Page 4 of Bossy Bodyguard

“Good girl,” I whispered. “Now lick them clean.”

I didn’t have to repeat it.

Emma took her fingers in her mouth and sucked them between her pouty lips, like I had told her.

“Such a good girl,” I said in awe, her eyes glazing as her cheeks hollowed before she pulled out her fingers. “Don’t swallow. I want a taste of your pretty pussy.”

Her eyes widened, and a blush creeped up her neck when I closed the distance between us and cupped her cheek. Her skin was so soft underneath my calloused fingers. I tipped her jaw and waited for her to deny me or say no. Instead, Emma pushed her breasts against my chest, arching her back and planting her soft, luscious body against mine.

“Needy girl,” I smirked, closing my eyes and claiming her lips with mine in a soft, quick kiss. When I pulled back to look at her flushed face, I could smell her arousal.

The taste of her…

I pushed her back against the wall and swallowed her gasp of surprise with my mouth. If the first kiss was gentle, the second kiss was rough and passionate. I wasn’t kissing her lips. I was claiming them, devouring her mouth, marking it. I slipped my tongue inside her and groaned when I tasted her.

Fuck. I needed more.

Angling her head, I kissed her harder, growling when her nails ran through my hair to my nape. She tasted so good that I wanted to lose all my inhibitions and kneel on the floor and eat her out in the hallway with her pink heels dangling over my shoulders.

Emma let out a small moan, rubbing herself on my thigh that was between her legs. Dirty girl. I pulled back, heaving as I fixed my shirt and hair. Her blonde hair was mussed, dress tucked up to reveal the small glimpse of pink fabric underneath. Pink shoes and pink panties.

“Let’s go.” I offered her my hand, and she took it, her pale skin glowing with red blush. “I need to have you naked and alone.”

“Not a fan of exhibitionism, Cillian?” she asked, her sultry voice taunting me as I showed my membership card to the guard standing outside the private elevator.

After pressing the button on the highest floor, I turned my attention to her. “I don’t like to share what’s mine,” I said in a firm voice and continued, “and you’re mine for tonight, Doll.”

3

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

EMMA

I don’t like possessive men. Period. Nine out of the ten times, they think that I’m their object of desire and a toy to play with when bored. Like a kitten who would hiss at anyone who tries to steal his favorite toy.

But when Cillian said it…

I don’t like to share what’s mine. And you’re mine for tonight, Doll.

It wasn’t possessive. It was demanding. An order. A prayer, if you will. And it was just for one night. I was his, and he was mine.

So why not have a little bit of fun?

My eyes ran over his form in the suit, stripping him naked in my head and wondering how hot he’d look with tattoos all over his body. Did he have them all over his body? I was willing to find out as soon as I got him alone.

It was different with him standing so close in the elevator but not touching me. My thighs were still a little shaky at what he had told me to do in the hallway, and I had done it without a single thought. Because no one challenged Emma Moore and won. I had done it out of pride. I wasn’t afraid if anyone saw me and enjoyed the show, but some small part of me had done it for the approval in his eyes and the soft way he called me good girl.

My lips still felt the press of his lips and the bite of his teeth. How he had kissed me… claiming my mouth with his, tasting me and devouring me.

The elevator stopped on the top floor, my nerves twisting in my stomach. I clenched my clutch and walked into the private suite which had high ceilings, spacious marble floors in black, and furniture covered in blood red velvet. My attention stayed on the St. Andrew’s Cross with its cuffs and the staged four-poster bed.

“Do you want something to drink?”

I turned around to see him drop his membership card in the bowl by the door containing a key fob. Was he a regular here? Did he bring all his conquests to the suite?

“I would like some champagne,” I replied, walking towards the sprawling couch in front of the fireplace, throwing my clutch on the armchair.

“It’s much better than I thought,” Cillian hummed, looking around the suite as if he was seeing it for the first time. “Less dungeon-y.”

---