Page 39 of Illicit Temptation

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, we’re running, and I take note of the route she jogs on. Trust is a part of this job. I’d rather protect a mature woman with a brain in her head than a twenty-something spoiled celebrity who will hang off a cliff for a selfie to get likes on Instagram.

The crisp ocean air in my lungs cleanses my soul and the exhilaration fuels me to go for ten miles if Shea needs it. Only, she stops and doubles over.

Fear courses through me and I push away the initial horrific thought that she’s been shot. I might be the only person with a gun in this entire town.

“Shea, what’s wrong?” I rub her upper back.

She doesn’t answer, but the sound guts me.

Wheezing.

“Are you asthmatic?” I ask her.

She nods and pats her pockets. “I...forgot...my inhaler. With all the—”

I pull her into my chest, wanting to get her warm. “It’s my fault. I interrupted your routine.”

“Humping me...definitely interrupted my routine,” she says, gasping but maintains that wicked sense of humor I love.

“Do you need an ambulance?” I ask her, taking out my phone.

The color drains from her face. “No. Just...my inhaler.”

We’re just over a mile from her house. It’s so early, there’s no one around. I’ll carjack the next person who drives by if I have to. Or just hotwire one sitting on the street. Checking my Uber app, there’s no one available for an hour. Not surprised for East Hampton where everyone has their own car or a driver.

The smell of baked bread hits me, and I spin around. “There’s a bakery. Come on. We’ll get you some tea. I’ll run top speed to the house and come back with the car and your spray. Where is it?”

She shudders looking at me. “Just...bring the car.”

“Just tell me where it is.” I push loose strands of hair from her face, dying every minute she’s struggling to breathe.

Breath control was part of my training, I’m fucking sensitive to how awful it can be. I’ll take any amount of pain over gasping for air.

Closing her eyes, she says, “In...my nightstand. Next to a...toy.”

“What kind of toy?” The question started innocent, but the look in her eyes blindsides me. “Toy, as in...sexual toy?”

“Yes. Happy?”

“Oh, very happy. I’d rather you get yourself off with a toy than give your cunt to a douchebag for meaningless pleasure.” Especially when she has me.

Bodyguard with Benefits. Until I claim her physically as my wife.

We start walking toward the bakery, me gently holding her frame against my body for warmth.

“I’d love to use that toy on you when you’re feeling better,” I profess boldly to distract her from the difficulty of breathing. Asthma can get worse if the sufferer is anxious. “Hold you down and tease you with little to no mercy. Make you beg me to let you come. I’ll edge you for hours and I won’t fucking stop. And when I do let you climax, you’ll come so hard, you’ll be sobbing for me to stop, the pleasure too intense.”

“Holy...shit. I told you...I can’t breathe. Now...I’m having a...heart attack.”

I smile. “What a way to go, huh?”

Inside the café, I sit her down and squeezeher shoulders for support:I’m here. I walk up to the counter and consider asking the woman working here to borrow her car. But by the time I convince her, I’ll already be home and won’t have to worry about being pulled over for grand theft larceny.

“Tea, please. No milk. Just lemon.” I reach into a zipped-up inner pocket where I keep twenties. There’s nothing worse than being stranded with no money.

“Caffeinated or decaf?” she asks, plugging in a teapot, and looking over my shoulder.

I think about what I see Shea drink at home. Lots of healthy teas with Chinese writing. “Herbal?”

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