Tapping Her (Bad Boy Billionaires #1.5) Read online

  “I’m loving the sound of this,” he said, his voice choppy.

  “This morning,” I said, wrapping my hand around his cock, “my happiness will be all about my husband’s happiness.”

  “That’s one hell of a cycle.”

  The instant my tongue tasted him, he groaned.

  “Fuck, yeah, this is definitely making me happy.”

  New York, Saturday, May 14th, Morning

  “Go ahead, Stan,” I whispered in the late morning sunlight of our bedroom. “Get closer. Come on, scoot closer. Really crowd her.”

  Waking up to Georgie earlier was one of the best unexpected treats I’d ever experienced. I’d missed her an awful lot—to the point that I was starting to annoy myself. Long, drawn-out conversations with Walter and Stan weren’t my idea of an ideal reality. I’d needed my wife, I’d needed her surprise, and now, I couldn’t wait to give her another one of her own.

  I turned to look behind me and found Walter looking on from the edge of the area rug, completely unamused. “You too. Get up here!” I whisper-yelled. “I need your help.” He narrowed his eyes at me, and I mirrored the gesture right back at him. “Don’t you want to show her our other surprise?”

  Two more licks to his paw later, he finally moved forward and jumped up on the bed.

  “Thank you.”

  Now I’m thanking cats? Jesus.

  “Get close, guys,” I instructed again, and for once, they listened.

  Stan’s nose nudged under the curve of Georgie’s neck, and Walter laid his kitty paw on her cheek on the other side. She swiped and swatted and tried to shoo it away, but my boys were relentless.

  “Georgie,” I whispered, trying to help her along on the trip from Sleepytown to Awakeville.

  “Bratwurst,” she mumbled.

  “Pickles,” she went on. I laughed. “Big-dicked—”

  Hell yes!

  “Thor.”

  Fuck.

  “Benny, wake up.”

  She moaned and tried to move, but the animals wouldn’t let her, and finally, her eyes popped open in frustration. “Fucking space management, you little shits are a bigger problem than I realized,” she announced immediately, seeing them and not me.

  “I tried to tell you.”

  “Shit!” she shrieked, a hand rising to her chest as a flimsy shield. “You scared me to death.”

  I smiled and raised my eyebrows. “Rough wake-up call, baby?”

  “No,” she denied. “I was just surprised is all.”

  “You’re drowning in paws.”

  “Okay,” she hedged. “Maybe a little, but it’s no big deal.”

  She was afraid I was going to take the dog back. Stan barked like he could sense it.

  “I don’t know.” I pushed on, desperate to get her good and riled up. “I was afraid this would happen. There’s no room for me in that bed, and I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Kline—”

  “No, Benny. If there’s a bed with you, I want to be in it.”

  “We’ll get a bigger bed,” she offered quickly.

  “This bedroom really isn’t big enough for a king.”

  I was expecting her to get angry, but she just looked crestfallen. Shit.

  Tears threatened the corners of her pretty blue eyes, and I knew I’d do anything to stop them. Striding to the bed, I shoved Walter out of the way with a hiss and cupped her cheek.

  “Don’t cry, baby. I was just messing with you. Stan’s here to stay, I swear.”

  Her waterfall of melancholy dried up faster than a raindrop.

  “What the fuck? Were you faking those tears?”

  “Maybe,” she admitted with a smirk.

  Fuck. I would have fucking sworn those tears were real. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.”

  “I’m sorry,” she laughed. “I promise to never trap you with fake tears if you promise to always keep Stan.”

  I had no plans to get rid of Stan. Quite frankly, I kind of liked him. “Deal.”

  She smiled again and wrapped her arms around my neck, and it took a full thirty seconds before I realized my perfectly crafted plan hadn’t been executed even close to the blueprints.

  “Shit.”

  “What?” she asked, pulling back to look at me.

  “Nothing. Just…that didn’t go according to plan at all. I started that whole mess for a reason.”

  “A reason?”

  “A big one,” I clarified with a playful wince.

  “Just spit it out!” she yelled through a laugh, smacking me on the chest.

  So I did.

  “You want to go see our new house?”

  “House? As in…a house?!”

  “It’s the housiest house I’ve ever seen,” I joked.

  “Oh, my God! I fucking love housey houses!” she shouted and stage dived directly off the bed and even deeper into my heart.

  She was perfect in all of her awkward excitement, and I was just the man at her mercy.

  “I love you,” I told her, just as her mouth met mine.

  “Me too,” she said. “I can’t believe you did this. Why? Why did you do this?”

  “Because you want the dog, and Walter wants the dog, and that means I want Stan too. Stan means fucking space. This’ll give it to us.”

  “Kline.”

  “We’ll always miss you when you’re gone, but when you come back, you’ll always know we’re all happy and healthy and waiting completely impatiently at home.”

  New York, Tuesday, May 16th, Very Early Morning

  Kline and Georgia had been back from their honeymoon for two weeks, and already, the fucker had gone and gotten her a house and a dog. He was sick in the head, but if you asked me, that was the definition of love. I hated that they were moving out of the city, but they still worked here, and Kline never went out anyway. I’d just have to travel a little farther when I felt like crashing on their couch. Otherwise, my life would remain pretty much the same.

  My phone chirping over the hum of needles pulled my attention away from my friend Frankie’s latest portrait tattoo. Some guy from Detroit had driven all the way here just for Frankie’s unique talent. I still got a kick out of that shit.

  When I picked up my phone, a text message from a number I didn’t recognize read like a fucking novel.

  Unknown: The Mingan Island Cetacean Study Group has been using photographic techniques to study humpback whales for the last 16 years. In that time, they began to realize that female humpback whales not only make friends with one another, but they reunite each year.

  Isn’t that adorable! Such cuties!

  If you’ve received this message in error, please text Unsubscribe. If you’re ready for another complementary fact, text Whale Lover.

  What in the ever-loving fuck is this shit?

  Me: UNSUBSCRIBE

  Unknown: If you would like to unsubscribe from Interesting Whale Facts of the Day, text yes. But we really hope you don’t because we’d sure miss you!

  Me: YES.

  Unknown: YES, PLEASE! You just received a superspecial subscription to Sexy Words of the Day. There’s nothing sexier than a man whispering, “You’re beautiful,” into a woman’s ear.

  What the fucking fuck? My fingers tapped violently across the screen.

  Me: Goddammit. I don’t want this.

  Unknown: We had an issue with processing your request. If you’d like to unsubscribe from Sexy Words of the Day, text yes.

  Me: FUCK YES. UNSUBSCRIBE YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKERS.

  Unknown: You’re a dirty, dirty boy who just received a free picture subscription to Spank Me Daddy. Are you ready for your first picture? Text yes, if you are.

  Okay. I’d been frustrated, but fuck if I wasn’t intrigued by this turn of events.

  Me: YES

  Unknown: Uh-oh, you just unsubscribed from Spank Me Daddy. We’re going to be so sad you’re leaving.

  Me: I said YES, cocksucker. Fucking hell, you need better IT.
r />   Unknown: Did someone just say the secret password?

  Oh, yeah! Now we were speaking the same language.

  Me: Cocksucker? That’s my secret password?

  Unknown: Yes, he did! You’ve just won 30 days of getting to watch Cassie masturbate without getting to touch her. Congratulations, dickwad.

  Unknown: Oh, hey, by the way, I got a new number.

  Goddammit, this fucking girl. She was pure evil. I hadn’t heard from her since we’d parted ways in front of the coffee shop. I glanced around the crowded tattoo parlor and found no one was paying me or my half chub any attention. It was nearing one a.m., but this was when the place got really busy. Everyone was occupied.

  I assigned her name to this number and shot her a reply.

  Me: *whispering into your ear* You’re beautiful, Cassie.

  Cass: I know. You should see me right now. Bent forward at the waist. Legs spread. And…

  Jesus Christ.

  Me: And what? What are you doing, babe?

  Cass: Touching…Lots of touching…

  Yes. Hell yes.

  Cass: Phones. Touching phones, you perv. Verizon has a strict pants policy.

  Verizon? What the hell? I glanced around one more time before stepping out onto the sidewalk and pushing the little phone at the top of her message.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “Well, hello, Thatcher. You sure are a naughty boy, Daddy.”

  I chuckled. “I’m only as naughty as you want me to be, honey.”

  “How are you? Out chasing pussy?” she asked, and my eyebrows pinched together. She sounded like she was fishing.

  I looked back inside the shop through the glass door and back down to the sidewalk. “No. At work, actually.”

  “Work?” she yelled. “It’s like middle-of-the-night o’clock there too, isn’t it?”

  “Ah, but I’m a man of many mysteries. You didn’t think I just had the one job, did you?”

  “Well, yeah. I fucking did.”

  I laughed. “I told you. I have my hands in everything.”

  “I just figured that was a euphemism for pussy.”

  Frankie’s gaze jerked toward me through the door at the sound of my booming laughter, and I shook my head at him. “What are you doing with a new number? If you lost your phone, you can just get a new one, you know.”

  “Fuck that shit. And I didn’t lose my phone. I’m fucking responsible.”

  “Right,” I lied.

  “I am. That’s what the number change is all about, actually. The last four digits spell out ‘Cass’ now. How fucking great is that?”

  My eyebrows pinched together again. “You changed your number so that you’d have a text acronym at the end?”

  “Yes! I had a late afternoon shoot, and then went for a couple of drinks with the guys afterward.”

  “The guys?”

  “And we were talking and drinking, and it just hit me. I had to change my number.”

  I was curious about the guys. Really fucking curious. But now I was curious about other things. “You’re drunk right now?”

  “Tipsy,” she admitted.

  Jesus. All that whale shit and subterfuge. “You’re probably the most proficient drunk texter I’ve ever encountered in my life,” I said and laughed.

  “Baby,” drunk Cassie cooed, and my dick swelled from half cocked to fully loaded. “I’m proficient at all kinds of things.”

  Bahamas, Tuesday, May 16th, Very Early Morning

  “I’m all ears, honey.” His husky voice vibrated against my cheek.

  I ran my finger across the rim of my margarita glass and then slid it into my mouth, sucking the salt off. The jury was still out on why Thatch had been my first text from my new number, but for some odd reason, he was.

  I couldn’t help myself. I just really liked screwing with him—he took any shit I gave with ease and tossed it right back. And if I was being honest, I really fucking liked it. Not many men could handle my version of sarcasm. But, Thatch? Yeah, he handled it all right, seemingly entertained by whatever came out of my mouth.

  Well, that and my tits. Yeah, he found them entertaining too.

  “Put your boner away, Thatcher,” I teased him with our running joke. An inside fucking joke. With Thatcher Kelly. What was the world coming to?

  “You started this,” he said, and I could picture his sexy smirk. “What are your tits wearing, Cass?”

  “None of your business.” I laughed. And smiled.

  “Oh, but it is my business. Your tits and I are on a first-name basis. We’re like Pam and Jim. P, B, and motherfucking J.”

  I kept smiling. “You watch The Office?”

  “Would Kline eat dog shit for Georgia? Of course, I watch The Office.”

  “I take it you heard about Stan.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “I owe Kline a lot of favors thanks to you losing their cat.”

  “I did not lose their cat!” I exclaimed, and nearly everyone in the bar turned in my direction. “Oh, fuck off! This is a bar, not a goddamn library!” I shouted toward no asshole in particular.

  “Starting your UFC career in the Bahamas doesn’t sound like a good idea, Cass,” Thatch said. “I thought you agreed to be good?” His voice was edged with something my drunken brain couldn’t decipher.

  “Yeah, but it’s your version of good. That leaves room for a lot of possibilities.”

  He ignored the jab. “Promise me something, honey.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “No Fight Club unless I’m with you.”

  “Ohhh…Thatcher doesn’t think I’m strong enough to take care of myself?” I retorted sarcastically.

  “I know you are, Cass,” he responded immediately.

  “Then why would I need you around?”

  “Because I want to be there. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  My chest felt tingly and weird. “Well…that’s really kind of sweet of you to say.”

  “I can be sweet, honey. I can be real fucking sweet when I want to be.”

  “Cass! We’re getting ready to head out. You comin’?” Arnoldo yelled from the bar as he closed out his tab.

  “Who was that?” Thatch asked.

  “Arnoldo,” I answered. “He’s one of the models I’ve been working with down here.”

  The phone went silent for a few beats, and for some odd reason, I felt the need to add a few more details. “Arnoldo is crazy good-looking…and getting over a harsh breakup with his boyfriend. I told him we could spend the rest of the night in my hotel room, stuffing our faces with room service and trashing stupid men.”

  He chuckled. “Sounds like a party.”

  “You know it.” I got up from my barstool and grabbed my purse. “I better go. I’ve got a guy to console, feed, and shove off to bed, before I rub one out and call it a night.”

  “Tell your tits I miss them.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”

  “Do that while you’re spread-eagled on your bed and getting yourself off to thoughts of me.”

  “I would, but you haven’t given me anything to have thoughts about.”

  Yeah, yeah, I know that was a lie.

  Of course, he’d given me things to think about. I had felt his cock.

  Believe me, I had a lot of fucking thoughts about that monster.

  “I accept that challenge.”

  God, he was like the king of one-upping.

  “Good night, Cass. Be good.”

  “Be sweet, Thatch,” I said and then ended the call.

  Be sweet? Did I really just say that?

  Hell, Thatcher Kelly hadn’t crawled inside my brain and started demanding attention. And I knew, without a doubt, this situation had nowhere else to go but down…and up…and back down again…on the Jolly Green Giant’s cock.

  THE END

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  Cassie and Thatch are coming for you next in Banking the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys Book 2) on July 26, 2016.

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  First of all, THANK YOU for reading. That goes for anyone who’s bought a copy, read an ARC, helped us beta, edited, or found time in their busy schedule just to make sure we didn’t completely fuck over Kline and Georgie…or Walter. We know some of you are here for that asshole.

  Thank you for supporting us, for talking about our books, and for just being so unbelievably loving and supportive of our characters. You’ve made this our MOST favorite adventure thus far.

  THANK YOU to each other. Monroe is thanking Max. Max is thanking Monroe. This shouldn’t surprise you since we did this in the first book. Or maybe it does surprise you because you didn’t read those acknowledgements. Fuck you very much, Leslie. Well, in case you missed it, we’ll say it again. And again. We’ll actually probably do this forever.