Bodyguard’s Backdoor Payment Check

So, we finally get to that night, and honestly, I still get a little restless thinking about it—the whole thing with the bodyguards and their usual back door routine is exactly what went down, but not in the way you’d expect from a movie. I was waiting in the dim hallway of his apartment, the air thick with the scent of his cologne and something smokier, and when he finally unlocked the door, he didn’t even say hi; he just pressed me against the wall, his hands already working the knot on my robe. There’s this unspoken power he carries, like he’s always scanning for threats, but tonight his focus was entirely on me, and it made my skin prickle with anticipation. We tumbled onto the couch, and he was so deliberate, tracing his fingers down my spine while whispering how he’d been thinking about collecting his payment all week. When he guided me down to my knees, I remember the weight of his gaze, the way his thumb brushed my cheek before I took him in, and the soft groan he let out that vibrated straight through me. It wasn’t rushed; every motion was measured, and I loved the little hitch in his breath when I looked up at him mid-act, my mouth working until my jaw ached in the best way. He pulled me up just as I felt him tense, spinning me around to face the back of the sofa, and that’s when it hit me—he wanted that final access, that private entrance we’d danced around for weeks. The sensation was overwhelming, that full, deep stretch as he entered me from behind, his hands gripping my hips to keep me steady while I moaned into the cushion, and he kept that relentless, steady rhythm until we both shattered together, collapsing in a sweaty heap with his forehead pressed to my shoulder blade, breathless and grinning.