A Real Man: Volume Two

by Snow, Jenika

  I climbed into my car but didn't start it right away. I sat there for a few minutes just watching the students go in and out of the main building. I had insisted that I didn't want nor need a driver, even though my father wanted me to have one. But I’d agreed to have a bodyguard, as long as he didn’t interfere with my life.

  That was before I realized I’d fallen in love with mine.

  I finally started the car and headed toward the estate. I’d wanted to stay in the dorm, but again, my father had been too paranoid about that. I didn't fight him on everything, because I knew in his heart he was just worried and looking out for me.

  I glanced in my rearview mirror a couple minutes into the drive and saw a dark SUV following closely behind. My heart beat harder, faster.

  Lachlan.

  He had this effect on me, this pull, this magnetism. God, if he were to ever touch me, pull me under his big, hard body, make me come…

  I wasn’t ashamed to admit I fantasized about him more times than not. I’d touched myself, envisioned what it would feel like for him to take my virginity, to pop my cherry … make me his.

  I wanted all of that. So much.

  2

  Layla

  I used my fork to push the last of my dinner around on the plate. My mother and father were busy talking about a current campaign he was involved with, and my younger sister, Sophie, was busy on her phone texting her boyfriend.

  Truth was I felt out of place most times.

  The estate was massive, reeked of money, and the security was ridiculous. Cameras were stationed outside of the property, taking in every angle, and there were usually a few guards posted around the entrances. When I was in my room, I was truly alone, the only privacy I really got.

  “I think I'm finished,” I said and glanced up at my mom. It was seven in the evening, a time when most people were relaxed, wearing comfortable clothing and winding down for the evening. But not my mother or father. He was in a suit, and she was dressed up with pearls and a full face of makeup, her hair meticulously done.

  “You don't want any dessert?” my mother asked, but she wasn't looking at me. After my father became a senator, she changed. More of a socialite now, she went to garden parties, visited with other political spouses, and tended to be more of a presence in our lives instead of a mother figure.

  But with Sophie being seventeen and about to graduate high school, and me turning twenty-one in a few short months, it wasn't like we were children that needed to be coddled. Once I graduated, I planned on moving away, starting my life and new profession away from the political and controlling aspects of my family.

  “No, I’m fine.” I stood and left the dining room, and once in my room I shut the door. I stood there for a second, my thoughts instantly going toward Lachlan.

  During the evenings he wasn't on the clock. We had enough security detail while at the house that it wasn't necessary for him to be here. But I wanted him here. God, I wanted him here so badly.

  Even just thinking of him made my body hot. I felt my nipples harden, my pussy become wet. I walked over to the window and pushed the curtains aside. With summer coming the sun hadn’t set yet, so I could see the guard stationed at the front of the wrought-iron gate.

  I could leave if I wanted to, be bold and risqué and find Lachlan and tell him I wanted him. But as soon as I thought that, I immediately pushed the idea aside. No, I wasn’t going to be brazen and contact Lachlan and spill my heart to him. I needed to just forget about it, forget about what I wanted—needed—in my life, and focus on what I did have.

  I needed to focus on what I could actually acquire, because Lachlan Stone certainly wasn’t one of the things that I could have as mine.

  * * *

  Lachlan

  The next day

  She was sitting all alone, the book in front of her, the wind blowing her hair around. I curled my hands into fists, wanting to go to her so damn badly. I had incredible self-control, needed to in order to perform my job with solid composure and a clear head. But when it came to Layla, I wanted to say fuck the control and just go get her.

  I was transfixed by the way she looked, by the way she put a strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers were long and delicate. I was a dirty fucking bastard for imagining those fingers wrapped around my cock.

  My dick became stiff then, this massive rod between my thighs that was pressing against my black cargo pants. Fuck, I wanted her. I was surprised I was able to restrain myself as long as I had.

  Truth was I didn't think I could last much longer. I wanted to taste her, feel her. I wanted her under me, her legs spread, my cock deep in her pussy.

  I reached out and adjusted myself so my erection wasn't noticeable. And then I saw that motherfucker from yesterday walking up to her. This slow sound came out of me, animalistic in quality, possessive in need.

  He sat across from her, the smile on his face pathetic. He wanted in her pants. If I could tell, I had no doubt Layla could as well.

  She was shaking her head at something he said, and I found myself taking a step forward, wanting to position myself between her and that fucker.

  And then he reached out and touched her hand. She jerked it back, shaking her head even harder. My legs were long, strong, and I ate up the distance in no time.

  I was standing right behind her now, this looming shadow being cast along the table, and the little asshole stared up at me wide-eyed.

  “I think it's time you moved the fuck along and found something else to do.” My voice was hard, harsh. I didn't keep the guttural sound out of it. I didn't even give a shit if this little prick was afraid. Hell, I wanted him to be afraid. I wanted him to picture me standing behind Layla every time he decided to come up and talk to her.

  Even though I saw Layla turn and look up at me, I didn’t stop staring at the little fucker in front of me. He didn't say anything, but I could see the way his throat moved as he swallowed, the fear and nervousness coming off him in waves.

  He finally grabbed his bag off the ground and left without a backward glance.

  Good, he wasn't as stupid as I’d thought he was.

  I took several steps back, meaning to just leave and give Layla her privacy again, but I found myself rooted to the spot. She stood and looked up at me, her frame so small compared to my six-foot-four height. She was delicate and fragile, like this flower I wanted to keep in a glass jar so it didn't get damaged.

  I didn't say anything for long seconds, but neither did she. Although my job was to protect her, intervening when one of her classmates put his hand on her, albeit maybe innocently, wasn't exactly in my job description.

  Willing my control to come forward again, I gave a slight nod and turned to leave, to give her some privacy, all the while still watching her.

  “Wait. Lachlan?”

  My entire body tightened at the way she said my name. Over the last two years our conversations had been short, professional. It wasn't my job to make small talk with her, even though I wanted to. But I could count the number of times she'd actually said my first name, and every single time my body reacted like it had been set on fire.

  I turned around and faced her, wanting to say a hell of a lot more, wanting to just pull her close and keep her tight against my body. My hands were in tight fists at my sides, my blunt nails digging into my palms. The pain was intense from how tightly I had them clenched, but I welcomed it.

  It was a good distraction.

  “Miss Lancaster?” I clenched my jaw tightly, wanting to say her first name, wanting it to roll off my tongue. That would be stepping over boundaries, crossing lines, though.

  I could see the expression on her face, the way she shook her head and glanced away. Whatever she had been about to say, she changed her mind.

  “Thanks,” she said, looking at me. She picked up her bag off the ground and started walking away. I would always stay close, and always have her back.

  But what I really wanted was her heart.

  *
* *

  Layla

  Robin: Wanna come to a party tonight?

  I stared at the text message I’d gotten from one of my friends. I was about to reply that I'd rather just stay in tonight, that I could always work on some studying, but the sound of my phone dinging with another incoming text came through.

  Robin: I need a wing woman.

  I started laughing, imagining Robin trying to get her crush to notice her.

  I kind of just thought about staying in tonight.

  Robin: Please? Jack will be there and I'm hoping a little support behind me will give me those balls of steel.

  I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face. I couldn't say no to her. Besides, staying at home wasn't really what I wanted to do, just what I’d planned on doing. I was going to mope about wanting Lachlan—who—I’d never have.

  Lachlan.

  Ok. Where's the party at?

  Once Robin gave me the address, I got ready, knowing that when I told my father I was going to go, he’d insist on having somebody take me. I wouldn't fight him on this, though, because it was late, and I'd rather be safe than sorry, especially concerning a bunch of drunk people.

  I found my father in his study going over papers.

  “I’m going to head out to go to a party.”

  He glanced up at me, his glasses perched on his nose, his focus trained on me. He didn’t say anything as he glanced at the clock. “It’s late, Layla.”

  “It’s not that late, Dad, but I’ll be back at a decent time.” Although he could have asked me to stay in, I was an adult. “I’m responsible, an adult, and I have no doubt you’ll have one of the guards come with me.”

  It took him a moment, maybe internal debating, but finally he nodded and picked up his phone. “I’ll bring Lachlan back in.”

  My heart started beating fast and hard at the very idea that the man I wanted would be coming here, taking me to a frat party, and seeing me get drunk.

  At that thought I wondered if maybe this was a good idea. Maybe Robin could be my wing woman, and a little bit of liquid courage could help me finally reveal how I felt for him.

  Or maybe I would keep my mouth shut and hide my emotions deep down.

  I seemed to be good at that anyways.

  3

  Lachlan

  Layla was sitting right next to me, and the way I felt her presence, the heat from her body was even more intense than I could imagine.

  I curled my hands tightly around the steering wheel, trying to calm my breathing and steady myself. But she smells so damn good. Like warmed vanilla, sweet and sugary.

  My mouth watered; my throat tightened. I wanted to drag my tongue along every inch of her, memorizing every dip and hollow of her body. I wanted to taste her pussy, see how wet she got for me.

  I shifted in the seat uncomfortably, my dick hard, my balls drawn up tight. I didn't look at her, though, not full on. I could see her out of the corner of my eye, her focus out the passenger-side window. Her body was stiff, her hands in her lap twisting together. She was nervous; I could practically smell it coming off her.

  We arrived at the house the party was being held at far too soon. Even if we sat there in silence, having her that close to me, smelling so fucking good, was better than anything else.

  “I'll be close.”

  She glanced at me then, the blue of her eyes so startling that even the darkness of the interior of the car couldn’t dim them. And when she licked her lips and nodded, I was transfixed. My cock jerked painfully, almost violently at that sight.

  She nodded and climbed out of the car, and I watched her walk into the house. I was out of the vehicle a few seconds later, scanning the surroundings, taking in the people. I was strapped and loaded, always prepared with a weapon in case I needed to react.

  The little assholes that looked at me were already drunk, the beers and cups in their hands already overflowing, about to be consumed, so they had no common sense or rationalization.

  I scoped out the sides and the exterior of the house, taking in all the exits and vantage points. Chances were I wouldn't have to do anything, just watch Layla and make sure some drunk asshole didn't put his hands on her. But I was always prepared, always willing to throw down when it came to her.

  The truth was I would die for Layla, and it had nothing to do with me being employed by her father.

  * * *

  Layla

  The red plastic cup in my hand was filled with chilled beer I’d just gotten from the keg. It was my second cup of the night, and although I was only halfway finished with this one, I did feel a little buzz going on. I normally didn't drink, so my tolerance was next to zero.

  I watched as Robin flirted with her crush, and although I kept a close distance in case she needed her wing woman, I also stayed back. I really didn't want to hear what they were talking about, especially given the fact her crush was saying something that made Robin turn bright red and giggle.

  I brought the cup to my mouth again and took a long drink. My thoughts retuned to Lachlan, as they always seemed to do. Knowing that he was just outside, waiting, making sure I was safe, made me feel very much alive.

  I knew if I'd asked him to come inside, to stay right beside me, he would have in a heartbeat.

  Just thinking about him made me wet. Given the fact I was in a roomful of people and extremely aroused, I felt highly uncomfortable and embarrassed. Even if nobody knew the thoughts that ran through my head, I knew how filthy they were.

  Lachlan was quite the looker, but not in a handsome kind of way. He was brutal and savage, his attractiveness coming from the fact I knew he could kill a man with his bare hands if he wanted to. He was alpha all the way, big and muscular, and put all these other guys to shame.

  I was about to finish off the beer when somebody bumped into me from behind, causing me to spill the alcohol down the front of my shirt.

  I gasped from how cold it was, the wet material of my shirt now sticking to my skin. I turned around, more than annoyed at what had just happened, but not surprised. I was at a party with a bunch of drunken people, so this was obviously bound to happen at some point. Of course I just happened to be that person.

  “Oh shit.” The guy who’d bumped into me slurred but sounded genuine. “Here, let me help clean you up.” He reached out, maybe trying to brush the liquid off me, but I shook my head and took a step back.

  “I'm fine. No help needed.” Was he that drunk that he would've just smoothed his hands down the front of my shirt?

  I walked away before he tried to help me again, and made my way into the bathroom. I had to wait five minutes for the couple inside to quit having sex, but once they were finished, I went inside and locked the door.

  I stared at myself in the mirror, the whole front of my shirt drenched with beer. I picked up the material, pulling it away for my chest, the scent of alcohol wafting up around me. No way I could stay here.

  There was a hand towel on the rack beside me, and I grabbed it and dampened it with water. I started patting my shirt, but it was useless. Although I didn't really want to leave since I hadn’t been here very long, I also didn’t want to walk around smelling like a brewery.

  Pretty much all the people here already smell like that.

  I put the towel aside and stared at myself in the mirror. I pushed the long strands of my dark hair over my shoulder and smoothed my finger under my eye, the slight dark circles intensified by the harsh fluorescent lighting.

  Was this what—who—Lachlan saw? Did he see me as a silly young girl? Was he aware of how I felt? A part of me had to assume he knew, given the fact he was with me constantly, and nothing got by him. He was trained to pick up on slight subtleties, in the way someone shifted, in the way they looked.

  The very fact that he possibly knew how I felt for him should have embarrassed me, but instead I felt this sting of disappointment over it. If he did know how I felt, he certainly didn't act like it, didn't reciprocate the feelings.


  I closed my eyes and exhaled, but jumped, a surprised sound leaving me when somebody pounded on the door. A second later I heard a female giggle.

  “Are you done in there or what?” a deep male voice called out.

  I opened the door, and the couple all but pushed me out. The door was slammed shut, and I instantly heard a female moan. All I could do was shake my head, knowing this was so not my scene. I needed to hunt down Robin and tell her I was leaving.

  Once I found her, she was making out with her crush. I asked her if she wanted me to take her home. She was sober, not really the drinking type, and I was glad she was at least in her right frame of mind.

  “I’m actually heading home anyway,” she said and winked, and I didn’t need to ask what she meant by that.

  After I said my good-byes, I pushed my way through the crowd of people and left out the front door. The scent of cigarettes, weed, and liquor filled my nose. I made my way down the front steps but immediately was pushed to the side by a drunken guy who stumbled forward.

  “Fuck, girl, I'm sorry,” he slurred out. He grabbed my arm—maybe to steady me—but his grip was a little too forceful and I yelped in pain.

  He stumbled forward again, causing me to go with him because he still held on to my arm. And then he started getting really touchy. He took hold of my other arm and pulled me close to him. I tried to push him off me and knee him in the balls, but before I could even do that, he was wrenched from me and tossed to the ground.

  Lachlan had his body in front of mine, this big wall of muscle that protected me, blocking me from any harm. I glanced down and saw the gun strapped to his waist. I shouldn’t have felt turned on by seeing that weapon, but I was. I did.