Page 91 of The Bodyguard Affair
“Oh fuck, yes,” she hisses, taking me fully. It takes a couple moments, but she finally adjusts around me, just barely.
“Don’t fucking move,” I order, holding her hips to keep her still.
“Why?” she whispers, her tone laced with a need that drives me wild.
“Because I’m going to come and I’d prefer not to embarrass myself entirely.”
She smirks, leaning forward into the pillow, moving in a way that nearly ends me. “Please fuck me,” she begs.
Even teetering on the edge of a near-death situation, I don’t know if I’d be able to say no to this woman. I rear back and enter her again, my vision going fuzzy at the sound of her soft whimpers. I lean forward, kissing her neck, desperate to be as close to her as possible.
We find a rhythm, going slow at first. And then she starts bucking her ass against me and I lose it. I start to thrust hard into her once I know she can take it, relishing each moan, each cry, each “Fuck.”
And when she tells me she’s going to come again, I hold her tighter, reaching around her front to touch her the way I know she likes it. It doesn’t take long until she starts shaking and collapses onto the mattress, contracting under me.
As it rips through her, she closes her eyes and tosses her head back, her plump lips parted, the flush of her pleasure warming her cheeks and her chest. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
I don’t know how I manage to hold back as long as I do, but I come with her. It’s so intense, my ears ring and my vision goes entirely. I lose all ability to do anything but ride out the explosions of pleasure, which last for a scary amount of time, eventually settling in small pulses.
I kiss her neck, tracing my finger over every curve and slope, treasuring her the way she deserves. I roll her into my side, chest to chest, relishing her warmth, every point of contact, our fingers intertwined. She blinks up at me, resting her forehead against mine, holding it there, our breath syncing.
I don’t know that I’ve ever been more connected to someone else than I am right now. I think about how right it feels having her here with me. How right I feel at home with her.
It’s official: I have never felt something so fucking good in my entire life. And it’s not just the orgasm. It’sher.
Chapter 40
Andi
The thought of leaving this bed to go to the non-ceremony feels like pure torture. In fact, I’m convinced my legs have transformed into noodles, incapable of carrying me any farther than the edge of the mattress. I might as well resign myself to living here forever, like the grandparents inWilly Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Only instead of lying in bed and making snarky comments about the outside world, I’d be with Nolan.
Nolan is in the shower, whistling what sounds like the “Wedding March.” So I avoid reality a little longer and check my author email account. I haven’t looked at it in days, and the thought of doing so is almost as daunting as attempting to move from this bed.
I start scanning the A. A. Zed emails on my phone. It’s the usual, a bunch of spam mail, author newsletters, and promotional offers. As I scroll, one email stands out. Its subject line practically jumps off the screen.
Subject: Representation Offer for Your Bestselling Book
Dear A. A. Zed,
My name is Cher Reynolds and I’m a literary agent with Reynolds and Holburg Literary Agency. I recently had the pleasure of reading THE PRIME MINISTER & ME and I was absolutely captivated by your writing. Based on its tremendous success over the last few weeks, I believe there’s potential for your work to reach an even wider audience.
I’m reaching out to you today because I would love the opportunity to represent you and your book. Between you and me, many large publishing houses have expressed interest in purchasing the rights. I’m genuinely so excited about the possibility of working together and helping you achieve even greater success in your writing career.
Please let me know if you would be interested in exploring this opportunity further, and we can schedule a time to chat at your convenience.
Warmest regards,
Cher
Holy shit. Cher Reynolds is a powerhouse, representing some of the biggest romance authors in the business. I came across her name over and over back when I was researching the traditional publishing route years ago. And the weirdest part? There are two emails from other well-known agents asking forcalls to discuss potential representation, just casually sitting in my inbox.
How is this real? When I published my books, I immediately opted to self-publish. I knew going the traditional route (getting my books published by a large publishing house to be sold in actual bookstores) would be difficult. It would require not only a literary agent to believe in my work, but an editor and an entire publishing team to love it enough to pay me for it. I never imagined anyone would like my work enough, nor did I want to give up creative control, so I never bothered to try.
I try to tamp down my excitement, my urge to finally spring from the bed and dance around the room as I toggle through the emails. When Nolan finally emerges from the bathroom, his hair still flecked with water droplets, he eyes me curiously, clueing in to the mix of emotions playing across my face.
“Everything okay?” he asks, eyes searching mine.
“Yeah. Um, I…I got some emails from literary agents who want to represent me and sell my books to publishers,” I say, lightning fast.
