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‘You think Hugo is good looking?’ she replied with a grin.
My frown turned to a scowl. ‘Answer the question.’
She rolled her eyes so hard that I felt like bending her over the dining table and spanking her ass right there, but I knew there was only one way that would end, and I didn’t want to fuck her.
Except that I did. I wanted to fuck her real bad, but I couldn’t go there with her. I couldn’t let her in.
Not yet.
So, I let the eye roll go.
‘I chose him because he was the only one who actually spoke to me,’ she said.
‘The others were mute then?’
‘No. But they may as well have been. One word answers and absolutely no personality. Hugo answered my questions and we actually talked. So, he could have been eighty years old and looked like Freddie Kruger, and I’d still have given him the job. Satisfied?’ she snapped.
I glared at her. She was getting far too feisty for her own good. ‘He’s not supposed to talk to you.’
‘Why not?’ she asked, her chin tilted in defiance.
‘Because he’s there to protect you. Talking to you is distracting. Jesus, Alana, you’re distracting!’ I snapped and wished I could take back those last few words.
‘You think I’m distracting?’ she blinked at me, all of the anger in her face disappearing.
I closed my eyes and took a breath. ‘Fuck! I didn’t mean like that …’
‘Oh,’ she said quietly and then we sat in silence for a few seconds. ‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to finish reading my book.’
I nodded as I heard her chair being pushed back. When I opened my eyes again, she was gone.
Later that night, I crawled into bed beside her, waiting until I was sure she’d be asleep. She slept on her side, facing the window and away from me. But as she seemed to have an aversion to covers and slept in the tiniest of panties and a tank top, I had a great view of her beautiful round ass.
I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, but my eyes were drawn to her over and over again. My cock was rock hard. I reached down, wrapping my hand around it and squeezing tightly, hoping for some relief, but it offered me none.
All I could think about was how easy it would be for me to roll onto my side, pull those tiny panties of hers aside and slide myself into her. If I fucked her just one time, maybe I could get her out of my head?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the images from my brain because my cock was weeping for her. I contemplated getting myself off but the thought of her waking up and catching me jerking off over her wasn’t something I relished. I could just see the look on her spoiled face if she did.
So, I lay there, with a throbbing cock and a throbbing head and wondered why I hadn’t gone to the hotel like I usually did.
I got up at six am the following morning having barely slept at all. I looked at Alana’s sleeping form and had a vague memory of her hand on my chest in the night. Her warm soft skin resting lightly on my own. And then I had a memory of her hand squeezing my hard cock — but I knew I must have dreamt that.
I pulled on my shorts and running shoes. A long run would take my mind off her and her curves. Then I’d shower in my gym and go straight to the hotel. I turned and looked at her again as I reached the door. Something she’d said about her feeling lonely and this place not being her own came back to me.
I frowned because I didn’t know what else I could do about that, or why I even cared.
ALEJANDRO
It had been a little over three weeks since my mom’s visit and things between Alana and I were less strained. Hugo was working out well as her personal bodyguard, and it made me feel more at ease to know that she never left the house without him.
I didn’t spend much time around the house, but when I was there, I noticed that she appeared happier. We seemed to have come to an unspoken arrangement whereby we could be civil to each other when we were in the same room.
She went out almost every day with the charity ladies and I supposed chugging champagne and cocktails every afternoon was a pretty good way for a spoiled princess to pass the time.
I’d started to think she was finally content, until I’d overheard her and Magda talking earlier that morning. I’d heard her say she felt like a prisoner, always surrounded by armed guards, and how much she missed her place in New York.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have cared. She had chosen this life and she needed to learn to make the best of it. Except, there was something about the way she said it, that made me feel sorry for her. It hadn’t sounded like she was complaining, more like she was confiding in the one person she had gotten close to here. And while there wasn’t a lot I was prepared to do about the armed guards, I knew there was a potential way to make her feel more at home in my house — even if I wasn’t that happy about doing it.
