The Bodyguard’s Slutty Brat [2]

POV: Oliver

The bass from the club speakers hit me hard like it wanted to crack my ribs. 

I stood five feet behind Isla, my back against the wall, eyes sweeping the crowd while she danced like the spoiled brat she was. 

Twenty-one years old with Daddy’s money pouring out of her like water, and all she did was waste it on this shit. 

Meanwhile, I was here for twenty thousand dollars, the exact amount I needed, wired to the hospital so my sister could get that heart surgery before her next attack. 

I just had one job to do: keep this girl breathing. That was it.

Isla wore a tight red dress that barely reached the middle of her thigh. It hugged every curve and rode up when she moved. She knew it was too short because she kept pulling the hem down with one hand while laughing too loudly with her almost-naked friends. 

She glanced back at me again, lips wet from the drink she’d just drank, rolling her hips slowly and dirty, eyes locked on mine. 

“Enjoying the show, Oliver?” she called over the music. “You’re staring so hard I can feel it between my legs. Why don't you come closer? I promise I won’t tell Daddy if you touch me.”

I kept my face blank. Hands behind my back, but inside, anger burned low in my gut.

She laughed and turned, ass pushing out toward me as the dress climbed higher. 

“What’s wrong, soldier boy? Cat got your tongue? Or are you too busy trying not to get hard watching me?” 

She ran her hands down her body, cupping her tits for a second right in front of me. “These feel so good when I touch them. Imagine your big hands instead, pinching my nipples while I ride your thigh right here.”

I hated this job. I hated her.

She was reckless, insensitive, throwing her life away while my sister waited in a hospital bed for money that this girl would blow on one night out. 

She had everything: money, safety, a father who would burn the city down for her, and she acted like it was nothing. 

One of her friends handed her a shot; she downed it without hesitation, then turned and walked straight toward me, stopping only inches away. I could smell her perfume mixed with the alcohol on her breath. Her breasts brushed close to my chest as she leaned in.  

“You know,” she said, voice low enough that only I could hear, “my father pays you a lot of money to stand there and do nothing. You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself.”  

Her finger moved like she was going to touch my arm, but she stopped herself. 

I stared straight ahead, voice flat. “Miss Moretti, I’m here to keep you safe. That’s all. Step back into the crowd where I can see you better.”  

She laughed softly, the sound mocking. “Safe? You mean trapped. You’re just another one of my father’s dogs. But you’re way hotter than the last guy he tried to put on me.” She tilted her head, eyes bright with challenge. “Tell me, Oliver, do you ever get hard watching girls like me dance? Or did the army train that out of you, too?”  

Heat flared in my chest. I pushed it down fast. My hands stayed behind my back, no reaction on my face. 

“Move, Miss Moretti.”  

Instead, she turned around and pressed her back against my front, just long enough for me to feel the heat of her body and the curve of her ass against my thigh, before she stepped away laughing, her hands on her mouth like it was a mistake. “Oops! My bad. The crowd pushed me.”  

What the hell! This girl was the devil herself. 

I didn’t move, didn’t flinch. But my cock twitched against my will. 

Why the hell did she have to make this job harder than it needed to be?  

She went back to dancing, but now she made it obvious. Every move was directed at me. She ran her hands down her sides, over her hips, then up again. 

When a guy tried to dance with her, she let him for a few seconds, grinding hard against him while looking straight at me with a wicked grin. Then pushed him away and danced alone again, eyes glued on me.  

“See that?” she shouted over the music. “That could be you if you weren’t such a robot. You’re so boring. I prefer the guy my father fired; at least he always agreed to dance with me.”  

I ignored her completely and raised my head, whispering a silent prayer: Dear God, make her tired already so we can get the fuck out of here before I lose my mind.

But I guess my prayer wasn’t answered because she grabbed another drink and came back toward me, this time standing so close her nipples brushed my shirt through the thin fabric of her dress. 

“You know what I think?” she said, lips close to my ear. “I think you want to touch me. I think you’re imagining bending me over right here in front of everyone and fucking the brat out of me. But you can’t, can you? Because if you do, Daddy fires you, and I win.”  

She pulled back and took a sip of her drink, eyes never leaving mine. “Go ahead, Oliver. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want to grab me right now.”  

I made my voice sound condescending enough. “You’re making my job harder than it needs to be. Stop acting like a child and let me do what I was hired for.”  

Her eyes flashed with anger and something else—excitement. 

“Child? I’m twenty-one, not twelve. And I’m the one with the power here. So don't fucking act as if you can control me. One word from me and you’re gone. So why don’t you be nice?”  

I said nothing, focusing on the DJ mixing.

Inside, the anger mixed with unwanted heat. She was annoying and spoiled beyond belief. But her body moving like that, her sharp tongue throwing every dirty word at me, was starting to break the self-control I had spent years building.  

The night dragged on. She danced, drank, laughed with friends, and every few minutes came back to poke at me. 

Telling me how she’d ride me, reverse a****n so I could watch her ass bounce. How she’d let me come on her tits and then lick them off. How she wanted me to choke her while I pounded her from behind.

Each time she got bolder, pressing closer, brushing her body against mine ‘by accident.’

I never reacted on the outside. But my body was betraying me. My cock pulsed heavily at the promise in my own words. My jaw ached from clenching it.  

Around two in the morning, she finally signaled she was ready to leave. 

I held her arm gently as we walked out to the car, her body leaning heavily against mine. She had clearly had way too much to drink. 

When I opened the back door, she practically collapsed into the seat. I leaned in to buckle her seatbelt, and my fingers accidentally brushed the soft, warm skin of her inner thigh.

She let out a low, breathy moan as she looked up at me, biting her lower lip. “I’m so horny, Oliver! Why do you keep ignoring me?”  

I closed the door without answering her and got into the driver’s seat. 

When we reached her suite, I cleared the rooms again, the closet, the balcony, and the bathroom as she stood in the middle of the bedroom watching me.  

I finished and turned to leave, but she stepped right in front of me, blocking the door. Her honey-brown eyes were dark, lips parted as she moved close, really close, until her body touched mine. Then her hand shot down and cupped my cock through my pants.

Fuck! I hissed between my teeth.

“I knew you were hard for me,” she slurred, voice low and triumphant. Her fingers stroked my dick, slowly. I held the urge to moan and thrust my hips into her hands.

I didn’t move. Didn’t grab her wrist or try to push her away. My whole body screamed to react, but I locked every muscle and stared over her head at the wall. Heart pounding. Cock jumping in her hand.

She squeezed again, smiling. “Still nothing to say, soldier?”

Dammit! 

This girl was going to be the death of me.