Triple-Duty Bodyguards: Chapter 21

“I’m, ah, going to see if I can stamp down those stories,” Julie says, breaking the awkward silence. I nod listlessly, and she creeps out of the door of the suite, shutting it softly behind her.

I sag in place, the anger draining out of me.

Maybe all the magazines are right. Maybe I am the Biggest Bitch in Britain. And LA too, apparently.

“Briar,” Kenta says softly from the table.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, rubbing my face. “That was rude. I didn’t mean to snap at you all.”

Glen opens his arms. “Come here, lass.”

I take a step back. “Don’t. Don’t coddle me and cuddle me and say it’s okay. It’s not. I’m being horrific.” I rub my face. “I’m sorry for ending the meeting. I just—I’m sick of feeling so out of control.”

I drop down onto the sofa, pulling out my phone. “I mean, look at this.” I tap on my latest Instagram post. It’s a picture of me laying by my pool in a bikini. As per usual, whenever I show more than five centimetres of skin online, a ton of guys instantly blow their loads. “‘I don’t care if she’s a bitch,’” I read aloud, “‘I’d still do her.’ ‘Thanks for the addition to the spank bank, love.’ ‘Can you tell I’m typing this with one hand?’” I drop the phone onto the sofa, disgusted. “It just never stops. Never, ever, ever. I’ve got stalkers taking photos of me naked through windows. I’ve got whole teams of people telling me what I can and can’t do. And now, apparently the press has found out about the break-in. So I have magazines making money off me getting sexually assaulted. I just want a modicum of control over my own fucking life and body, you know?”

“No,” Kenta says softly. “We don’t. I can’t even imagine how it feels.”

I sigh, turning to Glen as he sits on the sofa next to me. “Look, I know we only slept together once, but do you want to do it again? I think topping you will make me feel loads better.”

Glen chokes on air. “I—ah…” I stare at him. “I’m on duty.”

“Shit.” He opens his arms again, and I slump down into them. He starts rubbing my shoulders. It feels nice, but it just makes me feel worse. He’s being so sweet, and I’m acting like a spoiled child.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles in my ear.

I snort. “Don’t be sorry. You’re not required to shag me every time I throw a tantrum.” God, it would be nice, though. To take my own body back from all of the people who are constantly objectifying and degrading me.

He bites my ear. “If you’re that desperate, lass, I’m sure Kenta would happily take care of you. He loves being bossed around in bed.”

I frown. “What? What does that mean?”

He tenses under me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you—”

I turn to Kenta. “What does that mean?” I repeat, slowly.

Kenta relaxes into the sofa, rolling his eyes slightly. “He’s referring to the fact that I appreciate—a woman in charge.”

“What? You?” Kenta’s hardly dominating, but he’s got a quiet air of authority that’s even more effective than Glen’s physical size, or Matt’s testosterone-filled barking. Even though he usually speaks softly, everyone always hears and does what he says.

He shrugs. “I don’t mind being ordered around by a beautiful woman. Gives me a break from shoving poor girls into cars and locking them inside hotel rooms all day.”

I lick my lips. “Do you want to have sex with me?” I demand. I can feel Glen’s laugh rumbling in his chest.

“What?” I scowl at him.

“You’re so direct, lass. We’ve never been propositioned like this.”

“I’m a demanding diva, remember? I’m good at asking for what I want.” I turn back to Kenta. “Well?”

Kenta’s eyes sparkle. “I certainly wouldn’t say no.”

“Right now?”

He looks amused and tilts up his head, offering me his lips. Desire blows through me, so strong I’m almost bowled over.

I’ve never really thought too much about power dynamics in sex. I know I like being on top, but that’s just a logistical thing; it’s easier to get off that way. But now my big strong bodyguard is looking up at me through his lashes, and it’s hot as Hell.

Still on Glen’s lap, I lean forward, cupping a hand under Kenta’s jaw and pressing my mouth to his. His lips part on a sigh. He lifts a big hand, splaying it gently on the small of my back. I pull away.

“No touching,” I order. His pupils blow. “Put your hands on the sofa.”

He does as I say. Arousal shivers through me.

It’s probably messed up that someone listening to me when I tell them not to touch me turns me on. But people touch me without my consent all the time. I can’t leave my house without fans grabbing at me, begging for hugs and selfies, or paps crowding around me, hemming me in with their bodies. Kenta’s not going to do anything until I tell him to, and the thought is making heat burn through me.

I glance back at Glen. “Do you mind?”

“Why would I mind?” He murmurs, an expression I can’t read on his face. “None of my business.”

“I don’t want to cause issues between you by sleeping with you both.”

Kenta laughs. “We’re used to it.”

“Not a lot of girls in the SAS?”

“None. They only started letting women join after we left. But that’s not what I meant.” His eyes drop to my lips. “Glen, Matt and I often share women.”

He says it so casually, like it’s not the most mind-boggling sentence that could have possibly come out of his mouth. I stare at him. “You what?”

He shrugs. “It’s a long story.”

“You have foursomes. With women. Regularly.”

“I don’t know about regularly—”

I twist back to look at Glen. His cheeks are flushed as he stares at me. “When do you get off-duty?”

Glen checks his watch. “Twenty minutes.”

“Do you want to join in?”

His lips part. “Yes.”

Holy crap. I’m about to have a threesome. My day is really turning around.

“Great,” I grab Kenta’s collar, pulling him upright. “I’ll just keep him on edge until you’re ready.” Kenta groans, a low, deep sound in his chest, as I pretty much drag him into my bedroom. Kicking aside my suitcase, I lead him to the bed, put my hands on his shoulders, and push him down onto the mattress. He looks up at me, his eyes dark.

Glen steps forward to close the door. “Can I give you a tip?” He calls from the doorway.

I straddle Kenta’s waist, plucking at the buttons on my shirt. “I know what hole it goes in, thanks.”

Glen chuckles. “Leave the shoes on. They drive him crazy.”

I turn to look down at Kenta, who’s watching me intently.

“Do they, now?” I practically purr. He strokes a hand down my leg, not breaking my gaze.

“You’re incredible,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “You always look incredible.”

His eyes are almost painfully sincere, and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. Shaking myself, I reach up to pull my hair loose from its ponytail.

Kenta goes to shuck off his shirt, but I grab his hands, stopping him. “No,” I order. “I’m undressing you.”

He goes still, letting me unbutton his crisp white shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. I run my eyes over his thickly muscled chest. He’s a little leaner than Glen, but just as toned, and his skin is tanned golden. I run my fingertips over his abs, watching the muscles clench under my touch, then tug at his shoulder. I want a closer look at his backpiece. “Turn around.”

He hesitates, a brief wince crossing his face.

I pause. “Kenta?”

He twists, putting his back towards me. My mouth falls open.

Yes, his tattoo is gorgeous. It’s an intricately drawn phoenix rising from a plume of smoke. The linework is incredible. I can see every individual feather on the bird’s wings.

But that’s not what grabs my attention. I lean forward to get a closer look. Underneath the heavy ink, his back is covered with vicious-looking scars, criss-crossing over his skin. Some of them are thick and raised, and others are knife-thin. There’s barely a millimetre of his skin left unscathed.

For a second, I’m frozen, anger rising in my stomach. Whoever hurt Glen got to Kenta, too. They cut him up. They shredded his back. Fuming, I lean down and kiss the bloom of fire burning from the phoenix’s mouth. Kenta relaxes under me. “Anything I shouldn’t do?” I say lightly.

I can practically hear his smile. “I’m fine, Briar. Really.”

“Good.” I drop my hands to his belt and tug. “Then take off your pants.”

He laughs, sliding off the bed and kicking off his trousers. My mouth practically waters as I ogle his muscled thighs and tight black underwear. He goes to move back to the bed, but I splay a hand across his abs, pushing him up against the wall.

“Stand there,” I command, my voice suddenly hoarse. “Take off your underwear.”

Silently, he kicks off his boxers, tossing them onto the ground. He’s big. Not as big as Glen, probably, but still so large that nerves pinch my stomach.

“Don’t move,” I whisper, cupping my fingers under his shaft. I run my fingertips across the delicate, velvety skin. Kenta flinches, but stays still. I can feel him throbbing in my hand.

Glancing up at him, I drop to my knees. He sucks in a harsh breath. I lean forward and kiss the bead of arousal glistening on his tip. Heat shoots through me as I roll the heady male taste around my mouth. I didn’t expect him to taste so good.

“You’ll have to tell me if I do something you don’t like,” I say softly, flicking my tongue to lick off the next bead of moisture that pools. “I’ve never done this before.” He stiffens, surprised, and I laugh. “I know, I know. Everyone thinks I’m the next Whore of Babylon. But honestly—” I press a kiss under his shaft. “I never felt like getting on my knees for a man before.”

“I don’t think that,” he says throatily.

I glance up at him. His eyes are dark and hazing, hyper focused on me. “I know you don’t,” I whisper, then wrap my lips around him, swallowing him down as deep as I can.

The reaction is instantaneous. Kenta gasps, twitching desperately against my tongue. He feels surprisingly good in my mouth; deliciously hard and soft at the same time, like a hot iron rod wrapped in velvet. I hum happily and start to move, working my mouth up and down his length. Kenta’s whole body trembles under me. More pre-come pools on his head, and instead of licking, I suck hard.

His hands fly down to my head, fingers wrapping in my hair as his knees buckle.

“Briar—”

“Shh,” I tell him. “Stay still.” He makes a pained sound in the back of his throat. I suckle at him for the next few minutes, keeping the pressure of my lips firm. The steady, constant twitching in my mouth gets more and more desperate, and his hips start jerking under my hands.

“Briar, please, sweetheart—” Kenta’s hands trail through my hair. I glance up at him. His handsome face is tight, twisted in pleasure and agony. “Please, just… please let me touch you,” he begs. A hot feeling of power floods through me, and I smile. Right now, I’m the one in control. And it feels amazing.

I pull back slightly, so I can talk. “Tell me,” I whisper. “When you’re about to come.”

He nods slowly, his chest heaving. I keep on blowing him, swirling up and down his length as I slip one hand between my own thighs.

Kenta glances down and notices me touching myself. Apparently, that’s his breaking point. His hips buck, and he shudders all over, tugging hard at my hair. “Briar—” he cries out. “Stop! Jesus, sweetheart, I can’t—”

I pull gently back until he pops out of my mouth. His dick is glistening wet and weeping. Kenta wraps his fist tightly around the base, panting. I look up at him.

He’s wrecked. His cheeks and lips are red, his loose ponytail is dishevelled, and there’s a faint sheen of sweat misting his golden chest.

“Please,” he says again, his voice low and pleading. “Let me touch you.”

I consider him for a moment, then stand up, wrap my arms around his neck, and yank his mouth to mine. He groans, kissing me back hard, his tongue plundering my mouth. I tremble against him. My whole body feels like it’s on fire. Kenta’s hand slides up my back, curling into a fist at the neck of my shirt.

“Can I take it off?”

I lift my arms, letting him wrench the shirt over my head. It crumples to the ground, and he stares silently at my exposed bra. Luckily, I’m wearing a nice one today: pink, covered with little flowers. He reaches to touch me, then stops, pulling his hand back. I can see his pulse beating in his throat. His dark eyes flick to mine, waiting.

God, I love that. Kenta is so much bigger than me, but that doesn’t matter. I have the power here. He’s only going to do what I tell him to.

“Touch them,” I say. Relief floods his face. He reaches for me again, but I catch his wrist right before his fingertips brush my skin.

“Only with your mouth,” I say quietly.

He groans, pushing his face between my breasts. I sigh as he trails his mouth all over my skin, breathing hot air against me. “Anything I shouldn’t do?” He murmurs, nibbling at the lace on one of the cups.

“Don’t come on me. On my skin.”

“Jesus.” He presses a hot kiss between the cups, making me jolt in his arms. “I know how to read a room.”

I laugh, throwing my head back, and his smile gets even bigger. He tugs me back in for another kiss. His erection presses into my stomach, and I reach down to stroke him. Every muscle in his body tenses.

“Briar—” he starts. “Please, God, I can’t handle any more.”

There’s a creak, and then the bedroom door opens behind us. I turn and see Glen’s silhouette cutting through the light in the hallway. He clears his throat, his eyes running over the two of us.

“Thanks for joining us,” I say politely. “Your turn.”