Page 103 of The Bodyguard

I love my home.

Buying it was a dream come true after growing up in an unhappy home and then being a poor struggling actor for years.

Now, I want Ryder to turn the car around and drive me back to his place so I can snuggle up on the sofa with him and Max and hide from the world.

It was the perfect weekend.

The hot tub, the cake, the flowers, the champagne. Max. Who is cheeky and boisterous and sleeps like the dead as kittens do.

And Ryder.

The most handsome and kindest man in the world. Also the most skilled lover in the world.

He’s surprisingly sensitive and caring.

Protective.

Sexy.

Perfect.

And my bodyguard.

We both know this can’t continue, but the longer it does—and god it’s only been a week—the more my feelings grow from simply lust to something way deeper.

He took me to the Black Hawke Security offices today so we could work out together in the gym—that cake was not hitting my hips—and I loved seeing where he worked.

There were only a few people in the office and two guys in the gym who soon left when Ryder glared at them.

Afterward, I sat at his desk and spun around on his chair. Then he closed the door and stalked over to me like I was his prey.

I was.

He lifted me up and placed me on his desk, stripped off my lycra shorts and licked my pussy until I almost stabbed him with my long nails.

“Do I need to trim those like I do Max’s?” He asked, rubbing his shoulders afterward.

“Do I need to purr?” I teased.

“Sweetheart, I’ll make you purr,” Ryder said in response and slid his cock inside me.

Holy hell. I had purred. And I was still purring a few hours later.

Now I wanted to whimper because he’s dropping me off and leaving.

What did I think was going to happen? We’d move in together, or Ryder would want to stay here with me for the night.

He can’t. Everyone would notice.

“I’ll get your bag,” he says, opening the door and going around to the trunk while I climb out.

I open the front door and Ryder drops the bag inside, then closes it behind him.

“Are you leaving?” I ask pathetically.

“I don’t want to,” he says, taking my hips and kissing me.

But he has to.

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