Page 78 of My Broken Bodyguard 3: Catch & Bianca

He sounded like he was drunk off me.

“So fucking, sexy, Callum,” I moaned. My back arched off the bed as I circled my throbbing cunt against his mouth.

“Cosiì buono, bellissimo,” he muttered as he lapped up my cum.

That was the first time he spoke Italian while we had sex. I hoped he’d do it more.

“Callum, what did you say?” I asked as I tried to catch my breath.

He moved up my body, planting sensual kisses as he inched closer to my face. My cum glistened on his lips and stubbled cheeks.

“I said so good, beautiful.”

A smile hit the corners of my lips as I pressed them into his. “I want to hear more Italian come from those sexy lips. I can do that, bellissimo.”

Catch fell to my side. His eyes fluttered closed and his light snorting picked up again.

Once the war was over, I’d travel to New Jersey to spend time with Callum. He needed me. For the first time in my entire life, I was torn between my best friends and my man.

***P***

Four days later, I strolled into our bedroom after everyone had a chance to torture Rosco. The man was hanging on by a thread.

My brows rose as I took in the note lying on top of a black dress on the bed.

Who did this? Was it one of the girls?

I eagerly picked up the note. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as my eyes moved over the words quickly.

Dear Bianca,

Despite all we’re going through right now I’d like to take you to dinner. Wear the dress and shoes please.

We deserve this special night. Meet me in the parking lot at eight this evening.

Love Callum

Oh my gosh, he said please. And he signed his real name. Still clutching the note in my hand, my fingers brushed the strapless lace corset that seamlessly melted into the black tulle skirt. I peeked at the strappy black stilettos.

They were gorgeous. Did my friends help Catch pick out the dress and shoes? No. I didn’t wear dresses often. Maybe he desired I dress up more often.

Don’t get in your head, Bianca.

Standing straight up, I tugged at my ponytail. Shit, I needed a full hour to get ready. I ran around the room like a mad woman, plugging in curler irons, yanking a lacey strapless bra and a pair of thong panties out of the dresser. We were going out to dinner. It dawned on me as I stalked into the bathroom, Catch and I had never been on a real date before. Gosh, this was going to be different. Was it safe for us to go out again? I mean sure we stop by the electronics store and took my brother home. We made it back to the warehouse unscathed. I didn’t want to chance it. Maybe we should wait and go to dinner when the war was over. Or we could go to a restaurant in the suburbs. We could eat at a restaurant in Schaumberg or Arlington Heights. Problem solved.

After a nice soak in the tub, I dried off, moisturized my skin, put on a full face of makeup. Something I rarely did. Lastly, I tackled my hair. It had seen better days. The girls and I had been each other stylist for years. As Man-Man became bigger in the dope game Tori paid for spa treatments for her besties. We frequented the Dominican hair salons in Hyde Park. There were times we’d gone to the salons in downtown Chicago. We came out looking like celebrities. Our hair was so soft and bouncy. Secretly, I still preferred going to the Dominicans shops. The gossip alone kept us entertained.

I stared at myself in the mirror a moment. The bright light from the extra lamp I brought into the bathroom brightened my face. My heart slammed against my ribcage at the thought. Myforever man and soon to be husband. I still couldn’t get over this man dragging me to the altar. The unhealthy relationship I had with money crept in again. I bought clothes from clothing stores that were the equivalent of shopping at the dollar store. Sure Tori could afford to buy her girls new wardrobes but we didn’t want that. We were hard workers. Earners. We preferred to work for everything. It felt weird I had an enormous amount of money in the Caman accounts. I could only touch a little bit at a time, but it was still mine. Now I was getting married to a wealthy man. It seemed so surreal. One night Catch and I were sitting in bed. He placed his phone in my hand. There was an abundance of pictures of his mansion. His home looked like it had been plucked from the pages of Architectural Digest. The décor was next level. I felt tinier than I’d ever felt before. This man had seen the home I grew up in. I still couldn’t get over him looking through my closet. I squeezed my eyes shut. Deep down I knew I wasn’t his charity case. That wasn’t what drew him to me. I just had to remember what brought us together. My smart mouth. A smile hit my lips. I was thankful for that.

After curling my hair, I worked my fingers through my hair allowing the bouncy curls to brush my shoulders. My eyes combed over my hair, makeup, and the racy bra and panties.

“Damn girl, you look hot.” I smiled at my reflection in the mirror.

I darted out the bathroom toward the bed. My eyes moved to the face of the expensive watch on my arm. The other day I woke up and felt something on my wrist. I thought it was handcuffs again. I brought my wrist to my face and noticed the platinum band and the diamond encrusted around the face. It was a stunning watch. I didn’t want to wear it on the South Side. Even though people knew not to fuck with us. There was always that one fucker who thought robbing the dope dealer’s girlfriend and her friends was a smart thing to do. For that motherfucker andhis friends’ it wasn’t. I smirked at the memory as I slid my feet into the strappy shoes. Man-Man and his boys beat those fools’ asses.

Slinking the dress up my body, I peered at myself in the mirror over the dresser.

Wow, the entire look is a ten. If I must say so myself. This South Side girl cleaned up nice.

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