The Protector

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  he brushes a wayward lock from my forehead, watching as he pushes it back. I’m so still, he could probably shoot an apple off my head. His hands feel so good wherever they roam, and his face, etched in concentration, looks awestruck.

  “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers softly, snaking his forearm around my waist and pulling me close.

  My hands come up between our torsos on a little gasp, resting on his shoulders, and he dips and brings his forehead down to mine, having to bend his knees a little to do it. His spare hand wraps around my neck gently and he closes his eyes. I feel so small in his arms. So safe. Yet all of the ease and perfection isn’t slowing my thumping heart. I can hear the whoosh of my pulse in my ears, my veins simmering with a want so intoxicating it’s making me wobbly.

  But I’m going nowhere, his hold keeping me steady. His tactic seems to have changed. The wild, chaotic meeting of our mouths a moment ago is almost forgotten as he breathes steady and deeply while I watch him, so close I could kiss him. But I refrain—not that I’m not desperate to feel his lips on mine again, but because his sheer rugged beauty is so gratifying, and I’m fascinated by his silence and sudden mellow disposition. I’ve never seen him so peaceful. Completely passive. Like he’s surrendered to an inner need.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes slowly revealing themselves to me. The light I see in them is dazzling. It’s hopeful. It’s everything I feel myself.

  I swallow on a little nod and run my hands down the sleeves of his jacket to his elbows, thinking how wonderful his skin will feel beneath. He pulls his head away from mine, and the sea of stubble blanketing his face holds my attention around his mouth.

  His lips part slowly and his tongue traces a path across his bottom lip.

  I look into his eyes, ensuring he sees the certainty and desperation I feel. I’ve never felt so certain or so desperate in my life. I want him—this cryptic, unfathomable man. I want him with every fiber of my being.

  He starts lowering his mouth to mine, taking his time, as if preparing himself for the onslaught of pleasure that he knows is on the horizon. I’m doing the same. Closer, closer, closer, our eyes nailed to one another’s, until his lips brush mine. I jolt in his hold, my shallow breaths almost strangling me. The sensations that little contact creates blow my mind, more so than the animalistic kiss of a moment ago, which leaves me wondering with impatient longing what’s to come.

  He moans, low and ragged, opening his mouth to me. My tongue darts out and catches his. I’m instantly consumed, hands reaching for his neck and pushing him to me, our tongues lapping delicately but purposefully.

  “Fucking hell, Camille,” he says into my mouth, forcing our bodies apart and my hands from his neck, but maintaining the dance of our tongues.

  His fingers brush my thighs as he takes the hem of my dress, pulling up until I have to free his mouth so he can get it over my head. It’s discarded quickly before his hands are at his throat, yanking his tie loose. Matching his sudden urgency, I reach for his jacket and start pushing it from his shoulders. He wrestles his arms from the sleeves as his mouth finds mine again, tackling it with force.

  “Shirt,” he mumbles, finding my bra fastening and releasing the hook with one flick. I feel the material cupping my breasts loosen as my fingers fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, frantic and clumsy. He realizes my struggle and relieves me of my task, ripping the front of his shirt apart, sending buttons flying in every direction. Then he reaches for the front of my bra and pulls it from my chest, leaving me no choice but to extend my arms or have it ripped from my body with the force.

  I gasp, getting a glimpse of his chest peeking through his white shirt. While I’d love to spend a few moments admiring it, Jake has other ideas. He reaches behind his back and collects his gun, dropping it to the floor on his suit jacket. The button of his fly is tackled with deft fingers, his shoes and socks kicked off and his trousers discarded. All so quickly. He’s not messing around. His boxer shorts come last, but he removes these carefully and slowly, watching me watch him as he does.

  And now he’s naked.

  And I’m rapt by the sight once again, yet this time he’s closer. This time it’s not an accident. This time there’s no awkwardness…just acceptance and understanding.

  “Take it all,” he commands hoarsely, motioning down his tall body. “Please, just fucking take it all.”

  I gulp, I swallow, I start to shake like I’ve never shaken before. I want it. All of it. All of him.

  But I’m suddenly incapable of following through and claiming what I’ve silently begged for. He’s so tall and strong. He looks like he could break me in two with a flick of his finger. Probably could. His erection is protruding proudly from his groin, the tip glistening with his arousal. My nipples zing with craving, and the silver scar marring his shoulder catches my eye. He glances down, knowing what’s holding my attention. And then he reaches up and circles the scar slowly and lightly with his fingertip for a few reflective moments before he swoops in and seizes me in his arms, lifting me like a feather and carrying me to my bed.

  I’m laid down gently and feel my knickers drawn down my legs with care as he kneels by the side of my bed, his chest expanding as he pulls air into his lungs, his head shaking mildly. I feel like a gift laid upon a stone slab waiting to be worshipped. My head, dropped to the side, rests on my shoulder. Jake takes my hands gently and guides them to the pillow above my head, placing them tenderly before softly tracing a path down the length of them to my chest. I moan, unable to avoid expressing my indulgence, and he smiles in response. I’m stretched out, naked and exposed, my breaths coming faster while he caresses me, taking his time to stroke and feel me. When he reaches my nipple, my back bows subtly, arching and pushing my breasts upward, silently begging for more.

  His eyes flick to mine as he starts to gently trail the edge. “Do you want my mouth here?” he asks, pausing with his delicate circling.

  Again I nod, silently willing him on, but his finger remains unmoving on my buzzing nub of nerves.

  “Talk to me, Camille,” he says, watching me closely. “Tell me what you need from me.”

  “Please,” I murmur, not averse to begging for his attention and touch. Anything. His finger starts moving again, but it drifts south, following a straight path across my tummy and onto my thigh. A low, broken cry escapes me, my body tensing with anticipation.

  “And here?” His finger slips between my thighs and skims the pulsing lips at my entrance.

  I lose control, my eyes slamming shut and my bowed spine arching some more on a scream of despair. “Jake, please!” I beg, my arms twitching above my head, ready to grab him and pull him close.

  “It’s coming.” He pushes two fingers inside of me, filling me, dowsing down the burn of desire. “I feel it.” His voice shakes as he circles far and wide, exploring me inside. “So ready and desperate.”

  “Oh God,” I sigh, settling a little with the welcome feeling of him inside, massaging me deeply. All of my muscles constrict, doubling the pleasure. I’m building already.

  “Don’t come,” he orders, prompting me to open my eyes in alarm. I find his face, still studying me closely as he tortures me with precise, talented fingers. “Not yet,” he adds in reassurance, but then also adds his thumb to my swollen clitoris, magnifying the difficulty of following his order.

  I can no longer keep my arms where they are, pulling them down and sliding them across my tummy, relishing in the feel of my own touch. The heady cocktail of sensations being inflicted on me is new. It could also become very addictive. Jake is already addictive. What he can do to me, how he can make me feel. He’s been devoting his attention to me for a few moments and I’m already tinkering on the edge of eternal want. Of eternal safety.

  “Do you feel good, Camille?” he asks, low and rough, watching my hands gliding all over my tummy as he pumps his fingers into me methodically.

  “Yes!” I’m losing my mind, and he’s enjoying it.

&nbs
p; “I’m jealous.” He uses his spare hand to take both my wrists in his grip and pulls them away, devastating me.

  He releases my hands gently and slowly above my head, fixing me with a telling stare. I’m not allowed to move them, and when he’s certain I’ll comply, he rises and looms over me. “Are you on birth control?”

  I nod.

  “Are you clean?”

  I nod again speedily, unoffended. There’s no room for insult amid the bombardment of longing and want. There’s also no room to think, which is why I don’t return the question. Not that I need to.

  “Me too.” He comes down over me, planting his fists into the mattress on either side of my head.

  “My arms?” I whisper, asking for instruction of what to do with them.

  “Just keep them where they are.”

  His chest meets mine, heavy and firm, his arms bending at the elbows to bring his face closer to mine. Then his groin meets my hips and I feel the hot head of his cock nudge lightly at my opening. My heart kicks, and he hisses, freezing and closing his eyes. He’s searching for restraint. He’s dragging this out, making me dizzy with impatience, but I have to let him go slowly.

  “I’ve tried not to imagine how good this would feel.” He exhales, opening his eyes and letting them sink into my gaze. “I tried so fucking hard.”

  Another brush of contact from his arousal physically burns, and then I hold my breath, almost scared of the pleasure I’m about to experience. For no other reason than I know I’ll want more.

  Jake lifts and angles his hips, then glides smoothly forward, entering me unhurriedly, gradually filling and stretching me. I groan, sighing, my legs linking around his lower back and pulling him in, my arms draping around his shoulders.

  “Oh, fucking hell,” he whispers. Dropping his head, he begins to breathe through his single stroke, his body trembling in my arms. “I knew it,” he says hoarsely. “I knew I’d fit you so fucking right.”

  He does. He’s long and broad, but my internal muscles hug him inside of me so perfectly. “Move,” I beg, flexing my hips a little, encouraging him on.

  “Just give me a second.” He drops to his forearms and raises his head, letting the tip of his nose meet mine. “I need a second.”

  I want to hurry him along, but seeing him so in awe of how we feel connected so deeply is keeping that want at bay. So I let his eyes caress mine and wait for him to gain some stability. I use the time to draw delicate lines across his back, my ghosting finger instigating shudders from him.

  “You’re not helping, Camille,” he gently scorns, rubbing his nose with mine and withdrawing, sliding free until the tip of his cock is tickling my entrance again.

  I hold my breath. And he holds his. Then he dips his hips and dives deep again, both of us gasping into each other’s faces, our broken breaths colliding and mingling. When he’s fully submerged again, he grinds hard but slow, circling and eliciting all kinds of intoxicating sensations.

  I’m done for. My head is thrown back, my arms clinging to his shoulders as he finds his pace, hitting me constantly with stroke after stroke, each one delivered meticulously. I’m lost in a world of raw abandon with my strong protector, praying that I never find my way out. Our moans of pleasure drown the quiet air around us, our wet skin slipping, our bodies moving together in harmony. It’s all so perfect—the sounds, the feel, the rightness of this moment.

  Jake’s maintaining his rhythm and extending the bliss for as long as he can. The feel of him swelling within me is a sign that he won’t last much longer. I feel my own release start to creep forward.

  “Put your legs down,” he rumbles, reaching down to his lower back and pushing my legs away. “Straighten them.”

  I’m a little taken aback, but I follow through and straighten my legs to full length.

  The reason for his demand hits me between my thighs like a wrecking ball. “Oh my God!” I cry, but the sound is soon swallowed when he crashes his mouth down onto mine, kissing me firmly and fervently. My pleasure has just hit new heights, my new position sending me there.

  “You feel that?” he asks into my mouth, pumping on, rubbing me in just the right place as he fills me.

  I whimper and start grappling at his back, the slow-building orgasm now powering forward fast.

  “Claim it, Camille,” he orders, biting my bottom lip before attacking my mouth again.

  I feel my world starting to tumble away from beneath me.

  Chapter 15

  JAKE

  I’ve never felt a connection so intense that I can physically feel it. It’s no distraction. It’s no means to an end. It’s tangible. It’s pulling at every one of my muscles and stabbing at every inch of my naked skin. I’ve never felt so absorbed by a woman that she makes me want to sacrifice my soul in her honor.

  I’ve never felt this. Never.

  Many words are trying to wrestle their way into my twisted mind, but only one is making it through.

  Mine.

  Holding her willowy body against me is beyond any realms of pleasure I’ve experienced in my time. It’s a feeling that is so very easy for me to accept¸ but so very hard for me to understand. All of it. I’m not tender with women. I don’t take my time to extend their enjoyment or wish that it never ends.

  This woman has changed all of that. I never want this to end.

  She’s panting shallowly into my face, straining to keep her eyes open. She’s almost there, and I need to be with her when she climaxes. I push myself up onto my fists, digging them into the mattress to get better leverage.

  “Hold it,” I order, unable to ignore the frantic flash on panic on her face. “I’m nearly there.” I pick up my pace and realign my position and control. It’s there. It’s coming. “Oh fuck!” I bellow and pump on, swiftly entering and retreating from the luscious warmth of her tight pussy, each drive ramping up the urgency.

  “Jake!” Her scream of my name as she shakes violently beneath me tips me over the edge. My cock explodes, and I roar through the crippling pleasure, feeling her vibrating around me as I find release in long, pulsing spurts. My climax knocks me out, making me fall to my forearms, trapping her beneath me as I battle my way through. It goes on forever, Cami’s sleepy groans muffled in my ear by the rush of blood to my head. My body feels relieved, sated, but my mind and heart are more twisted than ever. I feel settled but apprehensive. Then she sighs, long and satisfied, and the apprehension begins to cloud everything—all of the peace, calm, and rightness of this moment.

  Fuck me, I feel like I’m under attack from the enemy, my mind sprinting through my options and analyzing my safest and quickest route out of the danger zone. This time, there feels like no way out.

  It’s the oddest feeling of tranquility and terror. She’s a young, bright woman with a shining future. Me? I’m a disturbed, twisted arsehole with a black soul and a hard heart. I shouldn’t risk infecting her with my demons. Yet at the same time, I’m full of hope that she could be the cure that I haven’t been looking for. It’s always just been me, my memories and my bitterness. That was fine by me. But since I’ve met Camille, all of my burdens have been diluted by a want so powerful it’s made it difficult to focus on anything else. The irony of my situation is fucking brutal. My duty is to protect her from a potential threat. An unknown danger.

  I’m the biggest, most real threat to this woman. She needs protecting from me.

  It’s guaranteed I’ll hurt her. I’m a danger to her. Her father won’t be happy about this, and Lucinda might wring my fucking neck. No emotional connection with your subject. It’s rule number-fucking-one. It distorts your purpose and hampers your duty. It also gets you swiftly ejected from the agency. But shit, there’s a whole lot of emotion running rampant through me right now, and I’m powerless to stop it. Feeling powerless isn’t something I deal with well. I need my purpose. My purpose is my job. What I’ve just done could lose me that. I’ll be in an empty, black pit once again. No purpose. Just nightmares.

&nbs
p; I clench my eyes shut and lift my hips, pulling myself free of her warmth, all the time ignoring the sense of loss that fills me with every inch I withdraw. Her sleepy mumbles of protest would be like sweet music to my ears…if I wasn’t currently in mental turmoil.

  What the fuck have I done?

  I roll off her to my back and stare up at the ceiling, my palm resting on my pumping chest. The urge to pick up my gun and sink a bullet into my skull is tempting. So is my urge to get dressed, get my bag, and walk out.

  But then she’ll be unprotected.

  Who the fuck is going to protect her from me? Who’s going to warn her off, tell her I’m no good for her? I know exactly who. Me. I should.

  My head falls to the side as she shifts next to me, and I find her sprawled on her back, her blond hair fanning the pillow and her arms flopped limply above her head. She’s snoozing, her face nuzzled into the crook of her upper arm. She looks like a fucking angel. Sweet, innocent, and vulnerable.

  Mine.

  “Motherfucker,” I breathe, pushing myself up urgently before I give in to my instinct and pull her into my side. I sit on the edge of the bed, my elbows resting on my knees, and let my face fall into my palms.

  “Jake.” Her sweet voice is sleepy and broken, but the velvet edge still licks across my naked skin, making me shudder. I look over my shoulder and find those gorgeous eyes half-open, watching me.

  “Go to sleep, Cami.” My response is automatic, and so is my need to touch her. I turn a little and reach for her face, pushing some golden wisps of hair from her creamy cheeks. She hums and nuzzles into my touch, her eyes closing.

  And my fucking heart shatters on me. Screwing up my face in agony and despair, I rip my hand away from her face and rise to my feet, battling the rampant impulse to climb into bed and hold her