Her Mafia Bodyguard

ZEKE

She meant it about eating in her room. She came out just long enough to fix a plate of spaghetti and sauce, then marched down the hall and slammed the door again. I would’ve pointed out her father won’t like having to pay for a new door this soon, but I didn’t feel like having my head cut off.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with her? We haven’t been here for two hours, and already, the tension is enough to break the walls. She has no idea how close I came to throwing her over my knee and spanking the shit out of her for being such a little brat. Talking to me like she did, making it sound like I’m her father’s errand boy. A lapdog? The little tease is lucky I have self-control, or else she wouldn’t be able to sit for days by the time I finished with her ass.

She has no idea who she’s dealing with. I told myself from the beginning she would never know. The past is the past and all that. I did what I had to do. Looking after her might be boring, but it’s a reprieve from all the blood I used to get on my hands.

She’s dancing on my last nerve. I’ll be lucky if I don’t lose it by the end of this first week.

I take my time cleaning up, figuring the simple, repetitive act of rinsing dishes and pots, and putting them in the brand-new dishwasher will soothe my anger, but that’s not even close to the case. By the time the last of the dishes are in the dishwasher—aside from hers, still in her room—I’m as pissed off as ever. It’s not enough that I know she’s wrong. I want her to know it, too. I want to break her, to stare into her eyes and see fear and understanding. I want her to apologize for ever underestimating me. Just the thought of it makes my cock twitch a little bit, the idea of making her regret ever fucking with me.

Right. Like she wouldn’t go straight to her father. He’d have my head on a stick before the day was out if he knew I laid a hand on her. He might understand if I managed to get a word in edgewise before he ended me, but I don’t think he’d give me the chance.

There’s music coming from her room by the time I leave the kitchen and walk over to the closed door. Loud, driving, heavy on the drums and guitar. At least she has decent taste in music. One small reprieve. Instead of bothering her, I’ll count my blessings and leave her alone. Maybe she’ll be in a better mood by the time she ventures out.

Good or bad mood, I’m stuck here with her. That’s one thing she doesn’t understand, and I doubt she ever will. She feels like a prisoner? Welcome to the club, kid. Our situation might not be exactly the same, but I’m in a cage, too. She just can’t see past her anger.

I go into my bedroom, fucking pissed at her for talking to me the way she did—and more pissed at myself for letting her get away with it. I’m not a pushover, usually.

Still, she set me straight earlier. I can’t pretend I didn’t feel slightly like a piece of shit when she reminded me where she came from. I already knew most of it. At least, I was aware her life wasn’t easy before her father found her. She and her mom both went through a lot in the years my boss lived his life exactly how he wanted to, free and clear of family responsibilities.

What I can’t tell her is how it’s better for me to hate her. It’s easier for me to stay away and make sure there are no complications both of us would end up regretting. Safer.

I can either pace my room like a caged tiger, or I can take a shower and hope it calms me down. The bathroom is way bigger than I need, with a rainfall shower behind glass doors and a deep soaking tub. I guess hers is the same. Why would there need to be two bathrooms like this in the same condo? Knowing the boss, that was one of his must-haves, so we wouldn’t share a bathroom. I should thank him for thinking of me, I guess. Most people wouldn’t care about the comfort of the hired help.

My teeth grit when I think of myself that way, and it’s all thanks to her. It never bothered me that much before. I mean, it’s not like I enjoy having to report everything she does back to him, but I’m not some sniveling little ass kisser. Once again, I had to stop myself from screaming that in her face until she understood. I wish I didn’t want so much for her to understand.

The water pressure is good. That’s a plus. I run the water hot, and by the time I open the glass door to step inside, the shower is full of steam. I almost welcome the scalding water, the way it turns my skin red to match the boiling resentment in my gut.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back, but all I can see is Mia. Those eyes, those lips. So plump, made to be sucked and nibbled. Made to wrap around a cock.

Dammit, I can’t think this way, but it’s all that goes through my head in the steamy stall. How all I want is the princess on her knees in front of me, naked like she was by the pool. Looking up at me with those big eyes, eyes full of mixed fear and lust. I can’t help but imagine the way they would widen in surprise at the sight of my cock swaying in front of her.

My cock which is now standing fully erect and already oozing precum. I know I need to shut this down—nothing good can come of this. Then again, what good can come of me sulking around with blue balls? That would only make things worse.

I squirt body wash in my palm, and wrap my hand around my twitching length. A groan slips out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Good thing her room isn’t close to the hall, or else she might hear.

I close my eyes again and begin the slow, torturous slide up and down my shaft. Only, instead of my hand, it’s Mia’s mouth. Her lips closed tight around me, her tongue running up and down the underside before swirling around the head.

My stroke quickens, and I grit my teeth, my head falling back under the spray of scalding water. In my mind, I take her by the back of the head and control her rhythm, moving my hips until I’m fucking her face. My fist moves up and down faster, and I can almost hear the way she’d gag and groan as I take what I want. What I’ve always wanted, ever since the first moment I set eyes on her. “That’s right,” I growl in my fantasy. “Take it down your throat. Choke on my cock. Show me how good you can be. Show me how much you want it.”

And she would because she does. She wants me, wants this cock inside her. Wants to feel my cum filling her mouth and rolling over her tongue, coating her throat. Wants to watch me come across those incredible tits, wants to feel my cum splash over her ass after I’ve fucked her until she’s close to passing out.

So many images overlap in my overheated brain until I can’t take it anymore, and I come with a growl, soap and jizz mixing together in my hand. I slow my stroke, sighing in relief. I can think again.

I know this isn’t going to last long. The relief will be short-lived. Being around her will make me want her more, and I’ll be right back here. It looks like my hand is going to be getting a lot of action in the months ahead.

It’s not until I’m out of the shower and drying off, wearing a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else, that I realize there’s no music coming from her bedroom. I walk through my room and stick my head out the door. Her bedroom door is still closed, and there’s light coming from underneath. “Mia?” I call out.

Nothing. Not even a slammed drawer or a muttered insult.

Instantly, my instincts go on overdrive. She wouldn’t. She’s not that stupid.

Turns out, she would, and she is. When I open her bedroom door, I find the room empty. The bathroom, too. “Goddammit, Mia.” The kitchen is empty, the living room, the balcony.

I don’t care that I’m only in my underwear. I go out, looking over the railing, gripping it with both hands, and wondering how much it would take to tear the iron from the concrete under my feet. I’ll fucking kill her for this. And if anything happens to her, her father will fucking kill me.

There’s something she doesn’t know. She thinks she’s smart, but I’m still at least one step ahead. There’s a reason she can’t have a burner phone I don’t have access to: if that’s the only phone she’s carrying, I can’t track her. As it stands, I can watch her every move.

My phone is on my nightstand. I open the app and wait no more than a few seconds for GPS to locate her. She’s crossing campus. Where the hell is she going? While I wait to find out, I throw on jeans and a T-shirt, a pair of heavy-soled shoes. By the time I’m finished, there’s no question where she went. “A fucking frat house?” I groan, checking out the house’s exterior through Google Maps. “Why don’t you paint a target on your ass, Mia?”

I hope she wasn’t planning on doing much partying tonight. By the time I’m finished with her, partying will be the furthest thing from her mind.