Alpha Bodyguard

by Luke Steel

  Hell, she might be right. I can’t shake my attraction to her, and it kills me to think about her sleeping so near. But I’m already dead, because her robe slips open a couple inches, revealing a glimpse of flesh. The curve of a breast under silk. I laugh too loudly.

  “Point taken, then, you’re safe inside the house. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “G’night.”

  Downstairs the majority of the cast and crew are having evening drinks. I scan the faces as I walk in, looking for a reaction that might indicate someone on set I should check into, but they look relaxed as if they’re at a suburban cookout.

  I grab a beer from the makeshift bar and wander to the edge of the room, watching and listening. People wander by, and a couple of times I overhear comments about Sally staying in her room. That’s typical, it seems.

  An older woman with stiff blonde hair calls me over and waves me to a seat on a blocky sofa with claw feet. A group of five are clustered in a huddle of gothic-looking seating, and obviously Sally’s the topic.

  “So you’re the bodyguard,” a youngish guy drawls, looking me over. “And Sally still won’t come down for evening drinks?”

  “Sally’s too good for mixing with the common folk,” the blonde says. “She’s angling for bigger things.” As snide as the words are, there’s an even uglier undertone to it. This is one who leaks half-truths to tabloids, I’ll bet.

  “Oh, step back and give the girl some privacy,” a square-jawed guy says. “She’s one of the best actresses I’ve worked with, especially at her age. So if staying in her room means she hits her marks each day, good for her.”

  The blonde leans in toward me. “You’ll find Bradley is her biggest fan. No one can say a sideways word about Sally if he’s around.”

  “What can I say, I like the finer things,” Bradley jokes. “And hey, I’m her leading man. I’m supposed to be on her side.”

  The blonde clearly meant to insinuate a more intimate relationship between the two, and I wonder if it’s true. Will I have to deal with them slipping in and out of each other’s rooms? The thought burns in my throat. I tell myself it’s professional annoyance, related only to keeping her safe. But I might be jealous.

  Dinner is served in the next room at a monstrous wooden table that looks about the size of my entire bedroom. But on the upside, the roasted quail wrapped in thinly sliced bacon melts in my mouth, and the rosemary potatoes are perfection.

  Conversation lags after dinner, and the actors especially filter away, citing an early shoot. Upstairs, I peel off my T-shirt and jeans and listen at the bathroom door, shaving kit in hand. All’s quiet, so I push in. The smell of her shampoo hovers thick in the air, light and fruity. A bit of foam clings to the side of the tub, so she must have finished up not long before. I try not to think about that long, lean body, partially submerged in bubbles. As I turn back to the sink, I spot a lacy thong half hanging off a wooden stool beside the tub.

  As if I wasn’t already aware of her in the next room with every nerve ending. It’s not just that it’s been so long since I’ve had time for romance, it’s that she’s so damn gorgeous. No, not even that. She’s got this restless energy, this hunger. It was there in the way she drives, the way she ate up that track with her long legs and powerful thighs.

  I glance at the thong again and think about those thighs. About her sliding the lace over them and tossing it aside, about the soapy water lapping at her skin. My balls tighten as my dick swells, tenting my loose boxers comically. She’s right on the other side of that door. I wonder if she’s wearing that robe again after her bath, the black silk falling open to reveal more than just the curve of her breast.

  My dick throbs and I lean over the sink to splash water on my face. Then I brace a hand on the counter and curl my palm over my rigid shaft, enjoying the slide of the satiny fabric. It’s a big fucking mistake to think about a client this way, but something about her—I can’t help myself. I’m harder now, and my dick slips through the front of the boxers, begging for attention. I see Sally standing in here earlier, imagine my hands spreading the front of her robe and palming her breasts. The heavily muscled guy in front of me straightens and fists his huge cock. My jaw clenches. I pump my hand over the shaft a few times. How fucking sexy Sally would look standing here with me. Her hands and then her lips on me. I picture the way I’d watch in the mirror as she took me in her mouth. I can almost feel the way my fingers would tangle in her hair as I guided her over me.

  Furniture creaks in Sally’s room, and feet hit the floor.

  To be safe, I tuck myself back into my boxers and grab my toothbrush. I hear a cough on the other side of the door just before the knob turns. The door swings open, and Sally’s startled eyes meet mine in the mirror. She’s wearing a faded green T-shirt that hugs her curves and loose cotton shorts with rainbows all over. Then her gaze wanders over my chest and down to the giant fucking hard on threatening to slip out to freedom any second. I stop breathing. Her eyes stop moving. My dick throbs painfully. Her eyes find mine again, and they’re darker, shadowed. We hold the stare for seconds that last for hours.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I should have knocked.”

  She doesn’t look sorry.

  “Is everything okay?” Do you need me? The double entendre almost makes it to my lips before I swallow it back.

  She hesitates one last heartbeat. “Yeah. I mean, I just haven’t been able to get to sleep. I get antsy sometimes before important scenes.” Her posture relaxes to a slouch. “I’ve got something to help in my makeup bag.” She points to a zippered bag on her side of the counter.

  “Ah. Right then, help yourself.” Everything out of my mouth sounds worse than the last.

  She leans in, snatches the bag, and steps backward. Her eyes sweep to the side and stop, transfixed by something behind me. In the mirror, I search for what she might have seen. Ah, shit. The only thing back there is the thong she left behind. The item responsible for my awkwardly visible arousal. My jaw aches as it clenches over anything I might say that could make this worse. And what if she’s thinking the same thing? What would happen then? A shadow of a smirk tightens her lips, and she looks me over again, dick to eyes, before easing the door shut. My held breath huffs out in a rush.

  Get your head out of your ass, Buckley. That’s your principal.

  I brush my teeth with a vengeance and finish washing up, but my desire hasn’t eased. I grab a spare hand towel and take myself to bed.

  I step out of my boxers and stretch out over the blanket in the darkened room. My cock juts up, and as I hold it, I imagine Sally in the thong that’s still draped over that stool in the bathroom. I picture her runner’s ass, round and bare except for the triangle of white and thin line that disappears between those gorgeous cheeks. My cock jumps in my hand, and I reach down to cup my balls as they tighten and draw up. It’s been so long, I’m halfway there just thinking about her.

  I increase the pressure around the shaft, pumping short and fast before I release the pressure to take long strokes that graze the sensitive head. Yeah. Long hours and the stress of the job, the loneliness of the travel and watching other people’s lives unfold around me, the power of my instant attraction to Sally—all these things coil tightly in my balls as the pressure builds. I take the shortest route to the end, imagining the woman in the room next to me and wondering if she’s rubbing one out, too. The thought takes me to the finish line, and I grope for the towel with my left hand. My right hand jerks in time to the strokes of Sally’s hand as I imagine her pleasuring herself. She’d be spread out on her bed, the silk robe spread under her. One hand on her breast, tweaking her nipple, as the other sinks between her golden thighs. Her hand would bob faster, and maybe she’d moan a little. The thought takes me close to the finish line, and I grope for the towel with my left hand. As Sally pleasures herself in my mind, my right hand jerks in time to the strokes of her fingers. My ass cheeks clench, my dick throbs and swells one final time, and I explode.

>   2

  Some buzzing thing whines near my ear. One leg of my flimsy camping chair has sunk into the ground, leaving the chair off balance. The whine of a motorboat drifts over the water and the boat speeds into view for at least the tenth take of this scene over the last four hours. From this distance, I can just make out Bradley van Garten at the wheel and Sally close to the bow, her hair whipping in the wind. I sip black coffee from a paper cup as I shift my attention from the lake to a survey of the faces around me. Everyone but the director, who’s watching intently from the edge of his seat, looks solidly bored.

  The boat skids to a halt on the sandy beach just as Sally apparently lands a punch to Bradley’s jaw, and then she takes her tenth leap off the boat into her tenth parkour-style shoulder roll. For the tenth time, she rises fluidly to run down the shore, and Bradley sprints after her for the tenth tackle, just shy of the rocks. My bones ache watching those tackles, even on the relatively soft sand.

  Not once has Sally called for a break, though at least once a guy with a first aid kit has forced her to stop and let him mop up little scrapes. I keep waiting for her to slow down, maybe complain or ask for a double for the tackle at least, but she sprints through each take with the same energy. She wears the same determined look between takes that I saw yesterday. When the camera’s on, though, she’s someone else entirely. Someone who wears her sexuality on her sleeve, uses it to get what she wants. Someone deadly and mysterious. From here it looks like the studio is right to bank on her.

  Off to my right, a slightly plump but well-proportioned woman in a tasteful black pantsuit picks her way toward us down the hill from the cast trailers. She approaches me, dabbing at her forehead with a tissue that she stows in her purse, and then extends an impeccably manicured hand.

  “Quinn Buckley? Ronette Johnson, so nice to finally see you.” Her eyes sweep over me, and I smile and nod as she drops my hand. “I hope you got settled in okay and had a chance to take a look around yesterday. Sorry again about throwing you to the wolves, but couldn’t be helped. Listen, the studio is so glad you could be here on short notice. You came highly recommended. Sally wasn’t the biggest fan of the idea, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Has she at least been civil to you?”

  My eyes, which had drifted to Sally, climbing back into the boat, snap back when I realize she’s stopped for an answer.

  “Yeah, she’s been fine. Everything’s fine. Sally had dinner in her room and went to bed early last night, and then shooting started early today. We haven’t talked much outside of the car ride here.”

  “Did she tell you much about the harassment?”

  “Nope. Why don’t you tell me how long it’s been going on?”

  “Honestly, we can’t be sure. Sally’s been evasive about it, and we think she hid it for a while before the trailer incident.”

  “Bitch spray-painted on the side of the trailer, but no one got inside, right? And that happened how long ago?”

  Ronette nodded. “Last week. We added a couple more rent-a-cops and closed the set, but I don’t mind saying it spooked everyone a little. The studio’s pissed about spending the extra cash on security, but they’re banking on this film, and they want to be sure it’s done on time. We’re looking at a mid-summer release date, if everything goes right. And it’s been strongly suggested that we all make sure everything goes right.”

  “Did the local police come and check it out?”

  “Yeah, but with nothing else to go on, and Sally not being helpful, they wrote it off as kid stuff.”

  I make a noncommittal noise. As Sally and Bradly speed off again, a couple crew members rush forward to smooth out the sand for the next take.

  “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” Ronette continues. “Sally’s a doll, really. We all adore her. But she’s not easy to get close to. She doesn’t gossip on set, she definitely doesn’t fool around romantically. A movie like this, and two unattached stars—the chances are easily fifty-fifty or more that the two leads hook up. It’s the nature of the work. And frankly, if she wants to stay uppity, that’s fine with me. I don’t need her to be popular, I need her to get the job done.”

  The speedboat flies around the bend in the shore again, Sally and Bradly in identical positions. I meet Ronette’s eyes again, and she drops the chatty demeanor.

  “Just to reiterate, the main thing here is keeping this film rolling. We need Sally not just safe, but focused. This film is important to the studio, and a lot of reputations are riding on it. Including yours.”

  “There’s no need for threats, Ronette. I always do my job.”

  “Who’s threatening anybody? I’m just making sure you’ve got the whole picture, honey.”

  The director calls the scene, and Ronette’s face relaxes back to her friendly smile.

  “I’ll have the head of security find you after dinner so you can make sure you’re on the same page.”

  “Appreciated.”

  Down the beach, Sally brushes off sand and steps stiffly over the line of rocks. I nod again to Ronette and start at an angle to intercept Sally on her way up the hill toward the cast trailers.

  Despite her obvious pain, she’s walking faster than I expected and she gets ahead of me.

  “Ms. Swanson.” Her stride doesn’t slow. “Sally!” I call louder.

  She keeps marching up the hill like she doesn’t hear me. Or doesn’t want to. I’m not going to look like a fool yelling after her, so I follow at few yards behind. Her face showed nothing as she passed, but her body language is tense. The intense shoot, or the weight of secrets? She hasn’t been quiet about not wanting me here, but tough shit. I’m here and going to do my job so she can do hers. If she’s hiding something, she needs to tell me. I increase my pace, and my long legs close the gap between us.

  I nearly bowl over the plump, blond-haired craft services guy that pops up in my path with a notepad.

  “Uh, Quinn? Mr. Buckley?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Ms. Johnson sent me to ask you about dietary restrictions for dinner. Would you prefer gluten free, full paleo, or vegetarian meals?”

  “Whichever one you’ve got. I’m not choosy.”

  His pencil hovers over the pad, and his pale blue eyes widen with something like panic.

  “But—don’t you have a preference? I just need to have a tally.”

  “Guess most people around here have strong opinions about food, right?” He nods. “Fine, then. Paleo, I suppose.”

  His face smooths with relief, and he notes something on the pad. Over his shoulder, Sally stomps up the steps to her trailer, yanks the door open, and slams it behind her.

  I dodge around the food guy and cover the final yards to the trailer. I tap on the door, intent on wrestling complete answers. No answer. More annoyed than worried, I knock again. A heavy thump rattles the trailer.

  “Fuck.” The handle turns under my hand, so I fling it open and lunge through the door.

  Sally’s alone, one foot bare, wearing tight fitting jeans and a bra. She’s flat on her bum and pulling angrily on the last boot. The satiny bra reveals an achingly perfect set of smallish, round breasts, pushed together just enough to make a man want to—

  “Ah, shit. Sorry to invade your privacy, Ms. Swanson.” I jerk my head aside and step toward the door.

  “No big deal,” she says. “Sorry for the lack of decency in here. I fell over trying to get my right boot off. Come on in.” She tugs at the boot again, but it doesn’t budge. She drops her arms with a sigh and leans back on her hands.

  “I can come back in a few minutes.” Jesus, Buckley. Sally’s lean thighs are encased in skintight denim, and her pose offers up an unimpeded view of those gorgeous tits. Fuck me, but I want my hands on them. My tongue.

  “No need. I’m used to being on set in less than this. Acting doesn’t leave much room for modesty. Not for women, anyway.”

  I shrug and force the heat out of my gaze. She stretches both legs out and pushes at the stubborn boot�
��s heel with the other toe.

  “That scene was brutal. I’m in pretty good shape, but my muscles are jelly right now.” She lifts a booted foot. “I seriously can’t even get this boot off. Help me out?”

  I glance around. “You don’t even have a PA on set, then?”

  “Nope.” She wiggles her leg. “Come on, Mr. Bodyguard. Now’s your chance. Come to my rescue!”

  How many ways can this job screw with me? I’ve lost count. I catch the heel of her boot in my palm and cup her calf with my left hand, ignoring the rush of heat touching her creates. Working the boot from side to side as I pull, I try not to think about her legs scissored open in front of me. The leather finally starts to slide, and her calf flexes under my palm as she points her toe so it can slip off.

  “Ah, shit!” Sally convulses as her calf draws into a tight knot.

  “I’ve got it,” I say. “Been on the receiving end of my fair share of cramping muscles.”

  “You don’t mind?” She turns her smoky eyes upward.

  My fingers dig into the knot as I hold her gaze. Then as I probe deeper, her head falls back and her eyes drift closed.

  “Oh, god,” she moans through glossy, parted lips. “Right there.”

  The muscle softens and relaxes, but she doesn’t move to stop me. Her sighs lift her pert breasts higher. Fuck me if I’m not getting hard just giving her a massage. I’m leaning over her calf, and without permission, my hands knead higher, up to the stiff muscles above her knee. She moans again, and my dick answers with a throb.

  I’ve never once been guilty of fraternizing with a principal, though it happens all the time. The guys who do it always seem to take a dive afterwards and fall out of the higher paying circles. I’ve never thought it was worth it, but right now I can’t remember why not.

  A hard rap on the door makes her eyes fly open, and I drop her leg. Someone yells “Dinner in five!” through the door, and I extend a hand to help Sally up. She pulls herself up with a little bounce that brings her inches from my chest, then turns toward the back of the trailer.