The Bodyguard’s Slutty Brat [3]

POV: Isla

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I stood in front of my full-length mirror in nothing but the sexy red lace lingerie I’d bought a month ago, wishing I had someone to tear it off my skin. The bra pushed my tits up, nipples already hard against the cups. The tiny thong barely covered my pussy, the front already damp with my arousal.

Gosh. I hated the home I was born into, trapped like a prisoner. I couldn’t even have a normal boyfriend without my father scaring him away.

Turning and arching my back, I admired how plump my ass looked, wiggling it slowly and watching it jiggle. They were definitely my best assets, round, and made to be grabbed. I looked like a delicious little snack. No… I looked more like a five-course meal.

So why the hell had my seductions not worked on Oliver?

I’d been teasing him mercilessly for a week, and the man was still holding onto his stupid control like his life depended on it.

But not tonight.

I climbed on the bed on all fours, knees spread wide, back arched so my ass was high in the air, the sheets feeling cool under my skin. 

My heart pounded hard at what I was about to do. I could already feel myself getting soaked from the anticipation, remembering the last time I’d grabbed his cock and felt how thick and hard he was for me. He was easily housing a 10-inch dick in those pants. 

Urgh! Why was he so stingy with it?

“Oliver,” I called, voice loud enough to reach him outside the door. “Come here. I need you.”  

The door opened. He stepped inside and froze the second he saw me.

“Miss Moretti—” His voice came out rough, his leg taking a step back toward the door. “I’ll wait outside.”  

I moved fast; my bare feet hit the floor as I ran to the door before he could leave. I slammed it shut, turned the key, and yanked it out, holding it up between us with a wide smile on my face. 

“No. You’re not going anywhere.”  

Oliver’s gaze dropped down, moving slowly down my body like a tease, over my boobs spilling out of the lace, down my flat stomach, to the tiny scrap of fabric between my legs, then back up. 

His jaw clenched hard. I saw his hands curl into fists at his sides like he was fighting himself. 

“Miss Moretti,” he whispered, voice low and hard, eyes fixed on mine now, “you have been throwing yourself at me for a whole week. I don’t appreciate you trying to sabotage my job, Miss. I have a life outside these four walls, a sister who needs heart surgery and twenty thousand dollars, which this paycheck is going to pay for. One more stunt from you and I will walk straight to your father and tell him exactly what you’ve been doing.”  

What the fuck?

I blinked for a full ten seconds, completely thrown. This was not the reaction I expected from him.

Was he… gay? Or was I losing my touch? Because no sane straight man should be able to resist... this.

Heat flooded my cheeks as I rubbed the back of my neck. 

“You should be grateful for the life you have. Not everyone gets this, and stop acting like an entitled brat,” he added.

The embarrassment I felt earlier turned instantly into anger. My hands shook by my side. 

“Fuck you, Oliver. You don’t know anything about me.”  

He scowled at me. “I know enough. I know you party every night and live a reckless life. I know you push and push because you think no one can stop you. But I’m not one of your little toys.”  

“You think I’m spoiled?” I stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his breath on my face. My voice rose. “You stand there judging me while you get paid to watch me. You have no idea what it’s like to live this kind of life, to lose your mom, the only person who gets you, and feel like the only way to breathe is to drink and dance until you can’t feel anything. You don’t know shit about my life!”  

His eyes flashed. “I know you almost got a bullet in your head a few nights ago, and you’re still acting like it’s a game. I know you locked that door because you think you can make me lose control and get me fired. Newsflash, Isla—I’m not losing this job. Not for you. Not for anyone.”  

This was the first time he said my name. It was always Miss Moretti this… Miss Moretti, that, like I was a hundred-year-old spinster.

The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine, straight into my core. My pussy throbbed, and I clenched my thighs tight to relieve the ache.

“Then why are you so hard right now?” I whispered, stepping even closer, my chest touching his, feeling his heart race fast. “Why are your eyes on my tits and my pussy like you want to rip this lingerie off with your teeth? You want me, Oliver. Admit it. You want to bend me over this bed and fuck me until I can’t walk.”  

“Stop.” His breathing grew heavier.  

“Make me.” I reached up and traced one finger down the center of his chest. “Tell me you don’t want to shove your cock down my throat and make me choke on it. Tell me you don’t want to spread my legs and eat this wet pussy until I squirt all over your face.”  

I saw the moment his control cracked. One second, he was like stone, unmoving, the next his hand shot out, grabbed the back of my neck, and yanked me against him, his mouth crashing down on mine.  

The kiss was rough, commanding, and possessive. I tasted anger and hunger, making me feel suddenly dizzy. 

For one heartbeat, I melted into him, moaning against his lips, my body on fire.  

Then reality hit me. I shoved him hard in the chest. My palm flew up and slammed across his face, the slap loud, echoing in the room. 

“That’s for calling me a spoiled brat.” 

He stared at me, cheek red, eyes wild.  

Then I jumped on him. My legs wrapped around his waist, my arms around his neck, and kissed him back harder. My tongue pushing into his mouth, demanding. 

His hands gripped my ass, squeezing the bare skin under the thong. I rocked against the hard ridge of his cock, grinding my soaked pussy along his length through his pants.  

We kissed like we were starving and our lives depended on it—wet, messy, as I bit his bottom lip, and he groaned into my mouth.  

While he held me up, one of his big hands slid from my ass, slipped under my thong, and pushed two thick fingers straight into my dripping pussy.

“Oh fuck,” I gasped against his lips. “Yes… just like that.”

He didn’t go slowly. He pumped his fingers deep and fast, curling them hard against that spot inside me that made my toes curl. 

His thumb found my clit and rubbed hard. “You’re so fucking wet,” he growled. “ Is this what you wanted? You’ve been teasing me, acting like a slut, and now you’re clenching around my fingers like you can’t get enough.”

I moaned loudly, head falling back. “Harder, Oliver. Fuck me harder with your fingers. Make me cum. I’ve been aching for this.”

“Shh!” He whispered. “You're going to make your father hear me fingering his precious daughter.”

His mouth moved to my neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “Do you feel that?” He thrust his fingers deeper, a low chuckle vibrating in his chest. “Your pretty pussy is sucking me in so eagerly… so wet and greedy. You want more, don’t you?”

The pressure built faster than I expected, my legs tightening around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m so close… don’t stop… oh fuck, Oliver, I’m—”

The orgasm hit me so hard I saw stars, pussy clamped down on his fingers, pulsing and sucking greedily. His lips covered my mouth, trying to keep me from crying out, body shaking, juices coating his hand, while he kept fingering me through it.

I was still panting, chest heaving, my legs trembling uncontrollably around his waist as I stared up into his eyes. My lips were puffy and red from his kisses, breathing rough and shallow.

“Oliver, I need you to fuck me, right now!”