much staying power, and I am baying for release when he rolls on another condom, and this time he is on top.

We do not speak. I am fixated on this marvelous thing, this monstrous shaft that awes me with its power, and I take it in my hand. As he sighs with pleasure, I guide him into me. There is nothing gentle. His need is urgent, and mine is no less so. We fuck like we're about to never see each other again. If there is any lingering doubt inside me about my feelings for him, it vanishes like a swatch of fine silk on a light wind. I am chained to him. Locked to his body for all time.

When he comes, it is like wrestling a wild animal up a staircase. No, two wild animals, I am no less aroused. No less vigorous. We are glued together, perspiring with passion as we crest the very heights of frantic release. The moment goes on and on, a rollercoaster of desperate lust. I cling to him, wanting to taste his body, never to let him go. I want him to tell me so many things, like the next date.

He rolls off me and pulls me to him, so my head is held to his chest.

"Jamie," I murmur.

He whispers something in reply. I'm not sure what I heard. I don't think it was Tiffany. I decide to ask him.

It's hard to put the words together when you're coming down from the most exquisite sex you've known in your life. When he puts his hand...there it's downright impossible. My hips squirm, my stomach turns to mush, and everything starts to blur. My body is crying out for more, and that's not possible. Not after what we just did. But it is. I must be shameless.

I can see his mind is far away, but I quash my moment of annoyance. It's a two-way thing, and I've given myself to him. Given him what he wanted, and what he got was pretty damn good. I suck in a breath and reach out to touch him. My hand is on his stomach, and I'm thrilled when I feel the hard muscles. His skin is taut, a little damp, like warm plastic. How can any man have a body this good? How come he chose me?

Is life a matter of which taxi you climb into? Hail the wrong cab, and a gang of white slavers or a pervert abducts you. His hand is still there, but he's not stroking me, not like he's about to well, fuck me. He can, if he wants. His mouth nuzzles my neck, and the feel of his hot breath on my skin is unbearable.

I hear him murmur, "I don't want to miss anything."

Nor me. "Absolutely not."

More of his breath and the hand on my core presses down. It's so soft, so slight, a feather touch, a soft breath, but it has the power of a nuclear reactor.

"Want to do it again?"

"Mm, yeah, I do."

"I'll fix it up for tomorrow, if that's okay."

Tomorrow, more of this, I'm in heaven. "Oh, yes."

Yes, yes, yes!

"Tiff, someone told me you wanted to be a singer."

Who could that have been? Emily? I wish she hadn't. The deep rumble of his voice is hypnotic, and even though my urges shrink at the idea of discussing my abortive singing career, I'm willing him to keep going. After all, I mustn't upset his rhythm. Nor upset his rhythm stick. I can feel it touching the skin at the top of my leg. It's not beating time, not yet, but I can wait. Not too long.

"Nothing to tell," I say.

"Hm. I've got a proposition for you."

Is that what they call it these days?

"We don't know anything about each other. Who we are, that kind of thing."

I smile. I'm right here, so knock yourself out. Five feet three inches of hungry girl in my trainers, one hundred and ten pounds last time I checked. I reckon I've lost at least a pound of sweat. One hundred and nine pounds, yippee.

I turn my head to meet his eyes. "Okay, go ahead. You first."

"Me?" He sounds hesitant, and when he removes his hand, I feel about to cry, "I told you what I do. I'm a professional bodyguard, and you know about my other job."

Rescuing damsels in distress, yeah. I like that word 'damsel.' Makes me feel like a character in a movie. "Yeah, you drive a cab, I got that. What else?"

He puts both strong hands on my shoulders and eases me back a few inches, so we are facing each other. "I swapped ROTC for my college degree, and joined the..."

"Whoa. ROTC?"

"Reserve Officer Training Corps. It's a commitment to join the military after they've paid to put you through college."

I smile, thinking of this hunk in uniform. Sexy. Girls scattering themselves in front of him like flower petals before the arrival of the King. "So you're an officer."

"Was. I left, and I joined this company that hires out bodyguards to the rich and famous."

There's a gap in the narrative as wide as the Grand Canyon. "Why'd you leave, Jamie? The military. What was it, Army? Marines?"

"Navy. I was a SEAL." I'm impressed. No wonder he has a talent for overwhelming the enemy, and coming home with the reward. Me.

"I thought the Navy was a good career. Why did you leave?"

A shadow crosses his face, and I'm sorry I've touched on something raw.

"Long story, I won't bore you with it. What about Tiffany Durham?"

I shrug. "Nothing adventurous. I came to New York when I was a kid. My parents wanted me to...well, that's another story. I took the job in the gym, doing the juice bar. I've been experimenting with different juice cocktails, working out which benefits each one has. I thought I might start my own business one day. Sell them in markets, health food stores, that kind of thing. It's big business these days, although it helps to get noticed if you're a celeb."

"Wanted you to what?"

"I'm sorry?" I've lost the thread.

"What did your parents want you to do?"

I hesitate, and he grins, puts a strong, warm hand back down there, and strokes my core.

He's mean, this guy. Real mean. Is this a Navy SEALs interrogation technique? I'll join.

I was so aroused; I dropped straight into it. I told the truth.

"They wanted me to be a singer."

"Uh, uh. What sort, Broadway musicals, pop, crossover, what?"

"All the above. I took lessons and trained pretty much every day. There's no other way if you want to make it. It's a tough business. I guess I'd have liked to sing pop, maybe combine it with the odd Broadway show."

I tense. I revealed too much of me to this hunky man. He's like that. Addictive. I'd do anything to get more.

"Why didn't you?"

I feel cold. Cold, and yet I'm perspiring like crazy. "It didn't happen. Period."

There, that wraps it up. It's ended, over. Finito. Except I hear his deep rumble again.

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow night."

"Mm, what's tomorrow night? Something different?"

Men are like that. Maybe he wants me to dress up as a hooker. A skirt that struggles to cover my fanny, fishnets, high heels, the whole nine yards. Oh, yeah, the plunging neckline. The one where you almost have to glue your breasts in to stop them popping out. A saucy little hat, and he can pretend he's picked me up off the street. Wait, that's just what he did do. Picked me up off the street. But not like that.

"We're going out. I said I'd fix it up for tomorrow, and you agreed. We're going out to that bar, remember? Where we were going tonight." He drapes his hand around the back of my head and draws my lips toward his. We kiss, and despite my anxiety, we drink of each other's mouths.

"The Karaoke bar. You can choose a song and sing for me. Won't that be wonderful? Hey, Tiff, what's up? You’ve gone kind of weird on me."

My body has stiffened, and I feel like I'm going to pass out. My life is ended. It's that old dilemma again. If I go, I'm ruined. If I don't go, I'm ruined. Oh, Jamie, what do I do? I want you so much, and I don't want to lose you. He sounds worried.

"Tiffany, talk to me!"

I press my head against his hard, muscled chest and work to stop the tears. What am I to do? Why did he have to drag up the past? Then I remember he never answered my question about his past. I asked him why he left the Navy, and he replied, 'long story.' There's a mystery, and through my misery, I speculate on the reasons. There's something in his past he wants to remain hidden. Somewhere in the dark depths where it'll never see the light of day, and that thing about the cab driving? It doesn't fit with the bodyguard lifestyle, no way.