by Grace Risata
Had it really been six torturously long months since I discovered my trusted bodyguard? Time passes differently when you’re having a dry spell. So, so dry.
“Do you remember the night we met?” I asked him nostalgically, ripping off my wig and leaning back in the seat. The leather ensconced my ass in luxury as I took a trip down memory lane.
“Of course,” he replied. “How could I forget?”
It was a very ordinary Saturday evening, nothing terribly interesting was happening in any of my clubs, so I decided to take a field trip in search of adventure. I brought my best friend Angie along for the ride and ditched my security detail. Hell, if anyone could keep me in line, she would do a far better job than Shorty and that fuck up, Fritz. No, I did not give them their nicknames in case you were wondering.
“So, basically we’re here to get laid?” Angie asked, completely ignoring the entire conversation we had on the way to the warehouse.
“Why must you never listen?” I complained, knocking on the metal door in the secret pattern that would gain us access to an illegal MMA fight. “I get first choice of the competitors and then you can bang whomever you wish. Before you go running off for a quickie, I expect your help in choosing my next bodyguard. We need to find someone fierce, loyal, and good with his hands.”
Maybe I meant boxing, maybe I meant sex. While it’s true that I sometimes chastised Angie for her willingness to fuck random strangers, I wasn’t too far behind her.
“You don’t need anyone else to protect you. I offered to be your new babysitter,” she reminded me for the umpteenth time. While I knew she could handle it, what with her history of being ex-military and having a black belt in karate, I couldn’t fully trust her with my life. Angela had been my best friend for as long as I could remember, but the woman was easily distracted by shiny objects. All it would take was one jaw-dropping male, or female, to catch her eye and that would be the end of it. Her attention would go from watching my back to giving a blow job in the restroom. I’ll be the first to admit that I loved her like a sister, but she would make an awful employee. I didn’t get this far in life by making poor business decisions.
We walked down the dark and foul-smelling corridor that led to the main fighting arena. Several cages were set up in order to keep participants from fleeing in defeat. These matches had a tendency to be very bloody and merciless. The losers didn’t always walk away.
Was I shocked and appalled at the brutality of it all? Not really. I’d seen people shot, stabbed, and murdered at an early age, and it didn’t take long to realize that ‘tomorrow’ was a luxury and not a given right. Being the eldest child of Jimmy Donahue meant I had to grow up fast. Once daddy dearest was forced to flee the country in order to avoid a lengthy jail sentence, I finally got a crack at taking over the family business.
Don’t get me wrong, my father didn’t just hand over the keys to the kingdom without one hell of a fight. No proper Irish gangster leaves anything to a woman, since the son is set to inherit every last dime. However, circumstances were a little different in our case. Namely, I have a degree in business management and my wayward brother has more expertise with the chemical industry. As in…he likes to get his hands on a certain white powder and snort it up his nose. Having no siblings to take over in his absence, my father was given the choice of leaving his empire to a ruthless woman with a strong head on her shoulders or a self-absorbed cokehead. I was the best option in a bad situation.
Not everyone that worked for my dad agreed with his appointment of me as his successor. A few of the higher level employees were talking mutiny behind my back, and I was determined to squash the idea before it gained momentum. That is the sole reason I found myself surrounded by testosterone and sweat on a blustery Saturday evening.
“Who’s catching your eye?” I asked Angie while surveying the selection of brawny men scattered about the room. “Too short, too hairy, too dumb-looking, too ugly, too tan. Not impressed.”
“Someone needs an attitude adjustment,” she responded, flipping wavy red tresses over her shoulder and flashing a killer smile at the guy I deemed ‘too tan.’ “Number one, you said you wanted a bodyguard, not a new fucktoy. Quit being so picky. Number two, you’re thirty-four. That’s like really, really old, Lee. You’re going to have to lower your standards sooner rather than later. Eventually your age is going to catch up to you and all the young and nubile women such as myself are going to snatch the men right out from under your wrinkly ass.”
“You’re thirty-three, bitch. That’s ancient,” I pointed out, lying through my teeth. We could both pass for a solid ten years younger on any given day. Unlimited money, good genes, and a very skilled plastic surgeon made sure of that. “Besides, if you’re snatching someone out from under me, that means I was probably riding them like a rodeo champ. Not too shabby for an old goat.”
She cackled in laughter and drew unwanted attention to ourselves. I was extremely thankful I had the foresight to wear a wig. Tonight I was a California girl complete with bleached blonde waves cascading halfway down my back. When your father is a wanted criminal and your employees are traitors, it pays to disguise yourself whenever possible.
“Your maniacal giggles are causing a scene,” I remarked with an eye roll. From a looks and personality standpoint, Angie was flawless. Classic Irish beauty with perfect skin, mischievous green eyes, and a sassy mouth to match. Her hourglass figure only added to the allure. The only thing I would ever wish to change about my friend was her laugh. It could melt paint off the walls. Most people were extremely annoyed the second she began snorting like a wild animal, but I’d gotten used to it after all this time. We’d partied together, cried together, and laughed together on more occasions than I can count. My father and her dad were partners in crime, and their close relationship passed down to us. Unfortunately, my dad made it out alive and hers hadn’t. It was a sore subject. She went into the military to escape her criminal family, while I embraced mine with a passion. To each their own.
“Good. All eyes should be on me anyway,” she proclaimed, puckering up her lips and blowing a kiss to a man so tan that he looked orange. I was about to remind the wild card to try and keep a low profile, but I froze in astonishment when someone new captured my attention.
Yes, him. The one man I would end up desperately wanting, yet would cruelly reject me at every turn.
It was my future bodyguard and cock-blocker.
Locked in a cage with a brute the size of an elephant, the object of my desire clearly owned his shit and quickly proved who dominated the match. Unrelenting, he pounded on an opponent that had him by a solid fifty pounds and six inches in height. Don’t be fooled, it’s not that my guy was tiny, but rather that his competitor was freakishly large.
Desperately battling to regain the upper hand, his foe tried every move in the book to no avail. It was only a matter of moments before my prize fighter was declared victorious.
“Him. I want that one,” I pointed, fixated on the muscular victor whose hand was currently raised in the air. Yet, oddly enough, he conveyed no look of arrogance, no superiority, no boastful demeanor after his win. Dare I say that he looked disgusted to be there in the first place? Who the fuck was this newcomer and what was he doing here?
“Where?” Angie asked, swiveling her head to follow my finger. “Hmm. He’s definitely quite intimidating. I’ll give you that. But don’t you want someone that will follow your orders without question? That dude looks kind of…dominant. The first time he tells you to go fuck yourself when he doesn’t feel like following the rules, you’re not going to like it, Lee.”
She has a valid argument. No, I won’t like it at all. I’ll tell him that instead of me fucking myself, he can do it instead. Then I’ll bend over and let the man take whatever he wants. We’ll screw all night long in a variety of positions until we’re both hoarse from yelling in ecstasy. Oh, wow. Good plan.
“Too much submission is a turn-off. I can’t stand weak men,” I m
umbled.
Without waiting for her reply, I shoved my way through the crowd of over-excited spectators that had either won big money on the newcomer or lost several hundred dollars after placing foolish bets. Maybe I should attempt to find out more information before blindly confronting my target.
“Who is he?” I asked my closest neighbor, making sure to stand up straight and exude an air of confidence like I belonged there.
The guy turned around, gave me a sleazy once-over, and never took his eyes off my breasts. Yes, I can’t fault him for that due to the fact that I wore skin-tight black jeans, thigh-high boots, and an extremely low cut sweater. Still, he should know that I certainly wasn’t wasting this body on a low-life such as himself. Idiot.
“It doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” the scumbag replied. “Maybe you’d rather find out who I am?”
Instantly bringing my knee up to his balls in order to inflict maximum damage with minimum effort, I repeated my original question.
“Last chance, douchebag. Who’s the guy that just won the match?”
In retrospect, that was probably not the best move to make, seeing as how the man was doubled over in pain and incapable of forming a coherent reply. Utterly useless. Looks like I’m going to have to get my information directly from the source.
Time is money and I was wasting large quantities of it with little results, so I marched right up to the man that had captured my attention.
He stood there, seemingly oblivious to my presence, wiping blood off his face with a soiled t-shirt. Evidently he hadn’t walked away from the match entirely unscathed.
“You don’t belong here,” I began, eager to get right down to business. “I’d like to help if you’re willing to listen to my offer.”
He froze, slowly moving the shirt in order to make eye contact with me. Narrowing distrustful eyes, the tough guy simply shook his head.
“I’m not out for a quick fuck,” he snarled, as though verbally swatting away a fly that should know better than to bother him.
“Do I look like a fangirl desperate for a piece of ass? I’m a sophisticated lady, not some whore out to make a quick twenty bucks for a blowjob. Nor am I trying to get screwed by some steroid-fueled brute needing an adrenaline release.”
I stood there and stared him down, noticing the look on his face as he slowly took in my designer clothes, expensive jewelry, and unrelenting self-confidence. I do not ‘fawn’ over men. I have them on their knees begging me for more.
“What do you want?” he asked with a hint of curiosity. “I don’t need a manager, lady. I’m doing fine on my own. Fuck off.”
Wow. Angie was right. This guy was one hundred percent alpha, and it was going to be very difficult to bend him to my will. Good thing I love a challenge.
“You’re not doing fine, asshole,” I so elegantly pointed out, waving my hands at our surroundings. “The way I see it, you’re busting your ass for peanuts when you could be pulling in real money for a lot less work.”
I paused, building up suspense, while I waited for his reaction. A flicker of interest passed over his face, but still no dramatic response. I bet he’s excellent at poker. Too bad for him…I’m not bluffing and I always win.
“I’m listening,” he said impatiently. “Make it quick. I haven’t got all night.”
“How much do you make at one of these things? Maybe a couple hundred bucks every time you claim a victory, or a small percentage of the winnings? The organizer gets his fee while you walk away bruised and bloodied…for what? A grand or two at most? Once a week? That’s no way to live. You’ll never have the finer things in life at that rate.”
I could see the hamster wheel turning in his head. It was extremely difficult to make my pitch as professionally as possible without blatantly ogling the taut rippling biceps mere inches from my face. I was no midget at a whopping five foot eight, but he must have been a solid six feet four inches tall. Not an ounce of fat could be seen anywhere on his body. I also noticed a lack of tattoos, which seemed surprising since I assumed everybody had at least one nowadays.
“What exactly are you offering?” he asked with no hint of emotion in his voice. I could tell I was in the presence of a man of few words. I admired that. Talk is cheap, after all.
“I’d like to hire you,” I stated simply, quickly trying to determine the best way to convince him to agree.
“I’m not fucking you for money. I’m not letting you manage my fighting career. I don’t need any job you’re looking to fill. Go find some other unsuspecting moron to do your dirty work.”
Wow. The defiance was strong in this one. His attitude had me dripping wet. Yes, I’m a sucker for a man that’s not afraid to put me in my place. Alas, all that will change once I tell him who I am.
“Perhaps you don’t understand,” I loudly insisted. “My name is Leandra Donahue. Yes, that Leandra Donahue. I’m sure you’ve heard my name come up more than once.”
While not everyone knew what I looked like, the name was synonymous with my family. Not one person in this city who was involved in something illegal hadn’t heard of the Donahues.
“Should that mean something?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed.
Fuck. Did this guy just fall off the turnip truck from Boise or what?
Letting out a very exasperated breath and shaking my head in disgust, I pulled out a business card and handed it over.
“Ask around, princess,” I demanded. “Do your homework. Once you get your head out of your ass and fully realize who you’re speaking to, I guarantee you’ll learn a little respect. Listen and listen carefully. I want a bodyguard. Not a side piece to fuck, not someone to hold my hand while I cross the street, and sure as hell not anyone that might be adverse to criminal activities. The pay is five grand a week, cash under the table, fully laundered and untraceable. If you’re interested, call the number on the card.”
I gave him my best wink, turned, and walked away as fast as my boots would carry me. I needed to find Angie and get the hell out of here before I did something stupid…like rescind my offer and drag him back to my SUV for a quickie.
In typical Angie fashion, I found my wing-woman with her hand down the pants of an MMA fighter. The man was full of tattoos and had no qualms about being fondled right in the middle of a crowd of onlookers. He was in the process of giving my friend one hell of a hickey while she rubbed his cock like it was a genie’s lamp.
“Angela, time to bounce. I got what I came for. Let’s roll,” I shouted, making my impatience known.
“Don’t be jealous, honey, there’s more than enough of me to go around,” her new friend insisted. “We can make this a group thing. Why don’t you show me your tits and I’ll decide if they’re big enough?”
Really? He thinks he’s qualified to judge my tits? Please! They’re way more than this douchebag can handle!
I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out a switchblade.
“How about if I show you my knife and decide if I want to bury it into your throat?” I spun it around in my hand as though I wouldn’t give a second thought to stabbing the prick. In all honesty, it took me a solid week to learn how to maneuver the blade without slicing off my finger. Practice makes perfect.
“No one speaks to Hawk Murphy like that,” the giant man roared, pushing Angie away and taking a step in my direction.
“Come at me, bitch!” I screamed, preparing to meet my death head-on with no regrets. What an awesome story this would make. Angie would be sure to embellish the details, and my grandparents will be proud of my bravery!
Before I could make an attempt to actually carry through on my threat, several things all started to happen at once.
Angie whipped out a small revolver, a large crowd formed a circle around the spectacle currently taking place, and my favorite fighter stepped into the ring to restore order among the chaos.
In an instant, the offensive tattooed fool was flat on his face with one arm behind his back.
“Move one fucking inch and I’ll snap this like a twig,” my future bodyguard threatened, subduing the bastard like it was second nature. “You don’t talk to my boss like that, got it?”
Fuck yes! Mission accomplished. Hello bodyguard, goodbye panties. I wonder if he’ll believe that a quickie is involved as a standard hiring bonus?
My newest employee grabbed me by the arm, ordered me to put away the knife, and escorted me safely out to the parking lot.
“Do you regularly do stupid shit like that?” he asked once we made it to my Range Rover.
“All the fucking time,” I admitted, high on life and hornier than hell. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Not at all. I want ten grand a week, Leandra, or the deal is off.”
Just the sound of his baritone voice saying my name was enough to get me hot and bothered. If it were possible to have an orgasm from words alone, I’d be coming faster than a teenage boy watching his first porno.
“I should probably know your name…”
I had hoped he might say something sexy and dangerous, and not anything remotely close to ‘Shorty’ or ‘Fritz.’
“Samuel.”
Delicious. Kind of like Sampson. I would be his Delilah any day of the week. Yes, this night was turning into something memorable after all…
Unfortunately here I sat, over six months later, still never having had the pleasure of being filled by Samuel’s massively enormous cock while it thrusted savagely into my lady parts. Not a single part! It’s disgusting, really.
What’s a woman to do when her bodyguard refuses to satisfy her sexually? I wish I knew the answer to that…
Chapter Three
“I’m having a day, Angie,” I grunted bitterly while pummeling a red boxing bag with my gloved fist. “Not one single fucking thing is going my way in the slightest little bit.”
The bored woman let out a giant yawn and made no attempt to reply or strike the fitness apparatus directly in front of her. Instead she stretched and sat down on a bench a few feet away from me.