Page 77 of The Bodyguard Affair
I try to say something, but everything in me is crackling and short-circuiting, like I’ve dumped a bucket of water on an electrical control panel. “Are you saying you have feelings for me? Real feelings?” I finally manage. I need the clarification.
He rests his hand near my head and exhales, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “I do. And I have no idea what I’m accomplishing by telling you this. I don’t know if it changes anything for you. Or if you’d at all be interested in being more than just platonic friends—not that I don’t love being friends. I do. I guess I was wondering if you, at all, feel the same way?”
I’ve never heard him ramble like this. He’s generally well-spoken and articulate, able to keep his cool in pretty much any scenario. But seeing him like this—unraveled, unfiltered, barriers down—gives me the courage to do the same for him.
So I come out with it. “I do.” It comes out in a whisper, like confessing it too loudly might burst the bubble we’re in. “I’ve wanted to be more. I just…didn’t know you felt the same way.”
“Seriously? I thought you said we didn’t have chemistry?”
“I lied. Of course we have chemistry. Now, at least. Not so much that first night—”
“Wait, wait, wait. I need you to repeat that. I didn’t quite hear.” He makes a show of leaning in, his hand forming a shell around his ear.
I roll my eyes, repeating, “We have chemistry.”
He flashes me a self-satisfied smirk. “Thank you.”
“You enjoyed that way too much.”
“I did,” he happily admits.
We stand there in the closet, smiling wordlessly in the darkness like complete nerds until he clears his throat. “Look, I know I’m supposed to leave, and I know that makes things complicated. But the fact is, I have no idea when that’s even happening, or if it will—”
I place my finger over his lips before he can continue. “Stop. Let’s not talk about that.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I can’t stop thinking about his words at the lake. About living in the present. Maybe I need to do a bit more of that and less planning. “Not right now, at least. We don’t have a lot of summer left. Why don’t we make the most of the time we have and go from there?”
He smiles. “I like that. A lot, actually. Though that sounds very unlike you.”
“You were right the other night. About me not taking the time to really let myself feel. Enjoy. Listen to myself and trust myself to know what I want without overthinking.”
We both just stare at each other for a solid beat as I think about what this means, my mind in overdrive at the very thoughtof him touching me beyond the confines of our fake-couple agreement. “Are you overthinking right now?”
“No. I’m only thinking about one thing,” I admit, biting my lip under his searing gaze.
His brows draw together. “What’s that?”
“That I want you to kiss me. Need you to kiss me.”And sit me on the shelf and make me scream.
His eyes simmer and his mouth curves into a wicked smile, drinking me in. Then he bends down, brushing his lips against mine. It’s almost exploratory, how slow and teasing it is.
His breath is warm against my neck, sending sparks scattering down my back. I nearly lose it until my tongue grazes his bottom lip, until he catches my mouth entirely in a full brush of my lips. I need more, desperately. And for the first time in my life, I’m more than willing to ask for it. I press my mouth into his and we meld together, pulling apart in tiny gasps, until my hands are clawing the dense hardness of his muscled back, dipping underneath his jacket.
Our kiss grows more urgent when I press down on his bottom lip, moving over his neck, making little marks that are sure to last for days, marks that claim him. He seems to love it, if the low groan he makes is any indication.
He reaches to tilt me closer, pressing himself into me until my skirt is bunched at my hips, and my legs are wrapped around his waist, my heels digging into his backside. Until he’s backing me against the shelf, feathering kisses down my jawline, past my neck, claiming me in return. Until I’m running my hand over his thrashing heart, simultaneously arching myself against his thigh.
“Does that feel good?” he whispers.
“Too good,” I manage through a moan as he traces circles on my inner thigh, going higher and higher until they graze my center, stirring something wild inside me. Even the tiniest movement feels tenfold.
“I can’t believe you’re this wet for me already.” He runs a finger over the smooth satin fabric of my panties where they’re embarrassingly soaked in the middle.
“I’ve been thinking about you fucking me in here,” I admit, my cheeks blooming with heat, my legs trembling.
He cups my jaw, and my blood sizzles at the eye contact. “I’m not fucking you for the first time in a closet. But I will make you come,” he promises, his voice so low and ragged, it makes me clench.
