Bodyguard

Chapter 15: February 2008

"I don't," she says, as she climbs on top of me. "I want to fuck you."

My heart lurches and lands somewhere in the dark depths of my gut. Fuck. I'll be mentally replaying that sentence on repeat for weeks. Months, probably.

She's not even touched me yet, and I'm ready to blow my load. I swallow down my raging caveman instincts and settle my hands on her thighs.

"I'm all yours," I say with as much restraint as I can muster under the challenging circumstances.

The corner of her mouth lifts. It's obvious which one of us has already enjoyed an orgasm, because she takes her sweet time tracing my abs with her fingertips, like she's trying to memorise each groove and ridge.

"I swear you've got more muscles than the last time I saw you."

She saw me without a shirt last week when I passed through the living room after a shower. And I know she saw me, because she made no attempt at subtlety with her roaming gaze. I don't point that out, because there's the tiniest chance she'll take her one orgasm and tap out, and that's a risk I'm sensible enough to avoid.

"Been going to the gym more," I say. "On the evenings you work late."

Her eyes trail down to my hard-on, which rests patiently against my stomach. Is she going to play with that as much as she's played with my abs? I hope to fuck not.

"Has that grown as well?" I ask her.

For the first time tonight, she laughs. It's fucking beautiful, but not exactly the response I was hoping for.

"Why?" She cocks an amused eyebrow. "Has that been getting a work-out too?"

It could be a harmless question, but equally it could be a way to find out if I've been sleeping around. At this point, I have no idea what she'd prefer. I opt for honesty.

"Only in my hand," I say.

With a smile, her fingers curl around my dick and squeeze. A bolt of pleasure careens down my spine.

"Show me." She lets go and leans back, resting her palms on my thighs behind her.

"Show you what?"

She tips her chin towards my erection. "Your work-out."

My mouth dries. Not with nerves—I'll happily wank myself off in front of her if that's what she wants. It's the intimacy of it. Showing her something intensely personal that I know is going to get her off. That she'll probably think about in bed when I'm not here with her.

Holding eye contact with her, I fist my dick and flex my wrist. Her thighs tighten around my hips. I keep my strokes light, almost lazy, not daring to look away from her in case I miss a single second of her reaction. Above me, her chest heaves with ragged breaths.

"If I carry on," I say, my voice low, "where do I get to come?"

Her eyes widen, then instantly narrow with indecision. Blood thrums in my eardrums as I watch her mull it over. God what I'd give to be inside her head right now, to hear exactly what she's thinking.

She then grabs my wrist to still my movements. "No. I still need to feel you inside me. Can you..." She swallows hard. "After."

With half her question missing, I'm left to fill in the gaps. At some point in the next few minutes, that ballsy confidence will return, and then she can ask me properly. For now, I just nod.

Just as she edges forward to line us up, she pauses. Tentative eyes flick up to mine.

"Um... Do you want me to get a condom?"