Page 67 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
It’s perfect.
Bailey moves in slow, fluid rolls—rising, falling, pressing her chest against mine with every breath. Her hands curl onto my shoulders. Mine splay wide across her back. She sets the rhythm. I match it.
And together, we move like this is the only place we’ve ever belonged.
Her lips find mine again, tasting like starlight and relief. “I’ve missed this.”
“Me too.” I kiss her jaw. Her throat. The swell of her breast. I let my hands map every inch of her, memorizing her curves like I’ll never get this moment again. Because I don’t know. I don’t know what this means, if anything. It’s one thing when it’s all four of us—that’s release and passion and pent-up years of lust.
This is something else, something I feel in my chest, my DNA. She’s always been there, as long as I can remember. Ever since I saw the pretty brown-haired girl down the hall when we were kids. I locked eyes on her, and everything else fell away.
Just like now.
She gasps when I thrust up harder. “More.”
The desperation in her voice sends a thrill through me. I give her more. But I won’t rush it. Not with her.
Her body starts to tremble. Her breath catches. I feel her start to fall apart around me and grip her hips tighter, holding her steady. She clenches against my cock, owning every inch. But she’s holding back. She bites her lip, like she’s thinking too hard or something.
“Let go,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
Recognition lights her from within. I caught her thinking, and she knows it. She gives half a nod, and that tiny bit of permission I gave her was all she needed. Her whole body shakes on me, tenses, and then she comes with a cry pressed against my neck, full-body and unrestrained, clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing left on this rooftop.
And when she comes down—shaking, smiling, sated—I follow. My orgasm hits low and hard, my body tensing as I spill into her, teeth clenched, eyes locked on hers.
We stay wrapped around each other for a long time. No words. No rush. Just skin and sky and safety. Eventually, she rests her head against my chest. I pull the blanket back over us, tucking her in as she yawns.
“Still awake?” I ask, brushing a hand through her hair.
“Barely.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “Sleep, then. I’ve got watch.”
She hums. “Still such a soldier.”
“Only for you.”
21
BAILEY
The guest roomis littered with neat little piles of towels on the trunk by the window, a stack of sheets on the chair, and the never-ending tower of socks that mock me. I could hire someone to handle this kind of thing, but it forces me to slow down and touch grass, so to speak. It’s easy to get caught up in the glitz and glamour of what I do, and if I did that, I might start to believe my own hype. Can’t let that happen.
Can’t forget where I come from.
After my first starring role, Mom told me to never forget the tiny third-floor walk-up I grew up in, or the long nights she put in at the factory to pay for my acting coach, or how hard I’ve worked to get where I am. She was afraid I’d lose myself to the Hollywood machine the way a lot of starlets do, especially after I told her about the premier’s afterparty. My old agent told me to spend the money from that role on something frivolous.
I bought Mom a house instead. I’m glad I did it. She lived there for a year before the car accident that took her life, and she loved that house. I’d never seen her so happy.
Steam rolls off the top of my coffee mug as I sit in the corner chair, staring at the piles of clothes to be processed. The loss of Mom still feels fresh, even though it’s been years. I’ve never been a spiritual person, and neither was she, but wherever she is now, I hope she knows I’m still me. The glamour of the job never took away who I am.
Sunlight streams through the east-facing windows, laying a warm stripe across the floor. My phone buzzes, skittering across the trunk.Miraflashes on the screen. I put it on speaker, still cradling the mug in my hands. “Please tell me you have good news.”
“You’re in, Bailey,” she says, breathless. “You gotthejob. Friedburg wants you for the lead. Contract’s in your inbox.”
The words hang in the air for a beat before they slam into me. “Wait—what?”
“He told the studio you can carry the role and that you have ‘eyes that remember before they decide.’ I don’t know what it means, but you’re in. This is the one, Bailey.”
