Page 50 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
I pin her wrists behind her back with one hand, holding her in place. My other hand grips her thigh, lifting her higher, angling her just right so every thrust hits her deep.
She’s crying out now—loud, shameless, echoing off the rooftop like shewantsthe world to hear.
“You take every inch so good,” I growl, teeth dragging along her throat.
“Harder,” she begs.
I give her everything. I fuck her until my legs shake. Until her body collapses against mine. Until the only thing either of us knows is the slick sound of skin and the high, ragged rhythm of breathing between kisses.
And when she comes one last time, clenched tight around me, head thrown back, tears in her eyes from how hard it hits—I spill into her with a groan and hold her like I’m afraid she’ll vanish if I let go. Wrapped in my arms, body twitching, lips parted in a smile that saysI’m here. I’m alive.
We don’t say a damn word for a long time. Not until the wind picks up again, and Sean shrugs his jacket off to drape over her shoulders.
I’m dying to know. “So, what happened up here?”
Sean grunts. “The bastard threatened to throw her off the roof.”
The wind is knocked out of my lungs for a beat. “Motherfucker.”
“Yeah.”
“And we’re leaving him alive?”
“For now.”
I nod toward her. “Pressing charges?”
Bailey shakes her head and finally speaks, glaring down her nose at her ex. A queen sneering at a peasant. She nudges him with her shoe, but he doesn’t budge. “I kind of hope he’s just pretending to be unconscious so he had a chance to see how you’re supposed to fuck a woman.”
16
HUCK
Sean’s still grittinghis jaw when he turns to me. “Leave him breathing.”
I raise a brow. “Seriously?”
Sean sighs. “We can’t afford a corpse tonight. Not with Friedburg here.”
I glance at David, still face down, drool streaked across the tile beneath him.
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m not sending him down pretty.”
Sean doesn’t argue. Wesley’s already guiding Bailey toward the rooftop door. She’s barefoot now, her heels dangling from one hand, and there’s a glaze in her eyes that says the adrenaline’s worn off, the high has passed, and now her body just wants a dark car and eventually, a soft bed.
She doesn’t say anything as they lead her away. Just leans into Sean like she’s exhausted, like she can’t hold herself upright anymore. Wesley brushes a hand down her spine, whispering something I can’t hear.
They get their moment of Zen with her. I get mine with him.
I wait until the elevator doors close. Then I turn back to David. He’s still out cold, half-curled in the fetal position like the little shit he is. His lip’s split. But he’s breathing.
Unfortunately.
I squat beside him and pat his cheek—not gentle, not hard. Just enough to make sure he’ll look even worse in a few hours.
“Could’ve thrown you off the edge or stomped your skull in,” I mutter. “Would’ve been easy.”
He groans a half-muffled “No.”
