Her Mafia Bodyguard

“You’re not going anywhere. Not until school starts up again.” When all I can do is sputter in confusion, she takes pity on me, holding my face in her hands. Her eyes are shining, and she’s radiant. “We’re fine. Everything is okay. I’m going to work with my father rather than stay out of things.”

“But you can’t do that. You’re not a part of any of this.”

“But I will be—from the business side of things. I already told him everything I came up with, and I’m sure we’ll work out the details later. We’re going to do an image rehabilitation, and I’ll be the face of it. In exchange for that, I get you.”

“I can’t believe he would agree to that.”

She snorts. “Once I reminded him of how bad it would look if I popped up in his life, then disappeared again, he started to get the picture. It looks much better for me to stick around and be happy than for me to suddenly vanish because I ran away or because he wants to hide me someplace since I won’t play along with his plans.”

“He’s going to let us—”

She cuts me off with a kiss. Slow, tender. “Yes,” she whispers after pulling away. “He’s going to let us. Because I told him I love you, too. And I always will. You’re all I want.”

I touch her face, her hair, her hands. I’ve never known what it means to have something I wished for. I figured that kind of thing wasn’t for men like me. Yet here she is, and she’s telling me she’s mine. I’m not sure how to process it. “But it means you’ll be getting mixed up in all this shit. I don’t want that for you.”

She touches her fingers to my lips, shaking her head. “Remember, I get to decide what’s good for me. And what’s good for me is you. Nothing else matters.”

I don’t know what to say. There aren’t any words to describe the way my heart swells; the way what used to be ice in my stomach just a few minutes ago when I thought Frank was coming to kill me is now warm, electric. All because of her. All because she was willing to take a chance because she loves me. Me. The person least worthy of love.

“Even after everything I’ve done?” She tries to brush it off, but I won’t let her. I need to know—and so does she. “I know it’s easy right now to say it doesn’t matter, but I want you to be sure. I don’t want you waking up tomorrow and realizing you—”

She cuts me off with another kiss. Deeper this time. Harder, fiercer. She wants to prove she means what she says.

And I don’t have it in me to stop her. I don’t want to. I pull her closer, crushing her against me, and her soft groan tells me it’s the right move. This woman. This infuriating, unpredictable woman. My everything.

Now when I touch her, when I start the process of pulling off her clothes, I feel a sense of reverence. I could have lost this precious thing, this beautiful woman. As sure as I was of finding her and making him pay, there was always a touch of realism. The knowledge, deep in the back of my mind, that not every story like ours has a happy ending. Sometimes the worst does happen, and the bad guys win. Not this time. For once, I was the good guy.

And when she grins like a little devil before crossing her arms to lift her sweater over her head, I remind myself she sometimes likes my bad side. She sees both and loves both. What did I do to deserve this miracle?

Whatever it is, I plan to keep doing it—which is why I ease her back before lifting her hips to pull down her leggings and thong in one move. I can start here. Worshiping her, pleasuring her the way she deserves. Which is why I soak in the softness of her skin with both hands, running them up and down her legs while with my lips kiss a trail from her ankle to the seam where her leg ends and her mound swells. By the time I sweep my tongue over that sensitive crease, she’s already lost—eyes closed, gripping the sheets.

I repeat the process on her other leg, watching her reactions. Her soft whimpers of approval are music, the sweetest I’ve ever heard. And the scent of her arousal is better than any perfume. I soak it in, my nose close to her sweetness, and marvel at the sight of juices dripping from her tight little hole.

“All mine.” It’s not a question. It never was. Still, confirming it for myself is a thrill I never anticipated.

She opens her eyes, half-lidded and full of lust. “Yours,” she whispers. “Now eat me. Make me come for you.” My cock was already hard enough, but now it’s going to kill me. I open my jeans and push them down far enough to free myself before lowering my head, brushing my mouth over her glistening lips.

“Mmm…” One of her hands finds the back of my head, and she plays with my hair while I play with her pussy. Flicking my tongue over her slit, picking up bits of her sweet nectar. To think, there was a chance I might never taste her again. Never relish the music she makes—soulful, sensual—while I play her body like an instrument.

“More,” she demands, her hand tightening in my hair. “I want to come. Make me feel good, Zeke. Baby.”

I plunge my tongue inside with no warning, making her back arch in time with her surprised gasp. I drive my tongue into her, deep inside her tight tunnel, coating my tongue with her. She rolls her hips, urging me on, grinding against me. And instead of trying to stop her, I let it happen, working with her rather than trying to control it. She’s earned this. Let her take her pleasure.

And she does, especially once I withdraw my tongue and lash it against her clit. “Fuck me with your fingers,” she moans. I respond by entering her with two digits, finding her G-spot, and pressing against it while I suck on her engorged clit. She rides my face faster, harder, her movements going from sensuous to desperate.

Her thighs clench, squeezing my head between them, and it’s heaven. I could die here, deaf to everything but the blood rushing in my ears and the muffled sound of her moans. My name, over and over. She clenches tighter for an instant, then lets go, hips hitting the mattress the same instant she soaks my hand with her juice. I lap it up, savoring every drop. Greedy for her.

Then I look up over the length of her body, at her heaving tits and the nipples that are so hard in the wake of her orgasm. I sweep my tongue over one of them on my way back up to her mouth. “Taste yourself,” I invite her before plunging my tongue inside. She meets it, sweeping her tongue against mine, moaning in appreciation.

I reach down between us, guiding myself inside her. I need to be inside her, to sink deep, to connect. I love this woman. I would die for this woman. She moans into my mouth, long and loud when I thrust my hips and drive myself home. Her hands fumble with my shirt, and I break our kiss only long enough to yank it over my head and throw it aside. Now she can run her nails up and down my back, can dig them into my shoulders each time I drive my cock into her tight, quivering tunnel.

It’s different now. Strange how admitting the way we’ve always felt added something to what we’ve done so many times already. When I lift my head and look down at her, all I see is love reflected back at me. And when she clings to me, it isn’t only desire tightening her arms and the legs she wraps around my hips. There’s more now. So much more. A lifetime’s worth.

Still, there’s that familiar rush when the tension builds. When I can’t go slow anymore. My strokes deepen, faster, harder. And instead of scraping her nails over me, she drags them. Raking me, barely stopping short of breaking the skin.

“That’s right,” she whispers, staring deep into my eyes. “Fuck me. Only you. Always you.”

“Mia…” I grit my teeth, holding on, wanting to come with her. “I love you.”

“I love you.” A high-pitched moan builds in her throat, louder each time our bodies slam together. By the time we’re both at the edge, we’re fucking madly, like animals, using each other for our own gain. My balls tighten, and her cunt tightens around my cock, and yes, this is it, yes, mine, mine, she’s always going to be mine—

I drop my head to the mattress, just beside her ear, muffling my shouts the way she muffles hers against my shoulder. She shudders, and so do I, both of us under the control of something much bigger while the last of our passion eases away.

Soon it’s just the two of us again, breathless and shaking. I never understood what it meant for feelings to be involved with that. I was starting to get there before, but I was still in denial. Telling myself I imagined things. Anything, so long as I didn’t have to admit I’d lost control of my feelings.

Now, I don’t have to fight. And I’m lost, lost in her.

But it isn’t scary. I don’t feel fear or confusion. Only the deep sense of belonging. Of finally reaching home.

And when I lift my head and look down at her—flushed and breathless, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—I know she feels the same way.