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The Bodyguard's Temptress

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Blurb

TW: DARK ROMANCE, s****l CONTENT, MENTIONS OF RAPE, DADDY KINK

Six months after an incident that changes Natasha’s life forever, Knox Whitaker becomes her permanent bodyguard. She finds herself becoming obsessed with him, but Knox dodges her advances at every turn, even though she can sense that he wants her too. What can she do to get his attention? What will cause him to give into temptation? Find out when you read "The Bodyguard's Temptress" by Destiny B.

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Chapter 1
Knox She glances around before slightly lifting up her dress and sinking down onto the pink dildo on the table. Fuck. I lean closer, my eyes flickering to every angle on the monitors that I can see her. Her cheeks are flushed, her auburn hair with caramel highlights cascading down her back like a waterfall. Her ivory, plump ass bounces in one camera, while in another I can see the taut n*****s of her giant t**s poking through the thin fabric of her dress. I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be watching my boss' daughter pleasure herself like she's riding a f*****g bull at a rodeo. He'd kill me if he knew. Natasha throws her head back, her face twisted in pleasure as she centers her hand flat on the table, rocking her hips faster on the pathetic, silicone c**k that I can't help but be envious of. I know she wants me. I can see the lust in her eyes every time our gazes meet, but she's aware that I'm off limits and vice versa. Besides, she's fourteen years younger than me with her whole life ahead of her. What would she possibly want with me? I'm just her temporary bodyguard, and a man with too much blood on my hands. But yet I can't tear my eyes away from the screen where she continues to impale herself, her muffled moans echoing in the speaker. Fucking hell. Her father think she's so innocent and pure. That's why he asked me to set up secret cameras in her hotel room to ensure her safety after the incident that killed her mom, but according to the show she's unknowingly putting on for me, she's a damn freak. I find my c**k punching against my zipper, my balls drawing up tight, and I feel like a hormonal teenager again. I swear, If I bust in my pants right now because of her, I'll put a bullet in my own f*****g head. I can't afford to give in to temptation; to let her poison my mind. Not only would it be considered disloyalty to the Chicago mafia, but it would end with my torture and death. Now, I'm well aware that I won't live to grow old, that's the price you pay in the underworld, but I also refuse to let this little siren be the one to lure me into the depths of hell right now. I sigh and reach over to turn off the monitors, but then something happens that topples my world off its axis. As she orgasms, my name escapes her lips as a strangled cry. "Oh f**k, Knox!" I grunt as c*m uncontrollably shoots from my d**k, creating a sticky mess in my slacks. A mess I should storm in there and demand that she clean up. With her tongue. "s**t," I rasp, my chest heaving in unison with my short breaths. I immediately replay the footage five more times. You know...just in case I heard her wrong, but it's unmistakeable. She cried out for me. I'm f****d. I'm so f*****g f****d. Because hearing my name from her sweet lips has ensnared me in a trap only she could create. I delete the footage because I wouldn't be able to stop myself from killing the motherfucker that viewed something I've now deemed for my eyes only. The room to my office suddenly swings open and Marco steps in. With an impassive expression, he says, "The boss wants to see you." Andre Marino. The head of the Chicago mafia. With a curt nod, I saunter down the hall into his office. My boxers stick to my thighs as my c*m dries, but I ignore it. My heart pounds rapidly. What if somehow someone can smell it... that I just came all over myself while I'm supposed to be surveilling the mafia princess? No. I'm just being paranoid. Stepping into Andre's office, I discover him sniffing cocaine off a stripper's ass while the other spins around on a pole completely naked. I disregard them as I sit down in the chair across from his desk. You never know what's going to happen when you walk into Andre Marino's office. He may invite you to partake in his 'hobbies', or blow your f*****g brains out all over the wall before you even realize what's happening. That being said, the faster I get out of here, the better. "Knox. How is my daughter doing?" He asks, settling down in his chair. About fifteen years older than me, his face has aged poorly from drugs and stress. The same day that his wife was killed, he was in an accident that permanently damaged his leg to where he needs a cane to walk anywhere. Marco, his second in command, called me in to head Natasha's search, ending in a three day bloodbath. I don't even want to think about what she went through. When I found her, she was naked, blood slick between her legs with cuts and bruises all over her body. I still haven't found every man who hurt her. Danio Russo and his higher ups fled before I could get to them, but I've made it my mission to hunt them down one by one. Andre positions the stripper so that her ass is still in his face, and she presses her face flat against his wooden desk. He squeezes her ass cheeks as his intense gaze sears into me. "Better. She's a tough woman," I answer. He hums. "Just like her Mom was." There's a pained look in his eyes, but he quickly conceals it. "No unusual behavior?" Besides her riding a dildo fantasizing that it's my c**k? "No, Sir." I might be a stupid motherfucker to lie to a crime lord, but there's no way I'm going to confess about what I just watched. What if he thinks that somehow I encouraged this behavior...that I'm secretly f*****g his daughter when my only job is to protect her? Looks like I'll just have to take this s**t to my early grave. He seems pleased by my answer. "Good. I think she enjoys having you as her bodyguard. I want to offer you the job full time. Of course, I don't expect a trained hitman to settle for being a glorified babysitter without being compensated well for it." The logical part of my brain tells me to turn it down, to go back to my retired, secluded life in the woods and leave this all behind. Leave her behind. But then the sound of my name on her lips replays in my head, and I know I can't. I have self restraint. I know I won't touch her no matter how much she begs, but another man wouldn't hesitate. The thought of another man watching her or taking advantage of her vulnerable state awakens a feral, green beast inside of me. I can't allow that to happen. Instead of shaking Andre's drug/stripper infested hand, I offer a reserved nod. "Sir, I accept your offer to be her permanent bodyguard."

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