Page 53 of Wickedly Played
“I’m coming! I’m coming!”
Serena’s body trembles, shakes, and vibrates with her climax. I wish it were my face between her legs. Damn. I wish it were my cock being shoved down her pretty little throat until she chokes on it.
“Fuck,” she moans to herself. I see her lifting her fingers from between her thighs to look at her orgasm. I’m tempted to let her know I saw everything, but I don’t want to break this moment.
I see her swing her legs out of her bed, and I leave the area in hopes of not getting caught watching her touch herself to the fantasy of me.
I’m on my fourth mile when my phone starts to vibrate in front of me. “You got Max,” I answer.
“This is Detective Wood. Are you the bodyguard for Serena?”
I slam my hand down on thestopbutton on the machine. “Yes. What is this regarding?” He has my attention now.
“We received notification of a dead body outside of the club you were at earlier.”
Rage starts to flood through my body. Why would he be calling me? I quickly pull up the camera app on my phone to make sure Serena is still in bed, and she is. “Do you know who it was?”
Wood scoffs. “We were alerted by the club owner that Serena is under your protection due to a stalking incident.”
“I cannot confirm nor deny that,” I retort.
“It has been confirmed through her agent. We spoke with Bill about what happened. The victim, who passed tonight, looks awfully like your client.”
“Was there a note?” I demand.
Wood sucks in a breath. “Yes. We will need to speak with you and Serena as soon as possible. We worry this attack was motivated by the stalker’s obsession with Serena.”
“I’m not taking her out of the house right now. If you want to meet with her, you could meet with her here,” I suggest, with little room to decline my offer.
“I’ll see you at 9 am.”
Without responding, I hang up the phone. “Fuck!” I shout to myself. “Mother fucker!”
I grab a towel off the bench, then tread up the stairs to tell Serena about what happened. Without knowing how she handles stress, I’m unsure how she will hold this information. Part of me is tempted to call my brother and share this information with him. The other part of me doesn’t want to talk to the asshole right now.
I’m standing outside of her door when she opens it in a cloud of sweet-smelling natural scent of the woman I’m protecting. She smiles cheerily at me, then drops the smile.
“What’s wrong, Max?”
“Shit,” I mutter to myself more than to her. “I think you should sit down,” I suggest.
My sudden urge to hold her in my arms overwhelms me. I have never wanted to comfort someone as much as I do her. Her own father doesn’t give a fuck about her, and she’s all alone in the world. No wonder she has a stalker.
The McGuires have many enemies. I bet her stalker is one of them. Or her fucking ex-husband. If I see her ex, I’m cutting out his tongue, fingers, dick, limbs, and anything else that touched her.
She crosses her arms over her chest, arches an eyebrow, and then smirks. “What is going on?” Her little pink tongue slips between her pillowy lips to wet them. I watch the movement with fascination.
“I got off the phone with the police department. There was a murder outside of the venue we were at tonight.”
“What?” She looks like the air has been let out of her chest.
I lean against the doorframe with my arms, mimicking hers. “The detective is worried the murder has been connected to you.”
It happens so quickly, I almost miss it. Her legs give out, causing her to fall forward into my awaiting arms. Her body trembles from the sobs she’s trying to hold in. I pull her close to my chest, tucking her head against my pec, and then my hands span her entire back.
“Sweetness,” I mutter into her soft hair. She must have taken a shower recently because her intoxicating smell of cherries and vanilla is making me feel drunk.
“It is all my fault, isn’t it?”
