Triple-Duty Bodyguards : A Reverse Harem Romance

I jolt, looking down at her. She smiles at me, her eyes twinkling. Before I can say anything, our waiter reappears, holding an oversized pepper grinder.

“Pepper, sir?”

“I—” Briar squeezes the growing bulge in my trousers, and heat rolls through me. I grit my teeth and force myself to smile at the man. “Sure.”

“Tell me when,” he says, and starts grinding pepper onto my plate. I try to focus, but Briar tightens her grip, stroking me firmly, and all thoughts fly out of my head. Her palm rubs over my stiffening hard-on, and my thighs clench with the effort of sitting still.

When I don’t say anything, the waiter stops. “This is enough, sir?” He prompts.

“That’s good,” I get out, my voice cracking.

“Are you alright, sir?” He asks mildly.

“Peachy.”

“Hm. Perhaps some more water for the table?”

“That would be great,” Briar says, smiling. The waiter nods and turns on his heel, and I slump in my seat, running a hand over my face.

“Briar—”

“What?” She stabs her ravioli one-handed, taking a casual bite. “You want me to stop?”

“No,” falls out of my mouth before I can stop it, and she laughs, tracing down my shaft with her fingernail. I feel blood rush to my face, my hips rising as I grip the tablecloth. “Christ, Briar, I can’t—”

“Don’t worry,” she pats my cheek, dropping her voice to a husky whisper. “I won’t make you come.”

An agonised sound falls out of my throat as she withdraws her hand and reaches for her wine glass.

The rest of the meal is like some perverted form of torture. We eat slowly, consuming course after course of ridiculously fancy food. I can barely taste any of it. Briar keeps her hand still in my lap, cupped gently over my throbbing erection, and every time I relax, she starts to stroke me. She pushes me right to the edge, squeezing and palming and rubbing at me until I’m white-knuckling the table and twitching in my underwear. Just as I’m certain I’m about to explode, she pulls away, leaving me a panting wreck.

She’s making a mess out of me. And judging by Matt and Kenta’s smirks, they know exactly what’s happening under the table.

I get a little break when pudding arrives, and Briar gets distracted by her lava cake. We’re just finishing up when her little hand slips back between my legs.

I swallow a groan. “Briar—”

“What?” She picks out a strawberry, licking the chocolate sauce off it. “Problem?”

I glare at her. She has a smudge of chocolate on her bottom lip, and I lean in to lick it off.

A few feet away, Kenta clears his throat. “You have a visitor, Briar,” he says, his voice icy.

Startled, I pull back, glancing over Briar’s head. Thom Petty is standing a few feet away, eyeing Matt and Kenta. He doesn’t look good; there are dark circles under his eyes, and his face is pale.

Briar’s hand stops moving as she twists to look at him, and I take the chance to grab my water glass and glug half of it down. It doesn’t do much to quench the heat under my skin.

“Hey, B,” Petty says, flashing her a weak smile.

Briar sighs, reluctantly sliding her palm off my lap. “You know, I’ve already got one stalker. I don’t really want a full collection.”

Petty shifts. “Yeah, I, uh… heard about that. Sorry.”

“How did you know she was here?” Matt barks.

Petty startles and looks at him. “I just asked the paps, man,” he says, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door. “We have a few pap contacts, they hook us up with info.”

Matt’s eyes blaze. “There’s paparazzi outside?”

“Yeah,” Petty looks confused. “Like, fifty of them. She wasn’t hard to find.”

Kenta rubs his temples. “This makes no sense,” he mumbles. “We checked the car for tracking. No one followed us.”

Briar apparently doesn’t care about the paparazzi. “What do you want, Petty?” She snaps. “I’m kind of on a date, here.”

My face reddens.

Petty’s eyes widen. “Uh.” He turns and points at Matt, who stares back at him, his face stony. “Weren’t you dating that one, last time?”

“I like to keep a few guys on retainer. I’m a massive slag, remember? Have been since I was sixteen years old.” Her voice is bitter.

He winces. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He looks around again, like he’s expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. His nervousness is making me edgy. I slip my hand under my jacket, curling my fingers around the butt of my gun.

“You wanted to talk about my childhood sexual reputation?” Briar asks flatly.

He sighs, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, can I sit?”

“No,” Matt and I say immediately.

Briar rolls her eyes. “Get him a chair.”

Kenta stands and pushes his own seat up to our table, waving for Thom to sit down. He does, with a nervous nod of thanks. Kenta waits for him to get settled, then braces his hands on the back of the chair, leaning casually over the smaller man.

Thom licks his lips, studying the white tablecloth. “I just want to apologise,” he mutters. “For what happened when we were sixteen. I’m—” He takes a deep breath, fixing his brown eyes on Briar. “I’m really, really sorry.”

For a second, Briar doesn’t say anything. Then she leans back in her chair. “You mean what you did.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Not what happened. That implies it wasn’t your fault.” She picks up a cherry and bites it off its stem, watching him thoughtfully. “You want to apologise for what you did.”

“Yes,” Petty says, his voice low. “I do. I really screwed up. I want to make it right.”

“Why?” Briar demands.

He blinks. “I… I hurt you.”

“You ruined my life,” she agrees. “You were my best friend, Thom. And you hurt me so bad, I spent years on meds and in therapy, fighting the urge to lay down in traffic. I’m surprised I got out of that shit alive.” I feel the blood drain out of my face. I’ve never heard about this. “But that apparently hasn’t bothered you for the last thirteen years. So why now?”

Petty’s cheeks flush. He looks down at his hands. Behind him, I can see Kenta gripping the back of his chair, anger pouring off him in silent waves.

“What is this about?” Briar presses. “Are your PR people trying to clean up your past? You need me to invest in your new cologne brand? Is Hollywood House doing a reunion season, or something?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says quietly. “Just for you to forgive me. Yeah, it took me a while, but after seeing you at the charity gala, I realised just how much I hurt you.”

For an actor, he really is a remarkably bad liar.

Briar considers him. “Will you make a statement? Tell the world that you were lying?”

He hesitates for a long time. “Yeah,” he says eventually. “Yeah. If you want me to.”

Briar holds his gaze for a few beats. Long enough to make him squirm in his seat. Then she snorts, picking up her wine glass. “I’m kidding. I’m not going to mess with your career. Fine. I accept your apology.”

He looks at her with wide, earnest eyes. “You always were a better person than me.”

She rolls her eyes. “What you did was shitty. But you were a kid, too. We were just children. I don’t think we’ll ever be friends again, but I appreciate the apology.”

He nods, relief crossing his face. A few seconds pass.

“Can you go now?” She prompts. “I was trying to give my boyfriend du jour a handjob under the table.”

My mouth drops open, but Thom just laughs, clearly not believing her. He stands, pushing back his chair. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it.” He gives me, Kenta and Matt an awkward smile that none of us return. “Uh. Have a good one.”

We all watch silently as he turns and disappears back through the foliage and tables.

“Well, that was weird,” Briar notes.

Matt stands. “We have to get out of here. I’ll bring the car around.”

Kenta nods. “I’m sorry, Briar. But if the paparazzi have found you, we need to get you away before they attract any unwanted attention. We don’t want anyone following you back to the hotel.”

Briar looks unbothered. “That’s okay. We were finished eating, anyway.” She presses a quick kiss to my lips, stroking a hand down my chest. “I think I’m ready to go back to the room.”

“You’re going to kill me,” I mutter, and she laughs brightly, tossing back the rest of her wine and grabbing her clutch.

“Let’s go.”

As soon as we step onto the street, everything erupts into white light. Hundreds of flashes spark through the night. I swear. The crowd of paparazzi is huge and heaving. I wrap my arm around Briar’s shoulder, and Kenta takes her other side as we hurtle her towards the road. The men’s shouts come in thick and fast.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRIAR!”

“BRIAR! WE JUST SAW THOM COMING OUT, ARE THE TWO OF YOU GETTING BACK TOGETHER? ARE YOU GETTING BACK TOGETHER, BRIAR?”

“ANY NEWS FROM THE STALKER? HAVE THEY CAUGHT HIM YET?”

I shove a couple guys back as they reach for her, trying to grab her attention. “Get back. Get the fuck back,” I repeat, over and over, scanning the men, checking all of their hands. This is damn near impossible. Anyone could be holding a gun, and I wouldn’t even be able to see with the flashes blinding me. People jostle us on all sides, pressing close as we try to plough through the hot, sweaty bodies. Through it all, Briar’s face stays in the same frozen, cold look that I recognise from the magazines. The one that tabloids always slap the words ‘bitchy’ or ‘stuck-up’ on. As if she can be expected to smile when people mob her in the street.

Ahead of me, a photographer lunges forward and grabs Briar’s arm. “Tell me, Briar. Has Thom finally forgiven you for cheating on him?”

“Don’t touch her,” I growl, pushing the guy back. He staggers, tripping over his own feet and falling onto the pavement. Instead of getting up, he rolls onto his stomach and stretches out the arm holding his camera. Rage floods through me as I realise he’s trying to take a shot up Briar’s skirt. I start to bend down to grab him, but before I can, Briar kicks the guy’s camera out of his hands and stamps on it, the lens cracking under her stiletto.

“You can’t do that!” He yells at her. “You can’t destroy my property! This is assault! I’ll sue you!”

“Try it,” she says flatly. “See what happens.”

The man looks up at her, slack-jawed. I tighten my grip on her arm and hurry her along. “Bitch!” He hollers after her, and she tosses him the finger over her shoulder.

Matt pulls the car up to the curb, and Kenta yanks the door open, standing in front of it to ward off the press of photographers as I slide inside, tugging Briar along with me. Kenta climbs into the seat on her other side, slamming the door shut behind him. The clamour outside is instantly muffled, and Matt pulls out into the road.

“Are you okay?” I ask Briar, running my hands down her body. She’s dishevelled and out of breath. “Shit, I should’ve gotten that guy further away from you—”

“Shut up,” she says, grabbing my collar and pulling me in for a kiss. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into me.

“You almost killed me tonight,” I breathe in her ear.

She shrugs, blasé. “What are you gonna do about it?”

I turn to Kenta. “Give me a hand?”

He grins. “Gladly.” As Matt turns into a line of traffic, we both reach under the hem of her dress. She gasps as we each slide a hand up the inside of one thigh.

“Finally,” she murmurs. “I’ve been waiting for my birthday sex all day.”

I slip my hand up higher, until my fingers brush soft, damp curls. My eyes widen. “You’re not wearing…”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want panty lines.”

I think back to the photographer lying on the ground, and my whole body tenses. “That guy—”

“Is on film attempting to commit a crime,” she finishes. “And you’d better believe I’m gonna report him. So stop worrying about him and get inside me.”

“You heard the lady,” Kenta murmurs, tugging down the strap of her dress with his teeth. I dip my head to kiss her ear, trailing my fingers lightly between her legs. She’s dripping and throbbing. As I press my thumb against her hood, swirling her wetness across her skin, she turns, pressing her hot cheek to mine and mouthing at my throat. I can feel all of her muscles tightening as her breath speeds up. Kenta tugs down the neckline of her dress and licks a line down her cleavage. Briar jerks and arches against me, moaning urgently.

“We’re being followed,” Matt says suddenly.

We all freeze. “What?” I say.

He doesn’t answer, staring at the rearview mirror. Kenta twists and looks out of the windshield. “Blue Sedan,” Matt says.

“Slow down,” Kenta orders, and Matt lifts his foot. “Okay. Switch lanes.” Matt does. Kenta swears, and I fight the urge to twist and see what’s happening behind us. We don’t want this guy seeing we’ve noticed him. Briar shivers again, and I gently reach over her body and clip on her seat belt. She clutches at my shirt.

“License?” Matt barks.

“Can’t see it,” Kenta replies, “he’s got his brights on.”

“Could just be paparazzi,” Briar pipes up.

I cup the back of her head, tugging it down against my chest, and reach for my gun. “Either way, we don’t want anyone following you back to the hotel.”

“Everyone buckled in?” Matt asks. “I can lose him, but it’ll take some fancy driving.”

“Yeah,” we chorus.

“Hang on, then, princess,” he mutters, and hits the gas.