Confined with the CEO and the Bodyguard: Gabriela E-Book

Jordana Pearce

• Herausgeber: Jordana Pearce
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Gabi: I have not been intimate with a man since my ex-husband. As far as I have come, it was easier to avoid dating than to dredge up past hurts. Now, having Max and Ari under my roof stirs a longing within me that I can't ignore.
For the first time in forever, I want a man.
No. I want two of them.

Max: Gabriela Ramirez. I recognize her name. She used to be a model or something, now she's a CEO. It seems like everyone in Los Angeles is either an actor, an ex-actor, or trying to become an actor—except me. I'm just dumb old Max. I figure the world doesn't need to hear my thoughts.
But it doesn't mean I don't have them. Right now, I'm thinking about how Ms. Ramirez's glorious curves would feel under my palms…

Ari: Two strong men to protect one soft female CEO. Yet, there's steel within her voluptuous curves. Gabi is a woman who might bend but does not break. I want her. We both want Ms. Ramirez, and neither of us can have her. But it doesn't stop us from desiring. A clash is inevitable. We can't let it compromise her safety - but we also can't stop it from happening.

The CEO and the Bodyguard is a luxury MFM erotic romance series set in the U.S. during the pandemic. Each story features a CEO, a bodyguard, and the woman who brings them to their knees. If you like low-angst and high heat, these MFM contemporary romance fantasies will leave you smiling. Always a happy ever after! Content Warning: references to domestic violence.

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Confined with the CEO & the Bodyguard:

Gabriela

Jordana Pearce

Contents

1. Max

2. Gabi

3. Ari

4. Max

5. Ari

6. Gabi

7. Max

8. Ari

9. Gabi

10. Max

11. Ari

12. Gabi

13. Ari

14. Max

Epilogue: Gabi

ENJOYED THIS BOOK?

Next in the CONFINED Series:

Excerpt - CONFINED WITH THE CEO & THE BODYGUARD: KELSEY

Acknowledgments

Traditionally, it is standard to italicize “foreign” words.

In this story, non-English words and phrases are not italicized, to better emphasize natural speech patterns.

1

Max

There are worse places to ride out a pandemic. That’s my first thought.

My new assignment is nowhere to be seen. Fifteen minutes ago, I entered a code on the gate and then a second set of numbers to get through the front door. Good security—I spotted cameras peeping out at me along the short drive up to the main house.

Inside, everything is white and gray with blue accents that are the same color as the ocean where I took my ex-wife on our honeymoon. It was fifteen years ago, now, but even though we didn’t last, the bright color makes me happy to see it. All the fixtures are gold. The effect is glamorous and feminine. You can tell immediately that she lives alone. No kids. No husband.

I set my serviceable black duffle bag on the tiled foyer beside a flimsy-looking brass-and-marble console table. On it is a tree hung with masks. Nice touch, I think, as I look around for the owner of the house.

Gabriela Ramirez. I recognize her name. She’s like the Latina Kim Kardashian—runs a makeup company, Gabi Beauty. But that isn’t why I know her. She used to be a model or something.

Although, isn’t that true of everybody in this town? Even though I live in Los Angeles, I don’t really keep up with the celebrity scene. It seems like everyone here is either an actor, an ex-actor, or trying to break into showbiz.

Except me. I’m just dumb old Max, good for punching the shit out of people who deserve it and not much else.

“Hello?” I call. My accented voice bounces off the marble and echoes up a big, curved stairway. In the center of the foyer is a huge crystal light fixture. It is not lit, but it sparkles anyway. I head into the next room, a living room with a large window overlooking the ocean. Wow.

There’s no place to sit down. The furniture is made of bent sticks. I think it’s called wicker. It looks too delicate to hold up the ass of a giant like me. I’m six-foot-three and two hundred pounds. I crush skulls for a living.

Okay, not really. Mostly, security work is boring—

“You must be Max,” a woman’s voice says behind me. I whirl. A decorative gold basket full of glass balls goes flying onto the rug. None break, to my relief. I gather them awkwardly, stick them back on the coffee table, and tug my suit straight as I go to meet my temporary employer, who then says, “Or are you Ari?”

“Max,” I say gruffly. “Ari will be here as soon as his COVID-19 test results come back.”

I look up. My heart stops.

Gabriela is barefoot. She stands at the bottom of a stairway wearing nothing but a silky pink robe over matching pajama pants. Her blond hair is piled casually on top of her head. A couple of tendrils spill out over her shoulders. There’s a half-inch of dark hair at the roots—it’s clearly dyed, but I don’t care. I’m a sucker for brown-eyed blondes, and Ms. Ramirez is gorgeous. Her skin glows like polished amber and her light caramel eyes are lined with deep ocher and heavy mascara.

“Excellent. I am in the middle of a conference call. We’re taking a five-minute break. I’ll show you to your room and you can settle in.” Her mouth might be plump and soft but the words coming out of it are wary and businesslike. It’s at odds with the generous curves of her breasts and hips. “Bring your bag.”

I hoist my belongings and follow her, feeling like a cold black shadow haunting her house of light and warmth. “I can sleep in the hallway on a cot, if it makes you feel safer.”

I’d sleep at the foot of her bed like a dog, if she asked me to.

She doesn’t smile, although there is quiet humor in her gaze when Ms. Ramirez does glance at me. “Thanks for the offer, but it shouldn’t be necessary. When you’re off-duty, you should take advantage of the amenities. There’s a pool out back, and a full gym in the basement. Under ordinary circumstances I work out there four days a week with my personal trainer, but now, well...” She sighs. “Nothing is normal anymore.”

“No, ma’am.”

This makes her chuckle. “Where are you from, Max?”

“Ukraine.” I’ve been in the United States for twenty years. My English is fine, but with my accent I sound like the villain in a Bond movie. I don’t like to talk much. I figure the world doesn’t need to hear my thoughts.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t have them.

Right now, I’m thinking about how Ms. Ramirez’s glorious curves would feel under my palms. It’s not often that I meet a woman I don’t feel as though I’d break in bed—especially not here, in Los Angles, where so many women starve themselves thin. Just my luck, this incredible woman is off-limits.

It’s not like she’s in my league, anyway. That doesn’t stop my cock from trying to salute her as she shows me into a nice-sized guest room, though.

“This is where you’ll stay for the next six weeks.” The term of my contract, and Ari’s. Ms. Ramirez licks her lips. Up close, her skin is so soft and perfect. The thought of touching her zaps through me like an electric jolt. Not that I’ll ever be so lucky. I put my bag on the pristine bench at the end of the bed. This room is done in muted grays. The furniture is driftwood-gray, the curtains storm clouds held back with lighter ties—a more masculine, but still very decorated, version of the aesthetic downstairs.

“It’s nice,” I say, admiringly. It’s probably the nicest place I’ve ever been offered to sleep in. Better than any hotel, and I’ve been put up in some fancy digs as part of my job as bodyguard for hire. If I can avoid breathing for the next six weeks, I might even get through this without breaking every delicate, useless display item in her very expensive house. I am strong. I am not coordinated, which makes me a bull in this fucking China shop. Between trying to navigate through her decorations and keeping my hands and eyes where they belong—meaning off her body—the next six weeks are going to be a special kind of hell. I stick my hands in my pockets.

“I should get back to my call,” says Ms. Ramirez.

“Thank you, it’s nice,” I say again, inanely. Peeking out the window, I see why she gave me this room. It has a view of the gate and every vehicle coming or going. “Mind if I get the lay of the land while you’re working?”

She nods once. “You’re the expert.” Her tongue makes a brief appearance between her lips. It’s a crazy thing to want, but how incredible would it be to see her lipstick disappearing bit by bit as she sucked me down her throat? Imagining it, I almost miss what she says next. “If you see my ex-husband, I want you to kill him on sight.”

“Sure,” I say. “No problem.”

Ms. Ramirez looks startled, as though she can’t tell whether I’m serious.

It really isn’t. I’ll cheerfully dispatch her ex if he shows up. It’s why she hired me.

I continue my inspection of the room, expecting her to go. Oh, there’s a private bathroom, too. Very nice, indeed.

“I mean it,” Ms. Ramirez says vehemently. “He was released from prison early because of this pandemic. It’s been ten years, but I don’t trust him not to come straight here and finish the war he tried to start the day I left him.”

She unties the robe and drops half of it open. My greedy gaze skims down her full breasts. She is wearing some sort of lacy bralette underneath. I imagine I can see a hint of her nipple and have to remind myself not to look. Then, my eyes lock on what she’s trying a to show me.

A scar.

My blood turns molten with fury. I know scars. I speak their language.

Ms. Ramirez’s ex-husband tried to kill her. Judging from the placement, he came damn near sliding a knife between her ribs, tearing through her right lung and up into her heart. I curse in my native tongue.

“Ten years ago, my husband promised me that the day he got out of prison he would come back and finish the job,” she says stoically. “Last week, he was released on good behavior because of the pandemic. He has an ankle monitor, but I don’t trust that to keep him away from me. That’s why you and Ari are here.”

The look she gives me is sorrow inflected with fear.

How dare her ex-husband hurt this incredible woman? I’ll give my life to protect her from harm. In that moment, the job changes from a simple assignment to a mission.

But I’m no good with words. I say again, “Sure. No problem.”

I hope she understands my meaning. My ex-wife said being married to me was like being shackled to a horny, uncommunicative rock.

Ms. Ramirez covers her luscious body. “I’m counting on you and your partner, Max. I need to get through the next six weeks alive. If he comes here, I can prove my ex is still a danger and have Carl put away forever. If he doesn’t, I’ll believe he’s changed and can live my life freely. Either way, I need you and Ari to keep him from coming within fifty yards of me. I hired you to keep me safe.” She chuckles sadly. “Even though now, none of us are really safe, are we?”

I shake my head. “No.”

We won’t be, not for a long time. I’m not a scientist but if I were smarter, and if I’d had different opportunities in life, I might have trained to be a doctor. Or, maybe a nurse. I like helping people. But I’m not smart. Only strong.

That is the service I sell. My body. My life to protect yours.

I can’t pound a particle into non-existence. But I can try to deny it a path to reproduce. I’ll take every precaution to keep from infecting her, or anyone else, for that matter.

And I can damn well kill Ms. Ramirez’s ex-husband with my bare hands if he dares to show his face in this beautiful home.

“I’ll let you settle in,” says Ms. Ramirez. “I need to get back.”

She pads away down the hallway to a double door, opens them, and closes both doors behind her.

As I say, there are worse places to ride out a pandemic than in the mansion of a gorgeous CEO. But there might be easier locations to keep my sanity in check.

2

Gabi

I should’ve figured at least one of my bodyguards would be hot.

I adjust the ring light over my head and reapply my makeup. Where once I would have gone to our corporate office every day, now everyone is working from home. We are constantly on videoconference. Our lab is now divided between my basement and my product development team’s spare rooms. We are all mixing small batches, but good luck with obtaining the raw ingredients.

Ever since this pandemic hit, my company’s revenues have tanked, hard. I’m hemorrhaging money.

I definitely did not need my huevón of an ex-husband released from prison. Yet here we are.

I met Carl when I was fifteen. He was thirty-two and he’d made a fortune as his friend’s agent. He was looking for a new project and he found one in me. By the time I was seventeen, he had gotten me covers on Glamour, Elle, all the big magazines. Except for Vogue. That one I got on my own.

The minute I turned eighteen, Carl marched me down to City Hall and married me. I say he married me because I only said yes in hopes it would make him be nice to me for once. But no. That is not how abusers work. He had latched onto a pretty pendeja—me—who was too insecure to stand up to him. I had defied my parents and dropped out of high school to pursue this modeling career. I was successful enough, but I wasn’t happy.

Carl had me so emotionally broken down that despite objective evidence, I believed I was ugly and worthless. As long as he could siphon off my money as my “agent” for doing nothing more than talking on the phone, he had no incentive to get me help, either.

No, he needed me to be weak so that he could control me.

But I broke free.

The night he realized his golden goose was about to fly away from her cage, Carl flew into a rage. He claims he blacked out. Fortunately, I lived. He went to jail on an array of charges. Apparently, ever since that day, he’s been the very picture of prisoner good behavior. He says he’s different now, but his name still shows up on my social media every few weeks. He may have convinced the judge but I remain skeptical—and worried. With pressure on the system to release inmates and prevent the spread of the virus, I understand why they let him out, and I’m ready for him to come after me again.

In some ways this is easier. I can make my home into a fortress.

I knew this moment would come one day. I’ve had a plan to protect myself. Two days ago, I executed it. Because now, I am not weak. I am strong and healthy, and I’ve made a career out of helping other women embrace their unique beauty.

“Gabi, what about doing a product demo with Eden Estrada?” asks my Chief Marketing officer. Eden is one of the trans influencers who we’d like to work with. It fits with my message that every woman should be her most beautiful self.

“Aren’t we already doing those?” I ask, absently. There is a flaw in my plan to protect myself, though. I did not anticipate being alone in my house with a man, much less two of them, for weeks or possibly months.

I have not been intimate with a man since my ex-husband. As far as I have come, it was easier to avoid dating than to dredge up past hurts. Now, having Max under my roof stirs a longing within me that I can’t ignore.

“Yes, but we need to adjust our approach and move up the timeline,” she says.

“Okay. Let’s start filming the demos tomorrow and look to publish starting next week,” I agree. It makes sense. “I’m working on a new eye cream. Let me check with the rest of the product development team and see what we’ll be ready to launch by then. Plus, we shouldn’t assume that Eden is available at a moment’s notice. Let’s find out her schedule first.”

“Great. Connect tomorrow?”

“My calendar is up-to-date,” I say. Memories wash over me. I have only ever been with one man, and the sex was not good. I compensated for it by buying a ton of toys and figuring out exactly what I like. With the call concluded, I close my laptop and put it in the drawer of my desk. Nothing would ruin my sparkly brand image like a video of me masturbating out on the Internet, and I have read about malicious software that can record you without your knowledge. I have cameras all around the exterior of my property and a service that monitors them for any activity, but inside my house, there are very few devices. One smart speaker in the kitchen, my laptop, my phone, the television in the living room. That’s it.

I pull out my favorite dildo. It’s almost as long as my forearm and as thick at the base as my wrist. I let my robe fall open, thinking of the flash of heat in Max’s gaze when I showed him my scar. The way a fire sparked in him at the sight of my G-cup breasts contained in a lace bralette made my nipples stand up hard. I gently expose them to the mirror, two topaz peaks begging to be teased and tweaked. I do it to my own nipple while imagining that Max’s blunt fingers are turning me on. I enjoy watching myself. I wonder if he’d like watching me, too.

When I am ready, I kick my pink silk pajama bottoms into the knee space and tilt my chair back to get a good view of my wet, naked pussy in the mirror. The dildo parts me. I sigh as I hit the right angle. Yet for once, the simulated flesh is no substitute for the real thing.

For the first time in forever, I want a man.

He’s probably married, I tell myself. I try to forget my bodyguard and focus on my fantasy. Two men. I’m on my knees sucking one cock while the other deep-penetrates me. It’s so thick that I’m stretched to my limits. I work my clit with the other hand. A pathetic orgasm ripples through me. The experience is about as momentarily satisfying as a handful of M&M’S when you’re starving for a full meal.

It’ll have to suffice, though, unless I can muster the courage to ask for what I want.

Finished, I go to my private bathroom, clean my toy and wash up. I dress in real clothes—considering the two male bodyguards living with me for the next several weeks, I know I can’t keep wearing my comfy silk jammies anymore. I need them to be focused on keeping me alive. Distracting them with my tits could get me killed.

Might be a nice way to go, though.

When I come back into my bedroom, I hear a brisk knock at the door. He must have pounded hard enough to unlatch one side, though I could have sworn it had been closed a few minutes ago. I feel my cheeks heat at the sight of him looming in my hallway. With his short-cropped hair and blunt features, he is not a handsome man, exactly. But there is a sadness in his blue eyes, as though he is someone who has experienced hardship and is well acquainted with heartbreak.

“Ari’s test results have come in. Negative. He’ll be here in an hour or so. Depends on traffic.” Max speaks clipped, accented sentences, but his English is excellent. It’s the most I have heard him say, and it makes me want to draw him out. Get to know him. Or maybe, I just feel safe with him and wish he’d fulfill my every fantasy. That isn’t what he’s here to do, however. It isn’t fair of me to want him this way. Maybe Ari will provide a barrier.

“Thank you, Max. Are you comfortable?” I ask him.

“Yes. I’ve checked out the house. Your biggest weakness is the large sliding glass door in your living room. Ari will want to secure it,” Max says. His gaze flicks down my body, over the linen V-neck sweater and jeans I’m wearing now. Am I imagining his disappointment?

“Why not you?” I ask. “Can’t you think of a way?”

He shakes his head. “Thinking isn’t my job. That’s Ari’s business.”

I hear his self-deprecation and cringe inwardly. It reminds me of myself after my divorce, when I checked into a residential treatment program and got past my Carl-inspired eating disorders. I came out not having any idea of what to do with the rest of my life. I had no education, my modeling career was dependent upon being unhealthily thin, and I believed I had nothing to offer the world.

How wrong I was.

I cock my head at him. “You seem like a deep thinker, Max. The strong, silent type. That doesn’t make you stupid.”

He ducks his chin as though I’ve landed a punch. When he looks at me again, I see a hunger in his eyes that matches my own. A thrill of anticipation shoots through me.

If I’m reading Max right, it could be that Carl getting out of prison will be the best thing ever to happen to me. But first, I will have to summon the courage to claim what I want.

3

Ari

The client’s house looks like the inside of a catalog—the really high-end kind that takes up half your mailbox. She’s a Latina CEO, which is an interesting change from my usual clientele of rich middle-aged white guys. Yet even though I know this, I am still not prepared for the woman who meets me at the doorstep.

Ms. Ramirez is every man’s fantasy. Or at least, mine.

Understandably, she’s also cool toward me. “Mr. Dahan. Thanks for coming.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Ramirez.”

She lets me into the house. A big man in a dark suit looms in front of the large picture window at the back deck. It has a door, which makes this entry point our weakest spot. A large glass panel can be broken with a hard object. I make a mental note to have any patio furniture and statues placed in storage.

I’m honestly not concerned about Ms. Ramirez’s ex-husband.

Yes, Carl Nevins is a creep. He was abusive and controlling with his young wife, and when she left him, he committed violence on her perfect body.

It’s hard not to be startled by the contrast between the report I read while in quarantine, and the woman before me. She was smart enough to get away and to make something of her life. That takes a lot of courage. But it’s clear he left a mark on her that goes deeper than any physical scars. Carl was convicted of sexual battery and assault with a deadly weapon, sentenced to prison, and has been a model inmate ever since. He was ordered never to contact his ex-wife again and mostly he’s complied.

But.

I understand why she’s nervous about his release. Carl has been orbiting her online for years. Not that it’s hard to do—she has an extensive media presence. I can understand how seeing his name pop up on her feeds every few months could be nerve-wracking. Jailbirds aren’t supposed to have Internet access, usually, but I’ve never heard of a facility where there isn’t a thriving underground market for cell phones.

Anyway. The guy near the window must be Max. I’ve never worked with him before. He has a good reputation within the agency, though. Efficient. Ruthless when he needs to be. Never says a word about a job, so he’s discreet, too. I introduce myself briefly. We don’t shake hands. Too much risk in these times.

Besides, Maximillian Volkov is one of the very few men who I think could beat me in a fair fight. I am not a small man, but he is made of solid rock. Despite the fact that certain colleagues of ours—namely, the agency leadership—have pigeonholed him as dumb, I see intelligence in his icy blue eyes.

“Mr. Dahan. Tell me a bit about your expertise,” says Ms. Ramirez with all the authority of someone who is used to telling people what to do.

An image of her on her knees, commanding me to fuck her in the ass exactly how she likes it, flashes through my mind. My mouth goes dry. I bow slightly. My sunglasses dangle from my fingertips; I tuck them into my breast pocket before speaking.

“I’m a veteran of Sayeret Matkal, the Israeli special forces,” I say. Ms. Ramirez’s eyes widen fractionally. Not everyone has heard of my native country’s black ops unit. Apparently, she has and is suitably impressed. “I came to the U.S. three years ago. I don’t plan on leaving.”

I like it here. Los Angeles has beautiful women, gorgeous weather, and plenty of work. What’s not to appreciate?

Well, there’s the fecklessness of the American government for letting this virus get out of control in the first place. Other countries are struggling to contain it, too—although, at least they’re actually trying, unlike my adopted country.

I took this job after retiring from the Israeli military because working as a bodyguard lets me stay on the move. So far, it’s been great—until this pandemic shut down the world.

I become aware of Max watching me.

Competition.

Two strong men to protect one soft female CEO. Yet, there’s steel within her voluptuous curves. This woman might bend but she does not break. Fuck, I want her.

I glance away. Max’s shoulders relax fractionally.

“We need to move the furniture off your patio,” I say.

“Why?” she asks.

Ms. Ramirez isn’t used to taking orders. She’s accustomed to giving them.

My mind immediately goes places it has no business going.

“Because if he makes it past the perimeter defense, your ex-husband could use any heavy object to smash the glass.” I indicate the large window. Ms. Ramirez nods once in assent. She slides it open. Balmy air wafts in. Max follows me out into the sunshine.

“You can put it in the basement,” she says, indicating the back stairs.

Several minutes pass as we haul wicker chairs down the porch steps and around to the locked storage area beneath the main level of the house. She follows us down and unlocks the door.

“Just put it over here by my lab. It’ll give me a place to sit and look at the ocean in between mixing new products,” our temporary boss instructs.

I see a strange collection of vials and lab-style jars labeled with plain white stickers and scrawled black handwriting.

Ah. It’s some kind of home factory for the beauty creams she sells. I shrug out of my jacket and fling it over the back of the two-seater. Max comes in with a concrete planter holding a small tree. It must weigh a ton but he shows little sign of strain. I probably wouldn’t have moved it, personally. I’ve read the case file notes on Carl. If I can’t lift it, chances are slim he could, either. Not unless he’s spent the entire past ten years working out in the prison gym. Even then, he was only five-foot-nine and a hundred sixty pounds when he started his sentence. There’s only so much a guy can bulk up without steroids.

Max sheds his suit jacket, too. His shoulders are like boulders covered in a thin layer of white cotton. Ms. Ramirez shoots him a covetous glance when she thinks we aren’t looking. Max doesn’t notice.

That means that now there’s an unspoken rivalry between us. We both want Gabriela Ramirez, and neither of us can have her.

But it doesn’t stop us from desiring.

A clash is inevitable. We can’t let it compromise her safety, but we also can’t keep it from happening.

Once the house is secured, Ms. Ramirez shows me to my room. It’s across the hall from Max’s. He lurks behind us like a shadow.

“This is very nice,” I say. I barely glance at the room. It’s done in muted desert tones that complement the rest of the house’s décor. There’s a bed, and she isn’t in it. That’s honestly all I care about.

“Thank you,” says Ms. Ramirez. “I have no sense of design whatsoever; it’s all done by professionals. I’d be offended if you didn’t think it was nice, considering how much I spent.”

I cough. For the first time in my life, a woman has me off-guard. Ms. Ramirez smiles, her plush lips pulling into a knowing Cheshire grin.

She leans against the door. I get a good look down her cleavage. I estimate her to be around five-foot-eight and a hundred seventy pounds, give or take an inch and ten pounds. She carries most of her weight in her tits and her hips. They’d fill my hands to overflowing—if I were so lucky as to touch her glorious body.

Which won’t happen without an invitation. I hope I’m not mistaken in reading the flicker of promise in her eyes when she looks at me. It’s possible I’m projecting. She looks at Max the same way. I can’t tell whether he’s noticed or not.

Maybe she’s just checking out the physical capabilities of the two men she’s hired to keep her safe for the next several weeks, until Carl’s next parole hearing. I can’t exactly blame the woman for wanting to ensure her last line of defense is up to the task ahead. I could be reading too much into this.

I try to rein in my attraction as I place my small suitcase inside the closet. I’d prefer to use a backpack but the job comes with a certain expectation of polish.

“I’ll make dinner. There are three of us. If you and Mr. Volkov will each choose a meal to prepare, the work will be distributed evenly between us,” she says briskly. Her gaze floats down my body for a second. Then, she turns her back on me and strides away. “I can focus on saving jobs at my company.”

I’m cooking at least once a day for the next however many weeks I’m here. After all, parole hearings get moved back all the time. I find myself not minding the possibility of an extended stay in this luxurious house with its sexy-as-fuck owner at all. Ms. Ramirez can boss me around all she wants to.

Max is still lurking in the hallway.

“Volkov,” I say as though to summon a demon. Obediently, he occupies the entire width and breadth of the door. “Which shift do you want? Noon to midnight, or midnight to noon?”

It’s the easiest way to minimize the time we spend together and ensure the property is protected 24/7. We each get some daylight this way, too. Max seems to recognize the wisdom of my proposed approach. Anyway, he doesn’t argue.

“Noon to midnight. I’ll make lunch,” Max says.

“Perfect. I’ll be in charge of breakfast.” This is ideal. I’m a morning person. Dawn is my golden hour. Plus, I make a mean shakshuka. I wonder if Ms. Ramirez likes eggs, tomatoes, and chickpeas.

Then, it occurs to me that giving Max the evening shift means he’ll have a better opportunity to seduce our client, and I curse myself for a fool.

4

Max

Several days pass as we settle into a routine. I fall asleep around one in the morning after finishing my guard shift, which suits me fine. I hardly see Ari. In the evening, Ms. Ramirez makes dinner and we eat in her kitchen. I clean up while she goes downstairs to tinker with her lab products or drinks a glass of wine beside the fire.

Every night we follow this ritual.

She likes to talk. I like listening to her voice. After the last pot is scrubbed and stowed away, I check the windows for any signs of intrusion. I double and triple-check the front door to make sure it’s locked, and then I close the curtains on the patio window.

“Why don’t you and Ari get along?” Ms. Ramirez asks me. She’s wearing her silky pink pajamas and robe again, the ones she had on when I arrived. Every night before I go to sleep, I imagine them sliding down her shoulders and exposing her gorgeous tits. I’d bite into them like ripe cherries. I’m hard as a rock remembering the way she tilted her chair back and plunged that big fake cock into her pussy. I shouldn’t have watched. But I did, and it’s all I can think about.

Worse, I’ve repeated my transgression twice more. I am filled with shame and guilt, but I can’t stop.

“We get along fine,” I say. It’s a lie, but only sort of. I see the way he looks at our client. It’s the same way I do—with possessive heat.

Ms. Ramirez casts me a skeptical glance.

“You can sit down,” she says, and pats the seat on the couch next to her. It’s half-invitation, half-order. I served in the Ukrainian Army. I am used to taking commands.

I sit.

Ms. Ramirez offers me a glass of wine. I politely wave it away. “Not while I’m on duty.”

I stare at the fire, willing my erection to subside.

“Are you married, Max?” she asks.

“Divorced.”

“That makes two of us.” She sips from her shiraz and stares at me speculatively. It does nothing to make my stiffy go away. I think of having my nose broken, and then of my grandmother’s funeral back in Ukraine. Nothing works.

There is a loneliness about Ms. Ramirez that calls to me. I want to protect her in every way—not only her body. But I can’t. It’s not my job.

“How long ago?” she asks

“Ten years,” I say. “She left me for another man.” Remembering the way my ex-wife ripped out my heart and stomped on it finally makes it more comfortable for me to sit on the elegant couch. My dick relaxes, though my spine does not.

“What a bitch,” Ms. Ramirez says easily, as though she is talking shit with her girlfriends. “Why did she leave you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She said I was emotionally unavailable.” I know what my wife meant. As I said, words aren’t my strong suit. But I’m an excellent listener, and my new boss seems like someone who needs to talk.

“Is that so.” She leans forward. “It’s still no reason to cheat.”

“I agree.” I don’t say anything about how her betrayal was like a knife to the gut. “But I’m biased.”

She gives a small smile. It’s the slightest rise of the corners of her mouth. There’s a sadness in her big brown eyes that I want to kiss away.

My body responds to the thought of kissing in a very predictable way.

“I always thought I’d be happiest with two men,” she blurts out. Then she immediately claps one hand over her lips. “I mean, not that I’ve tried it. Honestly, I haven’t really dated since Carl. I never really had the confidence to ask for what I wanted.”

I am too shocked to move. Gabi? Lack confidence? I can’t even fathom it.

Worse, her confession makes me want to lean across this stiff couch and press my open mouth down her neck, linger over her tits, and work my way down her stomach to the folds between her thighs. I’d lick her until she was soaking wet before sliding inside...

“I didn’t need to know that,” I mumble. I lurch away. If I stay, I’ll make a pass. Do something regrettable. She isn’t looking for sex. Ms. Ramirez wants someone to listen.

And I just rejected her.

For a moment, she wears an expression as though I’ve slapped her. I twitch my suit jacket into place.

“I’ll check the locks,” I say. Then I leave her alone on her fancy couch. The last sound I hear is liquid splashing into her goblet as she refills her wine. I’ve never hated myself so much as I do in that moment.

At midnight I wake Ari and give him an update on the quiet night that has passed thus far. Ms. Ramirez is asleep in her room. I checked the windows before she closed herself away, awkwardly avoiding her bed and meeting her gaze—not that I tell Ari about that part. I’m not stupid.

In my own bedroom, I jerk off and pass out soundly. When I wake up around ten the next morning, dried cum has stuck the sheet to my stomach. I’m embarrassed. I’ll have to wash it. I strip the linens and take a shower. Mercifully, my shame over how I reacted to Ms. Ramirez’s confession last night keeps my libido in check today. I will find a way to apologize to her.

I eat a hard-boiled egg and toast while my bedding spins in the washer. While they dry, I do my daily exercises out on the lawn. Football-style high knees, jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, and a series of kickboxing moves to keep me limber. I take a shower, put the sheets back on my bed, and make lunch. It is time to call her downstairs to eat.

But when I go back upstairs, I find her double doors are cracked open again. Ms. Ramirez has her tits out and is fondling herself. She’s wearing a lacy thong and nothing else as she watches herself in the mirror.

My breath seizes in my chest. I could burst with desire as she touches her dusky tips.

Her blond curls side over her smooth shoulders as she moves the scrap of fabric away from her pussy. Her manicured fingers circle her clit. A moan escapes her.

“Oh, yes...” she groans. “Like that, Max. Lick me like that.”

I freeze. My cock is so hard; it’s stolen all the blood from my brain. That must be why I don’t move. I shouldn’t be watching her like this. It’s torture for me, and if Ms. Ramirez found out, she’d feel violated. But I can’t stop. I want her so badly.

It was my name she uttered. Is it possible she feels the same—

“What the fuck are you doing?” growls a male voice from behind me. Cold sweat breaks out between my shoulder blades. Ari.

“Um...” Yeah, eloquent response. Shame paralyzes me. Eyes on the ground, I move away from the door. But Ari doesn’t rat me out to our employer. Instead, he bends forward slightly and peers through the crack.

“Fuuuuck...” he mutters. “That’s hot.”

I maneuver so I can see, too. Ms. Ramirez is stroking her wet cunt with three fingers. They glisten with her natural juices.

Oh, god.

I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I want her. I must make a noise, because Ari says, “Shh. She’ll hear us.”

We maneuver our bodies so we can both watch her getting off. Ms. Ramirez makes a throaty sound. Her body locks up and she works her clit faster. She is vocal as she comes hard. I feel every pulse of her pleasure.

There’s a momentary pause as the tension eases. Ari exhales.

“Damn,” he says quietly.

We straighten up as though we weren’t just perving on our client like a couple of opportunistic voyeurs. Which we were. But at least he won’t get me fired for it. How could he, when he was doing the same thing? We are both creeps with something to lose, now. Ari seems to realize it, too, because he runs his hand through his short dark hair.

I am hit in the solar plexus with a flash of envy that he’s so much better looking than I am. If I were Ms. Ramirez, I would choose Ari, too.

But I want her to pick me.

It’s selfish, and I didn’t exactly endear myself to her last night when she tried to confide in me and I ran away. I did it because I can’t let boundaries be crossed. Yet I wish I’d had the courage to kiss her instead.

Ms. Ramirez flings open both doors. She holds the edges, covered in nothing but that silky pink robe she likes to wear. “What are you doing outside my bedroom?”

I freeze, but Ari is quick to react.

“We came to tell you lunch will be ready in twenty minutes,” he says smoothly.

Ms. Ramirez glares at us. “Is that so?”

I swallow my mortification, grateful for my colleague's smooth cover. I was too busy being a voyeur to summon an explanation.

Her gaze skims down Ari’s body and then up mine. When she spies my crotch, they widen, showing bright white between the deep hue of her irises and the heavy fringe of her lashes. It’s a greedy look. Hope flashes through me.

“I’m not hungry for lunch, boys,” she says. “Come here.”

She whirls on her heel and moves to the center of her huge bedroom. One half is dominated by a giant poster bed hung with pale pink and silver drapes. Ms. Ramirez gestures for us to stand in the middle of a round white rug with her in between us. Slowly, she unties the belt of her robe. Her eyes dare us, though I read vulnerability, too.

“I don’t know when this lockdown will end, or whether my ex-husband will be ordered back to prison,” she says as her fingers work the knot. “It’s only the three of us for the next several weeks. It has been ten years since I last had a man,” she says, defiantly. It is so obvious what she wants us to do. My mouth is watering. My heart hammers so hard that it almost drowns out her words. “I think I’m overdue. What do you men say to a no-expectations, extended threesome until future notice?”

The silk falls, just as I’d dreamed of. She is naked but for the bright thong, her golden skin perfect from tip to toe. I groan.

“Ms. Ramirez,” Ari says, and his voice is gravelly. “We are here to serve your needs. If this is what you need from us—” he glances at me for confirmation. I nod. “—then we are inclined to oblige you.”

A satisfied curl touches the corners of her lush mouth. Her tits bounce as she falls to her knees.

“Mmm. You’re already hard,” she says. She rubs our cocks through our trousers, one in each hand. Her eyes glaze slightly. I am so engorged that her touch is almost painful. I grunt when she lets go. Disappointment stabs through me as she unfastens Ari’s pants and extracts his cock.

“Mr. Volkov,” she says, looking back at me over her naked shoulder as she strokes him.

“You can call me Max,” I say.

“Fine. Max. My name is Gabi, and I want you to fuck me.”

“Your wish is my command, Ms. Ramirez. Gabi.” I drop to my knees behind her as she takes Ari in her mouth. Gabi’s sweet ass fills my hands perfectly. I move her thong aside and find her still wet and aroused from her display a few minutes earlier. I slick the head of my cock along her, and she shudders with pleasure.

I ram home. She has no trouble taking all of me. She pops off Ari’s dick long enough to moan. He buries his hand in her hair and guides her mouth back to his rampant erection. I watch as she sucks him down her throat. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Her pussy is wet and pulsing around me. I slide in again and again, coming out only long enough to stoke the friction that will take us to the edge of oblivion.

With a ragged breath, I slow down. Gabi’s hips still. I tip my cock in and out, keeping us on a low simmer of desire while she makes guttural slurping sounds. Ari’s a demon. He scowls at her and fists blond locks. Her curls bounce with every frantic suck. Gabi grasps his hips and works her way down to the intersection of his manhood and his body. “Mmm.”

Fuck. She looks so goddamn happy. I dare to explore one big, soft tit. Her back arches to give me better access.

My knees ache. Ari’s expression turns thunderous. His abdomen—an eight-pack of solid muscle with zero fat and a line of dark hair from his chest to his pubis—flexes with each harsh breath.

Gabi’s eyes are half-closed. She pops off his dick and pumps his cock with her fist. Long white threads of cream spurt over her beautiful face. They stick in her hair. Ari shudders. Gabi wipes her face and meets my gaze. She’s hungry for her turn. “Now me.”

Her wish is my command. With a grunt, I sit back on bent knees. Ari watches interestedly as she wiggles out of her thong and positions herself over my cock, facing him. I kiss her neck. She smells like fresh flowers and cream with a tangy hint of salt. Her breasts overflow my hands as Gabi and I find our rhythm. I roll her stiff peaks between my thumb and forefinger. A moan gusts out of her.

“Yes, like that, Max.”

I tweak her nipples harder, and she shudders at my touch. I slide my right hand down her belly. It’s the most glorious thing I have ever felt. Soft and strong—I love sinking into her, over and over again.

Gabi is so wet. It’s my turn to tremble with the force of desire.

I find her clit and circle it. Ari’s watching us with hooded eyes. He’s put away his dick but I bet he’d get hard again if Gabi wanted him to. Her arm curls around my neck. We move like one person. Her ass slaps my thighs. There’s a sucking sound as we fuck. She writhes against me as I torture the little nub at the apex of her sex.

“I’m going to come,” she announces. Good. Excellent. I can’t hold back much longer. A second later, she breaks. Her low cries of pleasure fill my ears. I’m seconds away, but I force myself to wait off until she finishes. Only after her body goes limp against mine do I pull out. Gabi falls off my lap onto her arms. I rise up and pump my cock. Hot strands of cum streak her back.

I groan.

“Fuck, Max. You’re a goddamn giant.” Ari jerks his head to indicate my phallus. As much as I yearn to be loved for my heart and mind, I will accept being envied for my physical traits if it gets Gabi’s attention.

“That was the best sex I have ever had in my life,” Gabi declares. She stumbles upright and swipes ineffectively at the man juice dripping down her face, onto her tits, and down her back over her ass. “Thank you, gentlemen. I think we’re going to get along just fine for the next few weeks.”

She skims a greedy glance down Ari’s body, then cuts a sidelong look at me. Even I understand what that means. I may have satisfied her physically, but I have yet to make up for my rejection of her last night.

What Gabi needs is more than a good fuck. I don’t know whether I can give her what she really wants. My insides carry more scars than my face. I can’t let it be broken again—and I am already well on my way to being in love with Ms. Gabriela Ramirez.

But if I were her, I would choose Ari. I must gird myself for rejection while doing anything I can to win her heart.

5

Ari

Today sure took an unexpected turn.

Gabi disappears into her shower. I’m tempted to go in after her. Hot water and slick woman sound like a nice way to pass my off-duty hours. But first I have to deal with Max.

We stare one another down. Two muscular men in rumpled, nondescript dark suits. We could be one of those women’s magazine spreads—Who Fucked Her Best.

Not that I had a real shot at winning.

My colleague pulls himself together with deliberate motions. There’s a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. Unlike me, he put a lot of effort into pleasing our client. That word carries a whole new meaning now.

“So, how do you see this working?” I ask. Max shrugs. He’s not the most communicative guy; I have to say.

“We keep her happy,” Max says after a minute. “Safe, alive, and very, very satisfied for as long as she wants it.”

It’s my turn to pretend nonchalance. “Sounds good to me. We share. Gabi sure liked your cock.”

He casts me a sidelong glance. “Yours, too.”

“So. Just so we’re on the same page. You and I are not in competition. We keep her satisfied and nobody outside of these four walls finds out what we’re doing for the next several weeks.” I need to be certain. Gabi is an incredible woman and I can’t wait to have my hands on her lush curves again. Yet I see the way Max watches our client and I am not reassured that he’s willing to share her.

He nods once, terse and definitive. “Yes.”

Me? I never play for keeps. I’m always off to the next mission. I’m no threat to Max, unless I bruise Gabi’s soft heart in the process. She’s strong as hell and knows what she wants, but deep down, I know she’s been hurt before.

It helps that we’re on opposite shifts. Gabi can fuck me all morning and go to bed with Max for all I care, as long as he keeps tabs on the perimeter and Gabi’s whereabouts like he’s supposed to.

And that’s the pattern we quickly fall into. That night, I awake at midnight and check the security tapes, scrolling through the camera footage. Nothing.

Then I do my exercises—half my job is staying in shape, and I don’t mind getting paid to work out. I make coffee and watch the sun come up over the ocean. This is one hell of a place. If I were to settle down, I’d love for it to look like Gabi’s house.

For the first time in my adult life, I feel at home. I don’t know what to make of it. Her castle is a haven of femininity. There is no reason for me to find it so welcoming.

“Hi,” Gabi says behind me. She’s wearing a strappy nightgown and a pair of fuzzy slippers that should be ridiculous, but aren’t. The effect is very sex-bunny. My cock stirs. I had written off yesterday as a fever dream. It didn’t seem real. But this is proof that it actually happened.

“Good morning.” I don’t know what our status is. I’d like to greet her with a kiss and let my dick salute her pussy, but I am only her hireling. It’s not my right. I start to get the coffee when she traces the orb of her breast with manicured fingers.

I move closer. She peers up at me through thick lashes, though she’s not wearing makeup. Her beauty is natural. I trace her golden skin with one fingertip. The satin falls away, and she sighs. I squeeze her breast firmly.

“Ari, I have a full meeting schedule today. I could use some...” she trails off and glances down. I don’t even try to conceal the way my trousers tent out. Everyone else might be working from home in pajamas and loungewear but I’m still in a suit. Always a suit. It’s obvious how much Gabi likes it, too. “You and Max are so buttoned-up. So serious. So strong. I bet you could lift a girl like me against the wall.”

Her hand is on my fly, squeezing the hard length of me. Since she’s enjoying the fantasy that I’ll resist her, I play along. “I could, but I’m on duty, ma’am.”

A teasing grin tilts the corners of her mouth upward.

“Is there anything I can do to convince you to show me?” she asks, a little breathless. Gabi retreats several steps and continues touching her breasts as she peels the pink fabric away from her body. Dusky nipples pop into view. They are taut and begging for my touch.

I don’t move. There’s the sound of palm leaves in the breeze from the ocean. A bird call. I hear these things distantly, transfixed by the sight of Gabi’s slow-motion striptease.

The scrap of her nightgown peels down over her waist. The indentation of her belly button is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. She keeps going, checking in with me every few seconds with a flirtatious glance up to gauge my reaction. Waiting for me to move.

I keep my expression flat. My cock throbs with need. Gabi drops the nightgown and kicks off the silly slippers. She is naked. A goddess, kissed by the sunrise.

Soon, to be kissed by me.

But not yet.

Gabi is still putting on a show for me, and I am enjoying every second of it. An incredibly sexy woman stripping and then bracing herself against the railing to display her glistening pussy absolutely beats watching endless security camera footage of nothing happening—no contest. Her manicured fingers open her pink folds, circle her clit, and then plunge inside. Her head drops back and she moans softly.

I fall to my knees.

Without a word, I lick the pert pearl at the apex of her sex. Gabi’s body shudders delicately.

“Keep going, Ari,” she half-moans.

I swirl my tongue over it again. Her fingers are sticky when she withdraws them. I suck her juices before replacing them with my own. Hot, wet velvet surrounds me. I give Gabi everything I have to offer.

Keep her happy, Max had said, and I do. I can taste the rise of her pleasure. The clench of her slick passage around my fingers tells me when I can stop. I’m not done, though. Not by a long shot.

“Still want to find out if I can lift you?” I ask, my breath a growl against her ear.

“Yes. I bet you can’t. I’m too heavy,” she says.

There’s a sadness in her voice I don’t like. I unfasten my pants and extract my hard cock. Gabi sees me and tries to stroke it, but I catch her hands and put them above her head, backing her against the wall of the house. The adobe will scrape her tender flesh. I’m not sorry. If she wants me to stop, she’ll say so. I let go of her wrists and bend just long enough to tuck one leg, then the other, over my forearms. She gasps as I raise her and pin her body between mine and the house.

Her sex is at the perfect angle for me to penetrate. It takes no effort to align my cock and slide home in a single motion. She’s so turned on and ready for me. I grunt. She goes wild as I pound into her, taking everything I want from her body.

An orgasm tightens its grip on me. I’m about five thrusts away from spilling. I won’t do it inside her—Gabi hasn’t asked for a baby, and we aren’t using a condom. It’s on me to keep my swimmies to myself. I pull out in the nick of time. My cum splashes the deck. Cool air turns my dick instantly cold. I shudder against Gabi’s naked heat as blood rushes back to my brain.

Gently, I release one leg, then the other. She wobbles away from me, panting. Red marks cover her back. There are only scratches that will fade soon, and Gabi definitely likes the way I was rough with her.

“Ari,” she gasps. “That was amazing.”

Between the effort of holding her up and the overpowering orgasm, I’m shaking. “Glad to be of service.”

Unlike Max, I have no delusions that this will ever be more than a series of quick fucks. I don’t know why I’m thinking about him and the lovelorn way my colleague looks at Ms. Ramirez. This hot CEO is too good for either of us.

I hope he realizes that, and soon. Otherwise, there’s no way this ends happily for any of us.

6

Gabi

I can’t believe I’m so lucky.

Two men at my beck-and-call. One for the morning—Ari—and the other for bedtime.

Max is a tough nut to crack, though. Like Ari, he’s content to let me use his body however I please. But judging from the way he looks at me, he wants more.

Not that he’ll say it.

I watch him over the dinner I’ve prepared. I love to cook. Tonight, I made enchiladas and corn. Reconnecting with my Mexican heritage was a big part of my healing process after I left Carl. If I am perfectly honest, making food is also how I went from very underweight to curvy. I like my body so much better now, though. I feel feminine. When I was a skinny-Minnie model I felt like I was at war with myself, all the time. Hunger was something to be fought and conquered in an unending daily battle. Now I can recognize it as a sign that I need to take a break and refuel.

But sometimes, it is an expression of feelings I cannot speak out loud. What would I say? I think I could love you, Max, but I also want to keep fucking your coworker?

Please, pendeja.

Besides, a little bit of me still believes I’m unlovable—the same part of me that Carl broke permanently. I haven’t figured out how to solve it. Until I do, I have no business trying to be in a relationship with anyone.

But no one said I couldn’t fuck my way through this miserable pandemic. All of us are willing participants. What’s the worst that happens? We have a fight and things are uncomfortable for a few weeks. There is an endpoint to this arrangement—and I am in no hurry to reach it.

“Do you like staying here?” I ask Max, to fill the silence. His eyes meet mine. I read a hunger that matches my own and has nothing to do with spicy chicken enchiladas. I take a bite. Max’s gaze follows my fork.

“It’s very nice.” He refuses the wine I poured, so I help myself to a second glass.

“It is. I had everything custom-designed when I bought it four years ago.” After my company had turned its first $100 million-dollar profit. Everything is bright and light and girlish because I enjoy it. Pink is my favorite color. My jewelry is all sparkles and rose gold. There is not a hint of anything masculine in my life. Except, now, for my bodyguards.

Max, in particular.

He’s so severe, wearing his suit jacket and crisp white shirt. I know he presses his shirts himself because yesterday he asked to borrow an iron. I wasn’t even sure I owned one, but there it was in the back of the laundry room, still in the box.

I want to rumple him.

After dinner, I ask him to clean the kitchen. Max grunts his assent and drops and his jacket over the back of a chair. Score one for me. I grin and hand him an apron.

He looks at it. Then he gives me a long-suffering scowl.

“Come on; you don’t want to mess up your dress shirt, do you?” I say. There’s a brief stare-down. I am a good boss, used to getting what I want, but not through force. I wait. After a few seconds, Max unfastens his tie and drapes it carefully over his blazer where it hangs on the back of a chair. He meets my gaze again, this time defiantly, as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt.

Be still, my heart.