Sex With My Bodyguard

As David speaks, I feel a sudden tightening in my thighs in response to his ominous tone. "Return to your house."

No. I will not be returning to my house. You're not alone in this. I remark carelessly, "Can't go home." The distance from here to home is rather great. Yes, if not both of them.

You can go to your flat within walking distance in a matter of minutes.

Naturally, he is aware of this. When my parents passed away, a trust money was left to me, and he is the executor of that trust. David has been very prudent with the money; according to my financial adviser, I now have more money than I had when my parents passed away. When it comes to finances, he never talks to me. The financial planner handles all of my demands. The number of times David flat-out tells me "no" is negligible. He has been completely silent to me.

We'd have to have a chat about it.

I look at the time on my diamond wristwatch. Soon, very soon.

"Anna."

To which David replies, "Raise your glass," I offer him a drink. For the sake of nostalgia.

"Anna." Beyond his barely contained fury, something more seeps through his tone. David casts a wary eye around, as if trying to gauge how many eyes are on us. Are we going to have a hard time with you?

Though my chest aches a little, I grin. "People say I'm constantly a pain in the neck."

He faces me again, his black eyes still holding that inexplicable expression. Eventually, he lets out a sigh of relief. "You have one more drink and I'm calling a taxi for you," he said.

You got it right; I don't think so either. The humor in me nearly lets loose, but I know he wouldn't enjoy it. Though I was victorious in our first meeting, I still have a long way to go before I can declare victory in this conflict. And at that same time, the bartender steps up with the second drink. Putting it on the bar, he walks away silently.

I like a scotch when sipping on it. It's quite stalker-like that you continually finding out where I am on my birthday," she said. This seems like a lot of effort for not much reward.

David looks down at his beverage as though it had just insulted his mother. Avoid seeming naive by all means, Anna. Don't bother with it; it's not right for you. To find you, I only need to use social media. You put your whereabouts out there for the world to see.

"Oh. That." I raise my glass and grin. In the days coming up to my birthday, I always, always post and provide my whereabouts. Since my first birthday in Madeli, I have. It's only natural that I update so often. Sponsorships on social media are a major source of income for me. They are fond of sending me on errands. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it. It wasn't something I was really interested in throughout my teenage years, but I can now appreciate the rush that comes with a well-curated social media feed. In fact, I've gotten to the point where I'm earning a comfortable livelihood from building them for other people. I don't need the money, but I like doing this.

You pose a serious threat, the speaker said. He whispers it so low that I doubt he even intends for me to pick it up.

He is completely unaware.

We had been drinking in quiet for what seems like an eternity. Instead, David just watches me drink. Fear is creeping in now that the moment has come. That David has been a significant, if limited, part of my life is not evidence that he views me in the same light. I could have made up the chemistry that flares up between us anytime he's in close proximity. It's possible that I misunderstood something that occurred on my previous birthday, too.

As I shut my eyes, I mentally prepare myself. No. Believe me, I didn't misread it. I'm almost certain of it, but the only way to be sure is to take my shot in a manner that he can't ignore. I'm not getting in the taxi with you, David.

"You are, indeed."

"In reality, I am not," I said. When my knees touch his on the bar stool, I stop turning to face him. It just takes the slightest touch to send shockwaves of pain through me. In other words, "I'm about to have a birthday."

You may say, "I'm aware." There's a little tenseness in his leg, but he makes no additional movements... Nothing, not even a move.

You beat the clock. The day of my birthday is the only time you ever come up, and even then you behave like the birthday Grinch after I've already had a good day without you. Nonetheless, I really doubt that what transpired last year could be classified as amusing in any sense of the term. To have fun, all you need is a sense of the absurd. The celebration of my previous birthday was very passionate, and its aftereffects seem to have embedded themselves deeply through my own being. It's something I've daydreamed about plenty of times.

I should probably put it out of my mind if I want to be productive.

"That's a weird way to express gratitude."

I retort, "Because I'm not saying thank you." I didn't need you to rescue me or come seeking for me.

David studies the collection of bottles that lines the bar's back wall. "You had to be rescued."

I'd want to disagree, but it's the truth. I spent a long period in free fall following my parents' deaths, and even though I eventually recovered my footing, my birthday is still the one day of the year that always throws me for a loop. Each and every single year. In that case, maybe he is somewhat correct that I do need rescuing. It's possible that you've been useful on occasion.

When he looks at me, my chest tightens with anticipation. His good looks make me weak at the knees. He has a big frame, which may provide for excellent hugs or enable him to pull someone's head clean off. He had to be in his early forties, but his dark hair is still a bit too long and shows no indications of graying. Last year as he carried me and I buried my face in his beard, I could smell cloves.

David's look is too vague for me to interpret it. One thing I can say for sure is that it's quite exciting. He has a soft, low voice and can convey a lot with only a few words. "Amsterdam."