Page 23 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
I hit the hallway leading to the west wing of the mansion, where she’s converted two former guest suites into a full gym. Hardwood floors. Mirrored wall. Dumbbells up to 120 pounds. Kettlebells, ropes, resistance bands, a treadmill that probably cost more than my first car. There’s a rowing machine in the corner.
Shelivesin this place. She curates it. And now I’m moving through it like I belong here.
I don’t. But I want to. Too much. I shake my head at myself and warm up with a set of push-ups—military form, chest to floor, back straight, no slop.
Thirty. Then forty. Then fifty. Still not enough.
The gym smells like cedar and steel. The kind of clean, well-maintained space that should soothe me. Everything here is designed for performance. High-end ventilation. Soundproofed walls. Rubber mat flooring with just the right amount of give beneath my boots. Orderly.
But my pulse is already high, and it has nothing to do with the room.
I stand, shake out my arms, and move to the squat rack. Load the bar to 225. Deadlift first. Form over speed, always.
Discipline.
I’ve always needed it. Not wanted—needed.It’s the only thing that ever quieted the chaos in my head.
Bailey was chaos. She still is. That’s why she needed us last night.
But somehow, when I had her on that bed, under my hand, on my lips…shefeltlike order. Like I finally understood why I was built this way—rigid, hard, uncompromising. She made my control feel sacred instead of burdensome.
That’s the real problem. It didn’t feel like a breach. It felt like amission.
Four sets in, sweat drips down the side of my face. I roll my neck. Breathe through the burn. But it’s not enough. Every rep, I see her. Bent over. Spread open. Gasping my name like a prayer.
The bar slams back into its cradle with a loud metallicclang.I pace to the wall, hands braced on the mirror, and force myself to breathe. It doesn’t help.
I’m sweating like it’s summer in the city. I remember her in cutoff shorts and a tank top, barefoot on the fire escape, telling me that one day she was going to live somewhere with so many rooms she’d never run out of places to hide.
She meant it metaphorically. I think.
Now? She’s built it literally.
A fortress. And she letmeinside. I don’t deserve that. Obviously, I can’t handle it. Last night, I broke every rule. Took advantage of her needs. I’m just as much of a schmuck as her ex.
Fuck.
I towel off my hands, but they’re still shaking. Not from the workout. Fromher.
The mansion’s main guest wing has a suite with a private bath. I chose it because it’s the farthest from the kids’ rooms, the kitchen, the heart of the house. I like the quiet. I didn’t plan on needing the isolation.
But now? I don’t want anyone to see me like this.
I step inside and shut the door behind me. The room is marble and glass, sharp-edged and sleek. Cold white walls. Gold fixtures. A rainfall shower wide enough for six. Steam curls up the instant I turn the knob.
I strip in silence. Every layer feels like a lie I told myself.
I’m her protection. This is a job. Last night was just release. It meant nothing to me. We merely provided a service. Nothing more.
I step under the water and lean my head against the tile. Lying never used to feel like this. It hits me in waves—the sound she made when I touched her. The way her mouth opened around my name. The heat of her body under my hands. The obedience. The trust.
God, thetrust.
She gave me her body, her pain, her fear—and I took it. Not like a thief. Like a soldier on a mission. Like a man who was made for it.
My cock is hard before I even touch it. Just thinking about the way her thighs shook. The way her eyes rolled back when Huck used his tongue and I whispered in her ear. The memories make my balls ache.
I wrap my hand around myself, slow and firm. Her voice plays in my head.“Please, sir.”
