Her Merciless Bodyguard by SR Jones & Skye Jones

Author:SR Jones & Skye Jones [Jones, SR & Jones, Skye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Jake

Summer was quiet after we screwed for the first time. We fell asleep for a while, and she woke me up all tangled around me, and we went for round two.

After that, she grew even quieter. Does she regret it? I hope not because fuck me, I want to do that again. In a whole variety of ways.

I’ve been sober and sexless for some time now, and Summer just woke a part of me that I had forgotten the joys of.

I don’t want to put it back in the box again. Or, at least, not yet.

I’ve crossed a line; I know that.

Worse, though, is this weird possessive thrill I get whenever I look at her.

The woman used me for sex. Let’s be honest. She was climbing the walls with anxiety, and she used me to temper the demons.

That’s fine. Except, now I keep getting this odd little tinge of pride when I look at her. As if she’s mine.

She’s not.

Summer belongs to the world. They own her. The fans. The music lovers. The media. Her industry.

She can’t be mine.

Why do I feel so possessive over her?

I’ve come-and-run more times than I can count, so why am I feeling this way now?

It’s weird.

Worrying.

The woman is hot, but plenty of women are. She’s beautiful, but ditto. She’s funny. I still keep thinking about her Picasso pussy and smiling. She’s charismatic.

Maybe I’m just starstruck and need to get over it. I saw her on that stage, the way she moved like a goddess and sang like a siren.

Underneath it all, though, she’s just a scared, twenty-something girl, who in many ways is oddly naïve.

Summer has seen the world and played packed stadiums. She’s been an addict and recovered. She’s lived more lives than most people her age have, and yet, she’s also, at heart a young woman who seems a little lost.

I’m older. Harder. Jaded.

I’m the last thing she’ll need even if she does want a relationship.

She sighs and moves into me. Warm. Smelling of coconut.

God, I want to steal her away and keep her locked up like Sleeping Beauty in her castle.

Those thoughts are frankly fucked.

I swallow them down.

We need to get up and go out. Do something.

Should I wake her?

If we get out of this sex laden room, we can try to get back to normality.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

Mind made up, I reach for the phone and order room service. Two coffees and some pastries.

We can eat, refuel, and head out.

I check my messages and see one from Mags, so I read through it. She basically says without seeing more, and only going on letters, she can’t be definitive, but she thinks the letters are odd. Almost too perfectly what a deranged stalker would say. As if the person writing them isn’t really a deranged stalker at all, but someone pretending to be one. Then she cautions me that is only her gut feeling, and it would be very dangerous indeed to discount the threat as not being real on her having only read a few letters.

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