Page 30 of The Bodyguard

No. The guards would have texted me if someone arrived. That’s how our system works.

I strip off my shirt and jeans and turn on the shower.

There’s no way.

Stepping under the hot water, I pour the shower wash over my body and soap up.

No fucking way.

I grip my balls and wash them, my cock hardening as I try to convince myself what just happened isn’t just a fucking wet dream of mine.

The image in my head as I hear her rough, almost shuddering voice replaying in my head is like a porno.

My own personal fantasy.

I don’t care that she’s famous. Those green eyes caught my attention the first time I saw her. If she wanted to get on her knees and suck me off while watching me with those long dark lashes, then I wouldn’t say no.

I’d do more than that.

I’d wrap her long, dark hair around my fist and fuck her throat until she was gagging and begging me for her next breath.

Is she touching herself right now?

Jesus fucking Christ.

I stroke my cock, wondering how she does it.

With a toy?

My fucking god.

With her fingers? Fuck me. How wet does she get? Does she like her pussy licked? Does she wish I’d shown up and finished the job?

My hand strokes faster, picturing Savannah with her legs spread, working herself as I am now, and her wet hot glistening cunt needing my cock.

“Fuck,” I cry as come spurts from my head into the shower.

The only question I really need to ask here is why she answered the damn phone.

I know the answer.

She wanted to hear my voice as she came.

And that changes everything.

We both know it.

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THE NEXT MORNING I’m on my way to Savannah’s when Aidan phones.

I answer. “Ryder St. James.”

“We never finished our chat,” he says.

“Tara won’t have the information back until at least midday,” I say, knowing that’s not what he meant.

“It will be up to Ms. Sinclair if she wants the police involved. But I agree, keeping it tight is the best decision right now.”

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