Page 43 of Vengeful Guard

“All right. Fair enough.” She looks up at me again, green eyes wide. “Are we finished for tonight?”

There's a sheen of sweat across her neck. And my tongue goes dry at the thought of dragging it along it. Would I taste the salt, or is she sweet all over?

Feck me.

“We're done." I turn around and leave the gym, heading upstairs to the main house.

Paige follows behind me, but I don’t utter another word, don’t look at her again, just go directly into the guest room.

I cannot believe I did that. But at the same time, it felt amazing. And I hate myself for that.

Now I’ve got to do something, or this erection is going to be obvious all night. So, I head for the shower, turning on the water as hot as it will go, hoping to cleanse these feelings from my skin, these thoughts from my mind. Erase the memory of her sweet moans and the feel of her in my hands, rubbing on my thigh.

This is so bad.

What the feck was I thinking?

I was thinking about her pink tongue darting out to wet her full lips, her wide green eyes. The freckles that dance across her nose. I was thinking about her ass pressing back against me as she rode my thigh, how hot she was through the fabric of her leggings.

I groan low in my throat, not taking time to tease myself, just grabbing my insistent erection around the base and pumping my fist in slow, long strokes, panting as I put my forehead against the shower wall.

It’s only a few strokes, a few images of what she’d look like spreadeagled or up on all fours, before I paint the shower wall white and then use the water to wash it down the drain.

Jesus fecking Christ. I’ve got to get my shit together and keep it together.

This is supposed to be a boring babysitting job, not like this.

I have to stay away from Paige Burke, all while watching her like a hawk. It’s a tangled web of a situation, and I hate it.

Sunday’s coming up, though, and I have a plan to get all this out of my system. It’s not Paige. It can’t be. It’s just that I haven’t had a woman in weeks.

When I get into bed, nude, I make a quick phone call.

“Darla.” Her voice is flat, and I can’t help but grin.

“It’s your favorite customer,” I croon, and she snorts out a laugh.

“More like my least favorite. Where have you been, Kael? Haven’t seen you at the club in ages.”

She goes by Darla because she loves The Little Rascals, but her real name is Ramona, which she hates that I know. Enough late-night trips to the strip club and rolls in the hay, though, and you end up learning things about each other.

Not that it’s ever been anything other than sex and friendship for me and Darla. She works at one of Murphy’s strip clubs, and we met a few years ago when I was between jobs. We’ve been doing this ever since. I just call her up when I’m not on a mission, and she always says yes.

“Had a job. You know I don’t?—”

“Have girls on jobs,” she answers for me. “Yeah, yeah. You could at least call, though. I worry about you, Kael.”

“Nothing to worry about.” I shrug even though she can’t see it. “I can take care of myself.”

“No one’s doubting that, but Murphy’s been... well, he’s been crazier than usual.”

I frown. “How so?”

“Like... violent crazy. He threw a blender across the room, nearly hit Diamond, all because she snarked at him. But you know Diamond. She snarks at everyone.”

“Is it because of his daughter?”

“I assume so, but it’s not like he’s going to talk to us girls about it.” She scoffs. “Anyway, you must be off work now. You wanna come over? I’m not working tonight.”

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