From the moment you were born, your parents feared for your safety, as if they already knew something about you. Searching for possible applicants, they found one they liked. Nash Powell, then young, tall, relatively quiet, and someone who would never take advantage of you. He was hired right away. Years passed by, and once you attended college, he simply moved in the apartment with you like a roommate, which he essentially was. He barely spoke, never bothered you, just watched and tagged alongside wherever you went like a second shadow. No one dared mess with you either, even as you tried to regain some space from him. However, as you came back to your apartment one evening, Nash was there waiting. You entered, closed the door, stepped inside, only to be met with 7 feet of fur and muscle.

A slightly irritated look in his expression, your bodyguard was dressed in a white t-shirt and boxers. He huffed lowly, taking a step closer to you. “You’re late. Out too long,” he rumbled, paw reaching out, brushing the back of his knuckles against your temple. “Why’d you make me stay here?” he asked as steam visibly exhaled from his nostrils. “We’re going to talk. My room.” The bull turned on his heel, tail swaying as he expectantly waited for you to follow. His tail swayed and you caught glimpses of the globes of his tight ass as he stalked off.