Page 12 of My Broken Bodyguard 3: Catch & Bianca

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Like I said, act like a real girlfriend and maybe.” He lifted a finger. “I’ll give you seven orgasms.”

That got my attention. I was orgasm depraved.

I sauntered to Catch’s side, grabbed his hand, and pushed his long index finger inside my pussy as I held his gaze.

My lips parted as I used his finger to fuck me.

Catch bit my lower lip. “I’ve got a freak on my hands. One who knows what she wants.”

His tongue slid into my mouth, then he pulled back. “If another man so much as watches your ass too long, he’s dead.”

“Catch!” my brows lowered as I withdrew his finger from my body. “You can’t do that. I live in a big city. Men do that every second of every day. Think of something bigger. Like you notice, a man gropes me.”

His eyes darkened. “Yeah, you’ll probably need to move to Jersey. I won’t be able to keep my kill count under control here.”

My eyes widened again. “Catch, no.”

Panic set in as I inched backward. He pulled me to his side, then lowered pasta noodles into a large pot of boiling water.

He sighed. “Bombshell, I’ll try not to kill too many men over you.”

“Catch, you can’t expect me to move to Jersey. I could hate you. Wait, I do hate you.”

His lips pressed against my forehead. “We’ll table this discussion for another time.”

Was he serious about moving me to Jersey? Something told me he was.

CHAPTER SIX

HONESTY

BIANCA

Sitting across from Catch at the kitchen table, arms crossing my chest, I glared at him. Although his comment about me moving to Jersey was heavy on my mind, I had to shake it off.

Bianca, you’re your own woman. He can’t move you anywhere.

My shoulders relaxed at that realization.

Bianca, Catch doesn’t mean anything he says. He’s being cute.

My heart warmed. I liked his cuteness. I’d accept his sweet possessive ways. A month from now, he’ll return to Jersey without me.

In the meantime, enjoy the attention.

When he leaves, you can return to your nerd bubble full-time.

His eyes moved to the piping hot plate of chicken marsala pasta in front of me.

He’d devoured three forkfuls of his pasta. I was sure that was slow for him.

“Stop worrying about Jersey. Eat.”

“I’m not worried about Jersey. This is my home. I live here.”

“And your man lives in Jersey City,” he snarled.

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