Scoring the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys 3)

I slowly moved my hand to my pussy. He watched as I rubbed soft circles against my clit. And he kept on watching until I slipped a finger inside myself, feeling just how wet and hot and fucking needy I was for him—not that I needed the proof. That memo was notarized before any clothing had come off.

“You’re dripping,” he whispered, reaching up to smear my excitement onto my thighs. “I can’t wait to lick every fucking drop of sweetness coming from that perfect cunt,” he told me. His eyes were hungrier than any big bad wolf.

“Please,” I begged.

“Two fingers, Win.”

I obeyed, but it still wasn’t enough. My two fingers pumping in and out of my pussy made me feel empty in comparison to the way I knew his dick felt inside me.

He forced my hand to a stop with a grip of my wrist and brought my wet fingers up to my nipple.

“Play with your tits, sweetheart,” he instructed.

Without any delay, he gripped my ass with his big hands and buried his face between my legs.

A guttural moan slipped past my lips as he devoured me with his lips and tongue. And my hips came off the desk when he slipped a finger inside me and massaged that perfect spot.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned against my skin.

“Fuck. Shit.”

“Don’t come,” he demanded, but then he sucked my clit into his mouth and flicked along the sensitive bud with his tongue.

“What?” I tried to retort, but it mostly just came out as an incoherent moan.

“Don’t come until my cock is inside you.”

“Then get inside me.”

He stood, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his thick, hard cock. He looked obscene like that, still dressed in his suit and tie, while he stroked his dick up and down, up and down. My gaze stayed locked on his movement, damn near hypnotized by the erotic scene before me. I watched as a drop of pre-come slipped down his shaft, and I couldn’t stop myself from hopping off the desk and getting to my knees.

I had to taste him. I had to feel him hard and ready and inside my mouth.

I sucked him into my mouth, and he groaned.

When I licked along the head, he punched his hips forward, and the roots of my hair stung my scalp as he buried a hand and tugged.

I flicked my tongue against his shaft as I sucked him deep, and he cursed and lifted me off my knees. His strong hands turned me toward his desk and directed me to lean forward until my bare breasts were pressed up against the mahogany wood.

“God, you’re so fucking bad.” He growled and spanked my ass.

It only made me hotter for him. I’d never done the spanking thing before, but apparently, it worked for me in a big way.

“You want my cock?”

“Yes.” I moaned.

I heard him open his desk drawer and the familiar sound of a condom wrapper being torn open.

“How hard do you want it?”

I steeled my voice and forced myself to be brazen. “Make my fucking teeth rattle.”

“Grip the desk and hold on tight,” he gritted out so roughly it sounded like he was barely hanging on. It made me feel heady, powerful. I couldn’t believe I’d made him that way.

I reached my arms across the top of his desk until my fingers could grip the edge.

He nudged my legs wider with his knees, and I reveled in the vulnerability of my position. I was spread across his desk like his own personal buffet while my pussy dripped with arousal.

The second he slid his cock inside me, I cried out.

“Yes,” he moaned and gripped my hips. “Fuck. Yes. Just inside you, and your pussy is already milking me for more.”

“Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”

He didn’t hold back after that, pounding into me in a hard and steady rhythm.

“God, you look so fucking perfect right now.”

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He groaned and turned me around, lifting me up until I was sitting on his desk again. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he slammed back into me. I cried out, and my head fell back. His lips were on my neck, sucking at the skin in rhythm with his cock as he fucked me hard and fast and so goddamn deep.

It was a punishing rhythm, but it didn’t feel like mistreatment at all. Each stroke hit me with more intensity than the last, and I had to physically work to keep my pleasure from peaking too soon. It was the kind of sex that felt so good, I was content never to let it end.

I dug my nails into the cotton material covering his back as stars danced behind my eyes.

“Fuuuck. You better come, Win,” Wes gritted out as he worked to fight off his own orgasm. “Please come. Oh, Jesus.”

And as much as I tried to disobey, I couldn’t. I came on an incoherent moan, and he followed my lead, pushing himself deep on a groan and leaning his head forward and sucking a hard nipple into his mouth as he came inside me.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

The only “no” in my mind was in protest that it had come to an end. We hadn’t even come down when I whispered in his ear, “Let’s go again.” Wes laughed into my neck and flexed his arms around me tighter.

“You’re insatiable.”

“You’re a fantastic fuck.”

“That’s all I am to you?” he asked in a teasing tone. “A fantastic fuck?”

“You’re really pretty to look at, too.”

He looked contemplative, so much so, it made me pause.

“What? You still think it’s a bad idea?” I asked.

Next thing I knew, he lifted me off the desk, turned me around, and spanked my ass. I squealed in response.

“Yes,” he whispered as he caressed my breasts with his hands and kissed and licked and sucked at the sensitive skin of my neck. “But the box is already open now.”

“The box?” I asked as he pushed his body into mine.

“Pandora.”

The age-old story played behind my eyelids, and a tremor slid down my body at what stood out. Hope was the only thing left to hold on to now that the evils were gone.

I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.

The air felt like it was full of needles, prickly and harsh and altogether uncomfortable, and my breath misted the air in front of me every time I exhaled.

Ah, fuck. It’s going to be winter soon.

I wasn’t ever on time, but as I jogged up to the team huddle at rugby practice this evening, I’d never been more appreciative of my penchant for tardiness. It wasn’t exactly inviting outdoor weather. Plus, if the way my face felt to me, from the inside out, was any indication, other people were going to be able to read all of my thoughts as if they were scrawled neatly in an open and available book.

And most of them were completely NSFW.

Winnie had kept me…occupied…in my office for longer than I’d planned. Unlike now, I’d been warm—to the point of steamy—and I owed it all to one of the best activities on the planet.

You’d planned on saying no, my brain said.

Yeah, fuck you, I said back.

God, the way she’d just taken her clothes off without looking back, one tantalizing piece at a time until all I could see was skin…Christ. There’d been no saying no. The word had fucking disappeared from the English language as far as I was concerned.

So, thanks to two very rigorous rounds of horizontal exercise, instead of fifteen minutes behind schedule, I was thirty—and thankfully, there would be blessedly less time for gossip.

In addition to the ball-shriveling cold, there was another discomfort lurking about thirty yards away. All of the big guys with muscles and mud stains on their clothes were good camouflage, but I wasn’t fooled—I was approaching a coffee klatch, a gossip hour, a psychoanalysis so thorough you’d think they all had PhDs.

“Come on, Whitney,” Thatch called as my advance finally got his attention. “We don’t have time to wait for your pedicure to dry.”

“Thursday is pedicure day,” I replied easily while scratching the side of my face with my middle finger and coming to a stop in the only open spot in the huddle. “Today was facial day.”

Smiles graced the faces of each and every player in the circle, surprised at my easygoing attitude—except for those of my friends. They knew me better, had the map to get inside the façade, but I’d never really needed the defense before. So they knew what I was really thinking: no big deal.

Now I had secrets—big ones—things I swore up and down I wouldn’t feel despite their prodding. Affection, longing—a general need to be with or talking to a certain woman at any free moment.

Thatch’s eyes narrowed, and Kline’s shrewd gaze zeroed in on my eyes.

Fuck. I’d hoped to be able to get my footing on this uneven ground, this newfound territory, before they caught wind of it.

Unfortunately, despite all my efforts, with the taste of Winnie’s sweet pussy still on my tongue, I found it completely impossible to deaden the excitement from my eyes.

Emotionless, flat Wes had fled the motherfucking building. And Manhattan. And the surrounding four boroughs.

Kline elbowed Thatch just as he opened his mouth to speak and jerked his chin toward the rest of our company. With Tommy, Johnny, Sawyer, and Jensen looking on, even Thatch wasn’t dumb enough to engage in personal talk about a woman who was friends with his wife.

That’s right, wife.

Just a few weeks ago, after a bout of questionably illegal activity, Thatch had pulled out all the stops, demanded favors from everyone he knew—including me—and dropped Cassie right into the middle of a wedding she couldn’t escape. Not that she’d tried. The two of them were so happy it was almost sickening. Almost.