Tapping The Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys 1)

Her free hand shot to my jaw and stroked it, eyes bright in reaction to my so-obviously-messy emotion.

“I promise, this is who I am, and if you let go of what you thought you knew, you’ll get it. You’ll get me. I know it.”

I sounded desperate because I was. Desperate for her to be the woman I thought she could be. Desperate for her to let go of the billionaire experience and just be with Kline.

“Okay.” She sealed her lips to mine and the tip of her tongue ventured into my mouth briefly. An answering tingle ran down the length of my spine. “I’ll let go of it all.” She pecked me on the mouth once more. “Promise.”

“Good,” I said before slamming my mouth to hers again. A slow groan rumbled in my chest a second later at the feel of her soft tongue. With effort, I forced myself to extract my mouth from hers. “Plus, nothing humbles a man more than cleaning Walter’s litter box. I swear the little fuck flicks shit outside of it on purpose.”

She shook her head with a dreamy smile and bit her lip to stop herself from making fun of me. It didn’t matter what I did. She’d forever be on Walter’s side of this war.

“Now get your ass in the Ford Edge, and let’s get out of here. I’m ready to have you all to myself for the weekend.”

“Yes, sir!” she joked with a salute before reaching for the door. I wrapped an arm around her waist at the last second, swooping her off her feet and swinging her around to put me between her and the car.

She bristled, but the icy edges of her attitude melted as soon as I winked and popped open the handle myself. “What kind of a man would I be if I didn’t open the door for you?”

“The kind that fill the streets of Manhattan.”

I just shook my head and smiled, waiting patiently for her to climb in.

“Right. You’re not those guys.”

“Ahh,” I teased. “Now she’s getting it.”

She grabbed the inside handle of the door and pulled it closed as she spoke. “Get in the car, Kline.”

The door slammed in my face and I laughed. “Yes, ma’am,” I mouthed through the window, rounding the hood and climbing in.

“To the Hamptons!” she shouted.

I shook my head, fired up the engine, and pulled away from the curb with an enormous smile on my face.

An hour and a half or so into the drive, she started to fidget. And I don’t mean a little movement here or there. I’m talking, for a few seconds, I feared she was having a seizure.

“What’s up, Benny?”

“What?” Her gaze jerked toward me in surprise.

I glanced from the road to her and back again. “You literally look like your skin is in the process of attacking you. What’s up?”

“I just… I have to tell you something.”

Her tone was serious, and her nerves were beginning to eat her alive. I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but I had a feeling I knew what was coming. Our intimacy had been on a steady advance from the moment we’d collided, melding together and racing for the finish line like one entity. We were on our way to a weekend alone, and the relevance of her sexual inexperience had to be beating her over the head with a bat at this point.

“So tell me, baby,” I coaxed gently, trying to walk the line of someone who didn’t know what was coming and someone who absolutely did, having heard it twice already, and was prepared to answer in a calm, respectful manner. If it hadn’t been for the blunt conversation Ruck had had with Rose, Kline would have never realized that Georgie had already told him in a Benadryl-fueled rant.

Christopher Columbus her pussy prideland.

God, I’d laughed so hard about that when I realized how brilliant it had been.

“I’m…like…a…” incoherent mumbling “…virgin!”

I bit my lip and considered her words. I knew what she was trying to say, but a little figurative ice breaking never hurt anyone. Literal ice breaking—well, that hurt a lot of people.

“You want to listen to Madonna?”

I reached for my phone like I was going to search for the song.

“No,” she huffed, adorably frustrated at having to gather the nerve to say it again. I didn’t blame her. This was the fourth time in about twice as many days that she was admitting it to someone. That I knew of, anyway.

Turning in her seat, she forced herself to face me head-on. Her eyes sought mine, and I hated that because I was driving, I couldn’t fully give them to her. I had no right to it, but that didn’t stop me from being proud of her confidence.

When I found a straight stretch of road and glanced her way for more than a quick, passing beat, she spoke. “I’m a virgin.” Crisp and calm, her voice managed to be matter-of-fact and silky all at once.