Page 49 of The Hookup Situation (Billionaire Situation #5)

I laugh it off, but unease sits in my stomach like a ten-pound weight. What if the thing falling apart is me ?

“You’re right,” she says. “Just use your karate moves if you need to, okay, Red Menace?”

“You know I will.”

After I hang up, I plop down on the couch.

Nick joins me. “We need to talk about something.”

“If this is more bad news?—”

“It’s not. You now have a bodyguard.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“Don’t worry; he’s subtle, but he’s watching when I can’t. Professional guy, former military, and only temporary until November first.”

“Nick, that’s?—”

“Necessary. His name is Brody. He’s a dick, doesn’t say much, but he’s also marrying Zane’s little sister and volunteered. He’s the best in the business, and you don’t tell him no. I’m sorry. I didn’t hire him. He’s going to do it whether I want him to or not.”

“Okay,” I say, and he sits down next to me.

Nick leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Brody’s already watching the perimeter. You probably won’t see him, but he’ll see you. That’s how he works.”

I blink. “Wait, he’s here? Like … right now?”

Nick’s mouth tips into a half-grin. “I bet he’s parked down the street in some unmarked truck, eating jerky and scaring kids in costumes.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yes,” he says. Then his expression softens. “Look, I know it’s invasive, but Brody cares about protecting your life. He said that he owed it to my sister to make sure we were okay. I can’t refuse that.”

I tuck my legs under me on the couch, hugging a pillow. “I’m just not used to this. I’ve lived in this town my whole life, and suddenly, I need a bodyguard to watch me.”

Nick slides closer, prying the pillow from my arms and replacing it with his chest. “Just for a little while longer, I promise. ”

For the first time all day, I somewhat relax. I want to argue, to roll my eyes, but a part of me exhales at the thought of someone else watching the shadows when I can’t. With Nick’s arms around me and Brody keeping watch, the panic moves to a simmer instead of a rolling boil.

“Everything will be okay,” I say, closing my eyes, wanting to believe it.

Nick doesn’t move right away. His chin rests on the top of my head, his hand tracing idle circles down my arm like he’s trying to draw calm into me. For a while, I let myself just sit there, eyes closed, pretending the world outside this couch doesn’t exist.

It hardly works.

I can still feel the stares in the costume shop and how those men looked at me like I was public property. My body shivers before I can stop it.

Nick notices. “Cold?”

“Haunted,” I admit, pulling back enough to look at him. “Faces and comments are burned into my mind. I can’t quite shake it.”

His jaw tightens. “Then we burn new ones in there. Better ones.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Examples?”

“The Fairy Godmothers caring enough to bring you casseroles galore. Or how Blaire adores you so much she’s hexing Craig at this very moment. Or maybe you should think about how my face lights up every time you walk into a room.”

“The last one’s the best.”

“Good,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s just for you.”

The tension in my chest eases a little more. He doesn’t minimize how I feel, but he doesn’t let me drown in it either.

“I don’t know how you do that,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Make me feel like I’m not an embarrassment.”

He cups my cheek, thumb brushing along my skin. His gaze is unwavering and fierce. “You’re not. You’re just a little bruised, pissed, and exhausted. And that’s okay. It’s okay to be all of those things.”

“I am. I’m being sexualized. I hate it.” Something inside me cracks, and I tuck myself into him, pressing my face against his chest.

“I hate it too.” His voice drops to a low roughness. It vibrates against my skin. His eyes sweep down my body, sharp and unyielding. “I don’t want anyone looking at you, sweetheart. Not like that. Not ever.” His jaw tightens.

With a certainty that makes my pulse skip, he adds, “You’re mine.”

The words should scare me, but they don’t. They ground me. They burn away the shame and replace it with something hotter. Because when Nick says I’m his, it’s not possession; it’s protection.

My breath catches. My body melts into him.

“Say it again,” I whisper.

His mouth hovers by my ear, his hand gripping my hip like he’s already branded me. “Mine.”

Heat pools low in my stomach. I move closer, my thighs brushing his, my body alive with want.

“Does that please you?” he asks.

“Yes, very much,” I admit. The confession releases before I can stop it.

His growl rumbles through me, his fingers tightening until I’m pinned to him. “Good. Because it’s the truth, Little Red. You. Are. Mine.” Each word is punctuated with his hips grinding forward, the hard ridge of him pressing against me.

I gasp, clutching his shirt, my body sparking everywhere we connect. My thighs part instinctively, and he takes advantage, shifting me against him until I’m straddling his thigh. The friction of his thick cock is right where I need it most.

“Nick,” I breathe, my voice breaking as he rocks me harder against him. My panties are already damp, sliding against denim, and every move makes me ache more .

He grabs my ass, dragging me over him like he can’t stand the thought of space between us. “Feel that, sweetheart? That pussy’s mine too. So is every sound you make. Every gasp. Every fucking shiver. All mine.”

I moan into his mouth when he kisses me, my hips grinding helplessly against him. The friction is brutal, delicious, and the orgasm builds fast. My body tenses, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing holding me together.

His teeth graze my lip. His breath is hot against me. “Come for me. Right here. Ruin those panties for me.”

The command tears through me, my body obeying before my brain catches up. I break apart against him, muffling my cry in his shoulder as heat floods me, soaking through the thin fabric. He holds me tight, grinding me through the final pulses, rocking me until I come down from my high.

I collapse against his chest, my breath ragged. His fingers comb through my hair as his lips brush my temple, so soft that it undoes me all over again.

“That’s how I want you to forget him, Jules,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “Not by erasing what he did. By making new memories. This”—his hand squeezes my hip possessively—“will be one of my favorites.”

A shaky laugh slips out of me, half breathless, half disbelieving, while I try to recover from the aftershocks of that mind-blowing orgasm. “I don’t deserve you.”

His smile curves against my skin before he kisses me. “I think that’s my line.”