Her Mafia Bodyguard

ZEKE

Of all things to wake me up in the morning, the one I expected the least was the smell of bacon. She’s making breakfast.

Which means she’s probably going to want to talk.

Fuck. I drop back onto the bed, my head hitting the pillow hard. I guess it’s too much to ask, hoping she would forget what happened last night. I lost my grip on myself. It should never have happened. I had no right to do that to her.

And something tells me I only made it worse by leaving her there while she was still dazed. It was all I could think to do. I didn’t know if I could handle looking her in the eye.

I’m not even sure why I reacted the way I did. She wanted it. God knows I did. So why did I feel so guilty?

That guilt hasn’t eased in the slightest. It doesn’t get any better once I’m up and moving around, getting dressed, brushing my teeth. As long as I live, I’ll never forget the exhilaration of knowing I was the first man to ever taste her indescribable sweetness.

And I’m kidding myself, thinking I won’t taste her again. Just like I was kidding myself when I decided that night in her bedroom was a one-off. That we could never do that again. Eventually, my needs are going to catch up with me.

And so will hers.

I can’t stay in my room all day, that’s for sure. I need to face this like a man. “You’ve got this!” I tell myself before flinging my bedroom door open. The aroma of bacon and coffee is stronger now, and my stomach growls in anticipation. Man cannot live on pussy alone or something like that. I find her in the kitchen, where I knew she would be, wearing a nightshirt and thick socks. There are covered pans on the stove, and she’s in the process of pouring two cups of coffee.

“Good morning.” Right away, I’m relieved that she’s not overly eager, giddy, giggly. But that’s not her, either, is it? She’s not one of those girls. She’s not going to fall head over heels just because I was the first guy ever to eat her.

“Good morning. What’s all this for?”

“For eating breakfast, obviously. Back when I was younger, I’d always have Sunday breakfast with my mom, at least when she wasn’t working an early shift.”

She shrugs before holding out a cup for me. “I figured I would bring the tradition back now that I can.”

“So long as you didn’t burn the bacon, I think I can learn to live with it.” I can’t help but eye her warily, though, as I take a seat at the counter. It’s almost surreal, the idea of eating breakfast side by side in the same place where I went down on her last night. The memory alone is enough to stir things to life below my waist.

She slides a plate of food in front of me a moment later. Scrambled eggs, perfectly cooked bacon, toast. “This looks great,” I murmur before sprinkling pepper over the eggs, then taking a bite. They’re buttery and fluffy. “Are you sure you never took cooking lessons?”

I wish I hadn’t asked that. Now all I can think about is how her old man wants her to take cooking lessons for her future husband.

She only laughs gently, unaware. “I’ve always been interested in cooking. I watched a lot of cooking shows, and I always used to watch my mom when she cooked. It probably drove her crazy, having me watch her, but she was always patient.” I can’t help but notice the warmth and affection in her voice whenever she mentions her mother. What a big difference compared to a father who throws money at her but not much else.

I should be used to her sudden shifts in topic by now. She has a habit of bouncing from one thing to another without warning. This time, she really surprises me. “Why did you leave me alone last night? And when can we do that again?”

Bad timing. I barely avoid choking on a piece of toast, waving her off when she jumps up like she wants to help. “I’m fine,” I manage before taking a big gulp of orange juice. Once I’m sure I’m not going to die, I look at her. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Do I look like I’m confused?” She pops a piece of bacon into her mouth, staring at me while she chews. I don’t know if it’s sexy or unnerving. Both?

“You know all the reasons that’s a terrible idea.”

“Why does it have to be?” She’s so casual about it. That alone makes me wonder if she understands the enormity of what she’s talking about.

“Mia, come on. We’re talking about my job here. We’re talking about your father castrating me if he ever found out. And he’d be furious with you, too. Are you really willing to take that risk?”

She makes a big deal about looking around, her head on a swivel, her eyes landing here and there. “Doesn’t look like there’s anybody here with us,” she finally announces. “So, how would anybody know?”

I close my eyes, gritting my teeth, willing myself to be the smart one here. One of us has to be. “Mia, I know you’re a virgin. I know you’re probably in a hurry to change that.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she spits, disgusted. “I know what I want. I’ve known for a long time. Pretend all you want that you don’t want me too, but we both know that isn’t true. I respect you wanting to be true to what my dad wants. I do. But he never needs to know.”

The little tease runs her foot up my leg. “Does he? It can be between you and me. Why deny ourselves what we both want? Are you afraid you can’t handle it?”

“Don’t play games,” I warn, though I don’t bother pushing her foot away, either. She’s winning me over, let’s put it that way. How can I help it? My dick is doing the thinking for me, and right now, it’s all in. No reservations.

Which means I have to call upon what little blood is still left in my brain. “I’m serious, Mia,” I warn. “This is dangerous shit you’re talking about.”