Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2) (31 page)

“You’re going to have to get used to walking places.”

He grunted and nudged my arm with his nose.

“Sorry, but them’s the breaks in New York. Cabs are too expensive when you live here full time. You should probably consider getting a MetroCard. And I know you’ll
love
Central Park. It will be your happy place, for sure. Since I’m not really the type of chick that enjoys participating in movement outside of getting from one place to the next, I’ll make sure Thatch takes you there. That big asshole is always running and working out and shit.”

Eventually, his little eyes started to drift closed until he rolled to his side and fell fast asleep.

I headed into the kitchen and cleaned up the mess I had left during Phil’s arrival. Empty bags, torn tags from his new toys and collar, and a half-empty bowl of food and water littered the stainless steel space. Once I had all of the trash thrown away and Phil’s belongings set up the way I wanted, I made myself comfortable on the couch and flipped on the television.

By the time Thatch walked through the door, I was forty minutes into a Lifetime movie I couldn’t stop watching. “Jesus, Deb, get your shit together,” I yelled at the screen. “Oh, my God. Are you blind? Julianna is an asshole. She’s going to kill everyone!”

“Honey, I’m home and I’ve got takeout,” Thatch called from the kitchen. “Think maybe you can take a break from Lifetime and come enjoy it with me?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Bring it out here,” I whined. “I need to see the end of this movie even though I already know what’s going to happen.”

He walked into the living room and set the bag of food on the coffee table. “Already seen it?”

“Nope. But there are
always
two certainties with Lifetime movies. One,” I said, holding up one finger in his direction, “is that the acting is always terrible. And two—” I held up another finger “—they’re predictable as fuck.”

He chuckled as he sat down beside me. “Then why watch them?”

“Are you kidding me? Because Lifetime movies are addictive. They’re so awful they’re good.”

“That makes zero sense.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, well, consider it another mystery of the female population. Who knows why women love these movies? But they do, and I’m a testament to that very fact.”

“That’s unfortunate for you,” he teased.

“You know what’s unfortunate?” I pointed the remote toward the screen. “That Deb can’t figure out her twin sister Julianna is a fucking psychopath.”

“Which one is which?” he asked, opening the bag and pulling out a large white foam container. After setting it on the table, he reached up to loosen his tie. Climbing to my knees, I pushed his hands out of the way and did it for him. His eyes looked like melted chocolate.

The leather felt cool on my shins, so I rolled back over to sit beside him.

“Deb is the one that looks like she just rose from the dead. She obviously needs a tutorial on good Goth makeup. And Julianna is the cunt with the long blond hair,” I answered, watching him lift the lid of the container. Once the aroma of refried beans and cheese and salsa and chicken hit my nose, I damn near dove face first into the food. “Did you get nachos?” I asked excitedly.

He winked. “Sure did, honey.”

“I’m going to let that fucking wink slide because you just made my night.” I grabbed one of the chips from the container and took a crunchy bite. “Mmmmmmm,” I moaned over a mouthful.

“Good?”

“Javelina has the best nachos in the city.” I nodded. “I’d do a lot of things for these nachos.”

“How about you give me a kiss as thanks?” he suggested, pointing to his cheek.

I got up on my knees once more and pressed my lips to his cheek. “Thanks, honey. How’d you know I was in the mood for nachos?”

He grabbed my hips and lifted me into his lap with ease, and his strong hands rearranged my legs so that I straddled his thighs. “You mentioned them,” he answered, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

I tilted my head, combing the flecks of subtle gold speckled throughout his irises. “I’m not much for spouting sentimental bullshit, but I should say that I really enjoy when you’re sweet like this. Especially when you feed me my favorite nachos.”

“I’ll make a mental note that nachos are the true way to your heart.” He smirked and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.

I pointed to the other corner of my mouth.

He kissed that too.

I gestured to my nose.

His lips followed that demand as well.

When I pointed to my lips, he slid his fingers into my hair and held my gaze for a few poignant seconds, his eyes searching deep into mine. For what, I’m not sure, but I couldn’t deny the flutter in my belly and the quickening of my breath as his mouth moved toward mine. I watched his lashes sweep down, and the second I felt his lips, my eyes fell closed.

The kiss was demanding from the onset, his tongue slipping past my lips and dancing with mine in the hopes of producing a moan. His fingers stayed in my hair, caressing the strands and encouraging me to deepen the kiss together. Which I did willingly, because fuck, this man could kiss. His soft, full lips held all sorts of power. They could’ve convinced me to do just about anything in that moment.

“Fuck, Cassie,” he groaned as his hands slid down my back and grabbed my ass. He pulled my hips closer to his, and I finally gave him the moan he was hoping for, right against his mouth. The Supercock was hard and ready, pressed against me.

Delicious nachos and the Lifetime movie were long forgotten.

I wanted him. Hell, I
needed
him to the point that I was stunned by my desperation. The moment was fueled by lust yet laced with an undertone of something more, something different, something my brain couldn’t fully process.

Far off in the distance—as in the same room—I heard a rustling behind us.

But I ignored it, too consumed with this sexy-as-fuck man. My hands moved down his broad shoulders and slid over the muscles of his biceps. He was cut. His body was one I could spend hours and hours examining with my mouth and probably never have my fill.

The rustling grew louder, and a few snorts accompanied the noise.

Shit.

Thatch paused and pulled away from the kiss. His head tilted to the side as his gaze stared deep into mine. “Did you just snort?”

I had two options in this scenario. Either fess up and risk popping the soon-to-be bubble of hot and sweaty sex
or…
“Yes,” I lied.

Obviously, option two was the best choice. I wanted him naked and between my thighs, and I had a feeling if I revealed my teacup surprise, Thatch wouldn’t be feeling all that horny.

Angry? Yes. Horny? Probably not.

His face grew skeptical, the line of his mouth turning down minutely, and he attempted to glance around me, but I grabbed both of his cheeks and forced our noses together.

A few more snorts came from behind us, and I joined in the barnyard orchestra, snorting louder and more obnoxiously than Phil—
who had obviously managed to wake up and make his way into the living room
—and doing it directly into Thatch’s face.

He tried to gently disentangle my hands from his face, but I stayed resolute in our literal nose-to-nose position.

“
Cass,
” he said, and his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

“It’s that fucking time of year when everything is blooming. I’m all stuffy and snorty.”

“Stuffy and
snorty?”

“Yeah, you know, allergy season. It kicks my ass.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever heard you complain about allergies.”

“Well, they usually don’t bother me, but…” I paused, searching for a reason. “But, I went for a run today in Central Park, and they were cutting the grass, and I think it just triggered the snorts.”

He raised a curious brow. “
You
went for a run today?”

“Um, yeah. I love to run.”

His eyes squinted in disbelief. “You love to run?”

Fuck, this hole felt deep
. “All the time.”

“Considering the last time I tried to wake you up for a run, you told me you’d bite my dick off, I’d say that seems a little farfetched, honey.”

Before I could offer a retort, the soundtrack of snorts and rustling started to play again, which meant I had to snort along and, obviously, come up with a quick plan. Because, yeah, this was not going to work for any substantial amount of time. Christ, I had brought Phil home to help me mess with Thatch, not cockblock me from fucking the prankster. I’d just wanted to live through the high of another one of Thatch’s unexpected reactions. They made me feel good.

My gaze found the tie loosened around Thatch’s neck, and I quickly unfastened the Windsor knot the rest of the way. “Let’s play, baby,” I purred and held the tie in front of him.

His expression remained skeptical, but his cock showed a biological reaction a little suspicion couldn’t deny, hardening instantly between my thighs.

“We’re going to play,” I instructed as I secured the makeshift blindfold over his eyes, “What part of Cassie’s body are you touching.”

“I’ll only play if by touching you actually mean your lips, pussy, or tits touching my mouth.”

“Deal,” I agreed, removing myself from his lap and turning around to find Phil face-deep in a bag of plain tortilla chips that had come inside the takeout bag.

“Shit,” I muttered and silently prayed to the heavens above that the little piggy hadn’t managed to reach the nachos. I wasn’t an animal expert, but my general knowledge of Mexican food and digestive tracts told me that would have been the opposite of good.

“Wait, where’d you go?” Thatch asked behind me.

“Uh…I just wanted to freshen up my pussy and tits for you,” I said, and even though I realized how gross that sounded, I was too determined to care.

I had to hide the porcine chastity belt so I could resume the sex bubble.

“Stay right there, baby. Don’t move that big cock from the couch. I’ll be right back.”

It should be noted here that I do not have a tuna twat or hairy nipples.

I’m groomed and fresh as a motherfucking daisy in those goddamn Irish Spring commercials.

Seriously, my pussy smells like a meadow full of flowers.

Well, the meadow with a hint of pussy.

Because let’s face it, pussies smell like pussies.

And there’s no avoiding that fact unless you want a yeast infection.

I picked up Phil and carried him down the hallway, muttering, “I gave you one fucking responsibility
. Be. Cool.
That was all you had to do, and you pretty much fucked it up.”

Phil snorted, and his tail wiggled back and forth when I set him down on the bed.

“You’re being a bit of a cock-block, dude,” I chastised, but he didn’t mind, seemingly more concerned with rooting through the comforter.

“Who’s a cock-block?” Thatch’s voice filled the room.

I turned to find his large frame—still clad in a sexy charcoal-gray suit—standing in the doorway, sans blindfold.

His jaw dropped the second his eyes met the tiny, teacup pig snorting and nudging his nose against the bed.

“What in the ever-loving fuck?”

Well, shit. So much for waiting until
after
we boned.

And since the cat—
well, pig
—was out of the bag, I did the only thing I could…

“Surprise!” I exclaimed and did jazz hands to punctuate the statement. “I bought you a pig!”

“You…” His gaze moved back and forth between Phil and me.
“What?”

I picked Phil up from the bed, cuddled him close to my chest, and walked over toward Thatch, who appeared to be frozen in the doorway to his bedroom.

“I bought you this little guy,” I explained. “I wanted to do something thoughtful for you.”

“I brought home nachos for you, and you bought me a pig?”

I tried not to smile. God, this was
almost
as good as sex.

“Aw, babe, we aren’t keeping score. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll repay me with something even more thoughtful.”

He just stared back at me. “I never said I wanted a pig, Cassie. I live in the city, for fuck’s sake. What in the hell am I going to do with a pig?
Fuck
. I’m pretty sure they’re illegal in New York.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, handing Phil to Thatch. “I’ve got that covered,” I assured, grabbing the ID off the nightstand. “He’s a registered service pet.”

“Service pet? For who?”

I held up the ID. “For you, silly.”

His eyes scanned the ID. “Mr. Philmore F. Bacon?”

“Isn’t that the best name ever?”

“What does the F stand for?”

“Mr. Philmore
Fucking
Bacon. He’s classy, but he’s also a badass. I think it suits him.”

“How in the fuck is he a service pet?”

“He helps your anxiety and depression.”

“I don’t have anxiety and depression.” Thatch adjusted Phil in his arms so he was holding him like a football.

“I know that, but the city doesn’t know that.”

“Cassie,”
he started to say, but I interrupted before he could continue.

“Thatch,” I said quietly, fluttering my eyelashes as I prepared to unleash the big guns. “I really feel like this is the next big step in our relationship. You know, before marriage and kids. I want to make sure we’re responsible together before we move forward. I figured a pet was the best way to do it. And, well,” I whispered, feigning emotion. “He just reminded me so much of Dad. And you remember how much I loved Dad.”

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself.

“Do you want to move our relationship forward?” I asked, pretending to get choked up.

He stared at me for a few seconds before glancing down at Phil.

When his eyes met mine again, he finally answered, “Yeah, honey. I think this was a great idea.”

I waited for my chest to fill with the usual disappointment and annoyance of not being able to get Thatch to fold, but it never came.

Thank fuck.

I never wanted him to fold.