He was never supposed to touch her. Not when they first assigned him to the penthouse. Not when he stood silent outside her door while she wept behind it. Not when her silk robe slid off her shoulder one morning, and she didnβt pull it back up.
But tonight, she sleeps wrapped in cream-colored silk, the same sheets she shared with him. Her breathing is slow, even. Trusting.
The Bodyguard stands beside the bed, bare-chested, the heat of the room clinging to his skin. The lamp behind him casts a long shadow across her body β his silhouette, half-guardian, half-intruder. The sheet has slipped from her hip.
He doesnβt wake her. He doesnβt dare. Instead, he lifts the silk carefully, draping it back over her with reverent hands. His fingers graze the curve of her waist. She stirs, but only to lean toward his warmth.
She doesnβt know about the threat that was intercepted hours ago. About the man waiting outside who will never get past the lobby. She sleeps because she believes in him. And that belief undoes him more than any threat ever could.
He sits on the edge of the bed, watching her in the soft light. This isnβt a job anymore.
Itβs devotion, wrapped in silk.
ββ
This image is Ai generated
The Bodyguard: Watchful Beneath Silk Sheets
#AiMay πΆοΈEdition β 05/31 β #Silk
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