192: A Dark Mafia Bodyguard Romance

by Nikki Belaire

  God fucking damn. Shock bolts through me like electricity. So much meaning behind her simple admission. Defying the guilt that I know she carries with her. Deciding to actually be happy, with what she wants rather than what she thinks her father demands. Distinguishing between me forcing her to be here and her choosing to stay. God I fucking love my brave princess. “I’m glad too.”

  I swear I can feel her smile. Her little feet disappear from view, and I resume my waiting. Ready for the fashion show to continue. Wishing I could be stripping her down now rather than waiting while she covers herself up.

  I startle when my eyes flick open, and I fly up from the mattress. After months of waking up to a textured white ceiling, it takes me a second to get my bearings and remember I’m home when I catch sight of my hand-cut wooden planks. I slept hard, way better than the night before. I guess my relaxed princess relaxes me too.

  Well, kind of relaxed. With regard to the impact of fucking Arturo’s bullshit on her mental state, yes. With regard to the party tonight, that’s a fucking hell no. She’s beyond excited, and hung on my every word as I explained the rules of the game and the bracket system for the tournament. Already picked who she’s going to root for despite never having watched a sporting event in her entire life. But my girl’s sharp and after analyzing the stats like a pro, she made a good choice. I sure as hell hope she’s not disappointed. In her team or the tailgate. No one deserves to have fun more than her.

  I skip the shower and pull on a tee shirt and shorts after I scrub my face and brush my teeth. My girl wants to box, so we’re going to box. Maybe we’ll lift weights too. No reason she can’t be gorgeous and strong. In the kitchen, I grab two waters from the fridge while dread thumps in my chest not to see her in the living room either. I know I left her bedroom door open. Fucking shit if she’s going to feel trapped in her own damn house.

  A glance in my office and the den proves pointless. Maybe she’s already in the workout room. Probably not. Damn it. I hustle to her room and of course she’s there. Standing at the window. Glowing from the sunlight streaming in just like the angel she is. And I’m the fucking devil for getting hard from her barefoot and wearing only tiny black shorts and a periwinkle sports bra. Fuck me. “Good morning, princess.”

  Her smile when she turns around is fucking brighter than the golden streaks behind her. God I love her.

  “Good morning!” She races to me. Her small feet soundless on the thick carpet. “I was enjoying the view. It’s so beautiful here.”

  Only a partial lie. It is beautiful but the scenery isn’t what holds her back. I kiss her temple and drag her against me. Needing to reassure both of us we’re okay. We’re making progress regardless of how slow or small. “I’m glad you like your new home.”

  She kisses my chest, and I’ve never wished harder that I was naked. But that’s a dangerous trail of thought so I return my attention to our activity. “Your punching bag awaits angel.”

  That riles her up and she grabs my hand, leading me this time down the hall and up the steps into the bonus room over the garage. Hotter than fuck to see her taking charge. “Do you remember what I told you before?”

  She nods, deep and resolute while I glove her up. Bouncing side to side on her tiptoes. Once I tighten the band at her slender wrist, I step to the side and tap the vinyl a little lower than her eye level. “The cheek. You hit here, while you hold your other hand up by your nose guarding your face. When your arm gets tired then switch. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put your right foot out about six inches so you can follow through with your swing. When you switch arms, then switch your lead foot too.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then you’re ready to go. Have at it.”

  Another strong head bob, and she gives the bag a gentle nudge. Then another and another and harder and harder until she’s really pounding away. Fuck me if she’s not doing a great job with protecting herself too. “Perfect angel. Keep going.”

  I hover nearby in case she needs my help but fuck it’s all her. She’s a natural. Quick. Determined. Agile. Even though this is only her second bout, I can see the potential. I’d love to take her farther once her skills grow stronger. Maybe even spar with her but that feels wrong. Even if I wouldn’t actually strike her, I don’t think I could even pretend to for practice.

  Giving her more leeway, I back up, supervising but not interfering. Water beads speckle her forehead while huge drops run down her bare back. The waistband of her shorts already damp from her exertion. Fucking glorious.

  With nothing to do but wait, I head to the rack and grab a plate for triceps. Watching her in the mirror while I count my reps. Unaware I’ve moved away. My gut churns from her furrowed gaze, and I’m no longer sure any more if the moisture on her cheeks is sweat. Her lips move but I can’t make out the words. Over and over she repeats herself with each blow. I toss my weight on the mat and stride to her. Finally able to catch what she utters through wobbling lips.

  “I tried.”

  “I tried.”

  “I tried.”

  I don’t even think she realizes she’s crying. Unwilling to stand her tormenting herself for another second, I slide my hand in front of the bag and catch her fist. She jumps finally seeing me. “Hey angel. I think it’s time to take a break.”

  “Oh…okay.”

  The daze engulfing her keeps her quiet. Distant while I lead her over to the bench and gently press her shoulders so she lowers down. Tucking her hands in her lap and crossing her legs at the ankles, shifting them to the side. Still a graceful and proper princess despite her heavy athletic gear and drenched body.

  Uncertain if I should ask or not, I crouch down in front of her and cautiously flip over her hand and unfasten her glove. These are the times I wish I paid more attention in psychology class. Or understood better what happened after my involvement in the rescue ended. The first time I’ve ever dealt with the aftermath of the victims’ experience. I’d save them physically, turning them back over to their loved ones to deal with the emotional healing. Always presuming I took care of the hardest part of problem. Now, with her, I realize how wrong that assumption was. Although a few days of captivity can’t compare to the years she endured. So, I try a neutral tact and see what happens. “What did you think?”

  “I like it.” As if mesmerized by my movements, she watches me gently tug the tip of each finger, stretching out the joints. The muscles probably aren’t overtaxed, but I never miss an opportunity to touch her and she seems to enjoy the soothing, repetitive motion. The peaceful tenderness between us contrasting with the cold callousness she was treated with before. “Good. Do want to try some things we can do together?”

  That question whips up her head. An emotion I can’t read flashes across her face. Almost as if I’ve resurrected a memory that haunts her, the way she retreats back from me. “Do you mean…”

  Whatever she implies, she doesn’t like. So that will never, ever happen. I nod toward the metal rows lined against the wall. “Lift weights. I’ll show you, if you want. If you don’t, that’s okay too. No pressure.”

  She follows my line of sight, and I can feel her relax under my hands. Relief filling her nod and smoothing out her expression. “Yes, please. I’d like that.”

  “Me too.” I kiss the top of her head. Both of us needing some reassurance, even though my own body still coils tight wondering the meaning behind her words. Of the uncertainty I want to resolve for her, especially if her insecurity is about me. “We’ll start light and work up from there.”

  Grabbing a bar, I load on five pound weights on each side. “Some people prefer dumb bells but I think it’s easier to keep your form with a bar.” I motion for her to come to me, and she jumps up without any hesitation. A good sign. At least that’s what I want to believe. Unless it’s fear that makes her so responsive.

  I push that aggravating thought out of my head. Concentrate on here and now. This moment with her. She returns my smile
when I place the rod in her palms. So beautiful. “Keep your elbows immobile and use your muscles to slowly lift to your shoulders, squeezing right here through the movement.” I massage over her bare skin. Still slick from her earlier exertion. “Don’t rest when you get to the top, just slowly lower back down until you touch your thighs, squeezing your bicep again. This ensures you’re targeting the right area and getting the most benefit from your work out.”

  Probably telling her way more than she needs to know. Or cares to know at this point. Explaining the reason seems to give her control. To understand what she’s doing and why, rather than just following the demands of others. She seems to appreciate the description. Calm and relaxed while she focuses intently on her actions. I count out ten reps before we transition to a mixture of quick and slow movements with a few mid-range pulses in-between. “You’re doing great, but I knew you would.”

  She basks in my praise. Grinning yet tilting her head to the side with modesty. Enticing me with her graceful throat that I want to nuzzle and nip at the delicate skin before working my way lower. “Okay, let’s get you a weight plate for triceps.”

  Without prompting, she takes her bar to the rack and hangs the silver rod between the hooks. I fucking love seeing her so decisive. “A ten pound should be okay, but if not we’ll switch to an eight-pound kettle bell.”

  I lift her arms and show her how to drop her hands behind her head. Clutching her elbows in the proper position to protect the joints. Standing close enough her minty breath blows on my cheek. Her sweet tits brush against my chest every time she lowers the weight to the base of her neck. Touching her so much is getting dangerous. I step back, pretending I trust her to keep going with the correct movements when it’s really me who I can’t trust any more. “Very nice angel.”

  My favorite smile flashes through her concentration, watching me watching her. “What about you? Don’t you want to work out too?”

  I love how she busts my balls and doesn’t even realize it. “What?” I raise my eyebrows, giving her an exaggerated frown. “You’re firing me as your trainer already? Who knew you were such a hard ass?”

  Her chin lifts, and she winks at me. Actually fucking winks at me. “I’m tiny but tough, remember.”

  I almost fucking weep like a pussy from her attempt at trash talk. My princess —the woman I know that’s trapped deep inside —is finding her way out of the restraints that bind her. Snapping Arturo’s shackles so that more and more of her true self can emerge. “Oh, I definitely remember.”

  Grabbing my weight that I chucked away earlier, I hold the plate over my head mimicking her slow descent and rise from her shoulders to the ceiling. Exercising together in harmony which is a little strange but not unwelcome. Easy to get used to having a partner when she’s as stunning and eager as her.

  Gorgeous chocolate eyes meet mine in the mirror. Holding my gaze for a few seconds before returning to stare straight ahead. At least she’s a bit more brave. “How did you go from athletic training to being a mercenary?”

  Fair enough question. “I worked security at a few bars and clubs when I was in college so when I graduated I took a job with a security firm. When requests came in for the more dangerous assignments, I’d sign up. Higher stakes but much higher payout. I wasn’t married or have kids, so I could take the risk and enjoy the reward.”

  Nodding as if she understands. Yet concern lines her forehead, and she lowers her plate down to her stomach. Pondering something she’s too afraid to ask me. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m scared. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Hell yes. I knew she cared about me too. But hearing her say the words makes me giddy as fuck. I slide my weight to my side and caress her warm cheek with my free hand. “You don’t have to worry angel. I’ve got more money than we’ll ever need and now that I have you, I’m not planning on taking any more jobs.”

  Her shy smile fills my palm with relief that I feel all the way to my blue balls. Which are aching with the exact opposite of relief. “I’m going to work on my push-ups. Do you want to count for me?”

  Her head shakes. Shocking me hard. Which takes a hell of a lot anymore. “You don’t?”

  “I want to do them too.”

  Fuck me. Of course she does. Damn, my princess is a hard ass. And I’m a fucking chauvinist and should know better. “Then let’s do them together.”

  I drop down next to her on the mat and stretch out into position with her only inches away. A fucking glorious sight with her excitement. An energy flowing between us that makes me almost feel high. “Try a few on your toes. If it gets too hard, move to your knees.”

  Too late. She’s already knocked out two before I finish speaking. I better fucking catch up. We go for ten before she slows but I can see the resolve in her sweet face. She’ll collapse before she gives up. I love seeing her challenge herself. Proving to herself and everyone else what she’s capable of. Because when you know you achieved your goals yourself, no one can take your accomplishments away from you.

  Her slight arms shake through the next six reps, straining to take over from her chest muscles starting to falter. Four more, and she crashes down. Her delicate face slamming into the pad. Which I fucking hate but before I can reach her she rolls over. An enormous smile accompanying her panting.

  “Twenty! I did twenty.”

  The pride on her face is fucking glorious. My own heart pounds in my chest from her self-satisfaction. I hand walk over to her, and plank above her body, a palm on each side of her shoulder with both feet to one side of her. Unwilling to make her feel trapped.

  God she’s fucking beautiful. Long hair splayed around her flushed face. I dip down to give her a kiss. “You are awesome angel.”

  “What’re you doing?”

  “I’m not done yet.”

  She giggles against my lips when I drop down again. The best fucking accompaniment to my exercise. Again and again, I take her mouth with each rep. Her eyes fluttering shut when the intensity gets to be too much. I swear she squirms underneath me, seeking more while I raise and lower. But I don’t know if she can really handle what she asks. “One hundred.”

  I glide onto my elbow and hip next to her. Not touching her anywhere. Despite how much I want to. Damn, I fucking want to. “Sit ups are next. Old school style then crunches. You up for it?”

  “I’m up for it.” Her eyes open slowly, drinking me in lying next to her. “But I’m not sure if my stomach muscles are.”

  Don’t do it.

  Don’t weaken under temptation.

  Don’t be an ass.

  But when she touches herself, stroking across her flat belly, I almost fucking lose it. I can’t control myself. My hand follows hers. Gliding over the satin skin. Trembling under my fingertips. Jolting when I brush across her too-prominent hip bone.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that no one’s ever touched me there but Arturo.”

  I hate that motherfucker being here with us again. That he’ll always be a part of our intimacy, and I can’t do a damn thing to change it. “Never apologize, princess. This is ours. Just you and me okay? We’ll figure it all out together.”

  “Okay.”

  I cup her waist. Anchoring her to me while I scoot closer. Our bodies centimeters apart. Nothing coming between us but her anxiety. Until she touches my cheek. Trailing down my jaw line and lighting an inferno on my blazing skin as her silky fingertips brush my morning scruff. Hyper aware that she’s in my space, touching me with an urgency I’m not used to. Resting for a few seconds under my chin before she smiles, stretching to reach me, and skims my mouth with hers. When she sucks in my lower lip, gently scraping with her teeth, I’m so fucking done. I possess her with my tongue, sweeping in hard and deep and powerful. She matches my strokes without any hesitation.

  My cock throbs harder against her bare thigh. Impatient to eliminate the nylon restraining it. An involuntary thrust of my hips I can’t hold back and my hand slides up her velvet back unti
l my fingers tangle in the strap of her sports bra.

  That I cannot take off of her.

  Fuck. What the hell am I doing?

  This time I’m the one to pull back. Before I go too far. Before I do something she regrets. Before I make her fear me.

  Her hooded gaze meets mine. The need for more blatant. The desire for me as palpable as my craving for her. But fucking her on the gym floor isn’t what I want for our first time. Because when I’m finally inside her there won’t be any question. Not about me. Or her. Or us.

  Cradling her against me, I cup my hand around her sweet head resting on my bicep. Confirming I did the right thing when she cuddles deeper into my embrace. Her tiny fist clutching my shirt. I press my lips to her ear. “Do you know I love you Viviana?”

  “Yes.”

  Her whisper back to me eliminates the remaining argument I battle with myself. We have to wait.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  It’s official. I’m a god damn fucking psycho. I nod to the valet and jet my ass around to her side of the Audi. I don’t want the doorman scaring my princess even though I know she and that motherfucker went to plenty of high end parties with doormen and car service. But this evening out with me, here at a casual party with strangers, is all new to her and I’ll be damned if I ever let her think she’s alone. That I’m not right there. That I’ll allow anyone else to touch her but me.

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’ve got her.”

  A flicker of surprise bursts onto his face before his expression falls neutral again. Nodding and acquiescing to me holding out my hand to assist her out of her seat. The enormous smile well worth looking and acting like an asshole. I slide him a twenty for his trouble, and tuck her against me. Her lithe body pulsing with excitement. “I’ve always got you angel.”

  “I know.”

  Hayes Nowak, the president of the association board, stands beneath a welcome banner, greeting party goers as they make their way inside the lodge. Decorated with flags in the school colors of the tournament teams and weird life-size cardboard cutouts of the coaches I guess to take your photo with. He shifts his martini to his left hand and offers me his right. “Stieler, we haven’t seen you around here in a while.”