The Protector

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  all night.

  Distance.

  I need distance. Or as much distance as I can get when I’m shadowing someone. I sit in the chair by the window, my big body arguing with my brain’s decision to put it there. It’s a small chair, more for decorative purposes than for a big, meaty bloke like me to try to get comfortable in. Which isn’t fucking likely. I shift one way and then the other, until I’m somewhere close to comfy, my arse on the edge of the seat to allow me to recline as much as possible, my legs extended and crossed at the ankles. It’ll do. I’ve endured a lot worse.

  Planting an elbow on the arm, I fist my hand and wedge it under my jaw.

  And I watch her.

  All night long.

  And with each minute that passes, my regret intensifies.

  * * *

  I’ve always survived on little sleep. I’m just wired that way. Exhaustion isn’t a term I’m familiar with, so how I’m feeling right now is alien. I feel fucking drained. Wiped out completely. I also have a bastard of a headache. All in all, I feel like shit. Not even my good friend Jack Daniel’s has the ability to make me feel this weary.

  I’ve been sitting here for six hours watching her sleep. It’s been the most pleasurable and confusing time in my existence. I’ve cursed more times under my breath than I care to admit. Fuck, no, I will admit it. It can’t make matters any worse than they already are.

  And matters are bad. Fucking awful, in fact. My conscience is telling me to leave before she wakes and hope she thinks it was all a dream, and a deep-rooted possessiveness I never knew existed is telling me to wrap her up tightly in cotton wool and keep her forever.

  The conflict is fucking with my head, making it impossible to align my thoughts and reason. I’ve skipped through my possible replacements, anyone I trust to take over the assignment and guard her like I can. There are a few possibilities—all experienced and renowned bodyguards. But none as good as me, though I fear my own judgment is being challenged. I think back over the past few days, in particular to the bloodbath I created in the ladies’ restroom last night.

  And I don’t regret a thing. No, that’s not true. I regret one thing.

  Camille’s face when I snapped out of my blind rage. She saw the darkness in me. A darkness I need to hide, especially from her. Her eyes were full of questions. The instinct and urge to answer them, to share my burden, is there. This woman is doing things to me that I loathe and love in equal measure. I read up on her. I fell into the camp of idiots who think they have this young woman nailed. With parents like hers and the media’s ability to twist innocent scenarios to create gossip, plus the influence of a toxic boyfriend, everyone in London thinks they have Camille Logan all figured out. I was in her company for a few minutes and concluded what I’d read was grossly inaccurate. Those who know her well will know it’s a load of bollocks, too, but this world is full of cynics. This world is full of people who thrive on others’ misfortune.

  A soft murmur and stir has my heart shouting its presence in my chest and my vertebrae uncoiling from my slouched position. I let all my conflicting thoughts fall away and watch in silence as her exposed naked body stretches lazily atop the sheets.

  My cock wakes up, too.

  I groan as I reach down and lay a palm over my groin, forcing it to remain flat against my thigh. My attempts are in vain. The pink tips of her perfect breasts are calling to me, making my bare feet twitch on the carpet. I’m rigid in the chair, frantically trying to summon some restraint. It’s the most challenging task I’ve ever undertaken. Everything inside me is willing me to her, telling me my place is next to her in that bed, holding her, protecting her. I’m not going to insult my instinct and tell myself it’s the professional protector in me. It’s more than that. I buried myself in her body and fucked her with a delicacy that I didn’t know I was capable of.

  My need to protect this woman isn’t duty. It’s instinct.

  Her eyes flutter open, and I study her as she gathers her bearings. I can see her mind playing catch up, reminding her of the events of last night. I know when she’s remembering dinner with her overbearing mother. It makes me smile, recalling her laughter. I see when she remembers the scene in the bar toilets, her eyes going round and her hand coming up to the mark on her creamy cheek. And I see when she mentally finds herself back here with me, her body stilling as if trying to figure out whether it was a dream or not. I find my body stilling, too, my heart slowing to a dull kick in my chest. Her small hitch of breath that comes next triggers my own, and she bolts upright in bed and frantically scans the room.

  Over here, angel.

  I only just block the mental command from voicing itself, but it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need me to call her.

  She finds me in a heartbeat, her sparkling blues landing on me with a bang, before she drops them, scanning her lap. She shakes her head, as if trying to reason with herself, and then slowly lifts her gaze to mine. The fire inside of me continues to rage.

  “Come back to bed,” she whispers, as if unsure whether that’s a good idea. I know I should refuse her— I’ve said the words a thousand times to many women.

  But the words don’t come.

  I can’t find them.

  And I’m searching really hard.

  I study her sitting on the bed, her hair an adorable mess around her gorgeous face, her long, slim limbs a tangle of trembling uncertainty. I stop trying to find my rejection. I don’t want to find it.

  I free my cock from the constraints of my palm, letting it do as it damn well pleases. And it wants to jut from my groin, like it’s pointing the way. It doesn’t escape Camille’s notice, her eyes—mixed with hope and nerves—dropping to my lap, her lips parting to reveal her glistening tongue. Slowly standing from the chair, I use each second it takes me to rise to my full height to accept my fate.

  I’m going nowhere. She is my fate.

  It isn’t something I’m prepared to fight. All of my doubts and self-hatred dull at the sight of her big, round eyes looking up at me. Because by the look of her quivering, looking scared and unsure and…hopeful, she wants me as badly as I want her.

  I might not understand it, but I’m also not prepared to ignore it. My past isn’t the only challenge I’ll face to be with her. There’s also her father, the agency, her ex. There are a pile of issues in my way, and they all need dealing with. I’m not going to pretend it will be easy. But for her…

  I answer her silent pleading and go to her, taking sure, even strides.

  I let my eyes caress her, storing every inch of her skin to memory as I go. I fight off the notion that my subconscious is doing that for a reason. Like it’s preparing for the inevitable. Like maybe I won’t get the privilege of her in the flesh for long.

  When I’m standing at the edge of the bed, her chin lifts so she can look at me. Our eyes meet and I pray she doesn’t see the way my body has started to shake. I’m panicking about the damage I can do to her, the hatred I can poison her with. The darkness I can drown her light in.

  “I’m no good for you, Camille,” I warn her. The details don’t matter. I won’t burden her with them more than I have already. I’m doing this out of duty—warning her because I feel I should. Gallant, maybe, but I don’t know what I’ll do if she listens to me.

  When I expect her to recoil, hurt, she moves in closer instead, shifting her bum forward on the bed. She takes my hand and tugs, bringing me down to my knees before her. I go willingly. Her legs wrap around my waist, the strength of her thighs constricting around me defying reason. Then, sliding her palms up my stomach to my shoulders, she pulls me in and crushes our chests together, her face hiding in the crook of my neck. The feeling of belonging overshadows that panic, and I calm instantly, following her lead. I coil my arms around her back and once again marvel at her strength and determination. She’s so damn strong. I stand, her body attached to mine, the weight of her feeling so right on me, and walk to the bathroom, flipping the shower on. I keep her held snugly to
my chest, blanketing her with my body while allowing peace to blanket me. My efforts to frighten her away are feeble. Because I don’t want her to go.

  I sink into her clinch while the shower warms and try to clear my mind of everything except the fulfilment I’m feeling in this tender moment. Tender. Something, again, that is new and alien to me. Last night, after ripping that scumbag to shreds, my priority was making her feel safe. I’m not skirting the fact that my cock ached with need, but I’m aware that I had a stronger need to rain devotion on her. I didn’t want to just fuck her. I stopped that manic kiss before I could do what’s instinctual to me—screw her with nothing but the purpose of release. I wanted to relish in her unraveling under my gentle attention. And I did, enjoying every second more than I should have allowed myself to.

  Once steam surrounds us, I walk us into the shower and lower her to her feet. Camille drops to her knees, surprising me, and looks up at me with heavy, searching eyes. I see her intent and drop my head back, bracing myself.

  She grabs my hips and hauls them forward, my cock finding her mouth like there’s a radar attached.

  “Holy shit!” My palms cup the back of her head, my thigh muscles wobble.

  The warmth of her mouth around my pulsing dick is incomparable to anything I’ve experienced. My head drops down, finding her hair, a waterfall of blonde caging her in. I want to see her. I want to see her mouth work me into a haze of ecstasy. I reach around and pull a handful of hair away from her face.

  The sight is something that’ll never leave me. Exquisite. Her mouth glides like it’s on rails, up and down, slowly and carefully, her eyes closed in bliss. Freeing my strung muscles, I relax and accept the pleasure she’s inflicting. My plan to reject her was destined to fail whether she tempted me or not. She’s one huge force of temptation.

  My hand slides onto her cheek, and she moans around her mouth full of cock, grazing her teeth down my flesh teasingly. My balls go tight and my knees weak, my palm skating from her cheek to the back of her head, my hips starting to flex in time with her mouth’s advances. “Oh Jesus Christ,” I gasp.

  She moans again, this time more deeply, the vibrations tickling the tip of my cock when it meets the back of her throat. Then she retreats and slides her hand around the base, holding firmly as she licks and laps at my wet tip, pulling a long draw up my shaft that pushes a bead of pre-cum from the tip. I drop my head and watch as she laps it up like it could be the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted, groaning her pleasure as she does.

  And though I’m savoring each lick, lap, and suck she delivers, thriving on the incredible sensations she’s inducing, I have an urge to take more from her. I clench my fist in her hair and gently tug her from my groin, smiling a little when she looks up at me, slighted. I don’t give her time to ask what’s up with me. I could never explain, anyway. I pull her up my body with a forceful yank of her arm and walk her back until I have her held prisoner against the slippery tiles. She gasps, looking up at me in shock.

  “Thank you,” I say, truly grateful for her attention. But it’s my job to lavish her with the time and attention she deserves. I reach down to the back of her thigh and pull it up to my waist. “You’re good, Camille, but nothing will match the feel of your tight, warm pussy wrapped around my cock.”

  Satisfaction reflects in her topaz eyes, a contented grin stretching across her face. Then she lifts her other leg and captures me in her hold, constricting tightly before releasing to allow me to guide myself to her. I can smell me all over her, the intoxicating mix of my clean sweat and her feminine floral scent a heady combination.

  I push in a little, breaching the initial tightness. It steals my breath. Her lips, wet and inviting, pull me in and I kiss her as I advance the rest of the way, filling her completely. The hot softness of her passage is comparable only to a fleece blanket wrapping around my entire body and warming me through. The rightness. The gratification. The comfort. The tranquility. It’s a quick reality check. It’s an indication that I’ve just wasted too many hours beating myself up over something that feels so incredibly natural, it can’t possibly be wrong. I won’t waste any more time trying to make sense of this, or trying to talk my way out of it.

  Mine. And not even I will take that away from me.

  Chapter 16

  CAMI

  He’s being as careful and delicate with me as he was last night, despite having me pinned to a wall. My relief is only doubling my pleasure. He might be able to fool himself, but he can’t fool me. Every word he said to me last night is engraved on my brain. He can’t scratch it away with feigned grit or a pathetic attempt to be professional. He can’t half-heartedly warn me off. I’m not stupid, and he knows it. He knows me. Not the person the media perceives or what my heritage dictates I should be.

  He sees me.

  I’m not about to let him forget that.

  His back is slippery, but it feels good under my palms, my mouth working in perfect sync with his, our tongues rolling, our moans mingling. He’s pumping into me with precision, pushing me up the wall a little each time. I let my palms slide over his wet skin and into his damp hair, weaving and feeling, putting weight behind my touch to push his lips harder to mine.

  His cock feels like the softest of velvet as it glides in and out of me, each advance pushing me closer to release, each retreat making me moan with despair. For such a big, sometimes menacing man, his way with me, how tender and caring he’s being, only makes me want him more.

  I’m totally taken by him.

  He bites my lip gently and pulls away, dragging my lip through his teeth until he’s staring at me, his eyes full of wonder. “You feel amazing,” he says, taking his hands to the back of my thighs and jerking me up, deepening our connection.

  I cry out, feeling him all the way to my womb.

  He just smiles, clearly loving the effect he’s having. “Did you feel that?” His voice adopts an edge of harshness.

  I nod and breathe through the intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain.

  “Good.” He digs his fingers into my thighs and hits me with another well-thought-out smash of his powerful body.

  This time I scream.

  “You’re mine, Camille Logan!” He releases his hands and slams them into the wall either side of my head. Bang! “Can you accept that?”

  I scream again, throwing my head back. Does he actually want me to answer that? Thinking straight when he’s inflicting this level of decadent pleasure on me isn’t fair! “Jake!” I cry, tossing my head from side to side as he continues to punish me with hard hits.

  He’s not being so gentle anymore. He’s being brutal, but once I convince my head to fall back down and my vision clears, I still see tenderness in his dark eyes. His instinct to pound into me is nothing more than desperate hope. He’s getting carried away, and I realize that telling him what he needs to hear is actually very easy. “I can accept that,” I pant, cupping his cheeks and thriving on the instant relief that washes across his stubbled face.

  His pace slows in an instant, telling me that his edge of ruthlessness was induced by a fear he was unable to control. Fear that I might say no. I’ve mastered part of his complicated mind. And I’m making it my mission to master the rest. I want to know him inside out. Like I feel he knows me. He knows everything now, including Sebastian’s physical abuse. There’s a very simple reason why I kept it to myself. Some people see weakness in a woman who stands for that. Some people would be unbearably sympathetic. I’m comfortable with neither. Jake knows that. He knows me.

  We’re back to a steady rhythm, and now that we’ve clarified where we stand, we’re both climbing to a release that I know is going to knock us out.

  His face plummets into my neck, his teeth grazing my flesh as I throw my head back and let my climax claim me. His thick cock is rolling on long pulses each time he pushes into me, swiveling his hips and circling deeply.

  “Oh God!” It comes fast and furiously, blowing my world into a haze of bliss with its
intensity. “Oh! Oh! Oh my God!” I sink my nails into Jake’s back, and he roars into my neck, bucking and jerking against me.

  I know the second he finds his own release, not only because the hot essence of him floods me. His knees give out and take us to the shower floor, and Jake rolls to his back, taking me with him. His breathing is strained and loud.

  “Fucking hell.” He releases me and throws his arms over his head as I ride the waves of his heaving body.

  I’m inclined to agree.

  My world has spun off its axis and is barreling into the unknown.

  * * *

  I come to in a haze of peace and darkness in my bed, Jake swathing me completely, his arms wrapped around me where I lay on his chest. It must be the middle of the day, but my drawn curtains are keeping the light at bay. I feel so sated. So peaceful. Like an invisible weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Looking up at his serene face, I smile. Then I slowly start to peel my body away, smiling more when he opens one eye and frowns at me.

  “I have a call to make,” I tell him. “My agent has some details on some new campaigns I’m fronting and a shoot I have tomorrow.”

  “Be quick,” he murmurs, relinquishing his hold of me and rolling onto his front.

  I plan on being quick. Pulling on my T-shirt, I find my phone, noting a few missed calls from Heather, and call my agent, listening as she reels off the finer details before listing some suggested changes to my portfolio. I’m hearing it all, but my mind is still in the bedroom with Jake, reliving every second from last night and early this morning. I’m itching to get back to him.

  When I hang up, I start to make my way back to the bedroom, but