Page 77 of The Bodyguard

“So what is this?” she asked. “A bunker?”

He stepped closer. “Bunkers are buried in the ground. This is the top floor of Club Southside/Cerberus in Chicago. Think of it as a kind of safe-penthouse with a side of kink.”

It took everything in her to suppress the smile that was threatening to derail her anger. “And what’s my role in it? Political hostage? Damsel in distress?”

His eyes darkened slightly. “Neither.”

Andi folded her arms. “Then what?”

Mitch’s voice dropped, intimate and absolute. “Here, I can keep you safe—and remind you who you belong to.”

The words settled over her like smoke—slow, creeping, hot.

Her chest tightened. Not with fear. With want and need.

Because the way he said it didn’t leave room for misinterpretation. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a promise. One she felt down to her bones.

She swallowed. “And if I don’t need reminding?”

“You do,” he said simply. “You’re not bulletproof, Andi. You fight like you are. But right now? You’re mine to protect. Mine to hold. Mine to keep breathing. Here I can focus on giving you what you need without worrying about someone getting to us.”

Her breath hitched. Not visibly, but she felt it. That shift inside her chest—the surrender that didn’t feel like giving up, but giving over.

He moved even closer, brushing the back of his hand down her bare arm. “Do you trust me?”

Andi nodded once.

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

His fingers curled briefly around her wrist—tight, then gone. “Good. Because this place is more than bricks and locks. It’s the line I draw around you. And I’m not letting anyone cross it.”

Andi didn’t speak. Couldn’t, really. Her throat felt too tight, her pulse too loud. Because this wasn’t about control. It wasn’t about politics. It wasn’t even about fear.

This was about her. Mitch. The line between them—obliterated now. What lived in its place wasn’t soft. It wasn’t easy. But it was real.

He turned back toward the security terminal. “Get some rest. I’ll be watching the feed.”

She stared after him. She didn’t feel completely safe. Not really. Not yet, but she knew one thing for sure. She belonged to someone now—and that someone would burn the city down before he let anyone harm her again.

The room wasn’t just secure; it was a fucking masterpiece of control and passion. It was the kind of space that whispered ‘kneel’ before anyone spoke a word. A padded bench, a St. Andrew’s cross, a high-backed leather throne, and anchors drilled into the walls and ceiling like promises of restraint. Rope, chains, leather—every piece meticulously arranged, waiting to be used.

Her pulse was steady, but only because she was holding her breath. Anticipation thrummed in her veins, a low, needy hum that made her skin prickle. She hadn’t been dragged here. No, she’d come willingly, drawn by the way Mitch had looked at her earlier—like he was already undressing her, already bending her to his will. She knew tonight wasn’t about gentle reassurances or tender caresses. This was about ownership.

* * *

Something or someone moved behind her. Her breath hitched. Mitch stepped out of the shadows, dressed in black that clung to his body like a second skin. His silk shirt, rolled to the elbows, revealed forearms corded with muscle. Leather trousers that hung low on his hips, teasing the outline of what she knew was waiting for her. Barefoot, silent, and utterly in control—he was a predator, and she was his prey.

“Sorry, Sir,” she murmured, dropping her gaze.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

She obeyed without hesitation, her fingers trembling as she slid the slouchy sweater over her shoulders—skimming it and her leggings from her figure. He pointed to the lace bra and panties, indicating they too needed to go. They slid from her body, pooling at her feet in a whisper of surrender. She stood there, naked but for the flush creeping up her skin, her nipples hard, her pussy already slick with need.

“Good girl,” Mitch purred, and her spine arched at the praise.

He circled her like a wolf sizing up its meal, his fingers brushing the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. He took her wrists in his hands, guiding them together with a touch that was firm but never cruel.

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