Banking Her (Billionaire Bad Boys 2.5)

Yes. Yes. Yes.

His hands spread my ass cheeks apart as his perfect fucking mouth ate at my pussy from behind. Holy hell. His tongue, his lips, his teeth, he wasn’t holding anything back. He moaned against me, tasting every single inch he could reach, and I came hard and fast.

He didn’t give me time to come down from climax, flipping me onto my back and spreading my legs wide as he pushed his thick cock inside of me. “Fuck yes,” he groaned. “Goddamn, your pussy is gripping me tight.”

“Don’t stop,” I whimpered. “Don’t ever fucking stop fucking me, or I swear I will fucking strangle you.”

He stopped his momentum and grinned down at me. “And here I thought you had that whole cursing habit kicked.”

“Thatch.” I glared at him.

“What?” he asked, ironically feigning innocence at the same time my pussy was cradling his dick.

“I swear to God—” I started to say, but my ability to speak coherently came to a quick halt when Thatch kneeled on the bed and lifted me onto his lap, impaling me on his hard and ready Supercock. I straddled his muscular thighs while his big hands gripped my ass.

He thrust his hips up, fast and deep. “This what you want, honey?”

I wanted to mock him by saying no, but my mouth refused to form any words other than, “God, yes.”

Stars danced behind my eyelids as he smirked and started a punishing rhythm. “I think you mean, Thatch, yes, honey.”

Normally, I would’ve snapped back a sarcastic response, but I was too busy coming all over his cock.

My brain wanted my heart to be angry, but much like in the early stages of our relationship, she completely disagreed.

I love him.

Six, as in six o’fucking clock, came way too early the next morning, and I groaned my disapproval as the alarm blared its annoying reminder that I couldn’t let the ungodly hour pass peacefully during REM sleep. Still, old habits die hard.

After I hit snooze for the third time, and blind avoidance was no longer an option, I was lifted out of bed and carried into the bathroom.

“What the hell?” I muttered when the blinding lights of the bathroom had me covering my eyes with both hands.

“Sorry, honey, but you have to get moving if you want to make your flight.” Thatch set me down on the bathroom counter and left his warm hands at my hips.

I groaned again. “I’ll catch the next flight.”

He laughed and reached up slowly, moving my hands away from my eyes with a gentleness I never personally possessed. “Here,” he said as he placed a hot mug into my hands. “It’s half-caf so you can drink another cup of coffee on the plane.”

I lifted the cup to my nose and inhaled my favorite morning aroma while Thatch turned on the shower.

“It’s a long way to San Diego. Can I drink two more cups on the plane?”

He turned to me with narrowed eyes. That was his way of saying no without actually saying no. Apparently, I responded better to indirect orders.

I scrunched my nose, but otherwise, put up no more fight. I knew I didn’t need to have more than one more cup, and he knew I knew it. I couldn’t even throw it in his face that he got to eat and drink whatever he wanted because it wasn’t true. Sure, he could have, but he didn’t. When I couldn’t have something, he didn’t have it either. Sometimes I wondered if he was real.

Steam wisped and weaved above the glass doors, signaling the water was nice and warm. He made his way back to the counter and took the mug from my hands, setting it down and lifting me to my feet. His hands made quick work of my sleep shirt and panties, and before I knew it, he was helping me into the shower.

But when I turned back to put my lips to his, he wasn’t there.

“What do you want for breakfast, honey? Eggs and bacon sound good?” he asked, moving toward the bathroom closet.

I just stared at him through the glass and watched him set a towel out for me.

His head tilted to the side. “You okay?”

I opened the shower door and gripped him by the boxer briefs, yanking him off-balance and into the shower with me.

“What the—?”

I wrapped both arms around him and held him tight. “I love you.”

His hands found their way into my wet hair, gripping the strands and gently tilting my head back to meet his eyes. He searched my gaze with warmth and love. “I love you too, honey.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I buried my face into his chest. “Thank you for being so goddamn sweet.”

He chuckled softly. “I’d do anything for you.”

I lifted my head. He showed me every fucking day that the words he spoke were true, but I asked anyway. “Anything?”