OBSESSION (Alpha Bodyguards Book 2) Read online

  4

  Preston had a meltdown at drop off, making one last plea for his mom to pass on work and take him to the water park. Then, the energy drink Ayla had been drinking on the car on the way to her job fell out of the cup holder when she had to make a sudden stop, soaking the entire right leg of her pants.

  She was already running late, so there was no time go home and change. She used some Chipotle napkins from the floor behind the passenger seat to dab herself as dry as she could, but she was doomed to spend the first part of her shift wet and sticky, not to mention lacking the boost the rest of the can would have provided.

  By the time she reached the time clock, it was 10:02, and her boss was waiting when she arrived at her desk.

  “Late again? Sorry, but that’s an occurrence,” Teri reminded Ayla. As if she needed to be reminded. And as if she was actually sorry.

  “That’s your third this quarter. That’s a write up.” The way Teri said “write up” with that scary grin on her face made Ayla want to punch her in her stupid Botoxed face.

  Teri Palermo was in her early fifties, but she’d had so much work done in an attempt to look young and lure husband number five that she had a permanent Joker-style smile. “Next time you’re late is a suspension. And that’s back from lunch or break or anything. That would really suck to have to suspend you for something so stupid. Maybe you should take your job here a little more seriously. Your numbers haven’t really been that great lately anyway, right?”

  Ayla swallowed hard and dug the thumbnail of her left hand into her palm until she almost drew blood. Teri would stand there until Ayla responded, she knew that from unfortunate past experience. The two women made eye contact, seething Ayla vs. smug Teri, and the stare down lasted a heartbeat past becoming uncomfortable.

  “Sorry,” Ayla muttered under her breath and sat down at her desk, punching in her password.

  “I’ll bring that paperwork over for you to sign in just a little while,” Teri began to walk away but turned back. “Ayla, have you stopped going to the gym? You look like you’ve put on, I don’t know, five pounds? My trainer could probably squeeze you in if you want his number.”

  What. The. Fuck.

  Ayla’s eyes opened wide as she stared at her monitor. She’d taken all she was going to take. She looked back over her shoulder at Teri. “No, thanks, I don’t think your trainer has an impressive enough portfolio for me.”

  Teri scrunched up her face, as best the procedures she’d had done would allow, and digested the dig. Ayla had already donned her headset and turned her attention to work, so Teri let the matter drop and went to find somebody else to bully.

  At her first break, after a morning of being berated over the phone, Ayla checked her cell and found four text messages waiting for her.

  Randy, her boss’s boss at the shipping company, asked her to find him in the morning when she got to work. Undoubtedly to talk about her reliability and punctuality.

  Desiree checked in and apologized if she’d been short with Ayla in the morning and wanted to check on her and Preston.

  The third was from Amy, Ayla’s older sister in California. Amy’s husband had gotten two free Dodgers’ tickets for their Saturday afternoon game from a friend, good seats, and wanted to invite Ayla and Preston to use them if they could make it down to L.A. for the weekend.

  Finally, some good news after a dreadful morning.

  Weekends were when Ayla caught up on sleep and enjoyed some quality time with her son, and they squeezed in as much fun as she could afford. They loved hiking in the desert, exploring old ghost towns, and taking trips to Southern California to visit her sister and Preston’s cousins.

  Amy felt bad for Ayla and wished she could be there to help, but she wasn’t in a position to relocate. Amy’s husband, Noah, worked as a session musician, playing guitar at several Los Angeles-area recording studios, and he helped to care for his own sister, Melissa, who was stricken with cerebral palsy. Amy and Noah had two small children of their own, a boy and girl, and their life had enough stress without worrying about Ayla and Preston.

  Noah had inherited a large house down in Orange County, with a guest bedroom larger than the master in Ayla’s rental house. It came complete with its own bathroom, large flat screen TV, and small fridge. Being there was just like being on vacation. Preston would be excited to hear about the Dodgers game, and maybe they could squeeze in a trip to the beach while they were there.

  The final text message was from Ayla’s babysitter, Lupe. A flimsy excuse about having to watch her niece, but nothing which would have precluded her from calling Desiree or Ayla to let them know she might not be able to make it. Ayla figured she’d spent the night at her boyfriend’s place, been up late, and slept right through her alarm, if she’d even set one.

  The search for a reliable person to watch Preston early in the morning would evidently have to resume.

  Once she was back on the clock, Ayla’s work was interrupted by Teri with her paperwork. “I have two, one for your persistent tardiness and one for your insubordination,” Teri explained, setting the papers down on the edge of Ayla’s desk. “Just sign here and here.”

  “Insubordination?” Ayla asked.

  “That nasty remark about my trainer,” Teri explained. She leaned in close, so only Ayla could hear her. “Challenge me and I’ll burn you to the ground. You’ll be out of here. Don’t forget that boy of yours. You need this job.”

  Ayla balled up her fists in a fit of rage. She needed a drink. Or a massage. Or to get fucked. Or all three. She’d settle for a glass of wine and a few chapters of the new Nora Roberts novel she’d downloaded the previous evening. The guy on the cover had almost melted the glass on her Kindle, so she had that guilty pleasure to look forward to.

  She scribbled her name on the two lines Teri had pointed to and slammed the pen down on the desk before putting her headset back on and turning her back to her manager.

  The rest of the day was uneventful, and Ayla looked forward to giving Preston the news about the Dodgers and watching him enjoy his ice cream.

  Ayla’s Spanish wasn’t great, but she’d given Preston a few phrases to try with the boys at daycare. He’d tried them, and the boys seemed pleased, but they responded with full-speed Spanish, and Preston was immediately lost. The making of daycare lemonade would be a work in progress. Lupe’s family was from Honduras, and Desiree had taken four years of high school Spanish. In fact, Desiree’s brother-in-law was from Ecuador, so Ayla knew she could eventually get her son pointed in the right direction. And hopefully she could get Lupe to show up consistently on time.

  He was ecstatic about the trip to California, and although baseball wasn’t his favorite sport, going to the big stadium was always fun. Staying up late with Mom watching movies on Aunt Amy’s Netflix was pretty cool, too.

  Once Preston was full and showered, Ayla drew a bath and poured herself some wine. Staying up to enjoy some “me time” would cut into her already small sleep window, but she needed to destress in the worst way.

  The steam from the romance novel was even hotter than that rising from the bathwater, and before long the wine had helped dissolve Ayla’s tension. When she got to a particularly wicked scene involving the heroine and her father’s best friend, an MMA fighter, Ayla’s hands wandered all over her own body.

  In her mind, she imagined the man she always did – the man in the green shirt from Scald.

  For a long time, she felt shame at how she’d acted, what she’d done, how eager she’d been for him to have her and take her and use her. But nothing got her going like the memory. She climaxed easily, straightening her legs hard against the end of the tub and tossing her head back.

  Rather than satiating her, the release was a trigger, and she stayed in the tub until the water was lukewarm, coaxing all the pleasure she could from her lush body. By the time she staggered to her bed and collapsed, it was after midnight. She was due at work in less than four hours.

  “Ugh!
” she exclaimed, as she burrowed into her comforter and attempted to will herself to sleep.

  5

  Mick stood sentry behind Winston during his brunch with the man from Macau, bored to tears. There was no danger present in the room, so Mick made up scenarios in his head; assassins bursting through the window or door, a bomb in a briefcase, something, anything, to allay his boredom. The release he’d given himself had only whet his appetite, and his cock had remained rampant all morning; semi-hard and aching for more attention.

  He’d heard of guys his age having problems “getting it up,” but Mick suffered from no such affliction. His drive hadn’t waned at all as he’d gotten older, and his erections remained as hard as marble.

  When the notion of a kill team bursting into the room to test his reflexes failed to inspire him, his thought returned to Scald.

  Making out on the dance floor had left him throbbing, and she was gasping. He’d never wanted anyone more.

  Taking her hand, they made their way through the casino, pausing to kiss. Out in the light, she was even prettier than Mick dared to imagine.

  He was the most handsome man Ayla had ever seen.

  “Do you have a room here?” Mick asked. Ayla shook her head and they reached the exit doors to a short corridor which emptied into the parking garage.

  Ayla was buzzed, and they were both lust-drunk. The blood boiling in their bodies robbed them of the rationality to slow down; to ask for names or to do anything they’d normally do. They were on fire; consumed by desire. Both so horny that it hurt.

  Mick didn’t know where he was going, exactly, just that he needed to be alone with this girl, posthaste.

  They crossed the garage and stepped through the doors and into a stairwell. Mick led them up two flights of stairs. He peered through and noticed that they were on the roof level. It was nearly empty.

  He pulled Ayla through the door and out into the cooling night air. The dazzling neon lights of the Strip stretched in both directions.

  They walked to the Strip side and he stood behind her. His arms wrapped around her shoulders and he kissed the sides and back of her neck. When his teeth scraped against the tender flesh, it sent chills down her spine. Ayla whimpered and writhed for him as he held her. She took his large hand and placed it on her breast, which he enveloped and kneaded through the dress. The breath caught in her throat as she felt his erection pressing squarely between the cheeks of her ass.

  So fucking close to where she needed it. She was soaked.

  Mick felt her begin to grind back against him and, encouraged by her response, his hands began to explore her glorious body.

  He alternated between her breasts, letting his free hand slide down Ayla’s stomach, caressing her sides and reaching down to her inner thighs.

  She could smell her own arousal; it was thick and unmistakable. Her face burned hot; she was having what seemed like an out of body experience. Her mind abandoned her, replaced by a consuming need to get fucked. To be bred. To be used by this man for his pleasure.

  “I need it so bad,” she gasped, hoarsely as he groped and ground himself against her.

  Mick straightened up and looked around. In Las Vegas, there are cameras everywhere. He didn’t necessarily mind being seen; he just didn’t want to be interrupted.

  They were near a car, and if they moved about ten feet to their right, the camera would have only an obscured view of them. “Move this way,” he instructed, and he eased her shuffling form the required direction and distance.

  Ayla bent at the waist, leaning forward, ass thrust back.

  “Tell me what you want,” Mick commanded.

  “Just fuck me. Take me. I’ll do anything. I need it so bad.” She had surrendered wholly to her lust and to this grizzly bear of a man. She didn’t recognize herself or her voice. The desperate, gnawing ache was all she knew.

  Mick dropped to one knee behind her and let his hands slide up and down her legs. Her calves popped with a diamond shape thanks to the heels she wore, and the sight of it so close, coupled with the aphrodisiac aroma of her arousal made Mick’s cock swell against his belt.

  He leaned in and kissed the backs of Ayla’s legs, the spot just behind her knees sending shockwaves directly to her core.

  Mick’s hands slid up and down her sides as he kissed her legs. He gently guided her feet together with pressure on her ankles, and he reached inside her dress to divest her of her already ruined panties.

  Ayla’s mine reeled. This is really happening, she thought, trying to focus on the lights of the sign at the Venetian down the street through her hazy eyes.

  Once Mick had assisted her in stepping out of her panties, he coaxed her legs wide apart and pressed down on the small of her back and lifted her hips, positioning her exactly how he wanted her.

  He watched a single droplet of her honey slide down the inside of her right thigh, and Mick leaned in to catch it on the tip of his tongue. Ayla moaned as his tongue traveled slowly up her inner thigh, tracing the path of the rivulet of Ayla’s most precious fluid to its source.

  Ayla shivered as she felt his tongue, and lips, working their way up and in, closer and closer to the boiling cauldron between her legs. Far below, between buildings, she could see a sliver of the street, brake lights on cars and groups of people walking, indistinguishable from one another over the distance.

  She focused on them and tried to relax. Her fight or flight response was screaming somewhere in the back of her psyche, but her, “I want to get fucked so badly; every molecule of my body needs an orgasm more than it ever has in my entire life” dial had been turned up past 10 to 1,000, stifling her good sense and typically boring, cautious approach to life.

  When Mick’s tongue finally reached her sexual vault, slowly covering her opening with a long, luxurious lick, she stiffened and bit down on her forearm to stifle a scream.

  Mick lapped at her pussy, savoring the flavor of her need. His hands circled her thighs, palms softly caressing her legs as Ayla’s hips softly rolled and bucked back against his handsome face.

  She was being worshipped by his mouth, slow, passionate swirls of decadent ecstasy. She found herself making guttural, hedonistic sounds of satisfaction from a place she didn’t know she had; rutting herself on him.

  Mick’s mouth had coaxed her open, and now he was inside her, probing, thrusting in deeper and deeper. She could feel his nose between the cheeks of her ass, bumping up against her most private place each time he went deeper with his tongue. Goosebumps covered her flesh.

  As her climax drew near, Ayla even reached back with her hand to find the back of his head, pulling him in tighter so that no mistake would be made in the approach to her orgasm.

  She needed to come more than she needed to breathe.

  Mick felt the urgency in her hand, clutching at his head, tangled in his hair, and he consumed her, redoubling his efforts to reach her center.

  All her muscle tensed and she undulated like a snake, her body gone liquid as she came greedily, wantonly smothering his face.

  The eruption did nothing to dissuade him; rather it inspired him to extend and intensify Ayla’s pleasure. He took hold of her hips and pulled her back, French kissing her sex throughout the climax, as it rolled from one into an immediate second.

  Her knees buckled, but he was there to help her maintain her balance, lifting her gently back into position. She looked down and back, at her own right leg and behind, and Ayla watched him rise to his feet, the stranger’s brown pants pooling around his shoes, followed by his black boxer briefs.

  Her insides were still twitching with post-orgasmic contractions when Mick entered her. The silken heat of her body stretched to envelop his powerful cock, causing Ayla to yelp as she adjusted to the fullness.

  He slid in slowly, once, twice, then on the third thrust he went fast and hard. Mick licked his lips, throbbing hard as he tasted her anew.

  There was nothing gentle about the way he pounded her; it was done by virtue of pure, a
nimal instinct.

  Mick Merryweather fucked her like some great beast who had selected the female in the jungle that would sire him the best offspring. He chose her, separated her from the pack, and took her. He bent her body to his will and claimed her. She wanted it, craved it, but ultimately her desires were secondary to his. To his cock. He needed to fuck her, and that was that.

  Ayla was a limp, sweaty, aching ragdoll. The world around her was out of focus and irrelevant. All that mattered was a place deep inside her that was being battered by her lover’s long, thick cock. His hands held her hips in place, pulling back as he thrust forward, his cock punishing her.

  Ecstasy shattered her, orgasms overwhelming Ayla Murray in a way she’d never known or dreamt of. Her head hung in complete sexual submission to the powerhouse who was fucking her, and she hissed encouragement at him.

  “Never. Stop. Fucking. Me!”

  Mick certainly didn’t want to, but the way her inside clutched at him and massaged his shaft every time she climaxed was driving him inevitably toward his own orgasm. He’d never felt anything like the way she clung to him; the tight grip of her young, clenching pussy around his cock.

  He was helpless to resist what her body was urging him to do. Her voice begged him to keep going, to pound and pound her delicious body, but her body sent a different message. A clear, primal desire to receive him fully; for him to cement their bond by releasing inside of her. Becoming part of her.

  Mick’s thrusts became jarring, a runaway freight train slamming into her again and again. The breathless groans he made were the sexiest sounds she’d ever heard. As she neared the pinnacle again, she felt the first jets of him emptying himself into her. His orgasm triggered her most powerful climax yet, and they quaked, pulsed, and flexed together, their hearts jackhammering as one.

  He leaned over her, arms extended past her shoulders, his hands landing atop hers. He was still inside her, gently thrusting, his orgasm slowly subsiding.