Banking Her (Billionaire Bad Boys 2.5)

This was another one of her games, one that made me smile into her pussy and lick her harder. She was close to orgasm, so close that she started to feel like my tongue wasn’t enough, like she needed my dick more than the air she needed to breathe. But still eager for at least a little control, she didn’t want to ask me for it. She wanted me to be the one who gave in, the one who couldn’t take any more, and she’d learned if she pretended she was there, I might think she was too.

It was complicated and deliberate, but it was also completely subconscious. Her mind was powerful when she knew what she wanted, so much so that she could convince her body to play the part no matter how much it might argue.

“Good try, honey,” I told her on a ragged whisper. “You come on my tongue first, and you do it right fucking now.”

The muscles in her thighs tensed, turning to sexy, sweaty rock under my fingertips as she finally gave in to my command and all the evidence of her excitement flooded my mouth in a rush. I sucked it up, lapping and drinking until I couldn’t take it anymore—until I nearly came into empty air.

Pushing her knees to her chest, I climbed up from the floor and over top of her, entering her smoothly with one sure stroke.

She cried out, and I damn near just cried.

I’d never felt anything better than being inside of her, skin on skin, all that wet, loving warmth. If I’d known how good it would be, I probably would have tried to get her pregnant earlier—like, the first night we were together.

She moved her hips to meet mine, and as much as I tried, I just couldn’t help myself. “The report is in, honey,” I told her, my voice jolting with each stroke. “Your cervix is in tip-top shape.”

“Shut. Up.”

I laughed and leaned down to touch my mouth to hers. She licked and nipped at it, and I got off on the fact that she loved the taste of herself on my lips so much.

“Come on, baby,” I taunted, trying to push her there faster, desperate for her to come because my orgasm was coming up my spine like a goddamn NASCAR driver.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh…yes!” she chanted as she finally let go. I shot my load immediately.

Her gaze followed me as I took her in—messy hair, soft, sexy eyes, and nearly bruised lips. Her tits were out and peaked and so fucking inviting, I buried my face right in the middle of them.

Fuck me, she is so fucking hot.

She laughed, and the rumble from her chest made me tingle all over.

“I love you,” I told her. She pulled my face from her tits and looked me right in the eye.

“Okay, fine. Supercock can be my cervix’s personal doctor.”

My wink rang out like a shot in the air, and her answering smile nearly knocked me on my ass. “That’s Dr. Supercock to you now. After that many years of schooling, he wants you to use the title.”

The stark contrast of black ink and Thatch’s tan skin glowed in the barely there moonlight. Obviously a little sliver of white showing in the dark night sky rather than the bright circle of a full moon, it illuminated our room just enough that I could make out all of the planes, ridges, and valleys of muscle on my man.

He slept while I thought, an endless loop of unavoidable realities trickling through my mind.

Over the next six months, I’d be traveling all over the place, filling up my schedule with enough photo shoots to supply a year’s time. It was insane, but it was a means to an end. A way to fulfill all of my obligations and still have the freedom to take a minimum of four months off for maternity leave, six months if I was lucky.

Finances weren’t my motivation for the crazy work schedule. I was fortunate that money wasn’t an issue for me or my future child. My soon-to-be husband had more money than he knew what to do with, and my photography career had padded my savings nicely, even allowing for a hefty chunk of cash to be invested.

When I found out I was pregnant, my first thought had been, “Holy shit, that idiot knocked me up!” followed by a pregnancy test bouncing off of Thatch’s big head. My second thought, having occurred when he fell to his knees and pressed his lips to my belly, was “I love him and his Supercock for giving me the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.” And the third thought had occurred a few days later, during a photo shoot for one of the most elusively picky magazines in the country: “I want to be able to have both, a family and my career.”

It was that third thought that had driven me to reschedule the photo shoots I would end up missing when I went on maternity leave. It would have been easier to let them go, not to worry about missed opportunities or what-ifs, but when I really thought about it, I knew I didn’t want to lose what I had worked so hard to achieve.