by Poppy Parkes
I clear my throat to focus my mind. Adjusting the black necktie that’s part of the white shirt and black suit uniform I — and now Adair — always wear, I nod.
“Mr. Mack, I’m very sorry to hear that your daughter is being harassed in this way. However, Elite Security Services is here to protect her if anyone tries to get to close to or harm her.”
Charles breathes a sigh of relief and his wife sinks against him.
“That’s so good to hear,” Amanda says.
Sliding open the desk’s top drawer and plucking a piece of cardstock with my rates printed on it in austere black lettering, I slide the card across the table. “Our rates,” I murmur.
Charles accepts the card, barely glances at it, and slides it into the pocket of his suit jacket, shaking his head. “As my wife said earlier, money is no object. Just please, keep our little girl safe.”
I glance again at the photo of Aria. While her parents understandably see their baby girl when they look at her, all I can see is a tender young woman growing into her prime, ready to be tasted and savored.
But by someone else.
I flex my jaw and raise my chin. “You can count on us, sir. When would you like my associate and I,” my eyes go to Adair, “to begin our protection services?”
“As soon as possible,” Amanda says, gripping her husband’s forearm. He places his hand over hers and nods in agreement.
I extend my arm, shaking my new clients’ hands. “We’ll be there in an hour.”
Finn
On the way over to the Mack residence, I leaf through the file that Duncan swiftly put together in the hour before we loaded up into Elite Security Services’ lone black van.
This is not the first case I’ve worked with Duncan, but it’s the first time I recognize the person we’re guarding.
Aria Mack, overnight internet legend.
I hadn’t been surprised by the fervor that sprang up around her after her video hit every social media platform I’m on. But I had thought it was dumb, even before she became our client. It took me about thirty seconds of browsing the rest of her YouTube videos to realize that “Hit It, Beyotch” was an outlier in her creations and not what she should be judged upon.
It doesn’t take a musical genius to be able to see that, confirming my suspicion that the majority of people are mean, jealous pricks.
I’d subscribed to her channel, just as enamored with the raw power of her songs as I was with her beauty, and listened to her music when I worked out.
And now, I get to meet her.
I examine her photo, seeing how her pink lips turn up at the corners even though she’s not truly smiling. I can’t stop the warm flood of appreciation — and, yeah, lust — that courses through my body.
I know I’m more than up for this job. I’ve trained in martial arts since I was a preschooler, starting with Taekwando before moving on to Jiu-Jitsu and later Krav Maga. On top of that, I learned marksmanship from going out deer and elk hunting each autumn with my dad. I’ve got the pistol Duncan issued me tucked in its holster, and a taser tethered alongside it. I’m ready.
Now the only question is how much I’ll fangirl all over Aria. I hope I don’t make a damned fool of myself.
“Crazy case, huh?” I say to my boss as he drives, trying to take my mind off my nerves.
He shrugs. “I’ve seen worse.”
“Sure. But it sucks, to have social media one hundred percent against you for something you did to make your folks happy.”
Duncan nods. “I suppose. Although I’m not big on social media.” He raises his bristly eyebrows.
“I’ve noticed,” I say good-naturedly. “Elite Security Services could use a stronger internet present.”
“I don’t need a stronger internet presence,” he grumbles. “Word of mouth has always done just fine.”
I don’t push the man — for now. I’m twenty-two, practically raised by the power of social media, and am determined to put ESS on the internet map in between jobs. “I wonder who leaked the video,” I say, turning the conversation back to our client.
Duncan glances at me. “Huh?”
“The video that got Aria Mack into this mess — her parents said she didn’t mean for it to be publicly shared. I wonder who leaked it.”
He shrugs. “Not sure that’s our concern.”
I drop this subject too, but I can’t resist turning the problem over in my mind. Aria comes from a good family whose only discernible sin is being ridiculously rich. She was a decent student at a kick-ass high school, wasn’t one to act out, and has two close besties. Like me, she’s never known a time without social media, so she’s savvy enough to know how to make her video private.
Somehow, all of this adds up to a girl’s life ruined by an accidentally public video.
Which doesn’t make sense.
Duncan turns into a driveway that’s blocked by a closed iron gate. I stuff Aria’s file back into its folder and take in the exquisite behemoth of a colonial-style mansion that looms before us on the other side of the gate.
My boss presses an intercom button on the keypad that’s stationed on his side of the driveway. Forcing my gaze away from the house while he gives his credentials, I scan the area. I take in an immaculate lawn bordered by a sumptuous garden, a quiet neighborhood comprised of similarly elegant homes — and people sitting in parked cars on the street. Parked cars that aren’t nearly expensive enough to belong in this wealthy neighborhood.
Paparazzi.
I nod grimly to myself as Duncan pulls through the now-open gate. Charles and Amanda Mack weren’t exaggerating — their daughter is going through hell as the target of so much negative attention.
But we’re here now. And while Duncan and I can’t fix Aria Mack’s online problems, we can certainly keep her safe from stalkers, rabid anti-fans, and the paparazzi.
I curl my fingers into fists, ready to give Aria my all.
The hardest part of my job will be forcing myself to accept that she won’t see me as anything more than her bodyguard.
I try not to hope for more, and don’t quite succeed.
Aria
I stare down the two men in dark suits that loom large in my parents’ kitchen. Dad is introducing me to my brand new bodyguards, saying something about how they’re here to protect me and that they’ll be opening my mail for the foreseeable future and escorting me when I’m away from home.
I should be listening. Or saying hi. Or feeling weird about the fact that my dad knows how to freaking get bodyguards at practically a moment’s notice.
But all I can do is think about how ridiculously hot these two guys are.
The younger one — Finn, I think? — would be merely adorable were it not for the muscles that fill out his jacket and slacks. He’s got wavy auburn hair, emerald eyes, and dimples.
Dimples, I tell you. I think I should get credit for not swooning right here in the kitchen.
And the other man, Duncan, he’s all dark broody eyes and grizzled face and grumpy old man vibes — and I’m here for it. Hashtag beard life.
I never thought I’d be into an older guy. And this is guy is much older, as old as my dad. But somehow, it’s super hot, not super gross.
I want their bods.
Both of them.
Big time.
And the bonus? I don’t think I’m imagining that they want me right back. Finn keeps trying to catch my eye like he has something to say. And Duncan? Well, I may be nineteen and have been a good kid through what society thinks of as my rebellious high school years, but I’m no virgin. I don’t miss the way his eyes travel the silhouette of my breasts down the concave line of my waist and over my curvy hips.
These two men are hot for me.
The feeling is mutual.
I glance at my parents, who only have eyes for my two bodyguards. Duncan’s explaining how he and Finn will stand guard over me for the next twenty-four hours to get a baseline on the situation. After a rest tomorrow — during wh
ich I’m strictly forbidden to leave the property or open any mail — they’ll start guarding me in shifts.
I’d be lying if I said the gruff way he communicates his plans doesn’t make my skin prickle with desire.
Even if I’m not exactly an innocent, I bet an older guy has a lot to teach a girl like me. I shiver.
My mom catches it with her hawk eyes. The woman means well, and I know we’re in a tense situation, but I wish she would find some chill.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asks, lips pursed.
All eyes are on me, and my cheeks heat under the attention of my brand new bodyguards. “Um, yeah. Just a draft.”
I glance at Finn, and he’s got an eyebrow raised at me. Like he’s onto me.
I can’t stop my lips from curling into my signature sassy smile, the one that drove all the boys at my prep school wild. I know this because Lilah, Daisy, and I conducted an experiment. Once I turned that pouty pucker on even the most disinterested boys, they were in my thrall. We even made a graph. The data was very much in my favor.
So I’m not surprised when Finn’s green eyes heat.
What does surprise me is how his lust makes my private parts pool with evidence of my own wanting.
My dad jerks me from my lascivious reverie. “Do you have any questions, Aria?”
I wonder if my parents notice my crimson cheeks. Finn certainly did. Glancing at Duncan, I see him surveying me with a strange concoction of curiosity and irritation. I don’t know if this makes me a bad person, but that looks only makes me want him all the more.
“Uh, no,” I answer.
Even though it’s a lie.
Even though all I want to do is throw my arms around Finn, brush my lips over his in an unspoken question, and see what happens.
Even though Duncan’s brusque exterior makes me hot and bothered and wholly ready to explore those feelings with him.
Dad nods. “Great. It’s settled then. These gentlemen,” he juts his chin at Duncan and Finn, “will keep you safe. There’s no need to worry anymore.”
I nod, trying to keep an appropriately concerned expression on my face.
Because I’m no longer worried about staying safe.
Instead, I’m consumed with whether or not these men will keep their distance — and if I want them to.
A storm swirling inside me, I excuse myself and dash out the kitchen door through a freshly falling drizzle back to my loft.
Inside, I slam the door and lean my back against it, wondering if it’s my sprint that’s got my chest heaving or something — make that someone, two someones — else.
If I’m being honest with myself, I know the answer. Now the only question is: what will I do with that answer?
I have an idea.
But do I have the balls to go through with it?
Duncan
Evening has given way to night and the marathon of my twenty-four-hour surveillance of the Mack property is underway.
Night watches are my least favorite part of the personal security gig, and one of the reasons why I decided to hire a partner. I’m getting too old to remain alert for twenty-four straight hours, particularly at night.
It used to be that I could sip on a thermos of gas station coffee and be just fine for the night. Now, it’s not so easy.
Tonight, though, is different than the usual night-long security grinds.
Because of her.
Aria Mack.
She was even more beautiful in person than I’d expected. And fuck, it had been damned hard to make it through briefing the Mack family without springing a hard-on.
Not that anyone would be able to see it, given the ruined state of my cock. But still, it’s the principle of the matter.
I’m still semi-hard even now as I patrol around the garage that the average person would call a full-on house, with her apartment perched on top.
She’s in there. I heard her strumming on her guitar earlier. The sound of her sweet voice trickling down to my ears made my heart beat with desire more than any old man’s should.
Her windows are dark now, all lights extinguished. I wonder what her place looks like on the inside.
Hell, she’s nineteen, it’s probably plastered with posters of boy bands and unicorns. Not exactly my style.
But that doesn’t stop me from stealing up the exterior staircase to her front door.
I peer in through the door’s window. The moonlight illuminates an immaculately kept studio apartment sporting couches that look like they cost more than a month’s salary, luxurious rugs, and stainless steel kitchen gadgets. There are no posters to be seen.
Of course. I snort to myself. What did I expect? Aria Mack isn’t a regular nineteen-year-old. She’s rich, because her family’s rich, and they wouldn’t let her live in anything but the best.
A thought nags at the edge of my brain. It tells me I’m not being fair to the girl. In my line of work, this kind of instinctive realization can mean the difference between success and failure, life and death, so I pay attention.
My gut tells me that even if Aria Mack wasn’t her daddy’s rich little princess, she still wouldn’t be the type to hang unicorn posters on her wall.
It also tells me that she’s not the type to let her father’s money go to her head, inflate her ego, and turn her into a prissy rich bitch.
When we all talked earlier, Aria had said she wanted us to tail her when she went out to coffee shops and bookstores.
Not to clubs and parties. To goddamn Barnes & Noble.
Aria Mack is anything but typical.
It makes me want her all the more, even though I know full well that I can never have her.
Turning away from her door, I scan the property. Adair’s circling the perimeter just like I instructed. He’s a good kid, and I’m grateful to have him.
There’s no movement, nothing amiss that I can see. I should head back down the stairs, give the girl her privacy. But I tell myself I should stay, that I’ve got a better vantage point up here.
Which I do.
But I can’t keep my gaze from turning back to explore her apartment.
A movement inside catches my eye, something white. I zero in on it, squinting through the length of the apartment’s interior and into — I swallow hard — Aria’s bedroom.
She’s left the door open so that I can see where she lays in bed, covered with white sheets and blankets. That must have been what I saw, her rolling over in bed.
But I keep watching anyway.
Just in case.
What I see makes my jaw drop.
A moment later, I’m bursting into Aria Mack’s apartment, heart pounding in my throat, blood hot in my veins.
Aria
I hear him before I see him.
Duncan. Outside the door to my loft.
Watching.
I left my bedroom door ajar tonight, thinking it might earn me a glimpse of one the hot men guarding me through the night.
I also left my loft unlocked.
I told myself it was because I didn’t need it locked, not with my bodyguards here. But the truth is that I don’t want anything keeping me separated from Duncan and Finn.
Even if there’s no chance in hell that they’ll be opening my front door.
For the longest time, my efforts go unrewarded. There’s nothing — no sound of their footsteps on the stairs as they ascended to check that I was safe and sound, no shadow on my doorstep.
I let my mind wander, imagining what they are doing, wishing I was brave enough to do with them what I dream I could.
My awareness of these two men watching over me is practically tangible. It makes me tremble.
I wonder what it would feel like to kiss a man as old as Duncan. Because of his age, would he taste different than the boyfriend who took my virginity two years ago? Or would the wrinkles and experience he’s earned over the years be the only difference?
And then there’s Finn, so young and cute. That perfectly twisted mouth of h
is looks like it’s always ready to whisper something sassy and sweet, or to deliver a kiss or two or ten.
Out of nowhere comes the question that I’ve only entertained in theory, without specific men as the object of my infatuation — what would it be like to kiss and be kissed by two men at once?
My hands snake beneath my covers and tug the hem of my lacy lilac nightie up, giving me access to my naked nether regions. I picture Finn and Duncan and me, a sweaty tangle of unleashed lust, while my fingers work my clit.
It doesn’t take long before my insides begin to pulse, already aroused from just meeting my bodyguards earlier.
And then I hear what I’d hoped I might — the sound of steady footsteps on the stairs outside.
I hold my breath, trying to guess whose meticulous tread I’m hearing, my fingers never stopping their dance.
A shadow moves outside my front door. I can tell by the grizzle of the figure’s profile that it’s Duncan, checking things out, making sure I’m okay.
I can feel rather than see his eyes sweeping through the loft, then back outside. I wish he wasn’t out there, but right here, in my bed. I wish it was his thick fingers touching my most sensitive place and not my own.
I wonder what he’d do with my body if I gave it to him.
Shifting my body beneath the white covers to give me better access to myself, I urge my body into greater heights of pleasure.
Suddenly, once again, I feel with my body rather than notice with my eyes that Duncan is squinting into the loft — directly into my bedroom.
His silhouette grows still and somehow concentrates. I keep my eyes on where I think his are while my fingers fly over my nub.
The sensation of his gaze upon me while my nightgown is hiked up beneath the covers and I’m bathed in my own juices is what sends me over the edge.
Everything in my core contracts as my head flies backward. I am incapacitated by my own orgasm, more intense than any I’ve been given or created myself. And it’s amazing, delicious, insane — shit, there aren’t words for the absolute bliss I’m feeling.
