Page 12 of Big Bodyguard
Christ. She’s killing me.
I push the rest of the way in, seating myself fully inside her. She lets out a soft cry, her body clenching around me like a vise. My vision nearly whites out at the sensation, the primal satisfaction of knowing I’m the first man to ever be here.
“Fuck, baby…” I groan, burying my face in her neck, fighting for control. “You’re perfect. So damn tight.”
Her breath comes fast and shallow, her fingers gripping my shoulders. Then her hips shift tentatively beneath me, and she whispers, “Move, Daddy.”
The sound of that word in her sweet, trembling voice shreds the last of my restraint.
I draw back slowly, then push in again, a little deeper this time. Her lips part on a gasp, and I watch her face carefully…every twitch, every sound, every flutter of her lashes.
“Good girl,” I rasp, thrusting again, keeping it slow, controlled. “Taking Daddy so well.”
She moans softly, her body beginning to melt around me. I feel it the moment the pleasure hits her, her tightness clenching around me in a way that has my cock throbbing violently.
“Yes…oh God, yes,” she gasps, her hands clutching my back.
“Look at you,” I growl, my pace quickening just enough to make her whimper. “So innocent. So fucking mine.”
Her eyes fly open, locking with mine, burning with something raw and desperate. “Yours. I’m yours.”
Those words detonate inside me, and I grip her hips, dragging her down harder onto me, swallowing her cries with a brutal kiss. My thrusts deepen, steady and claiming, and her moans grow louder, broken, unrestrained.
She arches beneath me, her body trembling, her lips forming my name like a prayer.
“That’s it, princess,” I groan into her mouth, fucking her through her first time. “Give it to me. Give Daddy everything.”
And when she shatters beneath me, her cry sharp and wild, I know there’s no going back. She’s mine. Forever.
Chapter Five
Charlie
I wake to sunlight spilling through the thin curtains of the bedroom, warming my skin, wrapping me in a hazy glow. For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything that happened last night.
Jack’s mouth and hands on my skin, branding me. The way his voice goes rough when he calls me princess, and the way his eyes darken every time I call him Daddy.
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don’t care. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like the senator’s daughter, the overprotected girl who lives in a cage of marble walls and armed bodyguards. I feel like a woman. His woman.
Stretching, I realize the space beside me is empty. A flicker of disappointment pricks at me, but then I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.
I slide off the bed, padding barefoot to the window, and the sight that greets me feels almost like a punch to the gut.
Jack is outside. Shirtless.
My throat goes dry.
His body is a map of strength—hard, corded muscle shifting under sun-kissed skin, scars carved across his chest and armslike proof of the battles he’s fought and survived. His back flexes as he moves, broad and powerful, sweat glistening along the ridges of muscle. He looks like he’s working out—or more like training. Every movement of his body is sharp, disciplined, controlled.
He drops low into push-ups, his body a line of power. Then he shifts into planks, then a series of brutal kicks and strikes, like he’s fighting invisible enemies. His jaw is hard, focused, his eyes narrowed on nothing and everything at once.
For the life of me, I can’t look away.
My thighs squeeze together involuntarily as my stomach flips. I shouldn’t be spying on him like this, but God, I can’t help it. Watching him is like watching raw masculinity in motion, every muscle a reminder of the danger he’s capable of…and the way he held me last night, careful but possessive, like he owned every inch of me.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I grab my camera from the nightstand. At some point last night, before we fell asleep, Jack admitted that he had already gathered my things from the hotel, even before following me to the club. He said he’d had a feeling we wouldn’t have time to go back for them.
And even though it’s just another example of my father’s overprotectiveness and paranoia, and that fact that Jack has been stalking me for days, I find myself grateful for it now. The familiar weight of my camera in my hands steadies me, grounds me, even as my pulse pounds in my ears.
