Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2)

by Manda Mellett

  Once she’s settled, I remove my own clothing, just slinging them over the back of the chair rather than putting them away as I’d usually do, deciding I’ll bother about it all in the morning. I’m too eager to hold the woman who’s caught me unawares with her gorgeous looks, her warm character, and her bravery. She’s ensnared me. My cock’s throbbing and is as hard as nails—I’m a man after all—so I keep on my boxers to ensure I don’t scare her, and try to send a stern message to that errant part of my body that there’ll be no playtime tonight. Climbing into bed, I pull her against me so she’s spooned, her back against my front. She struggles with a slight resistance, but I’m not letting her go. It feels so right to hold her. Gently I kiss her neck, telling her softly to go to sleep.

  Within moments her breathing levels out, and all the tension in her limbs disappears. She’s out like the proverbial light. I’m not so lucky. I close my eyes, knowing sleep is going to evade me for some time. Lying this close to her, my dick is trying to work itself out of my underwear, berating me for not losing my control and acting on my baser instincts. Not wanting to disturb her, I don’t move away, and so lie in torturous agony, wishing I could be deep inside her. It’s not doing me any favours concentrating on the naked woman by my side. To distract myself, I try to force my thoughts away from the softness in my arms and onto less stimulating matters instead. Her stalker.

  While she was in the beauty salon today, I’d gone back to the office but despite spending all day on the problem, we ended up only a smidgeon closer to finding out who her rapists were so many years ago. Vanessa and Nafisa have had some luck contacting the list of people that Mia and Anna supplied, and getting more names to follow up, but so far they’ve come up with only a few not particularly promising, leads. We know they had a van, so at least one of them must have been over seventeen, as we’re working on the assumption that they were driving legally. Of course, even that assumption could be wrong. But a couple of party-goers had told us that some of the gatecrashers were older and possibly not from the same, or, indeed, any school at all. One person remembers seeing two men who seemed out of place, but so far we’ve got no description to go on. But we’re still exploring that avenue.

  And then there’s the idea of the wannabe Dom. Could someone have thought she based her last book on them? I haven’t had any feedback from Sean yet from his trawl round the BDSM clubs, but that could take a bit of time. And of course, it's still only conjecture that one of Mia’s abusers and the wannabe Dom are one and the same. Mia thinks she protects her identity, but there are ways to find out if someone has a reason to do so. What if the wannabe Dom found out the connection between Dexie and the young girl he abused so long ago? Or am I making too much of a leap? Of course, it could be a wannabe who has no connection with her past at all.

  Even though she’s sleeping, I pull her closer to me, knowing I’ll do anything to keep this woman safe. The thought of someone taking her by force, causes cramping in my guts.

  Although in clubs like the one I co-own we make sure anyone joining with suspect motives is quickly weeded out – and that’s if they get past our robust screening process in the first place – there are a few types who think BDSM is legalised abuse, and unfortunately, a handful of clubs have the environment that lets them get away with it. It’s a dangerous world, and there’s a thin line to be walked between a true D/s relationship, and an excuse for someone to mistreat the person who’s giving them their trust. The thought there could be a rapist hanging around BDSM clubs and preying on innocent women is a chilling one.

  And getting back to the threats themselves. What’s his end game? Does he want money, recognition? Or, if it is the same man who took her before, does he want to abduct her again? Is he out to cause her physical harm or, as those fucking lilies suggest and messages suggest, is a real threat to her life?

  Once again, I get angry about the gun regulations in the UK. I’d feel far happier if I knew I could put down a potential killer before they could cause harm. If I want to keep my job and my freedom, I’m bound by the laws of the country. A criminal has no cares about such restrictions, and guns, if you know where to look, are not too hard to find. Even in England. As a private CPO, I’m not allowed to carry a weapon even to protect a diplomat unless I went back to the SAS or joined the police. If a real threat against Mia’s life were recognised, I wouldn’t be able to be armed, despite my military service and long years of protecting high-ranking officials in other countries. Even carrying a knife could get me in trouble! If I find myself up against someone with a gun, my only legal option is to call on the armed police to help but by the time they arrived I’d probably be looking down a barrel and it would be too late. So to protect her, I’ll have to make sure I keep her out of her unknown stalker’s way. There’s no way of telling just how capable or how prepared he is.

  He’s going to strike again. Deep down, I know it. Just as I’m certain, his actions are going to escalate. I run my hand down Mia’s arm, silently vowing that while there’s breath in my body I’ll look after her. I’ve put my life on the line in my job before now but never have I felt the same sense of personal responsibility and commitment as this. No one is going to hurt Mia. No one.

  I don’t know what time I eventually fall asleep, but I wake with the sun streaming through the window having forgotten to draw the curtains the night before. Mia’s beginning to stir in my arms, and I move slightly back from her, not wanting to scare her with my predictable hard-on. Let’s be honest; my morning wood would have been there had there been a woman in my bed or not, but it’s throbbing with greater urgency as if it can sense an available target. Pushing her gently out of my arms, I swing my legs over the side of the bed as she wakes and stretches, emitting a delightful little moan. My cock twitches, trying to tell me to get back under the covers. Discreetly I look away, as she realises her state of undress and pulls the sheet up over her breasts.

  “Hi.” Apparently feeling suitably covered she greets me, but there’s nervousness in her voice.

  Thinking it’s probably safe to look, I turn back. “Hi, yourself. Sleep okay?” She looks mussed from sleep, with a bad case of bed hair and the makeup she was too tired to remove last night has smeared across her face so she resembles a panda. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight in my bed in the morning.

  She nods. It was a rhetorical question; I know she slept soundly. It’s me who’s bleary eyed from lack of rest. But I notice she’s agitated, uneasy. She’s like an open book, and I can tell the exact point when the memories of the night before come back to her.

  “Jon, I…”

  I go to her and place my finger over her lips. “You were wonderful last night, Mia.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes wide, moisture in the corners showing she’s trying not to cry, “But I messed up,” she whispers.

  I shake my head firmly, compelling her to believe me. “No. No, you didn’t. If anyone did, I did. I won’t leave you alone again. I’m your Dom, Mia. No one else touches you.”

  My words seem to sink in, and a tentative smile replaces the threat of tears. She thinks about it for a moment. “Are you going to take me to the club again?”

  “Do you want to go?”

  She looks down, her cheeks flushing as she remembers. What happened last night must have been overwhelming for her. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer. I want her so badly, want her in my life. But my life includes the club, and it will be hard for me to stop being a Dom. Would it be better to sell my shares in Club Tiacapan, if I can’t personally play there? When she speaks again, I give a huge sigh of relief.

  “I’d like to, I think,” she murmurs. “Yes, I want to. Jon, I enjoyed it! I’d have never have thought it, but I did!”

  Unable to help myself, I reach over, putting my hand in her hair, pulling her towards me and kissing her so she’s left in no doubt how much that pleases me. The touch of her lips has a predictable effect, and I shift to try to ease myself, knowing now is not the time
or the place to take things further. So I draw away slowly. “I’m going to get dressed,” I tell her, “Then I’ll get some breakfast for us.”

  A shower revives me, and I go and busy myself in the kitchen while she’s getting washed and ready.

  I’m an old fashioned guy and still have Sunday papers delivered preferring the hard copy to reading them online. I go down to the foyer and collect them. Mia’s dressed when I return, and I soon find she’s so easy just to be with; no uncomfortable silences, no need for unnecessary conversation, just a relaxed atmosphere and a companion I enjoy having in my home. We spend a lazy Sunday morning reading the news, discussing our views on events and laughing over the exploits of celebrities. I find her company easy to enjoy; her sense of humour matches mine, and while not all of our opinions coincide we amicably debate those where we differ. I take her to lunch at a pub on the waterfront, and then we take a leisurely drive back to her cottage in Epping.

  As we turn off the M25, she starts to fidget in her seat, and I know she’s becoming anxious, worried in case her stalker has visited her home again. I’d checked the camera feed before we left the apartment and had seen nothing except for those blasted, but admittedly adorable deer once again, munching on her plants, and the security alarms have been quiet, so I’m not too concerned and tell her so.

  Pulling the McClaren up behind her Fiesta, I leave her waiting with a worried look on her face, while I check out the house, but find everything exactly how it should be. There’s nothing waiting for her in her letterbox that’s of any interest, just a few flyers and a couple of official looking letters. She noticeably relaxes, as I wave her inside. It’s been three days now since we’ve had any contact from her stalker. I don’t take much comfort in that, convinced that he’s not just going to go away. But Mia seems reassured, and her pleasure at being home is evident.

  She offers to cook for us, and I don’t hesitate to agree, seeing she appears to be relishing the task and looking forward to seeing what she’s going to make. I sense she enjoys being creative in the kitchen. Having a number of emails to check and work through, I stay in the lounge but can hear her pottering about, rummaging in cupboards and rattling pots and pans. After a while, she comes in, smiles at me, delves into her bag to find her iPhone and takes it with her. Shortly I hear music playing. She’s got it on shuffle, and it appears she’s got an eclectic taste. There’s some of the heavier rock I enjoy, but also lighter stuff. She seems particularly fond of anthems. Suddenly I hear her singing along to Robert Palmer’s ‘Doctor, Doctor’ and I can’t resist going through the small hallway to the kitchen at the end. I pause in the doorway, and suck in air rapidly to steady myself; she’s not only singing along, but dancing to the rhythmic beat as she peels and chops vegetables. She’s shaking her bum in time to the music and twisting her hips. Her voice might not be quite in tune, but boy, can that girl move! I stand, entranced by the undulating movements of her arse, unable to keep a grin spreading over my face as my dick grows harder by the second, very much in approval of the view. Just before the song ends she turns and sees me, her cheeks reddening.

  “Don’t mind me,” I say, chuckling.

  “Huh!” She huffs, then with a grin, goes back to what she’s doing, ignoring me.

  I stay where I am, anticipating the next song, and hoping she’ll dance for me again. In my mind, I have a vision of her dancing naked. If the throbbing in my cock can be caused by simply seeing her dancing fully clothed, one day it has to happen. But when the next track starts it’s a slow song and one of my favourites, ‘Waiting in the Weeds’ by the Eagles. It’s so appropriate I can’t hold myself back, as the music plays I go over to her, carefully remove the paring knife from her hands, clasp my arms around her, and we start to sway in time to the music. I put my hand behind her head, lift her chin, and pull her lips to mine. As I hold her close, I know she has to feel my hardness against her showing how much I want her, but she doesn’t try to move away. If anything she holds me tighter and rubs herself against me. She shivers, but instinctively I recognise it’s not from fear. I’m lusting for her, but there’s something else, something so much more. Something I never thought I’d feel, and that I didn’t even know I was capable of.

  I draw back. My hand is keeping her head in place, so she’s looking up into my eyes. “I’ve been waiting in the weeds, Mia. Waiting for you.” I move my hands down until I’m touching her hips and pull her tight into my body, letting her feel me so she’s left in no doubt about my intentions, giving her an opportunity to stop this. My hands run up and down her body, eliciting a soft moan from her mouth as she clings to me as though she doesn’t want to let me go. “It’s time, Mia. I want to make love to you.” I gently nuzzle the top of her head.

  “I’m scared, Jon,” she whispers against my chest. “I don’t know what to do.” She tenses, just a little.

  “I do.” I chuckle softly. Then reassure her, “We’ll take it slow. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. You’ve still got your safeword, remember? You’ll always have your safeword.” Moving my hands up and down her back, I gently caress her until she relaxes in my arms again. Pulling back I take her hand, pause for a second, relishing the sight of this beautiful woman beside me, before leading her upstairs to her bedroom.

  I’m going to take this very slow. In her room, I take her into my arms again and gently bring my lips to hers. She responds by opening her mouth, and our tongues dance together. Her taste enthrals me, and I deepen the caress, clearly showing my desire as I hold her tightly, demanding more of her as she responds. When we can’t get enough of each other, can’t get sufficient satisfaction from just the meeting of our lips, I step back and reach down, taking the ends of her T-shirt, and I hold it gently, my intention all too clear. She doesn’t resist. There’s a look of trepidation in her eyes, but definitely excitement there too. Encouraged I pull her top off over her head and throw it away, not caring where it lands. I put my lips on her neck and let my teeth gently touch her skin, nibbling and abrading, and then sucking, tempted to leave my mark there, but somehow able to resist. She trembles again, and I smile against her skin. My hands are unsteady as I reach behind her back and unclasp her bra, an action I’ve had much practice at now becoming awkward with my nerves. I have to make this good for her. I’m going purely on instinct, I’ve never taken anyone so innocent before.

  She was naked before me, yesterday, but this is different, more personal and intimate. So I proceed slowly, gently drawing the straps off her shoulders, not wanting to scare her. Automatically she puts her hands on her chest to stop it falling away, embarrassed to expose herself. I kiss her again, sweeping my tongue into her mouth, gradually increasing the pressure. She tastes so sweet and, as I deepen the kiss, she presses against me. Putting my hands on hers, I move her back, and lightly pull her arms down to her sides. Her bra drops away, and her breasts are exposed. If I didn’t consciously make the effort to inhale, I wouldn’t be getting air into my lungs as the sight is utterly breath-taking. They’re not overly large but completely perfect. Perky, with dusky pink nipples. Taking another deep breath, I lean forwards to kiss each nipple taking my time, pulling one into my mouth and sucking it, swirling my tongue around the peak until it hardens, then I change to give the other the same treatment. She gasps, and staggers as if her legs have gone weak. Her nipples are erect, slightly reddened and standing out from her breasts after my attentions. She looks absolutely stunning.

  “Give me a colour.” I murmur against her skin, remembering to check.

  “Green,” she answers without hesitation, her voice husky and low, “Very green.”

  I continue mouthing her breasts, using my teeth to give a gentle nip. It’s hard to stop, but my dick throbs, encouraging me to hurry up and move onto the main event. Still nuzzling her I drag my hand down her stomach, taking the time to circle her navel, causing her to jump and give a little giggle. She’s ticklish! Filing that thought away, my fingers continue their journey until I reach the b
utton on her jeans. I pause for a moment, to give her time to object if she wants to, but she says nothing. Fumbling to complete an action I’ve done a hundred times before, until eventually, I undo it and then draw down the zip. Her shallow breaths show her excitement as I put my thumbs in her waistband of her jeans and slowly ease them down her legs. Folding to my knees, I lift her feet one by one, taking off her shoes and removing her trousers completely. She’s standing there in plain white pants, nothing fancy. Right now they have to be the sexiest garment I’ve ever seen. My hands shake as I touch the last item of clothing she’s wearing. She puts her hands on my shoulders and stiffens as I go to remove them, but utters no protest.

  I take a second to admire the sight in front of me, shaking my head slightly at the way this woman affects me. My pre-cum dampens the denim around my crotch, and I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve been so turned on— if I ever have. My cock’s throbbing, twitching, constricted in my jeans which feel a size too small. But I don’t want to rush this. Proceeding cautiously, ultra-conscious of any stiffening of her limbs, I put my hands on her arse and gently pull her naked body into me. Her unique scent of arousal fills my nostrils as I press my mouth against her newly waxed mound. “You’re so ready for me, Mia.” I want to bury my head between her thighs, and not emerge for days, but she has different ideas.

  “I want to see you,” her breathless voice interrupts me.

  At this moment, I’m not a Dom; I’m just a man. I don’t want to frighten her with my control; I want to make love to her. So, fair’s fair, if she wants, needs to see me, who am I to argue? I stand, and putting my arm over my head grasp the collar of my T-shirt and pull it off in one fluid moment, dropping it, letting it lie where it falls. Her hand reaches out and strokes my chest, toying for a moment with the hair I have growing there, then tracing my scars, coming to rest on the evidence of the gunshot wound. Her fingers circle it as though assessing the damage the bullet caused.