Tapping Her (Bad Boy Billionaires #1.5) Read online

  “Cass, calm down.”

  “I will not calm down!” she screeched.

  I reached out to lay a reassuring hand on her arm at the same time another tenant stepped out of the adjacent apartment.

  Prim and proper, the conservative woman wrinkled her nose at Cassie’s outfit and pinched her eyes at me. “All this yelling. I thought this apartment building had a better handle on class.”

  Cass turned in a flourish, cocking her head to the side and getting right in the offender’s face. “I will go Holly Holm on your ass!”

  I jumped into action, wrapping my arms around her and copping a small feel in the process. She burned me with her eyes, and I tried not to smile, but as I turned back to the still open apartment door, Walter scurried out like a shot and turned the corner in a flash. Releasing Cass, I traveled the space in as few steps as my giant legs would allow, but when I rounded the bend, not a whisker or a hair remained.

  Ah, fuck.

  The dick cat hadn’t been missing, but he sure as fuck was now.

  Bora Bora, Thursday, April 20th, Morning

  Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I could see 7:00 a.m. glowed red and bright. My internal clock was still on East Coast time, and I had started a bad habit of napping in the midafternoon sun for the past three days. Sounds of the ocean filtered through the open terrace doors, a warm breeze brushing across the room and filling it with aromas of salt water and sand.

  Stupidly happy. Thoroughly well-fucked. Blissfully sated.

  No doubt, I was all of those things.

  The sole reason lay beside me, sprawled out on his back, with soft, white sheets barely covering his deliciously naked form. Kline was sound asleep, hair mussed up and a small grin etched across his full lips. He had passed out that way after round three—or was it four?—and that little expression of appreciation had stayed intact for the past hour. Since round four had been an oral experiment in showing him just how much I loved him, I’d say his sexy grin was a direct result of my mouth.

  We had been on our honeymoon for three days, and I still needed to pinch myself to believe it was real. That he—my handsome, charming, undeniably romantic husband—was real. We still had another week and a half to enjoy our privacy in Bora Bora, but I was already feeling grumpy over the idea of returning home and leaving our little slice of tropical heaven.

  I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and scrolled through numerous emails. One from my boss, Kline’s good friend Wes, urged a quick response.

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Georgia,

  I hope you and Kline are enjoying your honeymoon. If you can spare a few minutes away from your husband, I’d be forever in your debt if you could take a glance at this contract. If he gives you grief, just send him my way. I’d really like your opinion on this offer before we pull the trigger.

  Wes Lancaster

  President and Chief Executive Officer

  New York Mavericks

  National Football League

  The contract in question was for a sports drink campaign. I couldn’t deny the drink tasted like gasoline, but the VITAsteel brand had been growing in popularity over the past three years and had made quite the name for itself in the sports industry. Professional athletes across the globe fell over themselves to land an endorsement with this company. And even though the Mavericks were knocked out in the first-round playoffs last year, I had managed to get some raised eyebrows of intrigue over at VITAsteel when I proposed a contract that included our quarterback and offensive line.

  See? I was starting to understand football lingo. Of course, I still nicknamed all of our players, but no one needed to know that.

  I read through the contract and sent a quick email back to Wes, highlighting the things I didn’t like. The offer was good, but it could be better. First rule of business, always be prepared to negotiate and never take the first offer that’s sent your way. My business-savvy husband taught me that.

  Considering I was getting emails from my boss during my honeymoon, I’d say it was obvious work was about to get a bit intense for me. The New York Mavericks were in the midst of a marketing overhaul and rebranding, and since I was leading this insane task, my job would require more than a simple, forty-hours-a-week schedule. Late nights, gallons of coffee, and a shitload of frequent flyer miles were about to fill my future.

  I had a feeling Kline wasn’t going to swallow this pill all that well.

  My husband was understanding to a fault, but he had gotten used to me being by his side at the office for the early part of our relationship, and even after I had taken the job with the Mavericks and we had managed to find our way back to one another, my work hours were manageable. He’d been making a real effort to leave work at five o’clock, and I’d done the same. But my workload was about to increase tenfold. Who wants to hear that kind of news from their brand-new wife?

  And if I was being honest, I wasn’t all that thrilled with the idea of less time with him either. I hated it, actually. But my career was important to me. The drive to pave out my own kind of success ran deep. I wanted, no, needed, to accomplish the goals I had set for myself.

  Finding the right balance and some serious understanding on my husband’s part was going to be key in making it all work without one of us going crazy. We had talked about my soon-to-be demanding schedule and traveling with the team for away games, but with the craziness of the wedding, we never really had a chance to sit down and map it all out.

  That conversation would come, but right now, in this perfect little moment, other things would have to come first. Big-dicked kind of things.

  Before I got down and dirty with Kline, I glanced at the clock again, and knowing that it was six hours later in New York, I sent Cass a quick text message.

  Me: How’s Walter?

  Cassie: He’s great! Eating, shitting, pissing, and just doing his normal cat thing around your apartment.

  My eyebrows rose at that response. I had expected something more like, “He’s a fucking asshole, but still alive.” Maybe he had finally warmed up to Cass?

  Cassie: And I gotta say, the amount of kinky sex shit you’ve got stored under your bed is INSANE. My Wheorgie is definitely letting her freak flag fly.

  Ugh. I debated telling her the truth about the giant box of kink under our bed. They were all generous and, no doubt, weird gifts from my mother. Since we got engaged, Kline and I had been receiving brand-new toys on the regular from Dr. Savannah Cummings. My crazy mother was convinced we needed to explore our sexuality together, in every possible way. Anal beads, ball gags, twelve-inch dildos, you name it, and it was shipped to our apartment.

  Thatch found the box while helping us move in, and I swear to God, he wouldn’t shut up about it. Hell, he still sent me random text messages asking if I wear Ben Wa balls to work.

  The thing my mother didn’t understand was that I didn’t need thousands of kinky toys when I had Kline. A vibrator was no match for his PhD in Sexual Prowess. I’d actually suggested he teach a course at NYU one night after sex. He’d laughed, but I was serious. The female population of Manhattan needed him. I brought it up every so often, but he wasn’t going for it. He said he was in charge of keeping exactly one pussy happy, and that position was all filled.

  And, yes, I agree. I’m one lucky bitch. Don’t worry, I remind myself of this fact at least one hundred times a day.

  Kline stirred a little in his sleep, one arm reaching out across the bed and stopping once it met the skin of my hip. For a moment, I just soaked up the sight of him. Hair in disarray and a few days’ worth of scruff peppering his jaw, my husband was so goddamn sexy I could hardly stand it. Over the past few days, we’d been doing nothing but climbing inside one another. The sex had been intense, crazy, and incredibly hedonistic. And I would ensure it continued that way for the duration of our honeymoon.

  I set my phone down on the nightstand and decided it was time to g
ive my husband a wake-up call. Remembering a conversation Kline and I had yesterday while we were lying under the sun, I decided to return the favor of him giving me a little striptease the night we skinny-dipped at ONE UN.

  Gently, so I wouldn’t wake him, I slid out from under his arm and crossed the length the spacious bedroom in our bungalow. I put on the only pair of black heels I had brought with me and wrapped my short, silk robe around my body, tying it loosely at my waist.

  Once Zayn’s “Pillowtalk” was playing from the speakers of the Bose sound system in the bedroom, I turned it way up, the beat of the seductive music overpowering the ocean waves.

  Facing the bed, I waited for my husband to stir from his precious beauty sleep. His eyelids fluttered, sleepy blue gaze meeting mine, and he rubbed at his face, slowly sitting up and resting against the headboard. The sheet fell away from his hips, revealing an already impressive erection, but he wasn’t all the way there, not yet, though he would be soon.

  “Baby?” he asked, slightly disoriented yet getting harder with each scan his gaze took of my body.

  “Good morning,” I said, slowly moving my hips to the music.

  He tilted his head to the side, eyeing me with equal parts amusement and desire.

  “Don’t mind me,” I teased, turning my back to him and untying my robe. The silk material slid down a bit, revealing the skin of my shoulders. I glanced back at him, winking. “I just felt like dancing a little. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, thanks. I think I’ll stay awake for this.” He fluffed some pillows behind his head and sat up a little, cocking a knee so his erection stood out. “Yeah, I’ll just lie here and enjoy my wife taunting me with her luscious ass.”

  “You want me to keep dancing?” I asked, turning around and holding my robe closed, but still moving to the lust-fueled beat of the music.

  “Fuck yeah. Keep doing that.” Kline nodded, slowly stroking himself as he watched me. “But lose the robe, Benny.”

  God, he was hot. It took all of my willpower to continue dancing and not climb on top of him.

  “Patience, husband.” I shook my head and waggled my index finger at him.

  He grinned and scooted forward to sit on the edge of the bed, crooking his finger at me in a “come-hither” motion. “Get that gorgeous body over here.”

  “You got plans for me, baby?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh, sweet Benny. You know you know the answer to that.”

  The heat in his eyes had a full-body blush overwhelming my skin. I couldn’t help it; this man still had the power to turn me on with one sexy glance.

  I made my way toward the bed, my movements still mimicking the music. Once I was in front of him, I rested my heel-clad foot on the mattress, beside his knee. The robe glided away from my hips and revealed me bared and wet for him. Only him. Always him.

  “Fuck, baby.” His eyes consumed me. Hands to my hips, he pulled me closer, head leaning toward my waist and devious tongue sneaking out to lick along my inner thighs.

  My hips jerked toward him, unable to maintain any sort of rhythm. His mouth on me would always be my undoing.

  Kline’s hands pushed the robe off my shoulders, the material sliding down my body and falling to the floor in a puddle of silk. His mouth pressed against my pussy and he moaned, his lips vibrating against my wanton skin. “This,” he whispered, tongue flicking against my clit. “This is exactly how I want to wake up every fucking morning for the rest of my goddamn life.”

  My head fell back, and a whimper spilled from my throat as he pushed a finger inside of me.

  “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

  “Yes,” I moaned, my hips moving with the rhythm of his mouth and hand.

  “I think I’ll eat this perfect, delicious pussy for breakfast, and then feed you my cock when I’m done. Does that sound good, baby?”

  “God, yes.”

  Within seconds, I was on the bed, lying flat on my back with my legs hanging over his shoulders as Kline made good on his promise.

  And boy, oh boy, did he make good on it. The Kline and Georgie honeymoon bubble was officially my favorite place on earth.

  “Benny?” I called as I ran a hand through my damp, fresh-from-a-shower hair and padded across the bungalow’s light wood floors.

  She didn’t answer immediately, but fuck, I wouldn’t have either. The place was two stories, ostentatious, and bigger than our Manhattan apartment, so hearing each other wasn’t exactly easy. When the hotel had heard my name and that it was our honeymoon, they’d insisted on making it special. I was all for that. Georgie deserved the best, and it wasn’t like I couldn’t afford to give it to her. But I’d honestly thought they’d realize I’d actually want to see my bride on our honeymoon. It felt like I spent two hours out of every day just hunting her down.

  “Georgie?” I yelled as I came down the staircase to the first floor. I knew I wouldn’t find her in the ocean on her own, but the private pool was completely fair game.

  We’d had a morning of nothing but fucking and flirting, and I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of the day the same way. I’d tried to convince her to shower the stickiness of our lovemaking off with me, but she’d conned me out of it with a flutter of her eyes and a pout of her lips.

  That woman fucking owned me.

  At the bottom of the steps, I looked from one end of the airy space to the other and then stepped out onto the back deck to look over the pool.

  Nothing.

  When I turned to head back into the overwater monstrosity, there she sat, her lounge chair tucked into the shady corner with her laptop in her sun-kissed lap.

  Busy and buried in a menial task she shouldn’t have been doing on our honeymoon, she hadn’t even noticed I was there.

  “Baby,” I greeted softly, stepping under the shade of the porch and directly into her line of sight. Her eyes moved slowly, practically crawling their way off the page, but when they finally landed on me, they nearly bugged all the way out of her head.

  “Kline!”

  “Yeah, baby,” I said with a smile. “That’s me.”

  “And that’s your—”

  “Big-dicked Brooks. Right again, sweetheart.”

  “But we’re outside! What if someone sees you?” she insisted, looking frantically back and forth around our empty patio and then back to me.

  “You mean out in the middle of the ocean?” I asked, turning to point to the only aspect of our bungalow that I truly appreciated—privacy. At the end of a long line of over water huts, the back of our getaway faced no one. So few humans, so much creation. It was our own tropical paradise at the end of the world.

  “Well, what if someone comes by in a kayak?”

  I waggled my eyebrows and sauntered up close, looking her right in the eyes. “If you’re really worried about someone seeing it, I know just the place to hide it.”

  “Kline.”

  “Yeah. You’ll definitely say my name.”

  “I just have to finish answering this email,” she declared, but her eyes strayed to my cock more than one time and lingered on the second. When she rubbed her legs together, I couldn’t resist.

  One inch, two, I slid my hand up the silky smooth skin of her shin and her knee, and then turned to torture the meat at the inside of her thigh. It was slick with a mix of apple lotion and sweat, and every glossy knead made me want to eat up another sweet spot.

  Her eyes glazed over, lost in me and the moment, and it was all I could do to put my free hand to use anywhere other than inside her tiny bikini. But I did, shutting her laptop with a snap and yanking it away just as she came out of her arousal-induced trance.

  “I needed to finish that!”

  “You need to come play with me,” I countered, and her eyes narrowed as I did. I leaned in slowly and licked the line of her jaw before nibbling at the lobe of her ear with my teeth.

  She smiled, looking out at the ocean and realizing where we were a
nd exactly what I meant. “Okay. Let’s play,” she agreed seductively.

  I bit my lip just as she reached out and took hold of my hard and waiting dick, and the flimsy string at her hips gave way easily, untying with one simple yank. Flipping her around and letting the scrap of white fabric drop to the deck, I settled my back into the chair and brought her down on me in one full stroke.

  “Mmm,” she moaned. Her head dropped back, and she shoved her tits closer to my mouth.

  God, I loved when she did that. It was one of my favorite things, one of many in a collection of tiny, involuntary indications that she loved me, wanted me—needed me—as much as I did her.

  “Do they ache, baby?” I whispered, reaching around behind her to untie the strings of her triangle top.

  “Mmhmm, God, yes,” she managed, nodding her head and pulling her hair up off her shoulders and into a messy pile on her head. Her cheeks were flushed, and a few flecks of salty moisture from the air dotted the tips of her long eyelashes.

  I grabbed her other cheeks and spread them as I lifted. She gasped, and before she could finish, I slammed her back down until I was seated fully inside. Her pussy spasmed around me. “Yeah, Benny. Just like that. Milk my cock until I come, okay?”

  “Kline. Please.”

  She never took long like this, when I caught her by surprise and demanded agreement from her body. My Georgie loved the way I took control—gently teasing her with flattering demands and arousing compliments. But it had been a while since she’d ignited this quickly.

  “Are you already close, baby?”

  One heady moan.

  I had a feeling my shy little Benny was enjoying the idea of someone seeing a lot of things they shouldn’t.

  “Need me to suck on these perfect tits?” I asked, pulling the dangling fabric over her head and tossing it to the side. Her nipples pebbled, and a shiver ran through her body. I closed one in the heat of my mouth and sucked until she started to ride me on her own. Uninhibited. Desperate. She’d passed the point of waiting for me to give her what she needed.