Page 29 of Defending What's Mine

I move to sit on the edge of the bed, pretending to scroll through my phone, but my mind is stuck on one thing: the lingerie. That tiny scrap of lace Melanie held up earlier, the way it caught the light, the way it looked like it was made for Charlotte’s body.

My jaw tightens as I toss my phone onto the nightstand. It’s bad enough that I can’t stop thinking about her during the day, the way she smiles when she’s trying to hide her nerves, or the way her voice gets sharp when she’s frustrated. But now, at night? Sharing a bed? This is a line I swore I’d never cross.

And yet here I am, watching the bathroom door like some lovesick idiot, waiting for her to come out.

When the door finally opens, it’s like a gut punch. She’s wearing a simple tank top and a pair of soft pajama shorts, her hair pulled back into a loose braid. Nothing fancy. Nothing even remotely close to that lingerie. But somehow, it’s just as sexy. Maybe more.

She doesn’t look at me as she walks to the bed, her bare feet silent against the carpet. I notice the faint sheen of lotion on her legs, the way the thin fabric of her top clings to her in the dim light. I swallow hard, forcing my gaze to the floor.

“Sorry I took so long,” she murmurs, climbing onto her side of the bed and pulling the blanket up to her waist. “The water pressure in that shower is awful.”

“No problem,” I say, my voice rougher than I’d like. I stand, grabbing my own stuff, and escape into the bathroom before I say or do something stupid.

I flick on the shower, waiting for the steam to fill the bathroom as I remove my clothing. I step under the hot spray and let the water sluice over my muscles.

Ah, it feels good.

My mind reverts back to images of Charlotte. The way she looked when she stepped out of the bathroom. The shorts. The tank top. Her body taunting me.

My own body comes alive, my heartbeat spiking as all the blood rushes south. I fist my cock, pumping slowly as I breathe out a curse. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I can’t stop the images from flooding my brain.

It’s like some short circuit in my system, replaying the image of Charlotte. Her big doe eyes. Her soft smile as she stepped further into the room. As she climbed into bed. I nearly kissed her right then and there.

I stroke my dick as it hardens more.Fuck. I’m no longer thinking about security. About the job. Any of it. All I’m thinking about is what Charlotte would look like standing naked before me in this shower. Her licking her lips. Me stroking a thumb down her jawline.

Fuck, I can’t stop. I keep tugging at my dick, groaning as I feel my body building toward that inevitable release. I imagineCharlotte on her knees, the hot water spraying between us. I picture her mouth taking my cock all the way. Deep down her throat.

She’d suck me off so well. I know it. Her fuckable lips were made for my cock. I just know it’d be pure heaven.

I let myself entertain the fantasy I’d never let play out in real life. I picture Charlotte’s hand, cupping my balls as she sucks me deeper down her throat. I envision my hand guiding her mouth, letting my fingers fist through her dark strands.

“Swallow me down, baby,” I’d tell her as my body comes super close to coming undone. I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining Charlotte sucking my cock.

“Yes,” I grunt out. “Take me deep.” I groan a little louder as I lose control.

My hand braces the tiled wall as my body shakes and jerks, my orgasm crashing through me, ribbon after ribbon of come streaming down into the drain.

It takes a full five minutes for my body to recover. I finish washing up, getting my breath under control. Fuck me. One fantasy. That’s all I’ll allow myself.

When I come back out, she’s lying on her side, facing away from me. Her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and for a second, I wonder if she’s already asleep. I slide into my side of the bed, keeping a respectable distance, but the mattress dips slightly, and she shifts, rolling onto her back.

“Night,” she murmurs, her voice soft.

“Night,” I reply, staring at the ceiling.

The room is quiet, save for the faint sound of her breathing. I close my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep, but it’s no use. My mind keeps circling back to her. The way she looked tonight, her blush when Melanie teased her, the fire in her eyes when she talked about Nancy.

And then, inevitably, the lingerie.Damn it.

What’s wrong with me? She’s my client. I’m here to protect her, not fantasize about her. And yet, lying here next to her, I feel like I’m losing control of something I’ve spent years perfecting—distance. Professionalism. Restraint.

I turn my head slightly, glancing at her in the dim light. Her face is relaxed, her lips slightly parted, her braid draped over her shoulder. She looks peaceful, vulnerable in a way that tugs at something deep in my chest.

I’m in trouble. Serious trouble.

Because this isn’t just attraction. It’s not just the way she looks, or the way she feels when she brushes against me. It’s her. The way she carries herself, even when she’s scared. The way she stands up to people like Nancy, even when it’s easier to stay quiet. The way she trusts me, even when I don’t deserve it.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling again. This can’t happen. I can’t let it happen.

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