Her bodyguard, p.25
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       Her Bodyguard, p.25

           Sabrina Paige

  She lets out a little moan in response, but doesn't say anything else, not right away. Instead, she watches me with amusement as I secure her other wrist above her head. When I'm finished, she finally speaks. "Is this what you do?" she asks. "You punish girls for touching themselves by tying them to beds?"

  I kneel there, surveying my work. Her arms are tied above her head and she's right there, her lips so close to my cock, her mouth there for the taking. "Only you," I tell her.

  "Only me what?"

  "I don't tie up any other princesses," I say, sliding down her body so I can trace the curves of her breasts one at a time with my fingertip. She squirms at my touch, the restraints pulling tightly. Watching her tied up like that makes me hard as hell. "For that matter, I don't tie up any other girls at all. I've never tied anyone up before, and I've definitely never told anyone that her pussy belongs to me."

  She raises her eyebrows, her expression one of disbelief. "So you're telling me that I'm the only one you've ever acted like a complete and total Neanderthal with? Why do you think that is, exactly?"

  "Because you're mine." The words come out of my mouth, surprising me. But as soon as I say them, I realize that I mean them, more than I've meant anything before. "That's all there is to it."

  "I'm not anyone's, James," she whispers. "I told you that before."

  "So you keep saying." I slide down lower until I'm between her legs, my finger trailing along after me, down her abdomen and over the piercing in her belly button. "When did you get this?"

  Her breath catches as I trace my fingers over her hipbone and along her bikini line. "When I was sixteen," she replies, laughing when I make a face. "Since I was underage though, no one – well, not anyone reputable, anyway – would touch me, and everyone knew who I was. That's one of the perils of being royalty, by the way. So I had to have my friend do it with a needle. There was a lot of tequila involved."

  "And this?" My fingers make their way along a little half-inch scar on her hip.

  "Are we playing twenty questions now?" she teases. "Because I thought we were screwing."

  "We play whatever I want to play, since I have you tied up," I tell her. "Where did you get the scar?"

  She sighs and rolls her eyes. "Climbing over a wall last year."

  "Escaping the palace," I muse, my fingers going to her inner thigh. Her leg twitches at my touch.

  "That's right."

  "You have a habit of escaping everything, yet you keep letting me tie you up," I note. "It almost seems like you want me to catch you."

  She laughs. "That's not true. It's only because of your big, hard cock."

  "It's because you like me," I correct her. I don't even care if she admits it or not, because I know it's true. I can see it in the way she looks at me right now. Still, I can't resist pushing her buttons. "Admit it."

  "I'll admit no such thing," she protests. "Did you tie me up just to get me to admit that I like you?"

  I don't answer her. Instead, I trace my fingertip slowly over her pussy lips, watching with smug satisfaction as her hips arch up to meet my finger. I catch her wetness on my fingertip, then run it over her skin, intentionally avoiding her clit, until she lets out a series of little moans. "We both know you like me, but I'll let you slide when it comes to admitting it – for now, anyway," I tell her. "I tied you up because I want to ask you things."

  She barks a laugh. "You're interrogating me, Bodyguard?"

  "Uh-huh, and it'll be the best torture you've ever felt," I assure her, taking the wetness from her pussy and touching my wet fingertips to her nipple. She groans and struggles against the restraints as I tease her nipple until it's a hard little pebble and she's writhing under me. "I want to know things about you."

  "You tied me up to get to know me?" she whimpers, squirming more. I can't be entirely sure whether the squirming is more about the way I'm touching her or about the prospect that I'm going try getting to know the damn girl.

  "Not exactly," I admit. I wasn't even thinking that when I tied her up. "But it's a nice benefit. This way, there's none of that pesky running away."

  No more of that bullshit that happened after I tied her up in the stable, when she went silent for days.

  "Don't you think it's sad that you have to tie up a girl to have a conversation with her?"

  "I do." I dip down to flick my tongue over her nipple. The taste of her pussy lingers on her skin and it makes me want to get my tongue between her legs as soon as possible. Her hips arch against my hard cock, and she moans, reminding me of exactly why I tied her up in the first place, and it wasn't to get to know her. "Absolutely. It's the saddest thing I've ever heard."

  It truly is.

  I have the sexiest girl in the world tied up and completely at my mercy. Meanwhile, I have the irresistible urge to ask her questions because I want to get to know her.

  "That's totally fucked up, Max," she whispers.

  I couldn't agree more. It's the most fucked up thing I've ever heard.



  I could tell Max to untie me right now. I could tell him I'm not answering any of his damn questions, not even if the prospect of being tied up here and completely at his mercy leaves me wet and longing and wanting.

  I could tell him that I don't do the whole getting-to-know-you thing, that the prospect of someone even wanting to find out things about me makes me want to choke, makes my heart beat a thousand times faster and threaten to explode in my chest.

  But I don't tell him any of those things.

  I'd like to blame my lack of protest on the fact that he's currently running his tongue over my nipple and I can't think about anything except how much I want his tongue between my legs – or about how much I want his cock inside me right now, how desperately I ache to feel him again.

  But that's not the reason I don't say any of those things, is it?

  Max pauses with his mouth above my breast. "For every question you answer, I'll give you a treat."

  I choke out a laugh. "You've got to be kidding. A treat, like I'm a dog?"

  He smirks. "Quiet, woman. I'm training you to have a conversation like a normal person."

  "Be careful, Bodyguard," I warn, wrapping my legs around his waist and squeezing him hard between my thighs. "I still have use of my legs, you know. Don't get mouthy."

  He laughs as he peels my legs away from his waist. "You know, you're right."

  "You should get used to admitting that."

  He raises his eyebrows. "I mean, you're right to remind me that I should tie down your legs, too."

  His threat to restrain me completely shouldn't make me as wet as it does, and it shouldn't be as obvious as it is that it makes me hot. It's written all over my face, though, and Max sees it immediately. He grins as he reaches for the other ties. "So that's a yes, then, is it?"

  "Fine," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "If you think that'll get me to tell you things."

  I act bothered, when in reality I'm throbbing as he ties one ankle and then the other, spreading my legs comfortably apart and looping the silk to the decorative iron posts in the middle of the baseboard of the bed.

  Now I'm completely at his mercy, bound and waiting for him.

  The idea of totally losing control to my bodyguard should not be as thrilling as it feels right now.

  Still, I can't quite give away all control. "I get to ask you questions, too, Bodyguard."

  He puts his hands up and grins. "I'm an open book, sweetheart."

  "Hardly," I say, laughing. "And you're a terrible liar."

  "It's a deal. A question for a question," he tells me. "I'll answer, but you'll have to reward me too."

  My heart skips a beat. I can think of more than a few ways to reward him. "Fine. You're on."

  "Good. This is my first question," he says, sliding between my legs until his mouth hovers over my pussy. He looks up, his mouth open, breathing out so that the heat warms me and torments me at the same time.

  "Yes?" I'm imp
atient, lingering on his every movement, imagining the sensation of his mouth on me.

  "Favorite color."

  "That's a lame question," I say, giggling partly from nervousness and partly out of relief that he didn't ask me anything serious. "You have me tied up and you want to know my favorite color?"

  He taps my pussy with his hand, almost a slap but not quite. Still, it stings … and also makes me moan. "You don't get to challenge the validity of my questions," he says, his voice firm. "Answer the question if you want to be rewarded."

  "Black," I reply.

  "Of course it is." He chuckles under his breath as he dives between my legs. His mouth envelops me with his warmth, and his tongue explores me. This is definitely a reward, I think as he sucks my clit into his mouth.

  I hear myself gasp out loud, and I have to struggle not to totally lose myself in him. I have to focus in order to keep my cool, to keep myself from coming immediately at his touch. "You're making fun of my favorite color? What's yours?"

  He looks up from between my legs, his lips shiny with my wetness. "Pink."

  I laugh. "Come on. You said you were going to be honest. You're not getting a reward now because you're lying."

  "Oh, I'm getting a reward, sweetheart," he lets me know. "I'm taking it, even if you don't give it to me. Unless you've already forgotten that you're the one tied up here."

  "I've not forgotten that part." My breath quickens as he pulls himself up to me until his knees are on either side of my body and his cock is in my face. The pillows behind my back prop me up at an angle, lining my lips up perfectly with his dick.

  "I'm glad. Now open your mouth and wrap those pretty little lips of yours around my cock."

  "Your favorite color isn't pink," I protest, but I open anyway, because this reward isn't only his; it's just as much mine, too. That's what I think to myself as the tip of his cock hits my tongue and I taste him. Closing my eyes, I wrap my lips around him and listen to the groan he makes, the sound low in his throat.

  "That's right," he murmurs, his palm on my cheek. "Your mouth is so fucking sweet." He pushes his cock further into my mouth, working his way in deeper with each stroke. He doesn't let me suck him for long, though, before he pulls away and crawls back down my body, back to where he was before, between my legs. "For your information, my favorite color is pussy pink."

  I choke out a laugh. "Did you just say pussy pink?"

  "That's right," he says, his fingers going back between my legs, easing the ache there. "This color right here is my favorite color in the world."

  "You get points for creativity." I giggle, but it quickly turns into a long moan as his fingers take my wetness and rub it in circles onto my clit. I force myself to focus on anything except coming right now on his fingers. "Um …" I say the only thing that comes to mind. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

  "It's not your turn to ask another question, but I'll answer anyway," he growls. Then he puts his mouth to my clit and sucks off all of my wetness. "I don't have any siblings. It's just me, which is why I'm supporting my parents. But I think you knew that anyway, since you paid their mortgage."

  "I had Felix do it," I reply, my back arching up as he drags his teeth ever so lightly over my sensitive nub. "I didn't do any other research on you. It seemed intrusive."

  I mean, more intrusive than paying off your parents' mortgage.

  "Quiet," he tells me, his lips hovering near my pussy. "I'm hungry and I need you to answer more questions so I can give this perfect little cunt the attention it deserves. Now, cats or dogs?"

  "What? Cats or dogs?" Are his questions ridiculous or is my brain so consumed with lust that I can't think clearly?

  "That's right."

  "These are your very personal questions?"

  "Answer, please. And if you don't stop smart-mouthing me, I'm going to have to come back up there and stick my cock down your throat, Alexandra," he threatens.

  He doesn't realize that's the worst threat in the world, because it only makes me wetter for him.

  Or maybe he does. His fingers go between my legs, running the length of my slit, and I'm so on edge that I feel like I could cry.

  "Dogs," I tell him.

  He makes a little grunting sound, a "hmph."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

  "I just figured as much," he says, flashing me a grin before he dives between my legs and his tongue laps at me until I'm breathless.

  But I can't let it go. "You can't … oh, God … I mean, you can't just … fuck … say that and not say why."

  He looks up for a moment. "I knew you were a dog person. You pretend to be all standoffish but you're not nearly as cool and casual as you seem."

  "Because I said … oh my God, your tongue … I said I liked … dogs?" I ask, trying desperately to focus on what he was saying as he covers my pussy with his mouth. "I might like them better than cats, but you don't see any running around the palace, do you? No. I'm not good at taking care of things."

  "Oh, I think you're quite good at taking care of things," he says, the innuendo clear. But he doesn't bring his cock back to my lips so I can take care of him. Instead, he slides two fingers inside me. The tips of his fingers hit just the right spot and he strokes me so slowly that I think I'm going to start sobbing solely from the agony of not being able to come right now. "Next question: why do people not call you Alexandra?"

  That question pulls me back from the edge and right into the conversation. "My mother used to call me Alexandra," I tell him. "My father still does, but no one else."

  His brow furrows and he stops moving his fingers. "If you don't like it when I call you that, I'll stop –"

  "No!" I blurt out. Don't stop. "I mean, no. It's … I don't know … when you do it, it's okay. It's weird, because no one even dares to call me that except you. But it's … um, I like it, coming from you."

  I'm stumbling all over myself, trying to understand something I don't quite understand myself. I hate it when anyone else calls me Alexandra, but when Max does it's somehow nice. I don't want to think about what that means.

  I don't have to, because Max doesn't say anything else. He just covers my clit with his mouth as he strokes me steadily with his fingers, bringing me higher and higher until my breath is coming short and I'm straining against the restraints on my wrists and ankles. He takes me to the edge, and then pauses, denying me.

  "Don't stop," I beg.

  He gives me a mischievous grin. "First crush."

  "What?" I'm panting, my breath short, and I don't have a clue what he's talking about.

  "That's my next question, sweetheart. Who was your first crush?"

  Why does everything he says catch me off guard? I rack my brain. "William," I remember. "William Banner. In kindergarten."

  He rewards me by licking my clit, and the sensation is almost unbearable. Then he pauses again. "Your first kiss."

  "Also William," I answer quickly. Hell, with this kind of torture, I'd answer any question immediately. "He kissed me on the cheek. He was my boyfriend for the whole afternoon. Then he dumped me for Alice Carter. She kissed him on the lips."

  "Tragic story," Max murmurs, his fingers stroking me again.

  "Very," I mumble. "Probably scarred me for life."

  "Clearly," he replies. "Your first love?"

  My heart does that little beat-skipping thing again, and I don't know why, because I don't have a first love. I've had exactly zero loves. "You're not playing by the rules," I protest. "I haven't asked you any questions."

  "Well then, you should stop being so passive and assert
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