My Bodyguard

His expression hardened. "How am I supposed to stand aside," he murmured, "when you're wearing a dress like that?" His eyes flicked over me once-sharp, assessing, protective. "It fits you too perfectly. It invites the wrong kind of attention."
His voice dropped lower, darker. "Men who look at you like they're entitled to something. Boys who don't understand boundaries. Men old enough to know better letting their thoughts wander into places they don't belong."
His thumb brushed my jaw, not gentle-possessive. "And every time one of them stares too long, I have to remind myself why I don't act on what I want to do to them."
"I didn't... I didn't mean for any of that," I said softly, my voice barely holding together. "I wasn't trying to make anyone look. I just-"His expression didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened.
"I know you didn't," he said quietly. "That's the part that makes it worse."
His voice dropped, steady and cold. "You shouldn't have to think about who's watching you or what's going through their heads. And every man who lets his eyes linger, every one of them who thinks he's entitled to you even for a second..."
He leaned in just enough for me to feel it. "They don't deserve mercy from my thoughts. I have to stop myself from showing them exactly what happens when they forget their place."
His hand came up to my jaw, fingers firm as he tilted my face toward him. His thumb brushed my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he was testing his own restraint.
I could feel his breathing change-slower, deeper-each breath brushing my skin. His other hand slid down my back, unhurried, until it settled at my waist. He held me there, tight enough to keep me close, not enough to hurt.
For a moment, he hesitated, like he was giving me one last chance to pull away.
Then he kissed me.