The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(27)

Solomon had turned sex into something of a terror for her. He had never really pleased her, and towards the end of their relationship, every encounter had been downright abusive. Juliet had wondered if she’d ever be able to let a man touch her again.

But this...this was on her terms. Despite the fact that he had half a foot and at least seventy pounds on her, Hank held her as if she would break at any second. His grip was firm enough to keep her close, but gentle enough to mind her injuries, even as his mouth moved hungrily over hers. The heat that flared through her system caught Juliet completely off guard and she found herself inhaling sharply as Hank pressed the evidence of his arousal flush against the softness at the crux of her legs.

He was hard. Painfully so.

Juliet found herself arching against him wantonly as her nightgown hiked up above her hips, revealing that she wore absolutely nothing beneath. A few days ago, she’d been downright pissed that no one in the department seemed to be man enough to buy a woman underwear, but now she found she’d never been happier that there was nothing else between her and the hot hardness of Hank’s body.

Her fingers curled into his shoulders desperately as he devoured her mouth, pressing kiss after kiss against her lips until her mouth was swollen with the intensity of it. A thin layer of stubble rasped over her jaw as his mouth dropped to her neck to lick and suck a hungry trail downward, and Juliet squirmed.

You don’t want me.

How the hell could he possibly think that? She’d probably been wet from the moment he walked in the room, even if this hadn’t been her intention. Juliet had just wanted to talk, but she also hadn’t wanted to be alone. Every time she remembered Solomon touching her, she felt sick to her stomach. She needed something, anything to burn his touch away…

Hank Compton in her bed was more than she ever could have asked for.

He reached down to grip the hem of her nightgown, drawing it slowly up over her body until every inch of skin was bared to him. Juliet found herself glad the lighting was dim. Once upon a time, Solomon had her convinced that she was the hottest thing since sliced bread, but since then, he’d put more scars on her body than she could count. She was damaged goods, and she knew it. The less Hank saw, the better.

But he didn’t seem to agree.

“Fuck.” The word escaped him, low and awed, once he’d tossed the nightgown aside. Juliet had expected - hoped - that he would fall on her without really looking at her. Instead, she found Hank’s dark gaze roaming her naked body in the low light.

She had to look a mess - hair mussed, eyes red from crying, and still wearing the dressings from two healing gunshot wounds. Hank’s hands dropped to the thick sheets of gauze and she flinched reflexively, even though his touch didn’t hurt. “Can I take these off?”

Her impulse was to refuse. She couldn’t think of one good reason, in the entire cosmos, why she should show the man the angry, puckered flesh of her wounds. He thought little enough of her already. Instead, Juliet hesitated a moment before her head nodded of its own accord.

She must have lost her goddamned mind.

Reaching down, Hank gingerly plucked the medical tape from the edges of the gauze around her shoulder and side. The healing skin smarted, and Juliet sucked in a low breath, but she didn’t stop him. Instead, she merely watched as he peeled her dressings away, inch by torturous inch.

In truth, the wounds weren’t half as bad as she might have imagined. They were vivid and red, standing out against her normally dark skin, but they only added to the network of burns and bruises that were already present - a pattern that told of her suffering. With a low, awed sound, Hank reached down to run his fingertips gently over the healing flesh and the resulting sensation sent a shiver through her.

Immediately, he stopped, his expression concerned. “Does it still hurt?”

Juliet shook her head, reaching up to wrap her fingers around his and tug his hand back down. “I’m ok. Don’t stop.”

As long as he was touching her, she could forget. Even if it was only for a little while.

A fresh wave of want glazed Hank’s eyes as he reached down to stroke over her skin again - against the wound at her side and up over the flat expanse of her tummy. As his calloused fingertips ran up between her breasts, Juliet pressed her thighs together as scalding need gathered between them.

Hanks hand continued upward, over the slender line of her throat to linger on her lips, still swollen from his kisses. “Christ, you’re gorgeous.”

The statement was enough to bring hot moisture to the corner of her eyes - though from sheer ridiculousness at it or gratitude towards it, Juliet wasn’t certain. “I’m a mess.”

“We’re all fucking messes,” Hank rumbled, his hand feathering back down over her torso to the ample swell of her breasts. Juliet’s nipples were so hard that they ached in the open air, when Hank’s palm skated over them, she sucked in a sharp breath as sensation snapped to the core of her.

Dear God.

He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face as his thumb circled one tight peak until she was whimpering, arching into his touch in a wordless plea for more. Hank stroked the minute nub with two fingers firmly until Juliet felt slick wetness trickling down her thighs. He’d barely touched her, and already she wanted to beg him to stop toying with her. “Hank, I-”

He bent over her suddenly, taking her tortured nipple between his teeth to suckle hungrily and Juliet cried out, trembling. One long leg rose to wrap around his waist, trapping him against her as he licked and sucked at the peak of her breast. All too quickly, the pressure between her legs built upon itself until she was whining, all but writhing against him as she grasped desperately at the back of his neck. Juliet couldn’t remember the last time she had ever felt so damned good...or if she ever had. With Solomon, it had been all about his needs. Even though Hank was hard as a rock against the yielding flesh of her thigh, he seemed to be ignoring his own discomfort in favor of savoring her - and his ministrations were quickly driving her towards an inevitable climax.