Booty Call (Forbidden Bodyguards Book 2) (8 page)

Ali.

Ali is all that I want now.

— —
 

The next night, I’m the one who texts her.

S: Need a ride home tonight?

A: Always looking for a ride.

S: Bad girl.

A: Exactly.

And so it goes. I’m like a kid with a not-so-secret crush, but we’re dancing around it, and she’s okay with that. Each night we take a step toward actually calling what we’re doing extended foreplay. And each night we stop a little short.

We’ve done this a few times now. Sometimes I find her. Sometimes she tells me she’s out alone. I walk or drive her home, and leave her at her door because she’s still working on wearing down my willpower, and I’m still working on what I want to happen next.

But there’s no question that her texts make my day, every damn time.

And then on an unseasonably warm night in late March, she pushes the envelope a little further.

A: I’m going to be studying late tonight

S: Dashford Library?

A: Darkest corner of the campus… It’s a nice night, but I’ll be so scared to walk home all by myself…

S: You want to walk?

A: If I have company
 

S: What time should I pick you up?

A: Midnight

S: That’s some serious studying

A: I’m a serious girl

S: I have no doubt

A: Any chance I can turn this walk home into a booty call?

I don’t answer her. I don’t trust myself, either way. Yes, there’s a chance. There’s also a chance my inner moral compass will right itself and I’ll leave this girl alone.

Not a good one, but there’s always a chance.

—eleven—
 

Alison

I’m wearing a dress tonight. It’s this light cotton thing I found at the mall for twelve dollars. Hailey laughs at my love of the clearance rack, but every time I wear something like this, I feel a little more normal. And it’s not like she’s wrapping herself in Prada every day, either. But she hides her rich girl in a basket of wool that probably cost a few hundred dollars, easily. And she gives back to the community, too. But she also goes to black-tie things and…she fits in better, even if she doesn’t like it.

The only trapping of wealth I cling to is my regular spa visit and my Agent Provocateur collection.

The rest of the time I’m wearing secondhand jeans and discount dresses, yoga pants and hoodies from Old Navy.

I eat ramen noodles and iceberg lettuce, too, now that I’m living on my own.

That was a big step, because I didn’t want to get a job. Finishing my degree early…three more months to go now…was my biggest priority. I took an extra class each term, and summer school, and started my senior thesis halfway through my junior year.

And every time my faculty advisor gave me a doubting look or a gentle reminder that everyone has limits, I buckled down and did my next task even better.

I’m on the Honor Roll. I spend less than four hundred dollars a month on groceries and clothes.

And I’m addicted to Scott Mayfair.

So right now, I’m wearing a dress.

Not because it’s cheap. Not because it’s surprisingly warm today.

No, I’m wearing a dress because when the spring wind swirls over my bare legs, the skirt’s going to lift up. And I’m going to pretend to hold down the fabric, but not before Scott sees that I’m wearing barely there pink panties underneath.

A year ago, I would have said I had zero vices.

Now I’m seriously addicted to seducing an older man.

He finds me in the library. He shows up fifteen minutes early and lounges quietly in the chair across the table from me. He’s overdressed for a midnight study session, in his dark suit and white shirt—I’m not sure the man owns jeans and t-shirts, and I find myself so distracted by that thought that I set aside my textbook and finally just look at him.

He’s been looking at me for a while.

“Do you wear a suit every single day?” I finally ask him, breaking the heavy silence stringing between us.

“Most days,” he says slowly.

“I like it.”

“Good.”

“I’m pretty much done here.”

“I’m in no hurry.” Half of his mouth lifts up in an almost-smile. “I like watching you work.”

“I’d say the same to you, but I’m not sure what you’re doing now.”

His smirk deepens. “I’m trying to re-establish some business connections I had in England.”

I laugh. “That’s a total non-answer.”

“Sure is.”

I narrow my eyes at him as I tuck my laptop away and try to decide which books I want to check out and which can be re-shelved. “Here,” I finally say, shoving most of them across the table at him. “Carry these downstairs for me.”

“You need all these books?”

I shake my head. “But I’ve got the extra muscle tonight, so I might as well take them all and figure out which ones I need when I get home.”

He follows me to the elevator. I walk in front of him a few feet, hoping he’s checking out my legs, and when I turn around, his gaze is definitely tangled up in my lower body. I flush with inordinate pride, because how many times has he taken me home now and
not
given in the need throbbing between us?

But I’ve got faith that one of these days, I’ll be a little bit older and he’ll be a little bit hungrier, and it’ll be enough.

The weeks-old kiss still burns on my lips. I can still feel his hands on my body.

One day soon, maybe tonight, it will have to be enough.

The streets are quiet and it doesn’t take long to get back to my apartment. We get out of his car without discussing it. Maybe he’s just walking me to my door, but I don’t think so. I think the dress worked.

His hand hovers in the small of my back as we climb the stairs.

My heart is pounding a mile a minute. I’ve wanted this for months now. Touched myself to a dozen different versions of how this might happen, and none of them felt like this. Not even kissing in New York felt like this, because that was a response. I’d goaded him into that.

This is different.

Terrifying. Exciting. Confusing.

Riddled with doubt.

In all my fantasies about my sister’s bodyguard taking my virginity, I knew he wanted me. But the truth is, Scott’s had zero problem keeping me at arm’s length despite the chemistry between us.

So he thinks I’m pretty.

So he can’t stop looking at my legs.

He’s not a walking dick—part of why I’m attracted to him, I guess. But that control works against me, too.

If he says good night at the door, I’m going to need some serious ice cream therapy.

If he says good night at the door, I’m going to have to admit that I am a silly girl with a silly crush. And I don’t want that to be true.

So when we get to my apartment, I slide the key into the lock, but I don’t turn the handle. Not yet.

I want him to make the first move tonight.

A slow, rough exhale behind me kickstarts my heart. Then I feel his fingers on the nape of my neck. “You want me to come in?”

“I think you should either come in…” I say slowly, my pulse pounding so hard it hurts. “And if you don’t…maybe you should stay gone.”

“You think I can stay gone?”

“That’s not my problem if you can’t.”

“Coming in is a bad idea.”

“So is stringing each other along.”

“That was never my intention.”

“What was your intention?”

“You’re young—”

“Not that young.”

“Innocent.”

“Not that innocent.”

“Maybe I want you to be.” His breath brushes against my ear as he presses his front to my back. “Because if you aren’t innocent, then you’re just as complicit in being a tease as I am.”

My pulse pounds in my neck. “What?”

“You heard me.” He slides one arm around my waist, banding me to him tightly. The other brushes my hair out of the way and he nips my neck. “Open the door, Ali.”

This is happening.

I turn the handle and we shove inside. My backpack tumbles to the floor as Scott’s arms tighten around me.

“I’m not teasing you,” I whisper in the quiet. “I promise. We can do anything you want.”

“Jesus,” he rasps.

“Nobody needs to know, right?” I press back against him, wanting to feel him grind his erection against my bottom.

His breath slides hot and fast against my neck as he holds me tight. “That’s right. This is our secret.”

I spread my legs, rocking my ass back against his thighs. I wish I was taller. Maybe if I’d worn fuck-me boots, my legs would be long enough to get my cheeks at the right height to roll against his cock. But I can feel it, a heavy, hot brand in the small of my back, and just as telling, his hand presses firm against my belly.

I love the wrap of his arm around me. He’s big, all of his muscles solid and bulging, but there’s more to it than that—when Scott’s holding me, I feel safe. Like he’d never let anything happen to me.

Nothing bad, anyway.

Would he ever let me fly? Let me be myself?

Let me be
his
?

“What do you want, Ali?” The rough, whispered nickname that only he uses makes me whimper. I want him to call me that when he’s buried deep inside me. When he’s lost control and taken me, hard and fast, and my name spills out of him because he just can’t help it.

“I want to have sex with you.”

He laughs in my ear. “Not going to happen.”

“Who’s the tease now?”

“We’re not going to have sex.”

“Then go away.” I don’t mean it, but what did he think I’d want?

“But I can make you come.” The promise pulses through me like pure electricity. It burns so bright it hurts. “You want to come on my fingers, Ali?”

I nod.

“Turn around.”

Legs shaking, I peel myself out from the curve of his warm, hard body and turn on the spot. He cups my face in his hands and crushes his mouth against mine, his kiss hungry and hard. He kisses me until we’re both breathing hard and my lips are swollen, and then he licks his way out of my mouth, making me moan at the loss of his taste.

“Shh… I’m going to make you feel so good. Back against the wall. Hands…good girl. No touching me.”

“Why not?” I want to touch him. I want to hold on to his arms and feel his biceps work as he pistons his fingers in and out of me. I want to run my fingertips over his mouth and feel his breath, hot and desperate, as he watches me come. And more than anything, I want to squeeze his cock and make him wish he didn’t have this ridiculous boundary between us.
 

Okay, so I know why not.

He just laughs as he tugs my skirt up.

I shudder as his fingers graze my belly. He plays there for a minute, back and forth, working my skin into a maze of goosebumps. Then he tugs at the elastic waistband of my panties and slips his hand inside.

I gasp as he cups my entire sex in his hand. His fingers cover the space between my thighs, touching me everywhere, and I have a moment of feeling faint—hell, why do I want him to fuck me? His fingers alone feel too big to be inside me.

“You wet for me, Ali?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

He squeezes me gently, then not so gently. Good, because I’m not a china doll.

Then he rocks his hand against me hard enough to push me against the wall. Even better. I shudder as he pulls away, but his next touch is the tip of his fingers right up my slit, and he growls as he discovers I wasn’t lying about being wet.

I’m soaked for him and he slides right up to my clit, circling it quickly before delving deeper. Up and down he works me, teasing my entrance with his fingertips at first, then the barest insertion, up to his first knuckle, but always back to my clit.

His touch sends a riot of feelings through my body. Hot and cold prickles dance beneath my skin and my face flames bright, because nobody has done this to me before and that’s both a crying shame—because it’s oh my God so good—and amazing, too, because I’m pretty sure nobody else would know to walk the line between pleasure and pain for me.

Nobody else would know that while I may be a virgin, I don’t want to be treated like a delicate flower.

I want—ahhhh—yes. One thick finger sliding inside me. I want the extra push at the end that makes me squeak, and then I want another finger added before I’m fully ready for it.

I want to be stroked with such confidence that I thump my head back against the wall to keep from falling forward against him.

I want everything Scott is doing to me, exactly the way he’s doing it.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Oh, God, yes. Just like that.”

“Just like that?” He laughs a little as he scissors his fingers inside me. “You don’t want me to go harder?”

I curse under my breath. “Yes, please.”

“Tell me you want to come. Let me hear some dirty words drip off your beautiful lips.”

“Please make me come.” I pant as he thrusts into me again, harder this time. I press up onto my toes, but he keeps going, reaching deep inside me to find that spot that made me go all frantic. “I want to come on your hand,” I add, my words getting twisted by a groan as he adds his thumb lazily into the mix, stroking back and forth over the top of my clit. “Ohmygod. No. Yes. Oh, yes.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he mutters, pressing closer. His hand gets trapped between our bodies and I can feel his breath on my lips. “The most beautiful woman in the world. And one day soon, I’m going to fuck you into oblivion.”

I cry out, the promise of him taking my virginity all that I need to fly apart. My entire body overheats and I shudder, over and over again, as he kisses and strokes and holds me through it.

Holy shit.

There are orgasms, and then there’s getting finger-banged by Scott Mayfair in the dark of my living room. I let go of the wall and wrap my arms around his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he says quietly as he lifts me into his arms and carries me toward my room.

“How do you know where my bed is?” I murmur into his shoulder.

He laughs. “One room place, Ali. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist. Would you rather I’d stalked you?”

“Safest stalker ever.”