Page 79 of The Bodyguard

Mitch groaned like the words shattered something inside him. He pulled her tight against him, his hand flat against her belly as he slammed into her again and again, fucking her with a ferocity that left no doubt who she belonged to.

“Now,” he growled.

She came with a sob that shook her to the core, her body convulsing around him as he followed with a growl, spilling himself deep inside her.

Afterward, he was gentle—kinder than anyone might have expected from a man who’d just fucked her into oblivion. He untied her carefully, massaging the circulation back into her arms and laying kisses on every mark the rope had left behind. He carried her to the bed in the room's corner, wrapping her in a thick blanket and curling her into his chest.

His fingers moved through her hair, soothing and steady as she drifted in the aftermath of their shared pleasure. Her exhaustion prevented her from speaking, and she was too overwhelmed by him to think clearly. But she knew one thing for certain: she had never belonged to anyone the way she belonged to him.

Andi lay draped across Mitch’s chest, one leg hooked over his hips, her cheek pressed against his skin as it rose and fell beneath her. The air was still warm with the scent of sex and rope and something deeper—something quiet and heavy that neither of them had spoken aloud. Not yet.

Mitch had moved little since he’d carried her to the bed and wrapped her in a blanket. He hadn’t spoken, either. His fingers trailed slow patterns along the length of her spine. Not to arouse, not to command. Just to stay connected.

She could still feel the press of the ropes in her skin. The ache between her legs. The fire he’d set inside her, and the way he’d held it until it burned them both down to the bone.

But now, the quiet stretched longer. Not awkward. Just full. Andi tilted her head to look up at him, chin resting on his chest. His eyes were open, fixed somewhere above them, but his thoughts were miles away.

“Mitch?”

His hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its motion.

“You ever wonder how it would’ve turned out if you’d done one thing differently?” His voice was low. Raw. “One second, one breath, one step?”

Andi shifted slightly, propping herself on one elbow. “What happened?”

He didn’t look at her. Not yet. “Afghanistan. Seven years ago. We were clearing a compound. Nothing unusual. Intelligence said the place was mostly abandoned, but we swept anyway. I was lead on the breach. Had a guy behind me—rookie, smart, a little green but solid. Name was Sal.”

The way he said the name… Andi felt her chest tighten.

“He didn’t step where I told him to.” Mitch’s voice was a slow grind now. “Half a foot off the path. That’s all. Just one misstep. Mine, really. I should’ve double-checked the clearance. But I didn’t. And he…”

He stopped. Swallowed. Andi waited. She didn’t rush him.

“When the dirt and debris settled, there was nothing left of him—nothing that could be distinguished from the rubble.”

Silence. Thick and endless.

“I wrote the report. Sat with his mother. Told her we did everything we could. That he didn’t suffer.” He finally looked at her then, eyes dark and hollow. “I tell myself he never even knew what was going to happen, but I swore I’d never let someone in my charge fall again.”

The words settled like stones between them. Heavy. Absolute.

Andi reached for his face, her palm against the rough line of his jaw. “You didn’t let him fall.”

“I did.”

“No.” She leaned closer. “You were in a war zone. Someone in your command makes a split second off-course. That doesn’t make it your fault. It makes it combat.”

His eyes searched hers. Like he wanted to believe her, but was afraid to do so.

“I can’t lose you, Andi.”

“You won’t.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t look away. “You won’t, because I’m not walking into this blind. I know the risks. I know the cost. And I will step exactly where you tell me to. I’m still here… with you.”

He caught her hand and pressed it to his chest. Right over the scar she hadn’t noticed until now—small, pale, just beneath his collarbone.

“This was mine to carry,” he said. “But now? It’s more than that. You’re more than that.”

She curled into him then, resting her head over that heartbeat. Steady. Fierce. Real.

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