Fatal Fantasies 🔥
Kenzi’s newest bodyguard drove her to distraction. Or perhaps insanity. It all felt the same to her lately. The others had been with her for years.
This one had only joined ten months ago. She couldn’t remember a time without him.Her thoughts?
He owned them all. Her hormones?
They were absolutely feral for him.
It was pathetic, really. But she couldn’t suppress the lure of a confident man. Not when he orbited her so fully. He wasn’t arrogant, but he never faltered in the face of her celebrity and all it entailed.
No, he swept through the world as if he owned it. Keeping her safe and embedding himself into the fabric of her inner lusty musings.
He was beautiful, though she could only see the top of his face because the mask he wore to protect his identity covered the bottom half.
She’d seen his headshots, but he’d been younger then. Softer around the edges. Now? She hadn’t caught a glimpse under the mask yet.
It didn’t even matter; something about him drew her in. Magnetic, infuriatingly composed, impossible to resist. She couldn’t take her eyes off him when he entered a room.
For those first few weeks, she had stolen glances and tried to engage him in conversation. Spent ages getting ready before leaving her bedroom each morning. I woke up like this.
No, she couldn’t relate. Beyoncé might wake up looking like a Goddess reborn, but Kenzi didn’t. She might as well have walked out dressed as a ghost for all he noticed.
When that didn’t work, she pointedly ignored him.
Her new bodyguard was impervious to her usual tricks, though. He looked at her to ensure she followed, only acknowledging her to help her into or out of the myriad of vehicles she found herself inside.
Still, there was one time it went differently. She secretly played the memory like an old record on repeat.
Once, after a phone call with her ex left her seething, he leaned forward before getting out to open her door. He had one hand wrapped around the handle; the other reached toward her.
She stayed incredibly still, sure she was hallucinating thanks to the adrenaline still simmering in her blood. Mouth parted, eyes glossy, and heat flaring in her lower abdomen.
His leather-gloved fingers had lingered a fraction of a second too long. He’d smoothed her coat collar that she’d tugged at as the argument had raged.
It was a touch that sang in her nerves long after the minuscule victory. The fight was with an ex-boyfriend. Nate, the lead singer of a popular band.
She had foolishly called Nate the day before the fight to help her get Tyler out of her head. To replace the carnal thoughts of her guard with someone else’s familiar warm body, someone she could have.
But she hadn’t gone through with it.
She cancelled on him at the last minute. Her fanciful mind thought it saw the edge of Tyler’s mask lift as she’d left Nate a voicemail to explain the change in plans. As though he were smothering a smile.
Her ex hadn’t been happy when he woke from his drink induced stupor and listened to it. He had phoned her to ream her out as she and Tyler were travelling home from the award show rehearsals. Drained from that, she fired back on all cylinders.
Her words shot to kill, hackles rising, and tone lethally cold as Tyler watched her. Eyes neutral but trained on her. He’d listened to it all, steady as a statue, silent as one, too.
Even now, her face still colored with roses when reminded of it. His gaze had tracked her every flinch, each twitch of her eye as it grew more heated, his gloved hands flexing and stilling.
She refused to let her mind travel back to that part of the day for very long. But he never said a word about it. He went straight back to his usual routine.
Though he’d blocked a swarm of paparazzi from capturing her flustered face much faster than protocol required when they’d gotten out of the car.
She acted like it hadn’t happened. He maintained his unshakable presence. He would sit across from her, crystal gaze locked on the windows as she scrolled through her phone and pretended she wasn’t staring at him.
He barely seemed to breathe. But his thumb? He tapped it on his knee, almost in time with the music humming in her earbuds.
Turned up to ear-splitting levels to drown out the noise of her own brain. He was tall and well-built, filling out the black suit her security detail donned most delightfully.
And those goddamn eyes.
She felt she was being pinned in place every time they met hers. She knew his first name, obviously, but she hadn’t asked for his surname.
Hired by her father, she trusted his choice. Plus, she wanted the bodyguard to tell her what it was.
He hadn’t, much to her dismay. She almost cracked and checked the email her dad had sent once.
The not knowing made the torrid imaginings burn brighter. Time passed, her mind was his, her body craved him more than she’d ever wanted anything. A week ago, she performed the ultimate show of her tour.
He had been in her line of sight during the after-party. They’d dealt with another stalker while she was on the road. More measures were taken to ensure her safety.
At least this one hadn’t managed to gain entry to her house and sleep in her bed. She had to replace everything after that violation.
Since Tyler joined the team, less incidents of this occurred. Still, security remained tight, tighter than the costumes she wore on stage. She used the party to forget it all.
She wore the skimpy leotard she’d worn for her closing song, dancing and drinking with her tour mates, while he watched her every move like a hawk.
She’d laugh, and his eyes narrowed. She hugged someone, he was a man-mountain at her back in case they got too handsy with her.
She couldn’t evade him. His gaze had been a scalding brand on her back, her face, her fucking soul.
And when she’d gone to the bathroom, he’d shadowed her every step. Her ill-advised, misplaced lust had run rampant.
All she could hear was her heartbeat throbbing in her ears, their thunderous echoing footsteps as they walked down a dim hallway, and the click in her jaw as she gritted it. The leash she kept on her wandering mind snapped violently.
The things she saw inside her head had almost taken her legs out from under her.
Tyler brushed past her to check the bathroom was empty; in her mind, he turned, grabbed her by the throat, and shoved her up against the wall, mask pulled down before he kissed her stupid. His knee shoved between her thighs.
She was almost gasping for air, pulse fluttering in her neck, when he did, in fact, turn to her. However, all he did was nod and hold the door open.
Kenzi ducked under his arm, slammed the door, locked it, and spent frantic minutes trying to calm herself down. He’d smelled of spice, clean musky skin, and something smoky that did nothing to cool the embers burning low in her stomach.
The party after that had been a blur of faces, Tyler’s unrelenting gaze, and a profound awareness of his closeness in the car ride home until she’d collapsed into bed.
His scent clung to her bedsheets for days after the party despite his never having entered the space. Clearly, her imagination had spiraled out of control. And the housekeeper had arched a brow when she requested new linens.
She wasn’t a wasteful person, but she didn’t think washing them would work. It didn’t work for her in the hot bath or cold showers.
They had to be replaced. She wished she could so easily exchange her brain and heart for something less torturous.
By now, the ache in her had honed into a blade, piercing her whenever she caught his scent or the flash of his iced-out blue eyes. Her nights blurred into her secret ritual.
She locked her bedroom door, shed the sequins, and let her mind rewrite every tiny glance, every slight brush of his powerful shoulder.
Alone, she let herself have him. Let herself believe it was forever. Her skin flashing with heat, goosebumps scattering like hail over every inch of exposed flesh, heart pounding an erratic rhythm as she lay down on her bed.
The sheets were cold, but she was a forest fire. She didn’t bother with toys or props, or patience—just her hand sliding between her trembling thighs to ease the nerve-gnawing ache inside her.
Fingers gliding through slick heat, teasing her clit with featherlight circles. Dragging it out until she whimpered for a firmer touch.
Undignified, her mind would taunt.
A pink flush always spread from the roots of her hair to the tips of her curled toes. But the shame only sharpened the pleasure, deepened the ache. She imagined Tyler’s voice first.
That gravelled rasp she’d only ever heard in monosyllables or curt commands now spoke in full sentences. Conjured by her overactive mind.
“Is this what you do when I’m down the hall? Touch yourself thinking about me? Not what I’m paid to guard, Princess.”
As those words sank through her molten veins, her fatal fantasies gave way to her hitched, laboured breath. Two fingers plunged inside her scorching, taut cunt, curling hard and pulling to catch that spot high inside that her exes never discovered.
Her make-believe version of Tyler’s hands and cock always found it. She was no silent participant in these self-summoned encounters.
She’d mentally reply to fantasy Tyler. “Yes, problem? Come take over then, you cold, unfeeling bastard.”
Her other hand always gripped the sheets and twisted until she feared she’d rip them to shreds.
Knuckles bone-white, mattress sighing in time with the roll of her hips. The musky and sharp, salted-sweet scent of her own arousal permeated the humid air.
In her wild head, he wasted no time asking for permission. He took what he wanted.
He shoved her knees apart, gloved hands pinning her wrists as he dominated her mouth. Stealing the oxygen right out of her lungs, keeping it for himself.
Only breaking away to growl, “Stay quiet… Or I’ll make you scream. So everyone knows you’re mine.”
She’d bite her lip until she tasted copper to stifle her moans, wanton and clawing her throat to get out, but the bed always creaked.
The movement of her fingers inside her turned punishing. She clenched and fluttered, wetness drenching her inner thighs.
Hips lifting off the mattress, muscles quaking, and mouth open in a silent howl. Close, so close—
The metallic tang of bitten blood loitered on her tongue even as the bed murmured with her subtle movements, and the real world flooded back with the groan of a floorboard just outside her bedroom door.
She’d freeze.
Silence.
Time stalled, pulse beating like a raging fist in her neck. Her bedsheets set ablaze, guilty as sin. She held her breath as the edge of release sliced her in two.
Stay quiet…imaginary Tyler’s command still echoed in her head. His footsteps would resume, slow and deliberate, never hanging around. Pacing the hallway like a sentinel.
He knows. He’s listening.
The thought only unravelled her more. Her fingers worked inside, and the heel of her palm caught her clit with every slide inside.
Her back arched, thighs clamping around her hand, and inner walls gripping her digits like a trap as her orgasm ripped through her.
Violent and silent, face turned into her feather pillows to muffle her panting breaths. The heat turned everything hazy, almost dreamlike.
But her eyes prickled, screwing shut to keep tears welling at bay as she came back down. When she finally sagged into her sheets, the chilly press of her pillows on her sweaty back jolted her as the footsteps outside her room seemed to pause.
So did her fervent heart. Her thighs quaked, but the bed was cold and horribly empty.
The fantasy’s heat evaporated like dew under a summer Saturday sun. And for one reckless second, she almost called out—Tyler?
She almost risked it all every single time. Sanity faithfully returned with the force of a bomb going off. As if a bucket of glacial water splashed over her feverish skin.
The screak of the stairs would echo like a thunderclap as he retreated. Returning to the lower floor to check for intruders.
Again and again. It played out like this. In the midst of her fantasies, she wasn’t a brand, a celebrity, or a product.
She was just a woman lost in shared, touch-starved desire with a man who could make her feel real again.
It never lasted. Her arms crossed around her chest as if holding herself together in her empty room. Alone again, always alone. Her mind replayed the best parts, but they were hollow once the madness passed.
He was always faceless in those delusions. Just a shadowed blur with sapphire eyes that could have devoured worlds with the burn in them.
The night, or early hours of the morning after that damned tour-end party, had gone much the same way. Tonight, a week later, she expected it to follow the same path.
It did, and it didn’t.
Kenzi lay in the dark afterward, still trembling and breathless, eyes unseeing, when the sound of his prowling the hall came again. Closer this time.
She stared at the crack under the door as Tyler’s shadow stretched under it. Motionless. A jagged lump resided in her throat as her mind spun.
He never…he never paused there. He rarely lingered. The seconds bled like cold treacle into the tension-filled quiet.
The 3.13am green glow of the clock on her nightstand taunted her. She jumped as something clattered to the floor.
Metal meeting hardwood. Her stomach became a nest of snakes, hands going clammy, and her muscles coiled, preparing to bolt.
She knew that sound. Had memorized it the first time she’d heard it. His gun holster.
On the other side of the door, a gloved hand pressed against the frame. Fingers splayed as if he were steadying himself.
Kenzi was oblivious; only the panic that someone had broken in again existed for her. She jolted as his voice snapped the strained silence.
“Kenzi.” Her name was a rumble, half a warning, half a plea. Only he and Stefan used her first name.
Efficiency, she scolded herself. Ms. Harlowe contained more syllables than he preferred to employ.
She sat up, sheets pooling around her waist, nipples peaked and chest rising and falling too fast.
“Tyler? Is everything—“
He didn’t let her finish.
“Don’t.” The word was an order, followed by his sharp inhale. “Don’t open your door.”
The rawness of his voice petrified her in place. Her head shook, a fine tremor ran through her limbs, and bile rose in her throat. Something wasn’t right.
This wasn’t protocol. This wasn’t him. Had he found something? Another person claiming to be her husband and the father of her nonexistent kids?
“Why? What’s going on?” She whispered, knowing he’d hear her. The man could detect a soft sigh in a hurricane.
The quiet dragged on for a beat. A second that felt like an eternity. Had she finally cracked? Lost her last marble?
Then, his fist slammed into the wood frame. Next to the door handle.
Brutal and shocking. Before his footsteps receded, faster than she’d ever heard him move.
A part of her—the capricious part her parents, publicist, and manager dreaded surfacing—prayed he’d come back.
The rest prayed he’d run.
Save her from herself. But when love and all its colors, all its glory and painful defeats, was your life’s goal to put it into melody and words, the heart never listened to reason.
It only supplied the thumping backbeat in the best of times and flatlined in the worst of times.
The best music was borne within that eerie, soundless space where life and love once pulsed. Out in the hallway, the camera’s red light blinked.
Once, twice, three times, and died.
Disabled.
Transforming the hall into a held match, the dark was just one spark away from flame.
One spark away from screaming his name.
