My Protector: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  Contents

  My Protector

  NEWSLETTER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  My Protector

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 261

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2021 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  My Protector

  Becky

  It’s the job from hell with the boss from a place lower than hell, but it pays cash and I need to make rent like anyone else.

  I thought once I got a cash job as a barmaid, all my problems would be over.

  Being called up to the boss’s office, I hope I’m being given a raise but just figure I’m plain old fired.

  Thing is, thick, heavy set girls don’t really fit into the boss’s idea of his Gentleman’s Club.

  But I do know how to smile, how to keep the glasses full and make the members feel like I really give a crap, even though I’m dying inside.

  I need out of this.

  Out of this club, out of this lifestyle.

  I need rescuing, but who would? Who could?

  Dillon Maxwell. That’s who.

  The new bouncer hired to mind the door is a security expert, but I can tell at a glance he has more than my security on his mind.

  And more than the job at hand to worry about. He’s a man with a past. Has to be working in a dive like this.

  But it’s his sudden interest in me that gives me hope.

  Under his watchful eye and powerful presence, it isn’t long before I’m caught doing what any sane girl would.

  An older guy like that has more than just a few flecks of gray.

  He’s got experience. Power. And once he catches me I know I’m his.

  Not just to protect.

  I know I’m his forever.

  Dillon

  When my security business partner and best friend of thirty-five years double-crosses me, I figure I’ll have to start over.

  He set me up, stole everything, and made it all look like I was the bad guy.

  I can be bad, but not like that. Not breaking oaths we made as kids.

  Maybe I should start over by working him over but the probation courts have another idea.

  I never thought I’d be doing what I do best, looking mean and scary for such little money either.

  But the job I’m forced to take is minding a door at a very particular type of member’s only club.

  Giving myself over to the idea, figuring I’ll have to bide my time to find a way to get my livelihood back, to reclaim my honor I prepare to just get on with the job.

  Until I sense something behind a different kind of door that changes the course of my life forever.

  A so-called Gentleman’s Club that’s really a front for an illegal gambling den isn’t where I’d expect to find a young, curvy girl who needs rescuing.

  Let alone a younger girl who wouldn’t even think twice about an older man like me.

  I catch her though. Tainting what I know belongs to me from the first second I see it.

  I’ll get her out of this club.

  I’ll get my business back, but most of all…

  I’ll be the one telling where and when she finds pleasure from now on because she’s under my protection now.

  * My Protector is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

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  Chapter One

  Becky

  It’s not every day I get called in early to see the boss, in fact. I never have come to think of it.

  I only met him once in person. The day I was hired not so long ago. I was so happy that day. Thought all my problems were over.

  Like I’d never have to worry about money again let alone work hard another day in my life.

  Ha!

  I gulp hard and heavy, at the base of the spiral staircase to the boss’s office, the smell of last night’s cigar and cigarette smoke mixed with the reek of stale high end booze lingering in the Special Member’s only lounge.

  Stairway to heaven. That’s what the boss likes to call it according to most of the other girls.

  Ugh!

  The man’s a pig, but he pays cash and I need every cent I can get if I’m gonna make my already overdue rent this month.

  A college education, three years with a diploma in ‘The Arts’. Hardly what the world is crying out for right now.

  Let alone a five foot, thick set girl that hides her real emotions behind a bubbly smile.

  Inside I’m dying.

  If I don’t flash a smile, keep every glass full and every patron of the bosses club happy, I’m better off dead.

  Royally screwed.

  In fact, I have a hunch if my landlord and my boss ever met, they’d get on like a large house fire. Like one of those high rise infernos.

  Filled with plastic and electric vehicle batteries with Kevlar tires filling the underground garage.

  The kind they can never put out.

  Maybe they’re related and I just don’t know it?

  Fortunately for me, my boss doesn’t have an eye for thick set, top heavy girls with wide hips and enough ass for a bench seat.

  He told me as much on day one.

  Nope. My job is to tend the front bar, flash my pearly whites and keep topping those drinks up until I get the cue.

  The word comes via a phone call from behind the bar or a simple nod from security at the door.

  Get ‘em loosened up enough and then direct them to any one of the plastic faced Barbie’s who waitress here who woo them to the gaming tables in the back.

  That’s how the boss makes the real money. And I know for a fact it doesn’t flow down the food chain to the bar staff either.

  Apart from knowing which door they go through, and the shape of the stick figures who lures them here, I just do my job.

  Maybe it’s a promotion? Finally, a pay rise.

  I’m not
sure what chokes me first as I climb the last few steps, hesitating at the huge steel door before I knock. The bullshit thought or the rising staleness from the thickly carpeted lounge down below.

  I don’t know how they can stand it.

  Booze and smoke. I mean, choose your poison buddy. But both at once?

  Yuck.

  The stale smell aside, it’s a plush looking place from what I’ve seen of the Special Member’s only lounge. Thick, thick red carpeting, big everything. Like the brass banister and handrail of the solid oak steps I climb.

  With chunky, gleaming tabletops. Smooth with heavy lacquer and inlaid timber patterns.

  The same inlaid woodwork discreetly advertising the men’s rooms and a couple more doors so discreet they aren’t even marked private. They even look like a part of the walls.

  It’s that kind of club. Not full underground, Mafioso stuff, but an illegal gambling house using a gentleman’s club as a front.

  We all know it, but the need for cash keeps us quiet and smiling.

  If I need to pee during a shift, I have to make do since I’m not allowed to use the guest’s bathroom. Mostly sneaking into the only other bathroom in the basement that certainly looks like it could use a woman’s touch.

  But the only thing to touch it is my ass when I have to choose between pissing in private, or in the small sink behind the bar as my only other option.

  No thanks. That’s just the kind of floor show the regulars would appreciate, I suspect.

  The bar and ‘club’ out front are the same as the private lounge, but less intimate and with no shag pile carpet.

  The room with the gaming tables? Never seen it only heard whispers from the others. Once my shift’s over and I’ve been paid I’m outta here.

  I rarely get to step out from behind the heavy wooden bar anyway, but I do see my own reflection so often as I turn to fix drinks that it almost feels like there are two of me.

  I wished there was.

  One could sleep and the other I’d send to work.

  I watch my hand shaking, hesitating before I knock.

  There are two male voices, thickly muted by the door but one I recognize, the other I don’t.

  It’s a deeper voice, a low gravelly one.

  Deep and fierce. A wildness to it that I feel under my feet.

  Is the A/C on too high in here? I just got a chill right up my spine.

  In fact, a very odd feeling to have at work rushes over me, making me regret wearing my white work shirt and short black skirt with matching stockings.

  Standard uniform for me, minus the barmaid’s apron.

  But it’ll do nothing to cover my chest, suddenly stiff at the sound of—

  Before I even knock, the heavy steel door swings open and I gasp out loud.

  So loud it’s almost a scream.

  My hands go up in reflex, meeting the thick wall of muscle behind the voice of the man I just heard.

  Before I look up, for the man must be well over six-five. Pushing seven feet easily. I feel the base of his pecs and abs tighten and flex through his shirt.

  A well-made, tight fitting button-up shirt made of a material that looks like velvet but is so light it almost shimmers.

  And pants.

  Tight suit pants. Everything about this man is tight, toned.

  Perfect.

  The same low growling voice lets loose again.

  Another low rumble I feel that makes me moan quietly as it vibrates right through my hands all the way down to my freshly sodden mound.

  Flinching, I feel my stiff little clit pop out from under its hood, rasping against my panties.

  I even feel my forbidden hole clench then quiver too. My sodden pussy is suddenly on fire as my fingernails dig into this slab of a man while I just stand there, eyeballing his perfect physique through his equally perfect outfit.

  Inhaling his heady, musky scent. A mix of man, hard work, and fall leaves after the rain.

  Knowing that when I look up I’ll probably be in love.

  That’s what it feels like anyway. In love with this feeling already.

  About as close to either a real man or love as I’m gonna get in this life too. Accidentally running into it before he tells me to beat it.

  But he doesn’t.

  His growl is low but not angry. It’s…

  Pleased for a change.

  A satisfied, fulfilled animal sound.

  Like an alpha wolf who’s spotted his first meal in a week or more.

  I try telling myself it’s just my hormones, but there’s no way this is my hormones. This is the kind of thing I’ve only read about in dollar romance novels or seen in a certain type of movie.

  Just when it feels like every hole is quivering, yearning for something to fill it, my boss’s voice grates through the most magical moment of my life.

  “Well don’t just stand there, Becky. Let the man through will ya!”

  I look up, and yeah. I’m gonna hazard a guess at six-seven, six-eight.

  The guy’s a freaking monster. Not a bad, ugly monster. No way.

  A godly, ruggedly handsome monster of a man. A real man in every sense of the word.

  The kind of monster man you want to break into your room at night or climb out from under your bed to scratch that itch, fulfill every dark fantasy you’ve ever had about a man and what you want them to do to you.

  The kind of monster that has deep, dark eyes and a chiseled jaw permanently set to bad boy mode.

  Cropped dark hair with enough silver to show he’s a man of the world. Mature as well as experienced.

  His lip curls some as he focuses on my features, instead of moving back I instinctively move closer, letting my hands run down the rock hard front of him.

  “Becky. Are you fucking hard of hearing? Let the man through.” My boss groans, making a clicking sound with his teeth, sucking in air or trying to dislodge some food.

  This man, whoever he is, turns his torso to look over to my boss.

  “Oh. Uh, Dillon. Becky. Becky, Dillon. Yada Yada…” he huffs, waving his hand impatiently, trying to dismiss one of us out of his office so he can deal with the other, but Dillon’s not budging.

  Not just yet.

  One of his huge hands reaches out for mine, I feel like a child in his shadow as he fills the doorway.

  “Dillon,” he informs me in that low, smoky voice.

  I feel the charge from his hand run straight through me as I stifle another little moan. His name is like a hammering blow to that feeling between my legs.

  Sparks flying in every direction, the white heat of charged steel struck by something stronger, harder, and instantly leaving me craving more.

  Something inside me feeling like it’s about to come loose for good.

  “Becky,” I squeak.

  My boss’s voice cuts in over us again. “Seven thirty, Dillon. Don’t be late,” He snaps.

  Dillon’s dark eyes narrow, boring into mine after moving up from my throbbing chest.

  “I’ll be here,” he rasps without looking back, keeping a tight grip on my hand right up until he passes me by, the beginnings of something long and hard in his pants brushing my arm as he does.

  Chapter Two

  Dillon

  Charlie Sawyer looks like a guy who could clean up his act. He’s about a hundred pounds overweight, shaking a little from lack of his first drink this early in the day, and kinda gray looking from the perpetual cigar he seems to have installed at the corner of his liver-lipped mouth.

  The trouble for me, and him right now is that his act seems to be doing pretty well for itself.

  Better than mine, which isn’t hard right now.

  I need a job and I need cash. Aside from using my body, the only thing I can think of in a pinch is to do what I do best, look big and scary.

  Security.

  Oh, I have my own business, doing really well too.

  I mean. I had my own business.

  They say never work with animals o
r children.

  So what do you do when your business partner in a security business is a childish ape?

  I should have known better, but when said partner is a friend so old, each of us with so many oaths sworn to each other since we were kids ourselves… It’s hard to beat myself up over it.

  Even harder not to beat him up over it all too. Taking the rap for his fuck up’s. Too many times now, and for the last time.

  That’s my oath to myself.

  And the judge.

  On probation for fraud and tax evasion I knew nothing about, my oldest friend and newest adversary Matt Diamond is the real reason I’m here.

  Charlie Sawyer leans in over his dark wooden desk, his red-lidded eyes scanning me from head to toe.

  He looks suspicious.

  “It’s twenty-five an hour. Half cash, half on the books,” he drawls, leaning his bulk back in his chair which creaks.

  My eyes narrow and I fight the urge to tell him to fuck off.

  I don’t usually get out of bed for less than three zeros a day. Twenty-five bucks an hour is like showing me a picture of my mom and telling me he fucked her.

  If I had a mom. If this guy knew how to fuck too, that is.

  I feel my heels tense, my whole body turning to leave out of reflex.

  It’s an insult is what it is.

  But I know and he knows that I’m screwed without this job. Without his signature on that slip of paper.

  He lifts the pink form, the probation office has been in touch.