β‘βpervert bodyguard!alan wip
π dragging your stoic, overprotective bodyguard, alan on a shopping spree during the yearβs hottest day is hell on earth for him.
the man born, raised and trained to put his life at risk everyday is forced to carry your bags like a human pack mule and stand there like a new-age adonis statue while you smear lipstick swatches along his tattooed, muscled arm like he's your personal makeup palette.
he's unaware you want to look pretty under his surveillance... look sexy for his watchful eyes only.
in the next luxury boutique, his well-defined jaw finally ticks. his patience wears as thin as the ridiculously overpriced lace lingerie you pick in a familiar shade just to mess with him: teal, like the faded tips of his hair. you let him watch it mold to your curves like a secret youβre daring him to find out behind the little sanctuary of the changing booth curtains.
the silence is stretching just long enough for him to get more and more desperate.
he knows you donβt need his help, but he's grateful you ask him anyway. one effortless tug of the bra clasp and his calloused fingertips linger on your skin for a momentβa bit too long.
his hot breath ghosts over your exposed neck and his chapped lips feel pleasantly rough as they graze your soft earlobe. "enough," he growls, his voice eerily calm.
he spins you violently, your back colliding with the mirror, the impact knocking the leftover air out of your lungs. his weight pins you against the cold glass, unyielding and solid, like an immovable wall that leaves no room for escape. his chest, broad and firm, adds a suffocating presence as he leans in close, his breath warm and smelling of a delicious blendβcigarettes, coffee, and that unmistakable hint of peppermint you had come to crave.
his eyes narrow, cold as ice and twice as sharp. a glint of arctic grey, his gaze a frozen bladeβrefined, relentless, ready to wound. his bulky hand curls tighter around your slender throat, but he is still deliberate not to crush you.
the clean musk and heat radiating off his body, the raw power in his grip alone an undeniable urgency, a hunger. the kind of hunger you had been toying with all day, you stupid, little girl.
lace rips and your pulse racesβbut not from fear. it's the undefined rawness of the moment, the way he holds your life in his left hand and your soaked, torn panties in his right hand... so in control and yet barely holding on to whatever is left of his restraint.
how far are you willing to let the man destined to protect you go?
"you're not getting away from me now, princess..."
well, that's the best threat you've ever gotten.
rough, desperate and nasty β¨changing booth quickieβ¨ til the mirrors fog up and shreds of the lingerie cover the ground like lace confetti alan has to pay for it and he will never financially recover from that
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