Page 5 of The Brat and the Bodyguard

“Oooh!” she shrieked. “Ah ah ah!”

Then, I even tried to push my tongue into her tight twat, fucking her vag while the crowd gathered around us, asking if we were alright.

Soon enough, the fashion show’s directors arrived.

“Everyone back to your seats,” a tall woman in a robe commanded. “The show must go on!”

A handsome man materialized as well, clad in an impeccable Armani suit, and fuck but that guy was a poser. He took a deep breath and then swept Ainsley into his arms to the appreciative gasp of the crowd.

“I’ve got you princess,” he breathed while staring into her green eyes. “You’re safe with me.”

But she’s not safe. If she was safe, her brother never would have hired me. Instead, the tall man is a fake knight in fake armor because arealknight would have caught Ainsley when she fell ... which is what I did, and where a bodyguard comes in.

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Ainsley

Who was that man? Where did he come from, and out of nowhere too? I don’t think he was a photographer because he didn’t have a camera strapped to him, although I suppose even professional photographers use their phone cameras these days. Could he have been a fashion reporter? A journalist, perhaps, or maybe a model scout looking for new talent?

My instincts say no because men who work in entertainment don’t look like my hero. My rescuer was tall, massive, and brooding. He was huge, yet with the lightning-fast reflexes of a professional athlete, and the instincts of a first responder accustomed to emergencies. When I collapsed, he wasright there. He knew that I was about to slip off the runway, smash into one of the photographers, and then likely smash the photographer’s camera too, to the tune of four figures or more.

So yes, I was saved by a handsome alpha male, but who was he? And where did he come from? Unfortunately, the hullaballoo from my accidental fall has passed, and now we’re getting ready for the show’s after party. My stomach falls to the ground when I realize I may never see him again. My savior.My man.

I try to look on the good side though.

“So Bianca said I’m still welcome at the after party?” I ask carefully as Justin preens before a mirror. “She’s not turned off by what happened? I kind of ruined her show.”

My boyfriend shrugs, leaning forward to scrutinize his eyebrows. His brows are perfectly plucked, and a bit metrosexual if you ask me. But Justin goes to Anastasia and swears that brow maintenance is a necessary part of his image. God forbid he have an extra hair out of place.

“It’s fine,” he hums. “Accidents happen, honey, and besides, it’s not aboutyou. I don’t mean to burst your bubble but this fashion show is about Bianca and her brand. It’s not about a model falling, or breaking a heel, or chipping a nail. It’s about Bianca’s talent, and her vision.”

I stare at him.

“No, I get that. I just thought she might not want me there because I caused such a ruckus earlier. I don’t want to distract from her limelight with my mere presence.”

Justin doesn’t even turn because he’s now scrutinizing his hair. My boyfriend is gorgeous, I have to acknowledge, with the dreamy blue eyes of a heartthrob, and a black, Elvis-like pompadour. Justin even looks a bit like Elvis with his cleft chin and tanned skin, and I remind myself for the millionth time that I’m lucky to be dating him. But I wish he wouldn’t be so fucking condescending because it really gets under my skin!

“I just want to make sure,” I say in a terse tone. “Especially because I think this ... uh,outfitis going to distract from Bianca and her creative vision, don’t you agree?”

I look down at myself with a frown because I’d love to show up at the La Bianca after-party in a fun, playful dress. A pretty thing, maybe in hot pink or bright orange, calling to mind the swimwear line’s Brazilian origins. There could be sexy cut-outs, or maybe some frilly ruffles on the hem, and I’d pair it with sky high heels, also in a tropical color.

But instead, Justin is insisting that I wear a naked dress. It’s inaccurate to even call it a dress because this thing is basically a tube of sheer, nude-colored hose. It pulls over my tits and then goes all the way to my knees, but the fact is that it’ssheer. The pink circles of my areola are visible, as are the lush curves of my tits. I begged Justin to let me wear full-coverage panties beneath the outfit, but he said that it’d ruin the “vibe” and “overall look.” As a result, I have a tiny g-string covering my cunt, but it’s almost nothing. My pussy lips press against the fabric, and in the back, the string disappears between my giant buttocks. It basically looks like I’m completely nude when viewed from behind.

But Justin’s convinced this is the outfit for me. Or rather for “us,” seeing how he wants to make an impact on the arrivals carpet.

“You look good,” he says, finally turning to study me. “Here, these shoes will complete the outfit.” He hands me a pair of four inch acrylic stripper heels, and my heart sinks. Damn, I’m going to resemble a prostitute tonight, which is not what I want, but I step into them slowly, finding my balance atop the skyscraper-like heels.

“Perfect,” Justin hums, subtly adjusting the décolletage of my “dress” so that it’s even. His blue eyes sweep over my narrow waist, barely covered cunt, and thick thighs. “You look beautiful, Ainsley. You’re just the woman a celebrity like me needs on his arm. We need to beimpactful,” he emphasizes, his blue eyes boring into mine. “No one wants to see another woman in an Oscar’s ballgown. That shit is dull.”

“No, I didn’t say I wanted to wear a ballgown!” I protest feebly. “I just don’t need dress likethis,” I gesture at my barely clad figure. “I mean, I realize this is a swimsuit line, but I’m barely wearinganythingright now.”

“Naked dresses are in vogue days,” Justin says carelessly while helping me into a black fur coat that blessedly covers my curves, providing a degree of security. “I assure you Julia Fox is going to show up in something even crazier. Do you want her to outdo us?”

I stare at him.

“The whole thing is exactly what wedon’twant. We don’t want to distract from Bianca and her clothing line. Julia shouldn’t either because this is Bianca’s night.”

Justin shrugs.

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