The Billionaire's Bodyguard: Complete Collection Read online

  He couldn’t keep it all in, though, and so although he didn’t moan, a soft, choked noise stuttered out of his throat. Alastair gave him a calm, satisfied look, as level and predatory as a snake’s gaze, and then straightened up.

  Was it over? Mike realized he didn’t know if he was relieved at that thought, or disappointed. His body knew, though. His hips jerked up, chasing Alastair’s touch.

  Alastair smiled. Smoothly, he sank to one knee and opened Mike’s pants in a fluid motion to draw his cock out into the air. Mike gasped, hips jerking instinctively up into the touch.

  Normally, Mike would have thought that Alastair’s position was submissive, kneeling in front of him between his spread thighs, looking intently at Mike’s cock and wetting his lips. But there was absolutely nothing submissive about it. Alastair’s air of calm, icy power cloaked him so thoroughly that there was no question that he was in control, kneeling or not. For all that he was slim, wiry rather than muscular, almost as pretty as a girl, Alastair radiated dominance, as though all the power of Waters Industries backed his every movement. Which, Mike supposed, it did. The thought filled him with fear and guilty excitement.

  “Not bad,” Alastair said appraisingly as he studied Mike’s cock, as detached as if he was assessing a racehorse he might want to buy. His glacial gaze flickered up to Mike’s face, and Mike could see a little smile playing around his lips. “I complimented you, Michael, it would be courteous to thank me.”

  “Th-thank you, sir,” Mike said.

  Then, without any warning, Alastair bent his head and licked Mike’s cock from the base to the tip. For all that he was so icy all the time, his mouth was hot, searing, and the hot wetness and the shock of pleasure made Mike feel as if he’d been branded all the way up his shaft. He cried out incoherently—he couldn’t help himself—and arched, his hands rattling helplessly against their bindings, his hips jerking up toward that painfully delicious sensation. His skin felt super-sensitized.

  Alastair planted his hands on Mike’s hips, pinning him firmly to the chair, and sucked him all the way into his mouth. The sensation was almost too much, hot and strong and direct, not coaxing pleasure from him but demanding it. “Sir!” Mike gasped, and then broke off, because even he didn’t know whether he wanted to demand Alastair stop… or beg him to keep going.

  Alastair let go of him, releasing his now-wet cock into the cool air, and leaned back on his heels. “You sound so surprised, Michael. Surely you’ve had a blowjob before,” he said silkily. “Even if not with another man.”

  Yes, Michael thought, but never like this. Getting blown by a woman was soft lips and his hands in her hair, and he was in control, setting the pace, thrusting into her mouth, rubbing against soft lips. This was nothing like that. He had never imagined that someone could dominate him by sucking his cock, and yet that was exactly what was happening.

  Alastair’s lips were tight around him, swallowing him down so far that Mike could feel the tip of his cock brush the back of Alastair’s throat. Alastair pulled back, slowly, so slowly, dragging it out, until Mike’s toes were curling inside his shoes, and then taking him back in fast and hot. Mike could feel his balls tightening. His hands fisted, rattling the handcuffs one more, and he realized that having his hands bound and being unable to do anything to control this was turning him on even more. He’d never thought about having sex with a man, he’d certainly never dreamed of allowing himself to be dominated by a man, and yet he couldn’t deny his body’s reaction.

  Alastair worked him with a strength and expertise that stunned him wordless, making his breath come fast and hard in his chest. He ran his tongue around the head of Mike’s cock, then flattened it out to lick down the underside. When he pulled back up, there was the scrape of teeth, not enough to hurt, but plenty to remind Mike that they were there. Plenty to remind him that he was helpless, tied up and at the mercy of one of the world’s most powerful billionaires, who could hurt him if he wanted to. And that knowledge just made him harder, harder and hotter, until his cock felt like a spike of heated steel.

  He wanted. He wanted. He wanted to be devoured like this.

  And he could tell that Alastair knew it.

  Mike clenched his jaw, trying not to make noise, but he knew it was a losing battle. When Alastair took him in deep, he couldn’t stop his moan. When Alastair pulled almost all the way back and rubbed his tongue around the dripping head, Mike gritted, “Oh, fuck.” His balls drew up, tightening, and he realized that not only was he enjoying the humiliating pleasure of being tied up and blown by his boss, he was going to come. He opened his mouth to warn Alastair—and before he could get even a word out, he was coming, spurt after spurt of hot seed pouring out of him. It felt as though he was being completely emptied out, as though his body was giving in utterly to Alastair.

  Alastair didn’t show any surprise at all, despite the lack of warning. When Mike was finished, he pulled out a silk handkerchief and used it to wipe his mouth, then got to his feet. “Well done,” he said, in a low voice. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to give in like that.”

  Mike wasn’t sure whether the praise was flattering or just humiliating. “Sir,” he said, his voice raw.

  “It pleased me,” Alastair said simply, and Mike couldn’t help but notice that Alastair was hard, too, his cock tenting his linen trousers. He held Mike’s gaze with his icy blue eyes, opened his own trousers, and pulled out his cock.

  It was big, big and hard and flushed ruddy with blood. Alastair began to stroke it, slowly at first, without looking away from Mike. Somehow this felt even stranger and more intimate, watching the president jerk off in front of him. Alastair’s hand moved fast and sure, not teasing but going straight for the orgasm, pausing every so often to swipe his thumb over the dripping tip and smooth precum down his shaft. The third time, Mike’s arm moved sympathetically; he was shocked to hear the cuffs rattle.

  Alastair smiled. “Want to help out?” he asked. Mike felt himself flush again, because he realized that, yes, he did. Yes, he wanted to reciprocate, to take Alastair’s cock in his hand and get him off. “Perhaps next time,” Alastair said. “Yes. Next time. For now….”

  It was just a few more seconds before Alastair closed his eyes and came with a grunt. His seed arced from his tip, splashing on Mike’s thighs and chest, marking him. His stomach clenched with a mix of humiliation at having another man’s come splattered across his clothes… and profound arousal at exactly that.

  After a moment, Alastair opened his eyes and smiled. He tucked himself neatly away (his own clothes were completely unstained) and moved around the chair to unlock the cuffs. Mike didn’t dare move right away, even once he was free.

  Alastair dropped his silk handkerchief into Mike’s lap. “Clean yourself up. Talitha has an extra set of clothes for you. I expect you to be on duty in an hour, per usual.” And with that, he was gone.

  ***

  Alastair didn’t mention what had happened all that day, or the next, or the next. He was, if anything, even more coldly professional than he had been before. If it weren’t for the come-stained handkerchief still in his possession, Mike would have thought he’d imagined the whole thing.

  A few days stretched into a week, and then a month, but somehow time didn’t make the memory of Alastair’s hot mouth on his cock fade, or the memory of what Alastair’s face had looked like at the moment of his climax. If anything, the memories were becoming more vivid, more intense—and were invading his dreams, so that he woke rock-hard and flushed. It didn’t help that he still saw Alastair, every day, twelve hours a day. He was starting to obsess over the little things, the curve of Alastair’s lips, the glitter of his eyes, his slim hands….

  And just when he thought he’d hit the breaking point, the assassination attempt happened.

  ***

  It should have been an entirely routine transit, from the Waters Industries building into the waiting car, but again—for the first time since the bomb threat incident—Mike felt
a prickle on the back of his neck, a sense that something wasn’t right. His instinct was to rush Alastair from the front steps to the car’s open door, but Alastair, of course, would not be rushed. Alastair moved with the smooth grace of a cobra. You couldn’t hurry him.

  But something—something was not right—

  He didn’t even consciously know what he was reacting to when he shouted “Get down!” and shoved Alastair behind the car. It was only after the first bullet tore through his jacket and stung the skin of his upper arm that he was even fully aware what was going on. Instinct kicked in, and he flung himself down, hearing another bullet chunk into the sidewalk, putting himself between the shooter and the president. Behind him came the deafening report of Security’s sidearms, firing back at the assailant. “Into the car,” he said to the president, shoving him forward, “into the car,” because the car was reinforced, bulletproof glass, armor-plated, a better shield than the flesh of his own body.

  Alastair, thank god, did not argue but scrambled up into the car, lying flat on the seat so as not to present a tempting profile. Mike followed him in—thank god, someone from Security slammed the door shut behind them—and the car squealed away, leaving the firefight behind.

  It was only when they’d left the furor behind that he rolled himself off the president and sat up. Alastair followed suit, brushing his hair back from his face. With a few gestures he was as immaculate as ever despite a roll on the concrete. “Fill me in,” he said, quite calmly, as though he had not just minutes before been in danger of his life. “What tipped you off?”

  It was hard to reconstruct. He’d known something was wrong and reacted before his conscious mind had even had a chance to kick in. “I’ve been in and out of that building a thousand times,” he said. “But this time, there was a reflection where there shouldn’t have been. A sniper scope, I think, up on one of the ledges across the street.”

  And Alastair smiled, his serpent’s smile. “Nicely done, Michael,” he said, and Mike shivered. Despite everything, despite the adrenaline flooding his system with shock-cold and despite his pounding heart, he couldn’t help but think of what had happened after the last time Alastair had said those words to him.

  ***

  The slip of paper that Mike received the next day had a time on it, and a location. Alastair’s penthouse. Nothing else was on the paper, but Mike knew well enough by now that this was a summons—a summons he couldn’t turn down.

  When he arrived, Alastair was nowhere to be seen. He was shown in by two profoundly beautiful women, a blonde and a redhead, both wearing skimpy robes that showed off their impressive cleavage. They poured him a drink (fine whiskey, probably older than he was) and had him sit in a deep leather seat beside a roaring fire. He’d been into Alastair’s penthouse many times before, of course, in the course of his duties; he knew the whole place by heart, knew all the places that an assassin might hide or a bomb might be planted.

  But he’d always been there as an employee, on the job. He’d never been there as a guest, given a comfortable seat and a fine drink. He tried to lean back in the chair and enjoy it—ignoring the twinge in his bandaged right bicep, where a bullet had grazed him—but he couldn’t relax. His stomach fizzed nervously.

  All he could think of was the last time he’d saved Alastair from a threat… and how he’d been rewarded.

  After what felt like an eternity, Alastair entered the room. He was wearing a silk robe, gilt on black, that set off the aristocratic pallor of his skin and made his hair seem to burn gold. He poured himself a drink as well and sat in the chair across from Mike, regarding him with a calm, level gaze. Mike made himself hold still, even though Alastair’s silence and impassive expression made him want to squirm in his seat.

  Finally, though, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “You asked me to come here, sir?”

  Alastair didn’t respond right away, taking a slow sip of his drink instead. “Do you remember when I first hired you?” he asked.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “I told you that loyalty would be well-rewarded, and that I can be very generous with those who please me.” He took another sip. Mike took a swallow of his own drink to steady himself, feeling the alcohol blaze its way down his throat. Was he to be rewarded again? In the same way? His whole body felt hot at the thought, his cock already stirring. “You have twice saved my life, Michael, and this time, at considerable risk of your own. It is your job to do so, of course, but it pleases me to reward you.”

  Mike’s pulse jumped, his heart hammering in his ears. “Sir?” he said, mouth dry.

  “In the next room are Lena and Meg, the young women who saw you in. They’re waiting for you. You may choose either of them you like, or both if that’s what pleases you.” Another sip, another calm, level look from Alastair. “They’ve been very interested in your career. I think you’ll find them both extremely eager and willing.”

  Mike couldn’t respond at all for a moment, he was so surprised. Alastair had invited him here… to offer him women to have sex with? It was so completely unexpected that all he could do at first was stare, his stomach flipping over.

  He realized, with growing alarm, that he was disappointed. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Alastair’s cool hands and hot mouth. Mike hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the arch of his cheekbones, the smugly superior glitter in his eye. And now he’d been invited here to screw someone else? “…Sir?” he finally managed.

  “You’re an intelligent enough man,” Alastair said. “You know what I mean. But if I must spell it out for you: I am rewarding you with beautiful women to fuck.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “Does that not please you?”

  “It—it wasn’t what I was expecting, sir,” Mike finally managed.

  “Hm,” Alastair said. He got to his feet, slow and easy, like a big cat. “That’s interesting, Michael. Were you perhaps hoping for something else?”

  “Sir,” Mike said, his voice choking in his throat.

  “Perhaps,” Alastair said, stopping in front of Mike’s chair, “you were hoping not to fuck a woman, but to be fucked by me. You wanted, perhaps, to seal your loyalty by submitting to me most profoundly.” The words, said so baldly, took Mike’s breath away. So did the intent, serpentine focus of Alastair’s gaze on him. “Is that right?”

  Shame and desire and longing and confusion warred in Mike’s brain, but Alastair’s lean body and sharp eyes wiped that all away with one glance. It was primal, undeniable, his desire to give in. “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Say it,” Alastair said, his voice a demanding purr. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you to fuck me, sir,” Mike said, defeated, elated.

  “Good,” Alastair said. “Very good. You will be well rewarded. Get up.” He turned and walked away without even a backwards glance, leaving Mike to scramble to his feet and follow.

  Alastair led him into one of the bedrooms, one of many. This one had heavy velvet drapes over the windows and an enormous four-poster bed of heavy polished wood, spread with a burgundy brocade coverlet. Alastair sat on the edge of the bed. “Strip for me,” he said. Mike tugged his jacket off, but Alastair interrupted. “Do it slowly.”

  So Mike, flushed with arousal and hands shaking, did as he was told. He slid off the jacket, opened the buttons on the shirt one by one, and felt a flash of pride and pleasure at the way Alastair’s gaze followed his revealed chest. His shirt caught on the bandage on his bicep, but it didn’t hurt much, didn’t make him flinch. Once the shirt dropped to the floor, he unbuckled his belt and pulled it off, then stripped out of pants, underwear, socks, leaving him completely naked and hardening rapidly under Alastair’s gaze.

  “Come here,” Alastair said.

  He did. Alastair stood to meet him and, to his shock, kissed him.

  It wasn’t a gentle or a romantic kiss. It was hard, surprisingly hard since Alastair’s mouth was so soft—an assault as much as a kiss, an invading tongue and the edges of sharp teet
h, and Mike realized that he wasn’t being kissed, not exactly. He was being marked. Possessed.

  When Alastair broke away, his pupils were flared, his eyes bright and hard and dangerous with… yes, with lust. Mike’s pulse thumped hard, pounding in his wrists and at his neck, and for a wild moment he thought that Alastair would be able to smell his excitement in his beating blood. “Get on the bed,” Alastair said, his voice soft but completely inflexible, broking no argument.

  Mike did as he was told, although it made his heart rate jump even more than the kiss. This—this was entirely new. He’d been sucked off before, he’d been naked with partners before, he’d been kissed… but he’d never been fucked. He’d always done the fucking. He swallowed and tried not to let Alastair see that he was shaking.

  Quickly—how was he so fast?—Alastair caught his wrists again, binding them… binding them with Mike’s tie. The silk pulled firm against his skin, almost but not quite enough to be painful. Enough to cut into him if he struggled, though. He swallowed. “Sir,” he said. “I’m not going to try to get away.”

  “I know that,” Alastair said, with supreme, velvety confidence in his voice. He slid his fingertips along Mike’s jawline, a slow, possessive gesture. “I offered you women to fuck and you wanted me instead. You’re mine.” He drew back, studying the knot he’d made in the tie, testing its hold with a quick jerk. “We both know that, don’t we?”

  Mike couldn’t stop himself breathing fast, and he knew that Alastair could see the way his cock hardened even more at the words.

  “Don’t we?” Alastair said again. “Answer me when I ask you a question, Michael.”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice dry and hoarse.

  “Good boy,” Alastair purred, and then gave him a shove backwards on the bed. Caught by surprise and unable to break his fall with his bound hands, Mike fell flat on his back, and immediately Alastair was kneeling beside him, knotting the free end of the tie to one of the bedposts. “But as it happens, I don’t want you to be… distracted… by trying to do things for yourself. So I tie your hands to ensure that your focus is always, and only, on me.” He slid a fingertip down the length of the tie and then over Mike’s bound wrists, a cool, confident touch across the veins of his inner arms. That simple touch seemed to flash straight through Mike, from his tied hands all the way between his legs, where his cock twitched. Alastair chuckled, sliding his fingers down farther, to stroke over the bandage that hid Mike’s abrasion. The injury he’d gotten guarding Alastair. Somehow, that made him twitch even more.