by Elaria Ride
Then he lets out a low whistle. “Since we’re s'posed to be nicer to each other, I’ll admit it: that Amanda is a piece of work. Good on you for putting her in her place.”
My curious eyes flit up to his. I’m not sure if he’s just making an effort because of the job or if he genuinely empathizes. I attempt to give him an apologetic smile, but he narrows his eyes, snapping me back in my place. I bite my lip. Just like during my fantasies, some sick part of me loves being under his control.
“Don’t bat those pretty doe eyes and wriggle out of this,” he rumbles, his finger raised in warning. “You still disobeyed orders. You still put yourself in jeopardy. Again.”
I gesture into the still, silent parking lot. “So much jeopardy,” I deadpan. “Concrete steps fifty feet from the door. Deadlier than a gunshot wound, so I hear.”
“For fuck’s sake, Mariah!” Luke swears again and tosses a hand in the air as the remaining friendliness evaporates. “Does some part of you fucking — I don’t know — get off on being in danger?” he demands. “Cause lemme tell ya, dear, that’s one hell of a fetish — and you’re gonna need professional help for that one before you wind up dead!”
He shoots me a scathing look, but for once, I refuse to ignore the blunt invitation of his words. Or the lust pounding behind his eyes. On the same impulsive streak that caused me to antagonize a reporter, I ignore my best interests… and I challenge him.
“Oh?” I purr, unsure what possess me to lean in closer. I trail a finger across his muscled forearm. Luke’s eyes remain locked on mine, his breath hitching in his throat. “Are you interested in what gets me off, Mr. Hottie guard?”
There’s a heated silence.
Luke swallows as something unmistakably primal flits across his face. He sets his jaw, his eyes dark and hooded. He hasn’t said a word, but his eyes send the answer racing up my spine.
Yes… I want to know what gets you off.
I let out a shaky breath as his arms grip my elbows. He drags me towards him as if I weigh nothing. His eyes sear into mine, penetrating through every wall I’ve built to keep him out.
“Now you’re gonna listen to me, Mariah,” Luke rumbles, pressing me against the planes of his hard body. “You’re gonna march that pretty ass back inside, and you’re going to fucking obey me.”
He releases my elbows… and with that, the cocky part of him awakens. Withdrawn arrogance steals across his handsome features, but for the first time, I don’t pretend I hate it.
I peer up at him, daring to lick my lips. “And if I don’t obey?”
A vein ticks in Luke’s jaw. His eyes are dark and predatory, even as he responds with a smirk. “In that case? I’d have to punish you. Princess.”
I thought I’d been distracted when I first marched out here.
But I’d been wrong. So wrong.
Luke steers me to my dressing room, his warm palm pressed to the small of my back. I feel him behind me, large and imposing... but more than anything else, protective. He’s guarding me, covering me on all sides. I don’t know what our exchange outside meant. I don’t know if he’ll even bring it up again. And for the same reason that I haven’t once considered defining our relationship before fantasizing about his hard body, I know I won’t think about this, either. All that matters is the warm weight of his hand against me as he guides me from behind.
Well, that and retrieving my mother’s ring.
I draw a shaky breath as we finally stop in front of my dressing room. If it weren’t for the ring, I’d have already headed home… but I need it. I need to feel its soft weight on my finger. I need the echo of her voice to tether me to reality. I need her silent strength — now more than ever.
I hear Luke drawing ragged breaths behind me, his body pressed to mine as I reach for the door handle.
“C’mon, Princess.” His lips scrape the shell of my ear. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
There’s no way I’m imagining the low, rumbling way fuck slides off his tongue. I manage a weak nod, my nose filled with his cologne and the old, sawdusty smell of the studio. My hand shakes as I jiggle the door handle and push my way inside.
And I’m so distracted by the warring sensations in my chest, so overwhelmed with the events of the evening, that the scene inside my dressing room doesn’t even register. Not at first.
There’s a dull buzzing in my ears as the world slows. I blink around the room like I’m living at half speed, my eyelashes batting sluggishly. Somehow, each thing I notice leaves me feeling number than the next.
My eyes flit to the blue area rug in front of my vanity. The normally fluffy carpet is now soaked a deep, sickening scarlet. My heart thunders in my throat, but I feel nothing... not even as I follow the pool of red to its source. Tiny scarlet rivers weep down the front of my vanity, lazily dripping onto the blue plush below.
It’s an easy path to the rest. An enormous pig head sits atop my vanity counter. It’s so large I immediately know it’s a female — which, I realize deliriously, is the point. Her cloudy eyes stare above, her expression pained and pleading. I pan up to the mirror… and, ah, yes… here’s fourth threat, written in blood: REPENT, PIGGY, OR PAY!
Some part of me realizes the whole thing is almost artistically grotesque. The pig head is about two feet wide — almost the exact size of my countertop. A clean, shiny Jonagold apple (like you’d find back home in Washington State) sits in her open mouth.
None of this is lost on me: the intention. The message. The personal touch.
But it’s not until I hear Luke bellowing behind me, not until I feel myself wrapped in his strong arms as he presses my face to his chest, not until he rushes us both away from the crime scene, that I finally feel the world spin at full speed.
13
Luke
I don’t think Mariah breathes again until we’re alone in her apartment.
Not that I blame her.
It’s been four hours since we — she — found the pig head in her dressing room. Four hours that passed in a nightmarish blur of crime scene techs (who found nothing) and surveillance footage (which revealed nothing).
Four hours where I questioned everyone from Tori (who’d dropped the ring off in Mariah’s dressing room but was otherwise clueless) to a random camera tech. Four hours where my voice went hoarse from bellowing at PMS to do their fucking jobs, for once…
Four hours in which I insisted on keeping Mariah tucked against my chest, even as her whole body shook like a leaf. And even though we’re at home now, even though we’ve traveled all the way here, she hasn’t been more than five feet away the entire time.
Her brothers had been livid — angrier than I’ve ever seen them, each teetering on the verge of seeking vigilante justice. They’d been furious enough at the fat-shaming comments, but the pig head really tipped them over the edge. I’ve never heard Mark yell that loudly or Miles act that serious.
Even the normally serene Sabrina had been fierce and protective when she’d told me to give Mariah a triple dose of tea tonight. Say what you want about the Matthews family, but they protect their own. Something primal ripples in my chest when I think about how I once yearned to be part of a family so loving and kind.
After Schmidt cleared the scene, the Matthews entourage (and PMS) returned to Mariah’s penthouse. We’re working in new territory here, but moving forward, the plan is to double the surveillance, both outside her door and at her building's exterior — all night, every night. Earl had tried to arrange for cops to remain inside her apartment too, but Mariah put her foot down. She curtly informed her father she was only comfortable with me in close quarters… and that if he expected her to continue doing her job (and being friendlier with me), she needed beauty sleep.
After that, things broke up pretty fast. Mariah put on a brave face and hugged everyone goodnight, but even an Oscar-worthy acting performance wouldn’t have convinced us that she’s unfazed. Who would be, after all that? But her family understood she wanted her space, so
they left — I check my watch — five minutes ago.
The second the door closed, she turned to me, a scared look in her eyes… and without her saying a word, I knew what she needed. We moved at the exact same time: her body crashed into mine, her face resting against my sternum, just like before… and as I walked us back to the couch, she finally, finally allowed the tears to fall. And here on the couch is where we’ve remained, one of my hands caressing her soft curls, the other rubbing circles on her back. She’s not crying much anymore, but she isn’t ready to look up yet, either. I smile down at her, happy to do whatever she needs.
I bow down to rest my chin against the crown of her curly hair, my eyes fluttering shut. Her soft, warm weight, perfectly nestled in my arms, has given me just as much strength as it’s given her. Not that she has any idea. Not that I have any interest in telling her.
Shit. I wince at the unbidden memories flitting through my head faster than I can stop them: the startled scream of the emira. The deafening explosion. The debris. The blood… so much blood. I shudder as the pig’s head from earlier morphs into the head of Emir Abbasi, laid out the vanity with his wide, frozen smile. I open my eyes as fast as I can, trying not to gag from the heavy, sickly smell of blood in a small space.
Blood that isn't here.
Fuck. I blink around the apartment. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a flashback… so long that I’ve forgotten that blood is a trigger and that closing my eyes makes it worse. So long I’ve forgotten that I always shiver and tense up, even when there’s someone in my arms.
“Hey,” Mariah starts. Her soft voice jolts me far away from Kashfar, her gentle eyes peering up at me with concern. Her left arm is rubbing my bicep. “Are you… what was—?”
“Nothing,” I lie swiftly. “Just, you know... it’s been a crazy day!” I cut off with a fake chuckle, but to my horror, Mariah’s eyes fill with tears.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I soothe, pulling her against my chest again. For a moment I marvel at how different my voice sounds from when I’d barked at her outside the studio. “What’s wrong, Princess?”
There’s a pause. She pulls back and glimpses at me again, biting her lip… and I know we’re thinking the same thing. This is the first time we’ve acknowledged what happened outside the studio. The first time we’ve had a second to think about what we both admitted…
“Please,” Mariah whispers, teardrops glistening on her thick eyelashes. Fuck. My pulse pounds in my ears. She’s never looked more beautiful. Her doe eyes are hooded with lust, her pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
My conscience screams how wrong this is. Every logical part of my body knows this won’t work… knows this is a terrible, terrible idea… but even before Mariah makes her request, I know I’ll do it.
Whatever the hell she wants, I’ll do it.
Then she whispers, “Kiss me,” her eyelashes fluttering shut… and with that, my precarious grip on professionalism splinters into a million pieces. In the blink of an eye, our lips crash together through a deep, sultry moan that could honestly belong to either of us. I gasp against her mouth as her lips slide and nibble, and fuck… kissing her is like breathing.
Like I’m finally taking a breath of fresh air.
Like I’m a man coming across an oasis in the desert.
My head spins as her lips slide down my jaw, nipping at a pulse point in my neck, but it’s not until she adjusts herself to straddle my lap that I remember who’s in charge here.
A predatory growl crawls up my throat as I wrap my palms around her wide hips, the tips of my fingers resting on the swell of her ass. She releases a startled shriek as I grip her in my hands, shifting us both until she’s lying beneath me on the couch.
My lips return to hers as I take control with a possessive growl, wrapping my palms harder around her waist. My lips drift down down down, my head heavy with the floral scent of her perfume, my cock pounding with every whimper slipping from her mouth. I turn the teasing tables, nipping at the creamy pillar of her neck… not thinking about anything except how soft and warm and amazing she feels… about how long I’ve wanted to feel her beneath me…
But a nagging voice in my head pipes up as my calloused right hand moves to caress the smooth skin of her thigh. “This is wrong,” I groan, even as Mariah arches into my touch. “This is so wrong,” I repeat… but I can’t stop my fingers from inching higher and higher to the place I’ve longed to touch for most of my life.
Mariah turns her head to look at me with swollen lips, dazedly arching an eyebrow. I shudder, unmistakably struck with exactly what she’s thinking: No… it’s right. For once, it’s right.
And despite what’s best for everyone, I’ll be damned if I don’t agree.
I duck my head down for another fierce, claiming kiss. Mariah lets out a moan that thunders through my cock, sending my body into overdrive. All I can do is try to control the situation… try to remain dominant. My tongue darts in between her lips, sucking and swirling as my right hand continues to climb up her thigh. I let out a low groan as my fingers brush across the soaking lace beneath her dress, and I’m powerless to stop what my body demands. So I lock eyes with her, arch an eyebrow… and slide my thick finger into her tight warmth.
Her reaction is instantaneous. Mariah moans against me, her eyes fluttering shut, and slides her pussy down further on my finger. But it’s not until I begin to pump in and out, my thumb coming up to swirl across her clit, that everything falls to shit.
Mariah lets out a keening whimper as I graze across the sensitive bundle of nerves. Then her face flushes, and in the blink of an eye, she’s wrapped her legs around my waist, locking her ankles on my back…
Fuccckkk.
My whole body freezes, my eyes fluttering shut, as she brushes herself right against the massive erection I’ve had from the first touch of her lips.
No.
No no no.
This is so fucking wrong.
I remove my finger from her soaking center, slamming my eyes shut, scarcely aware that I’ve removed support from her back. I feel her legs drop from my waist, but I’m already stammering, only focused on myself.
“I’m — I’m hard,” I groan, running a hand down my face. “Shit, Mariah. I’m so sorry… everything about this is—”
“—It’s what?” she demands, propped on her elbows. “It’s what, Luke? Because if you have any fucking idea what’s happening here, I’d love to know.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, focusing on drawing deep breaths. Not that it helps, when I can still smell her… when I still want her, more than ever. I swallow, staring straight ahead.
“This is wrong,” I repeat, my voice as unmoving as marble. “You shouldn’t know that I’m hard… you should never know that about your bodyguard. This is the biggest breach of—”
I stand quickly from the couch as if the contact burns me.
“I’m… this is my fault. Completely my fault.” I stoop to brush the curls from her face. “Please. Go to sleep. You’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s just pretend this never happened. Ok?”
Mariah shoots me a reproachful look and pushes her dress down her thighs, but I can tell the message is received. My heart sinks to my stomach. I never meant to make her feel like this. I never wanted things to go this far.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispers, swatting my hand away. “You never have to touch me again.”
She shoots me one last look filled with hurt and confusion before rising from the couch, racing across the living room, and slamming her bedroom door. The hollow thud doesn’t quite cover the unmistakable sound of a sob ripping from her throat.
I stand there for a few minutes, feeling like the biggest scumbag the world has never seen. And unbelievably, I still have a massive, massive erection.
I pace her floor for a few seconds, trying to come up with a course of action. Emmett’s coming into town tomorrow. I meant to brief her on that, but we didn't get the chance. What with me groping her
. I shake my head in self-disgust, deciding to stalk off to the guest room.
I shut the door behind me and collapse on the bed. I’m horrified that I did that… took advantage of my charge. While on the job. It violates every fucking oath I’ve ever made, of every internal code that keeps me going.
And yet, I’m not done. I feel like the biggest creep the world has ever seen, but I’m still so fucking turned on. I know I won’t get a damn wink of sleep if I don’t take care of this.
So with that in mind, I lift a shaking finger to my nose, inhaling the scent of her pussy… the place I’d gotten to explore for both far too long and nowhere near long enough.
Fuck.
My eyes slam shut again as I palm my erection with the other hand. She smells amazing… earthy and clean. I unbuckle my belt, freeing my cock from my jeans and boxers, my finger never leaving my nose. God. I can’t help it. I know I’ll feel like shit for this in the morning… but right now, I just want to feel better. To make her feel better, even if only in my fantasies.
I imagine lifting her ass onto that vanity counter and spreading her thighs. My hand begins even strokes on my cock. I may be a thirty-year-old man… but despite all my sexual experiences, the thought of her already has me close to the brink. I spread the pre-cum around the tip as I imagine plunging that same finger into her again… my tongue diving to taste her. I hear her hoarse cries in my ear as I pump even harder and faster inside, my finger inching for that bundle of nerves inside her wet heat.
And just as I’m about to reach my climax, Fantasy Mariah cries out a proclamation that changes absolutely everything: “Luke… I love you!”
I let out a roaring groan that rips from my lips without hesitation, one I don’t bother to damper. My cock jerks with release, shooting thick, white ropes all over my shirt. Fucking hell. I grit my teeth, but the orgasm lasts forever.
It’s not until several minutes later that I finally see the guest room swimming in front of me again. I let out another breathless sigh, running my hand down my face… and as I rise to clean up, I try very, very hard not to think about what this fantasy has just revealed.