Page 37 of Bossy Bodyguard

“Oh, you have some nerve, little Doll.” Maybe I was still drunk because the way he said it with a hot vein popping on his neck made me feel something between my legs.

“You’re grounded. No more parties or sneaking out with your friends until you’re out of danger. And forget about your privacy. You want to shower? I’m there. You want to change? I’m holding the curtain for you. You want to pee? I’ll be with you in the fucking washroom. You want to sleep alone? No fucking more. I will be breathing down your cute little neck until you realize how serious this shit is.”

I blinked up at him. He was so close that I could smell his aftershave. And he smelled delicious. Like musk and pine.

“You think I’ve a cute neck?” I asked, raising my brow.

I loved that it infuriated him. He pulled away and gave me a seething look. I continued, “You have some serious kinks, Mister Cillian. It seems that you’re very much into being a voyeur. It’s okay, that works for me.” I flashed him my most innocent smile. “I’m somewhat an exhibitionist myself.”

If it was possible, his eyes turned darker, his obsidian orbs watching me with such precision like he was seeing the real me and not whatever was coming out of my mouth.

He tilted his head, raking his eyes over my body. I shivered, very aware of the fact that I was only wearing a bra and underwear underneath my blanket. Did he catch me like that? Making a fool of myself in nothing but my underwear? It was an awfully dirty thought, but I wanted to know what he thought about me…

“Why did you get drunk, Emma?”

Not Doll.

I pursed my lips. “I’m a nineteen-year-old. You know well enough why I’d get drunk at a party.”

“I asked you why.”

“And I told you the reason!”

I took a sharp breath when he leaned closer. His voice was soft and deep at the same time. “You know what I think? You’re fucking sad. You’re grieving your mother’s death—”

“Stop.”

“You dumped your boyfriend and went to a sex club to blur out everything else that’s been keeping you up at night. That’s the—”

“Stop it.”

“No. That’s the only reason you sneaked out, because even though your life is in danger because of a potential stalker, you don’t care about yourself unless you can forget—”

“Stop!” Tears burned through my eyes, threatening to spill over. He didn’t pull away, but looked more furious when a tear slipped out. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear it,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my burning throat.

“Emma—”

“What do you want to hear? That you’re right? Well, good for you, you are! I’m sad that my mom died, leaving me with everything, and that my brother hates my existence, and my ex-boyfriend was lying to me for the entirety of our relationship, and that I’m feeling so fucking alone!” Tears were pouring out of my eyes like a broken dam. “I can’t even tell my friends that I’m being stalked or tell anyone that I’m so scared of staying here cooped up in my room alone and waiting for the stalker to come find me and I won’t be able to do anything!”

My chest was heaving by the time I stopped speaking. God, I was such a fucking mess. I was sniffling and crying in my La Perla bra set and being so pathetic.

I shivered when he leaned close enough to wipe the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. “You are not alone,” Cillian said. His voice wasn’t soft, but firm. As if he was scolding me.

“I feel alone.” I peered at him, his clenched jaw and intense eyes. “I keep overthinking about her death, Caleb, the stalker, and everything. I don’t want to think anymore.”

He pulled his hand away, his eyes softened a little, surprising me by asking, “Do you want to feel, Doll?”

“Feel what, Cillian?”

“My tongue inside your pretty pussy.”

23

DID I STUTTER?

EMMA

“My tongue inside your pretty pussy.”

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