Page 7 of Triple Protection
"I know you don't necessarily know me, but I haven't been able to sleep in my room since... and I feel safer with you." She feels safe with me.I resist the urge to puff out my chest like a peacock. My Babygirl feels safe with me. Fuck me, I could die a happy man.
Instead, I give her a single, silent nod.
"Thank you," she says, laying her pillow down on the couch next to my leg and laying down. "I've been sleeping in my closet since... and it's not exactly comfortable." I had noticed the pile of blankets and pillows in her closet when we did our walk-through, but hadn't wanted to ask her about it. My heart breaks a little. This beautiful, sweet, soft creature is all alone, with no one to protect her, and is terrified to sleep in her own room. I was already enamored with her, and protective in general, but part of me wants to find this fucker and light him on fire. If it were up to me, she'd never be scared again a day in her life.
She gets comfortable on the couch, laying her pillow next to my leg and pulling the throw blanket around her. She looks up at me with her beautiful doe eyes. "Is this okay?"
I resist the urge to run my fingers through her hair, to kiss her lips, to go sit in the other chair so I'm not tempted to do something I'll regret. I give her another single, silent nod, afraid that if I speak out loud, I'll give away just hownotokay I am. How the hell am I going to make it through an eight-hour shift, with her soft body that close to me? Watching her sleep?
Chapter seven
Angela
Angela
Light softly hits the back of my eyelids as my consciousness struggles to awaken. I groan and stretch. Finally, I'd slept well after nearly a week of sleeping on the floor in my closet. My head is resting on something a lot harder than my normal pillow, though. And my arms are wrapped around that same hard thing. Where had I fallen asleep last night? I rub my cheek along the hard pillow, covered in a soft material, trying to make sense of what it is.
"You keep making noises like that and I won't be held responsible for your black eye." A deep, gravelly voice whispers from mere inches from my face.
I bolt upright, holding the blanket to my chest. After sleeping alone my entire life, waking up to someone's voice was a shock of adrenaline to the system. My head swims with the sudden movement.
I blink hard, taking in my surroundings finally. I had fallen asleep on the couch. Next to Brick. But my pillow is on the floor. Somehow, in the middle of the night, I'd lost my pillow and was using Brick's thigh. I was cuddling Brick's hard-as-rock thigh in my sleep. Black eye? I look at Brick's lap and holy shit; he is sporting the biggest hard on I'd ever seen. He sheepishly adjusts his erection to try to hide it, but his athletic pants are doing him no favors. He reaches down to recover the pillow and places it across his lap.
"Oh my God," I whisper, completely mortified. I rub my hands down my face as if somehow that would help me actually wake up and discoverthisis all a dream.
"I'm SO sorry, Brick. I shouldn't have... I mean, I can't believe... this is so unprofessional!" Brick's cheeks tinge pinkish, or maybe that was just the sunrise coming up through the back doors. He ignores me and continues to read his kindle.
"I touched you! You don't like being touched! I sexually assaulted you!" I continue, rambling, in my embarrassment.
He chuckles.
"It's going to take more than using me as a pillow to be classified as sexual assault, Babygirl." He freezes, his body suddenly rigid. His playful expression is instantly gone. Babygirl. He called me Babygirl. The way his low baritone said the word, though, sent an uncontrolled warmth through my body. He is normally so controlled and collected, I'm certain that the slip was an accident. I want to groan my approval but stop just short.
"I'm going to need coffee before I can mentally unpack this whole..." I say, waving my hand around the living room, "... situation."
I scurry to the kitchen and prepare a large pot of coffee. I rest my forearms and my forehead against the counter as I wait for the coffee to brew. I knew living with three gorgeous bodyguardswas going to be hard. I wouldn't truly be alone again until the stalker was caught, and I'd gotten really used to living alone.
I also didn't date or have one-night-stands. The idea that my identity would be used against me - that a man would post about our date online and use it as social leverage - just never sat right with me. The unwanted attention I get from men on my social media pages is enough to turn me off from the whole gender. I knew, logically, that not all men were bad, but I honestly didn't enjoy the attention.
I know, ironic, isn't it? Someone who's become so famous for getting a lot of attention on social media, not wanting attention. But it's true. I love connecting with other girls, and even guys who could focus on what I was sharing - the clothes, the food, the fun things I found out shopping around. But the lewd comments were gross, and I guess I was afraid they'd start to bleed over into my real life?
All that to say, I hadn't touched a man since losing my virginity in 10th grade. I have a goodie drawer full of toys and all the smut books a girl could ask for.
Honestly, I haven't missed having a man in my life. But being so close to not one, but three, is already overwhelming. The smell of them, the sight of their hard chests and arms and asses. It was going to be harder than I'd ever imagined keeping things professional and safe, and not let them catch me staring. I hadn't even lasted 24 hours before my subconscious climbed Brick like a goddamn tree.
Maybe abstaining from men wasn't the best idea. Now that I was around them, my subconscious was apparently a hussy and working against my conscious self. Joy.
When it finishes, I pour myself and Brick cups of coffee and walk back over to him.
I give him his coffee before sitting down on the far side of the couch and take a deep breath.
"Brick, I amsosorry. I'm your employer. I should never have put you in a position that made you uncomfortable. I promise it will never happen again." He meets my eyes, but his face is stony, unreadable. "Please don't quit." I whisper.
I'm angry at myself for touching someone who clearly doesn't like being touched, for sexually assaulting a man who clearly doesn't want me, but selfishly, I'm also terrified he'll leave, and I'll be alone again. I already feel so much safer with the boys nearby, especially Brick.
Miriam was right - he is a scary mother fucker. I'd like to think my stalker wouldn't want to go up against the behemoth of a man. My stomach is in my throat, waiting for his reply, and I can feel tears begin to prick the back of my eyes.
His shoulders relax a hair, likely relieved I'm going to get mad at him for calling me a pet name. Honestly, I loved it. Maybe a little too much. I was probably going to have to have a discussion with my therapist about why the slightest bit of affection from a man had me ready to throw myself at him.