Her bodyguard, p.23
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       Her Bodyguard, p.23

           Sabrina Paige

  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.



  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
anchoring me in place against the palace wall.

  "What should I call you?" I ask. I'm lightheaded and he's stroking me inside, his fingers spreading me and his palm pressing against my clit. Every movement sends another wave of arousal through me and brings me higher.

  "Say it, Alexandra," he orders, his voice firm.

  "Fuck me, daddy," I whisper.

  I don't know why I say it. I mean it as a joke, a reference to what he said about my needing a daddy. The fact that he said that should royally piss me off.

  What it shouldn't do is turn me on.

  Yet it does.

  It turns him on, too. Max growls, his fingers plunging deeper inside me and finding their destination against the place that makes my toes curl. His mouth comes down on me again, his kiss positively bruising in its intensity. His tongue finds mine and I moan into his mouth, losing myself in him as he fucks me harder and deeper with his fingers. I desperately want it to be his cock inside me, stroking me like this until I'm completely undone.

  When he finally pulls his mouth away, he looks at me with an intensity that unravels me. "Say it," he demands angrily.

  "Daddy?" I murmur. "That's not what you wanted?"

  I know full and well what he wants me to say.

  "You know what I fucking want," he growls. He slides his fingers from between my legs, and my knees practically buckle. I'm that disappointed, that aching for him to be inside me.

  When he presses his fingers against my lips, coated in my wetness, I open up to take them into my mouth the way I would take his cock. I don't look away and I don't close my eyes. Instead, I watch the way he looks at me, tension evident in every changing expression on his face.

  "Say it, Alexandra. I'm done with the games. I told you that before."

  "If I recall correctly, you told me I needed a daddy," I whisper.

  "You do," he growls, letting go of my wrists. His hands go to his belt, and I bite down hard on my lip as I watch him loosen it, waiting to see exactly what he plans to do with that belt. But he doesn't bend me over and use it on me, and I'm not sure if I'm more relieved or disappointed by that. I can't be too disappointed, though, because he takes out his cock and strokes his length as he looks at me with intent in his eyes. "You're a spoiled brat who needs a daddy to spank her ass and put her on her knees."

  "Well, if you wanted me on my knees with my spoiled lips wrapped around your big hard cock, all you had to do was ask, daddy."

  I don't know why I keep calling him that, I can't quite bring myself to call him by his name.

  Max reaches for me, his touch rough and determined. Spinning me around, my palms go onto the wall as he pushes me up against it. He pulls the tattered remnants of my dress up over my bare ass and cups my ass cheeks, first one and then the other. Then he pulls his hand back and brings his palm down hard on me, the blow sending vibrations through my ass and pussy. Finally, he caresses my throbbing rear end. "You need to stop calling me that. You don't know what you're doing to me."

  I know exactly what I'm doing to him because he's doing the same to me. My breath is ragged, my pussy throbbing, soaked, and begging to be touched.

  Begging for his cock.

  "But I thought it's what you wanted me to call you," I whisper, still taunting him. I'm so close to the edge, so close to losing control, but I can't quite give in.

  "You know what I want you to call me," he says roughly as his hands spread my ass cheeks. "Push your ass out and show me that pussy."

  I whimper as I arch my back, the cool air hitting my wetness. I'm aware of his eyes on me, of the fact that I'm on display for him.

  "Fuck, look at that bare little pussy," he groans. "Soaked for me. Dripping wet because I smacked your ass. It makes you hot to be out here like this in front of the palace where we could get discovered by anyone, doesn't it?"

  I let out a breathy, "Yes," as his fingers tease me.

  "It makes you hot to call me that, doesn't it? To call me daddy."

  I whimper my response as he presses the head of his cock between my legs, guiding it along my slit. I push out my hips, trying desperately to give him clear entry to me, but he doesn't take it.

  "Yes," I admit, bracing my palms against the wall. I want to encourage him, but the word comes out more like I'm begging for it.

  Still, he pauses with his cock at my entrance, not moving. "Spread your legs farther apart," he orders gruffly.

  So help me, that's what I do. I spread my legs, with my back arched and my ass out and my hands against the wall.

  When the familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper sounds, my heart races. "You came prepared," I note. "That's a little presumptuous, don't you think?"

  He doesn't answer at first. He just positions himself behind me, his cock between my legs, and he guides the tip down my slit until he's touching my clit as he breathes words against my ear. "I've been carrying it with me for a while, princess. It was just a matter of time. Now, cut out the 'daddy' bullshit," he growls. "Say. My. Goddamn. Name."

  He grabs my ponytail for emphasis, punctuating each word with a tug on my hair.

  I pause, whimpering. Every part of my body begs for his hands on me, for his cock inside me. So I finally choke out the word, that word that has been standing between us for so long, the one I've purposely kept between us because it seemed too intimate to articulate.


  As soon as I speak the word, Max lets out a roar. Gripping my ponytail, he plunges his cock inside me without warning, one long thrust until he fills me all the way up to the hilt, his balls pressed against me.

  I hear a loud sound come from my mouth, something between a moan and a scream, and then I'm gasping for air, the sudden shock of him nearly overwhelming.

  He's huge and thick and he doesn't give me a second to catch my breath. He thrusts into me again, and I'm still gasping over and over, despite how wet and swollen and more than ready for him I am.

  "Say it again, sweetheart," he groans as he slaps my ass cheek.

  "Max," I moan. As he thrusts inside me, I moan the word over and over with each movement, barely catching my breath as he fucks me harder. It becomes a little mantra: "Max, Max, Max, Max, Max. Oh, God, Max."

  "Whose wet little pussy is this?" he growls into my ear.

  "Yours," I moan.

  "That's fucking right," he says, thrusting harder into me. The head of his cock pushes against my G-spot, sending me higher with every thrust. "Whose perfect, bare, slick little pussy is this?"

  I whimper. "Yours."

  "And whose tight little asshole is this?" he asks as his fingers find that button. When his thumb presses against it, I let out a low moan.

  "Yours, Max," I tell him, and I actually mean it. I've never said anything like this before, and I've definitely never thought of myself as being anyone's anything before.

  Yet I'm standing here, spread for him, bare for him, and agreeing to be his.

  "That's right." As he fucks me faster and deeper, his hand slides from my ponytail to the back of my neck, holding me firmly against the wall. My cheek presses against the brick, and the restraint only makes me hotter.

  I'm delirious and dizzy, driven completely insane by what he's doing to me right now. Every thrust, every grunt, and every moan brings me closer and closer to exploding at his touch.

  "Every part of you is mine," he declares. "You're not anyone else's. Do you understand?"

  But I don't understand anything right now. I can't think. I can only moan his name.

  "First, I'm going to finish fucking this tight little pussy, right out here in the open with you bent over like this," he tells
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