Page 21 of The Bodyguard's Bookworm
“Accidentally, I’m sure.”
“Very careless of you.”
Emi leans back into me, her body fitting against mine with the ease of sixteen years. “Which scene?”
“The one where he takes her home after the dinner party and tells her he’s tired of being civilized.”
Her breath changes. “That scene.”
“He locks the bedroom door.”
“We don’t need to lock ours. The girls are gone.”
“True. Actually, why limit ourselves to the bedroom?”
She laughs, but it catches when I bend and put my mouth to the side of her neck. I kiss the place beneath her ear, then her jaw, then her mouth, taking my time because I can.
Emi lets me walk her backward out of the kitchen.
We keep talking at first, because she’s Emi and because she likes to pretend she can stay clever while I’m getting my hands on her. She tells me the hero in the book was less bossy than I am. I tell her the hero didn’t know what he was doing. She says I’m contrary. I tell her she married me anyway.
By the time we reach the bedroom, coherent conversation is gone.
I close the door out of habit and pull her shirt over her head. Her bra is just a shade darker than her skin, and I take a second to look at her because I always do. Emi’s cheeks flush, which still makes me feel violent with tenderness. I trace the top edge of the bra with one finger, then unclasp it and let it fall away.
“Still staring?” she murmurs.
“Always.”
I lower my mouth to her breast, and she exhales my name. That sound has owned me since the first time I heard it. I take one nipple between my lips, savoring it, then move to the other while my hands work open her jeans.
She steps out of them, and I take her underwear down with them. I go slower than I need to because I want the tremble in her thighs, the impatient bite of her lower lip, the way she looks at me as if I’m both torment and relief.
When she reaches for my belt, I let her. Her hands know me. Every buckle, button, and scar. She undresses me with the same focused hunger that made me lose my mind the first time, and when my cock springs free, her eyes drop to it. The sound she makes is pleased and needy.
I guide her onto the bed and follow her down.
I kiss my way down her body, over the curve of her breasts, the softness of her stomach, the inside of her perfect thick thighs. Her pussy is already so wet for me, slick and swollen. I put my mouth to her, tongue dragging through her before circling her clit.
Emi gasps, one hand fisting in the sheets. “Connor.”
I take my time. I know every sound she makes, every place she’s sensitive, every way her body warns me she’s close. I lick her until her hips start to roll, then ease back before she can come, because I want to feel this one around my cock.
She glares down at me, breathless. “That was mean.”
I kiss the inside of her thigh. “You’ll survive.”
“Barely.”
I move up her body and settle between her legs. She reaches for me, and I catch her hand, pressing it into the mattress beside her head as I line myself up. The first push inside her steals the air from my lungs.
I watch my cock slide into her, thick and hard, disappearing inch by inch into the tight heat of her pussy. Emi’s head tips back, her lips parting as she takes me. I go slow, because I want to see all of it.
“Look at me,” I tell her.
Her eyes open.
I push all the way in and hold there, buried deep. “I love you.”
