Page 3 of The Bodyguard’s Innocent Obsession (His Obsession #3)

Arabella

I should be asleep. It’s after midnight, the whole house is dark and still... except for the kitchen light, and me.

I’m perched at the marble counter, fussing with angles, snapping a few photos of my latest batch of decorated cupcakes. Usually this helps. Calms me. But not tonight.

Tonight, I’m restless. Buzzing. And I know exactly why.

Lachlan.

He’s somewhere in the house, and all I can do is sit here and think about him. All six-foot-four, built like a damn tank inches of him.

The way he’d looked at me earlier is etched into my memory forever. Like I was something he needed. Like he wanted to eat me whole and wouldn’t leave a single bite.

I exhale and toss my phone aside. No amount of posting pretty cupcakes on social media is going to distract me tonight.

Maybe a shower will help. A cold one.

I roll my eyes at myself and head upstairs, padding softly along the polished wood floors. But just as I turn the corner to the bathroom, I freeze.

The door is open a crack, and the light is on. The soft hiss of water echoes from inside.

Oh god. Is he in the shower?

I should turn around. I really should. Instead, I step closer, my heart pounding so hard it rattles my ribs.

I peer through the gap.

Lachlan’s there, in the bathroom, and his back is turned toward the door. Steam curls up from the glass walls of the shower. And all of him... God, all of him is bare.

His back is to me, broad and muscled and glistening with rivulets of water. He’s braced one hand against the tile, head tilted forward as water rains down over him. Every inch of him is carved from something primal and ancient and male.

His shoulders are wide. His waist is narrow. His legs are thick with muscle. The line of his spine tapers down to...

I gasp before I can stop myself.

His head lifts. Slowly. Like he heard me. And then he turns.

Those dark, hungry eyes land on me. On the crack in the door. He doesn’t say a word, just stares straight at me.

My cheeks are burning. My whole body feels shaky. I know I should step back. Should pull the door shut and walk away.

But instead, I’m rooted in place, like I’ve been hit with some kind of spell.

Unable to help myself, my gaze drops lower, traveling down over the planes of his abs and the cut lines of his hips and... oh, oh god.

He’s hard. His cock is huge and heavy and thick, curving up against his belly. Water slides over every inch of him, glistening on his skin and making the dark hair on his chest glisten.

And then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches for himself and wraps his fist around his cock.

My heart stutters in my chest. My pulse races so fast, my ears roar. I’m frozen in place. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. Unable to do anything except stare at him and feel a rush of liquid heat between my legs.

His hand slides along his cock, slow and steady, his eyes still fixed on me. He’s breathing harder now, and even through the glass, I can see his muscles bunch and tense as he strokes himself.

A shiver rolls through me. I want him. I want him so badly it hurts.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lifting his free hand, crooking a finger to invite me closer.

Oh my god.

Before I can think better of it, before I can stop myself, I step into the bathroom and close the door behind me.

He grins. His eyes drag down over my body, and his grin fades into something else. Something fierce and dark and possessive.

As if my body is moving of its own accord, I move even closer, walking to the glass wall of the shower. My heart pounds against my ribs.

He’s so close now, right there, and I can see everything. See the way the muscles in his arm and his stomach flex as he pumps his cock faster. The veins popping under his skin. His hips bucking into his fist, chasing pleasure.

I reach out, running my fingertips over the glass. He reaches up and does the same, mirroring me. Our fingers are almost touching. Separated by nothing but a steamed up pane of glass.

His eyes are dark and locked on mine. His jaw is clenched, his breathing harsh.

God, he’s so hot. And he’s so close.

“Arabella...”

My name is a rasp. A rumble. It hits me right between the legs, making my knees shake.

He’s getting close. His whole body tenses, his muscles rippling under the spray of water, and his jaw goes slack. His hand is pumping his cock so fast, so hard, I can barely see what he’s doing.

Then his eyes lock on mine, and he grunts.

I gasp as his cock pulses in his fist. Ropes of cum burst out of him, streaking across the glass wall between us. The sight is filthy. Beautiful. Raw.

I’ve never seen a man come before. I can’t believe he just let me watch.

It seems to go on forever. His hips thrusting into his hand, his head tipped back, and his lips parted. His chest heaving.

Finally, he shudders and goes still.

My legs are trembling. My inner thighs are soaked. My nipples are stiff, aching points. I need him so badly it’s an ache, an actual physical pain, that throbs through every inch of me.

I want him to do more than just look at me. More than just touch himself while I watch.

I want him to touch me. To use that mouth, those hands. That cock. I want to know what he’d feel like inside me. If his kisses are as rough and possessive as his eyes.

When his gaze slides back to mine, he looks satisfied and ravenous at the same time. He licks his bottom lip, slowly. Then he grins.

That’s when it hits me. The shame. The embarrassment. Oh god, what is wrong with me? What kind of woman just stands there and watches something like that?

I stumble backwards. Turn and flee. I slam the bathroom door shut and practically run back to my room.

My heart is in my throat and my cheeks are flaming. I cover my face with both hands. I’ve never done anything like that before. Never seen a man come. Certainly never let a complete stranger touch himself for me.

God, he must think I’m the world’s biggest freak.

I pace in my bedroom, restless. Half-horrified. Half still aching from watching him.

A knock on the door startles me, but before I can answer, it opens.

Lachlan is standing in the doorway. Shirtless. Still damp from his shower. Wearing only a pair of black sweatpants that hang low on his hips, a walkie-talkie clipped to the waistband, dragging it down just enough to show the sharp dip of his V-line.

His eyes are locked on mine. He steps inside. Shuts the door behind him.

“I… I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have looked. I wasn’t thinking, I just...”

He cuts me off with a low growl. “Don’t apologize, princess. I liked having your eyes on me,” he says, voice deep and rough. “I wanted them on me.”

My breath catches, and he takes a step closer. His hand lifts, brushing a piece of hair from my cheek.

“You looked so fucking sweet watching me. Like you couldn’t get enough.

It made me come harder than I’ve ever come before.

If that’s how good it feels when it’s only your eyes on me, I can’t wait to find out how good it feels with your hands on me.

Or your mouth. Or that perfect little untouched cunt. ”

“Oh god,” I whimper, shaking.

He leans in. Our mouths are inches apart. I’m breathless. Heart hammering. Everything inside me screaming for him to close the distance and just kiss me already.

But a burst of static from the walkie-talkie at his waist fills the air. Then a clipped, urgent voice.

“Decker. We’ve got movement on the south lawn. Get the girl out of here. Now.”

Lachlan’s jaw clenches. His body shifts, all sharp edges and sudden alertness.

He grabs my hand. His grip is firm. Protective. When his eyes lock on mine, they are hard and focused.

“Come on, princess,” he says. “We’re not safe here.”