Page 24 of Reluctantly His

I had no fucking business trying to fuck her.

Christ, what had I been thinking?

Stupid question.

I knew exactly what I had been thinking… and doing.

That was the real problem.

She was supposed to be a spoiled brat. A pain in the ass.

Not an endearingly adorable little kitten with tiny claws and a sexy mew.

I should have known better. I’d spent countless hours watching her from afar during Manwarring public events. Always standing to the side, playing the dutiful daughter. Perfectly dressed and behaved.

Like a doll.

But who knew the pretty doll had a moan like a siren and a pussy a man would die for the chance to taste?

Fuck my life.

At least my shift was finally over, and she was in for the night. Before I left her, I’d installed an app on her phone while she was distracted with her thoughts in the truck that would alert me if she left the building.

The fact that I didn’t want to leave her… that I’d wanted to follow her into the house and straight up to her bed… was also a problem. A real problem.

After a shower to cool my cock, I headed out to meet an old friend for a much-needed drink. I hadn’t seen Hunter for a few weeks. He had been assigned to some need-to-know operation in the Middle East. I wasn’t even sure what country he was coming from. Lucky bastard got to see action, real action, and make a real difference. He got to use his training and expertise and get the adrenaline of putting his life on the line for the greater good. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I missed that part of my life.

It took me less than an hour to get from work to home and to the bar where Hunter knew enough to have a cold one waiting for me.

“You look like you’ve seen some… unusual action,” Hunter laughed as I downed the entire pint in a single pull.

“Never mind about my gig. What have you been up to?” I asked, needing to change the subject.

“Classified,” he said, giving me a shit-eating grin, knowing that not telling me was worse than telling me.

“Asshole,” I shot back, signaling the waitress for another round.

She was pretty, curvy in all the right places, and had bright red hair. Under normal circumstances, I would have flirted with her all night.

I would have taken off my leather jacket so she could see my ink, and she would have fawned over them and asked about them. And I would have regaled her with stories of fighting for our country overseas.

Hunter would have backed up the exaggerated stories of death and honor. We never shared real war stories with hook-ups. Those were personal.

We would entertain her and whichever girl Hunter’s eyes landed on, and by the end of the night, I would have had her hair wrapped around my fist in the bathroom while she got on her knees to thank me for my service.

Despite the aching weight in my balls and the need to release the stress and frustration of the day, I had no interest in the waitress or any other woman in this bar.

No, my cock ached because of one pampered doll with mink-colored eyes, and I wanted her to be the one to fix it, whether in person or in my mind, while I spent in my hand like a fucking teenage boy.

“So, how have you been?” Hunter asked, eyeing the waitress.

“Same private security bullshit, except this time the protectee is my boss’ twenty-something daughter.”

He whistled. “Nice. So is daddy’s little darling hot?” he asked with an almost predatory smirk.

My fingers curled into a fist as I fought the urge to break the nose of one of my oldest and closest friends.

“Don’t speak about her like that,” I fumed, throwing him a warning look.

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