His to Defend (The Guard Book 2)

by Em Petrova

  Her heart revved like one of the racecar engines on the track. Then Lars skated a hand around her hip and cupped her behind. Her cheek filled his palm, and they both issued a groan.

  Spreading her hand over his back, she noted every hard muscle layering his spine. His shoulders were bulked out and broader than she first thought. When her explorations reached his chest, he withdrew from the kiss and watched her as she touched him.

  “You’re big.” She didn’t speak of the hard length nudging her lower belly, but she meant that too.

  He grunted in response to her words, though she saw a glimmer of pleasure on his face. All men liked to have their egos stroked, just as women did.

  A deep-seated need to touch his flesh and see if it was all warm steel or cold concrete drove her to ease her hand under his shirt. As she touched the ridges of his abs, he sucked in sharply.

  In a mind-spinning move, he flattened her on the bed, braced atop her. His dark gaze burned down. She could barely draw a full breath with so much excitement and wanting chasing through her veins.

  “Lars.” His name came out as a hot whisper.

  “I can’t.” He bowed his head.

  Can’t? Can’t what?

  She realized suddenly that he battled with his will and a control that couldn’t be swayed. She choked back a noise of disappointment as cold water splashed over her heightened excitement.

  “I…understand,” she murmured.

  His gaze sharpened. “Do you?”

  “Yes. You’re supposed to guard me, not kiss me.”

  He gazed down at her for several long heartbeats. “God…dammit.” His chest heaved, and for a moment she thought he’d roll off her. Instead, he lowered his head and brushed his lips over her lips. She sighed on a shudder as he moved down her chin to her throat.

  Each press of his mouth against her skin ignited her. She lifted her hands to his shoulders and clung to him, quivering, while drowning in sensation. When he hooked a finger into her neckline and hauled it down to expose her breasts, she stopped breathing.

  A low rumble vibrated through his chest. Her nipples peaked harder, tighter.

  He took one in his mouth, dousing her in fiery want. Mind whirling, she rasped at the soft tugging of his lips on one nipple and then the other. Just when she began to think she might gain all the pleasure she never received from years of travel and new adventures, Lars released his hold on her nipple.

  He lifted his head, eyes boring down into her. “I can’t,” he grated out. “Goddammit, Lil…” He broke off and struggled a moment. “I have a code I must follow.”

  With that, he rolled off her, leaving her panting with want and watching his ramrod straight back as he walked into the bathroom. He closed the door, and she jackknifed onto her side, curled up to hold in the riot of emotions he left her with.

  He’d walked away a second time, but whatever this code he mentioned made him do it. The willpower he displayed made him even hotter and proved he was a much better man than most.

  Yes Lars was different…and that left her wanting him twice as much.

  * * * * *

  Lars gripped the edge of the vanity and leaned forward, head bowed over the sink. His chest heaved for air. Christ, all he could smell was sweet, soft, needy woman.

  Taste her too. His tongue scalded where her nipple left its imprint on him.

  Hell, he had to get her out of his system—now. No woman made it past a few days of infatuation with him. This wouldn’t be different. Though he could only purge her in his imagination—no way could he risk touching her again.

  With a growl, he pushed off the vanity and reached for his belt. He flicked it open and got his hard cock in hand. As he closed his fingers around the length, his mind fogged with the sensation of Lillian underneath him. Though foreign to him, her small breasts turned him on even more than the usual curves that drew him in. And the slight dip between her waist and hips…

  He stroked his cock from root to tip, rolling the head through his fist. Sweat broke out on his skin as he battled the urge to blow with one stroke—one thought of Lillian.

  Dark desire clouded his reason. If he threw the door open and stalked to the bed right now, he knew she’d give him that look and he’d rip off the rest of her clothes and sink into her.

  “Fuck!” he muttered, stroking faster. He took himself right to the edge in seconds. No, he couldn’t come with her on his mind. He had to stop.

  He turned to the shower and flipped on the cold water. After shucking his clothes, he stepped under the spray. Icy drops blasted him, but he didn’t cool off, not one goddamn bit.

  Was she lying in bed wanting him still? Maybe she slipped her hand down inside her panties and—

  He fisted his cock once more. To hell with the code. It didn’t extend to his fantasies. If he wanted to rub one off to thoughts of his ward, nobody in the Church would be the wiser, and he sure as fuck wouldn’t share with them.

  Reaching between his legs, he cupped his balls while he stroked. Full, heavy, drawn up tight. The wisps of pleasure licking at the base of his spine warned him of how close to the edge he rode. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fucked his fist while the sound of Lillian’s harsh moans burned through his mind.

  He’d sink into her slow, pushing her legs up and wider apart for him. The bone-melting heat wrapped around him despite the icy water, and his orgasm rushed up. The first jets of cum creamed over his fingers and he squeezed tighter, loving the sensation of staving his release off as long as possible.

  When he unclamped his fingers, another spurt escaped. He kept coming, churning his hips while his mind locked on the object of his desire. Lillian. Lil. Fucking Christ, he was so screwed, because jacking off to thoughts of her hadn’t allayed his desire—it only made him want her more.

  With a final shudder, he bowed his head, panting, cock still in his fist. He pumped it a few more times, squeezing every drop out, as if wringing them out would also purge Lillian from his system.

  The ache in his balls told him otherwise.

  A vibrating noise came from the other side of the shower door. His phone.

  He switched off the water and shoved open the door in the same move. Bending, he swiped his jeans off the bathroom tile and grabbed his phone. Bringing it to his ear, he listened for sounds beyond the door and heard nothing.

  “Oz. What’s up?” He had to focus on controlling his breathing, because it still came too fast.

  “Shit going down. North is injured.”

  “How?” A harsh edge in his tone reflected his worry as well as the huge fucking slip he just made due to his ward.

  “He took a bullet for that senator.”

  “Holy fuck. Is he all right?”

  “In surgery now. He’s going to take some time to heal after this, and that means we’re down one of our best.”

  “You can always pull someone from the West.”

  “Thought about that. I think I’ll try out Sanders on the maps, though Madeline doesn’t play well with most people, and North is her right hand.”

  “Sister doesn’t play well with anyone, not really. She needs to learn, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Don’t worry—I won’t tell her you said that,” Oz said.

  They shared a chuckle.

  Lars sobered, thinking of confessing what he’d just done by kissing his ward. And sucking her small, perfect nipples.

  He dropped his head back, stared at the ceiling and counted to twenty before he won the battle again. Returning his attention to his boss, he said, “Keep me updated on North. And give him my best.”

  “Will do. I’ll be in touch soon. You need anything?”

  Only a lobotomy would erase the feel of that woman from my mind.

  “I’m good,” he said instead.

  “Good man.”

  When Lars ended the call, Oz’s words echoed in his head. Good man. If Oz knew what the hell just happened, he wouldn’t say that.

  Quickly, he dressed in his o
ld clothes and brushed his teeth. When he moved to open the door, he paused with his fingers latched around the handle. Rearranging his features from the grimace of pain he’d just seen in the mirror, he pushed the door open.

  His gaze fell onto the bed—Lillian wasn’t there. His heart squeezed, and then he spotted her across the room, dressed in jeans and a simple white button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled to the elbows and the collar slightly turned up in that effortless way he saw on foreign women.

  His blood surged, and his cock, never soft even after that huge orgasm, stiffened even more.

  At the sound of the door, she turned to look at him. He expected her to glance away, but she held his stare as if he hadn’t just about fucked her. She even lifted her jaw a notch.

  Hell, what did he even say to her now? Awkward silence pervaded the space.

  Finally, she broke his stare and turned back to the French doors. “This room has a private veranda. Can I sit outside for a while?”

  He weighed the dangers and decided she’d be fine in broad daylight, though only with him by her side. With a stilted nod, he gestured to the door.

  Without a word, she bent to put her boots on, and he saw her slip something down into the side.

  He stopped. “Did you just slip a knife into your boot?”

  She didn’t look at him when she straightened. She brushed the long waves of hair off her shoulders. The action cut through him with a sharp knife of want. To wrap those waves around his fist and tip her head back—

  When she moved to the door, he grasped her forearm. She eyed him.

  “Lillian, do you always carry a knife in your boot?” Paris wasn’t the safest city, he had to agree, though the idea of her walking the streets alone with only a wee blade as protection made him want to lock her up in a safehouse for the rest of her days.

  She lifted her jaw in that defiant little fashion again. “What of it? My mother taught me how to use it in dire circumstances.”

  He goggled at her. “Your mother?”

  “Yes. She grew up in New York City. She knew danger, and she taught me how to protect myself enough to get away.”

  Jesus, the woman possessed such strength he hadn’t begun to tap into yet. She was no damsel in distress. She was the one drawing her sword to save herself.

  Not when I’m around.

  “You won’t require the knife. I’ve got this. Okay?” The last thing he needed was her jabbing some attacker and drawing more danger down on her head.

  “I’ll do what must be done, and that’s all I’ll say about the matter.” She reached for the door handle. He raised a hand, angling his wrist to pass over the extra lock the door had been fortified with and only opened with his microchip.

  She didn’t take notice of his action, as he knew she wouldn’t. He mastered concealment in all things.

  He glanced out the door, checking the vicinity before drawing her along behind him.

  The private area consisted of a stone patio lined with fragrant flower shrubs. Two teakwood lounge chairs and a small table to place drinks and invited guests to sit and relax. The roof overhung the space, providing shade, but Lillian dragged her chair out into the sun.

  She stretched out on the lounger. The sun kissed her cheeks, tinging them pink with heat, and drew red streaks in her hair.

  Lars looked around at anything but her. The beach wasn’t far off, and he could see the blue of the English Channel and smell the water. Small houses and shops stood around the resort itself, providing an old village feel to everything. Suddenly, he pictured Lillian under a striped umbrella in the Riviera, wearing only a thong bikini bottom. He drew in an unsteady breath and returned his attention to her.

  “You must be hungry. We didn’t have breakfast.”

  “I can wait a bit longer. I need a little commune with nature.” She closed her eyes and tipped her head up to the sky.

  He dragged his gaze over her. How had he thought her features unremarkable before? She owned a quiet loveliness one appreciated in paintings by the masters. At first glance, a person would simply walk by a painting hanging on a museum wall. Then something would catch their eye—a brushstroke placed so perfectly over a cheekbone or the soft tilt of the subject’s lips in the faintest of secretive smiles. Pretty soon, the painting lived in their memory…became a part of them.

  He swallowed hard.

  She opened her eyes and cocked a brow when she found him staring. “Tell me the truth about something.”

  “I’ve always told you the truth, Lillian.” She should be loved, and loved hard.

  But not by me.

  “Why didn’t you make love to me before, Lars?”

  His heart jerked. The question struck him harder for all her offhandedness. He didn’t like to believe this woman took lovers so casually, except the way she spoke had him wondering.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “I can lose my job for an indiscretion.”

  She didn’t look away. “Either of us might be dead in an hour. I don’t know about you, but I don’t wish to die without stealing one last moment of pleasure.”

  Unable to move, he watched her slowly sit up. She unfolded herself from the lounge and reached for the buttons of her top. Each button her fingers worked over exposed another slice of tantalizing flesh.

  She sidled over to him, top hanging open. She wore no bra, and Jesus, he wasn’t going to survive this woman, was he?

  Her stare blazed as she parted her top to reveal her small breasts in all their glory, the centers jutting out in invitation to his lips, teeth and tongue.

  “Fuck,” he grated out. Grabbing her around the waist, he lifted her and carried her the two steps into the shade. When he plastered her to the wall of the building, just outside the door of their own suite, he stopped caring about the goddamn oath he took.

  Rules were meant to be broken.

  Chapter Six

  Lillian had been called a lot of things in her life—such as serious or thoughtful. Cerebral, even. But not brazen. And just now, she couldn’t think of another way to describe herself.

  All she knew was that she didn’t want to die with fear as her last emotion, and with Lars’s big arms braced around her and his mouth pulling soft moans from her lips, she took in the moment.

  When he worked his hard thigh between hers, she rocked against the steely muscle. Juices flowed from her, and she sank her fingers into his hair, drawing him down to deepen the kiss. Her insides blazed, and she wiggled closer, rubbing wantonly against his leg.

  When he pressed upward, she cried out. He tore his mouth free and stared down at her, chest heaving, his stare locking her in place, almost daring her to escape.

  As if she wanted to move anywhere but closer to this man.

  She writhed against him, and he moved in sync, lifting her as she sank down. The deep pressure clutching her insides intensified.

  “Fuck, I wanna see you come.” He let her slip down the wall. Her toes touched the stone veranda, and he pulled her to the lounger. She sank to it and tipped her head up to him.

  He slashed his fingers through his hair. “Lil.”

  “You’re going to deny me.” Disappointment washed through her. Her pussy throbbed with want. Too briefly, she’d felt some relief for the insane pressure building low in her belly. “I…guess I understand. I admire your loyalty to your code of conduct.”

  He pressed a fist to his lips as if trapping in whatever he wanted to say.

  When he turned his back on her, she stood and walked into the suite, softly closing the door behind her. She curled on the bed, aching. Well, she had one shot and she’d taken it. If Lars didn’t want to take things further, she had to live with it.

  Her insides burned, and that deep throb wouldn’t be silenced. Casting a glance at the closed door, she unbuttoned her jeans and lowered the zipper. As she eased her hand into her open jeans, down inside her panties, she issued a shudder.

  For several seconds, she pleasured herself. A rough noise made her
open her eyes, and her gaze landed on Lars. He didn’t look away. The hard bulge he sported spoke of a desire the man refused to claim for himself. God, she wanted him all the more for it too.

  Without stopping her light, skimming touch over her clit, she watched his face. Lines etched around his mouth. When her fingertip nestled over her slick nubbin, she issued a quiet moan.

  “Fuck! Lil, stop.”

  In long strides, he reached the bed. He threw himself on top of her and slammed his mouth over hers with all the possessiveness she craved. The taste and feel of the man ignited her passions, and she returned his kiss tongue-stroke for tongue-stroke.

  “If I die—” she began.

  “You’re fucking not.”

  “If I do—”

  “I’m here to guard you with my life, woman.” His stare cut through her.

  “I want to feel you stretching me,” she whispered.

  Dropping his head, he ground out, “Jesus fucking Christ, Lil.” He slid his hand up her side, slowly, moving over the linen of her blouse to her bared flesh. She gasped as he rested his palm over her breast. At first, he didn’t move, only cupped her. A tendon in the crease of his jaw leaped.

  She traced her fingers over his chiseled jaw, exploring the angles. When she brushed her fingers over his soft lips, Lars closed his eyes on a drawn-out groan. “I can smell your pussy on your fingers.”

  A thrill ran through her. The word brazen jumped into her mind again, as she slipped her finger into his mouth.

  A shudder ripped through his broad shoulders. In one fierce jerk, he pinned her wrists to the bed and hovered over her, forest green stare burning into hers. “You don’t know what you’re playing with here. I’m not some ordinary lover. I demand things.”

  Her pussy squeezed with the dark promise in his tone. “Then demand it of me. I want you, Lars.”

  “Goddammit, woman. What is it about you that drives me crazy?” He dipped his head to suck at her throat, and then licked a path down between her breasts, over the flat of her ribs, all the way to her open jeans.