Page 45 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
She shakes her head. But the answer’s still yes because Bailey’s hands are white-knuckled on that damn railing. Her mouth is open, but no sound comes out. Her chest rises and falls in shallow stutters like she’s breathing through a straw.
I cross to her slowly. Careful. Hands down. “Hey,” I murmur. “You’re okay.”
She nods once, but it’s robotic. Mechanical. Her eyes flick to David—crumpled on the concrete ten feet away, unmoving—and then right back to me.
I stop when I’m just close enough to touch her, but I don’t. Not yet. “You’re safe.”
That’s when she speaks. Barely.
“He said he’d ruin me.” Her voice cracks onruin. “Asked me if I’d orgasm if I fell off the roof.”
I grit my teeth. “What?”
“I wanted to fight him.” She takes a quick breath. “I don’t know how.”
I step in then. I slide my hand around the back of her neck and press my forehead to hers. Her skin is cold—too cold—but her pulse is racing beneath it. “You’re not ruined. You’re not falling off the roof. I’ve got you.”
Her voice is weak. “I feel like I’m unraveling.”
“You’re not.”
She closes her eyes, trembling under my hands.
“Tell me what you need,” I say. “Anything.”
She takes one breath. Then another. And when she opens her eyes, they’re full of fire. “I need you to make me forget.”
“Bailey—”
“I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to scream. I don’t want to talk. I want you to fuck me while he lies on the ground, and I remember what it feels like towin.”
Her words are sharp. Fierce. She’s not asking. She’s reclaiming. “I need this,” she says again, lower now. “I need you.”
I step back just enough to look at her.
Her cheeks are flushed from cold and adrenaline. Her eyes are glassy, but locked on mine like I’m the only thing left tetheringher to this rooftop. She went through hell, but she’s still standing. Demanding what she needs.
What else can I do but give it to her? “I’m yours.”
She nods, once. “Show me. Here. Now. Fuck me.”
She walks sideways, dragging me with her, until her thighs bump the wide concrete ledge surrounding the rooftop. There’s a planter wall next to us—one that hides this spot from the door, from the city, from anything but the sky.
It’s secluded. Not private. And that’s what she wants.
I grab her waist and lift her up onto the planter ledge. Her legs part for me automatically, her dress riding high on her thighs, black silk catching the wind.
She’s not wearing panties.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
She bites her lip. “Wasn’t planning on waiting long tonight.”
I press a hand to her chest, just above her heart. It’s racing. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
I unzip my pants. My cock is already hard—has been since the second she saidfuck melike it was a demand, not a request. She looks down, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. I grip her hips and pull her to the edge, lining myself up, my tip sliding over her folds, teasing, as she wraps her legs around me.
