Page 59 of The Bodyguard

But they were running out of warning shots, and the next one might not miss.

He dried his face and looked in the mirror. Her reflection wasn’t there. But she was everywhere else. In his lungs. In his bloodstream. In every damn move he made, and that was the problem.

When he returned to the main room, it was obvious Andi had retreated to her bedroom. She now paced the polished hardwood floors of the living room like a fuse already lit.

Barefoot. Tank top. Leggings slung low on her hips. She pulled her hair back into a messy bun, the kind she only wore when she was too wired to sleep and too angry to sit still. The gown from the gala was gone. The lipstick scrubbed clean. This was Andi stripped to her core—unpolished, untamed, unrelenting.

And Mitch had never wanted her more.

He didn’t speak. Not yet. He watched her like she was a building set to implode. No countdown. No sirens. Just pressure building minute by minute.

She turned toward him, arms crossed. Her voice was low but clear. “I won’t hide, Mitch. I won’t live like I’m already dead.”

He didn’t answer with words. He stepped in, crossing the space between them in three sharp strides. His hand curled around her jaw, tilting her face up to his.

“I’d rather chain you to that bed than bury you.”

She didn’t flinch, but he saw the corners of her mouth lift. “I’ll bet you would, but seriously, I’d rather die fighting,” she said, “than live running scared.”

His grip tightened. Not to hurt—but to hold. To keep her steady as his voice dropped to something lethal.

“You say that again, and I swear I’ll make you regret giving me the visual.”

Her lips parted. Her breath hitched. But her eyes never left his. “I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.

“I’m going to touch you now,” he said. “And you will not move unless I tell you to.”

She nodded once, jaw tight. He didn’t kiss her. Not yet. He walked her backward until her shoulders hit the wall. Then he pressed her body between the plaster and the hard lines of his own, one hand braced beside her head, the other settling low on her hip.

“You want to fight?” he murmured. “Then fight me. But if you give in… if you choose this... there’s no halfway.”

Andi stared up at him. And then, slowly, she let her arms fall to her sides.

“I want this. I want you.”

“Say it right.”

Her voice cracked. “Yes, Sir.”

His restraint snapped like thread. His mouth descended on hers, capturing it with a kiss that spoke of both punishment and promise. He grabbed her thighs, lifted her off the floor, and she wrapped around him instinctively, gasping into his mouth.

He slid his hand under her tank, dragging it up over her ribs, baring skin inch by inch until he peeled it off and tossed it over his shoulder. She wore nothing underneath. Her nipples were already hard. Her body trembling.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. She’d already said it.

“Yes, Sir.”

He dropped his head, took one nipple between his teeth, and bit down, drawing a primal moan from deep within her. Mitch stepped back, letting her feet hit the floor as his other hand gripped the waistband of her leggings, yanking them down along with her panties in a brutal tug.

“Turn around.” His voice was a low, commanding growl.

Andi hesitated for a moment and then obeyed.

He grasped her hips, stepped close, and ground her ass against his cock, still confined behind his zipper, letting her feel every throbbing inch of his arousal. He pressed a firm hand to her spine, bending her forward until her palms were flat against the wall.

Dropping to one knee behind her, he dragged his mouth along the inside of her thigh, his breath hot on her skin.

“You’re soaked,” he growled.

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