The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(44)

“Christ, Julie, don’t. Don’t do that.” Hank pulled her even closer, smoothing her hair back in a surprisingly tender gesture. Juliet’s fingers curled into his t-shirt as she inhaled the spicy scent of tobacco and cologne. She didn’t want to cry - not over something as idiotic as this. But she needed it. She needed a way to defend herself that was physical - corporeal. She’d had enough of the mental conflict to last herself a lifetime.

When she lifted her mouth to Hank’s, he didn’t refuse her. The kiss seared through her, and for a moment, nothing mattered but the hot press of Hank’s tongue against her own. They were out on the balcony. Rationally, Crowley or Bosh could come to check on them at any time and, if they did, they’d get an eyeful. But Juliet didn’t care. Even though she’d told herself she wouldn’t be vulnerable anymore, if she had to be, Hank was the only one she’d allow to see it.

Her arms slid around his neck almost desperately as she arched against him. It might have been enough to topple a lesser man off the balcony and into the leaves six feet below but Hank merely lifted her from her feet to carry her back into the safety of the cabin. It was the middle of the day - there was literally no secrecy at all to their intentions.

And Juliet could care less.

This time, it wasn’t Juliet’s room they retired to, but Hank’s. The young woman barely had a minute to take in how bare it was - probably just as bare as when they had arrived. If it weren’t for the clothes strewn around the room, she might not have even know he was staying there. She could only wonder what the man’s apartment looked like.

Or the last time Hank had gotten close to someone.

Then, Hank was working the jeans she wore over her hips and down her legs, his mouth in hot pursuit, and she forgot all of that. Her fingers threaded through the stiff, short bristles of his hair as her breath left her on a hot exhalation.

His mouth pressed against her stomach, hungry - eager - and Juliet arched indulgently into his touch. This time, she didn’t worry about what she looked like or old aches and pains. She wanted to feel.

Hank’s stubble rasped over her hip, then the sensitive skin of her bare thigh as he groaned, gathering her flush against him. Juliet couldn’t have escaped his vice-like grip if she tried, and she reveled in its almost bruising intensity as he trailed wet, ravenous kisses over her belly and the curves of her behind.

She shuddered as he parted her legs, tamping down the part of her that insisted that no man could want to do this. Solomon certainly hadn’t wanted to - but Hank seemed to have no such reservations. His mouth sought her out eagerly, and he didn’t even bother removing her panties, merely pulling the cotton fabric aside before his tongue covered her in a long, luxurious lap. Juliet bit her lip against the moan that welled in her throat, but Hank didn’t bother trying to censor himself.

He groaned, loud and long, as if the taste of her was something he’d craved for months, and the sound alone was almost enough to wring Juliet’s orgasm from her. Her head fell back against the coverlet beneath her head as Hank licked and sucked at the drenched folds between her legs. Before him, she might have thought it was impossible to be so aroused she was dizzy - that she forgot which way was up and even her own name.

But Hank made all of that possible.

He was an absolutely ravenous lover - and not in a way that made her afraid. When Juliet’s fingers curled into the nape of his neck in a vain attempt to draw him up against her, Hank merely shoved his tongue into her clenching passage and she cried out, writhing beneath him. It was too much - far too much…

Within seconds, she was trembling, the muscles of her thighs locking as she came. Juliet might have screamed but the intensity of her orgasm stole her breath - that, and Hank gave her no mercy afterwards. As she came down, he kissed the most sensitive parts of her gently - agonizingly - until she was begging him to stop.

But he didn’t. Hank merely held her in place, continuing to worship her with his mouth until she came apart again, this time gasping his name in a desperate plea for mercy. When he finally came up to press his mouth to hers, letting her taste herself on his lips, Juliet’s panties were drenched and her sanity hung on by a thread.

“One day,” Hank growled against her jaw, “I’ll convince you to let me fucking live between your legs.”

Juliet couldn’t imagine. He might very well kill her. She cupped his face, kissing him deeply, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth until he groaned, his hips pressing down against hers. Though he was still fully clothed, there might as well have been nothing between them. The hard jut of his erection rubbed tantalizingly against the wetness between her legs and Juliet moaned unabashedly.

She tugged at his shirt until the fabric bunched underneath his arms. Hank lifted himself from her for the split second that he needed to remove the damned thing and then he was on top of her again - all that glorious muscle, sinew and strength.

But there was warmth there too. Hank cared how she felt. He cared how he made her feel - and God knew he made her feel good. He kissed down the length of her neck to linger at her pulse point until she squirmed beneath him. He sucked and bit at her shoulder, his hips moving against hers in a leisurely, intoxicating rhythm that made her all but want to rip his jeans off.

Had it really only been a few weeks since the last time she’d had him?

Juliet ran her hands over his tattooed shoulders and down his back. Beneath the ink she could feel the pitting of puckered bullet wounds and the long, shiny flesh of scar tissue. Hank was just as damaged as she was - and somehow, selfishly, the discovery made her feel less alone. Hank’s hands curled into her behind, hauling her higher up the bed, and a breathless laugh tumbled from her lips.