Scoring the Billionaire (Billionaire Bad Boys 3)

“I promise,” he said with a seductive hum into my skin. “If you go change right now, I’ll be good at a lot of things.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed away so that I could look him in the eye.

“Give me five minutes. I’ll meet you outside.”

Clad in my skimpiest pink bikini and fake confidence, I walked outside onto my deck, my bare feet carefully tiptoeing across the wood, and found Wes lounging comfortably in my hot tub, his arms stretched across the edges. Droplets of water shimmered in the moonlight as they slid down his firm chest and back into the water.

Oblivious to my approach, his head back and his eyes closed, he looked like a Greek god.

I honestly wasn’t sure if this was the best idea I’d ever had—or the worst. Tonight, right now, I knew it would feel good. But what had started under the assumption that a few romps would be the perfect solution for getting him out of my system had turned into an obsession. I was starting to crave him like a drug, spending all my time from one fix to the next trying to figure out how to make it happen again.

According to just about anyone who had the power of speech, Wes was not the kind of man who settled down, especially with a woman who already had a child—wasn’t even really a monogamous kind of guy. But it didn’t feel like that anymore. It felt real and deep and a little bit like I was going to feel like such a goddamn fool when it turned out a man didn’t up and change everything about himself for a woman. Because as much as I tried to warn myself of that very thing, my naïve, romantic epicenter in my chest wouldn’t stop whispering that maybe it could be that way for me.

I took a deep breath and finally started to walk again.

All things in moderation. That was the advice I had given thousands of patients, and I should have been able to follow it myself.

His eyes opened and turned to me. It was sheer absurdity how quickly I got lost in him.

Fucking shit, moderation sucked balls. I didn’t want bits and pieces of him here and there. I wanted all of him—all of the tiny details that made him the man I was so obviously falling for.

Shit, Winnie, my brain whined. This quickly? I thought you were smarter than this.

His eyes turned hooded and heated, watching closely as I climbed in and slid into the water across from him. My skin prickled from the sharp change in temperature. I’d spent entirely too long outside the water doing the mental hokey-pokey.

“Come here, Win,” Wes whispered and held out his hand.

I took it without a second thought, and with a gentle tug, I was sitting in his lap, his strong arms wrapped around me and his hands softly caressing the exposed skin of my belly.

His nose brushed down my skin as he nuzzled my neck. “You always smell so fucking good,” he whispered, and my nipples immediately hardened beneath my bikini top. The tip of his tongue made a seductive path from my neck to my jaw and back to my neck again.

I moaned, any chance of holding out nullified by the direction of his hand.

It moved up my stomach, between my breasts, and kept going until his fingers cupped my chin and moved my lips toward his. He sucked at my bottom one before slipping his tongue inside to dance gently with mine.

Gentle, exploring, we were unhurried for a long time. But, eventually, the heat of his skin burned hotter than the steamy water, and the ache between my legs forced a keening cry from my desperate throat. Frantic, our tongues tangling deeper, our mouths sharing quiet moans and panting breaths, he gripped my hips and turned me around until my legs straddled his hips.

I gasped loudly as he attacked my mouth again, hunger and fire leaking from his mouth right down my throat and straight into the space between my legs. I pushed myself against him in earnest, desperate to get some relief. He broke the kiss with a groan, licking and sucking at my neck and then my chest, before his fingers slid the triangles of my bikini top to the sides and bared my breasts to the frigid air and his seductive gaze. Both made my nipples peak to a point just shy of pain.

I ground my hips into his as I pushed my breasts toward his mouth. “Please,” I begged.

He sucked a hardened nipple into his mouth and flicked at the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, and it only encouraged my hips to push harder against his thick, rigid cock.

“Please,” I begged again.

“Patience, baby,” he coached seductively, and I groaned.

I just wanted him to move. To make the decisions for me and make me let go. Make me feel.

His hands slid down my sides while his eyes gazed up into mine. He pulled my hips tighter to his, and the water sloshed around us. I moved my fingers through his wet hair as his large hands gripped my ass.

Our mouths touched again, but we weren’t kissing, just breathing each other in.

He was taking charge, just as I’d wanted, but instead of diving right in, he was teaching me to wait. Showing me how good it could feel not to rush this part.

I pressed my mouth to his, greedy and begging.

“God, Win,” he groaned when he pulled away, allowing both of us to catch our breath. He gripped my throat briefly, gently, as he gazed into my eyes, and then his thumb slid down my neck, between my breasts, until his finger easily slid across my skin and into my bikini bottoms.

“You make it hard to go slow.”

I nodded, my forehead against his. “So do you.”

“Tell me what you want,” he said, and his voice was quiet yet demanding. He was an aphrodisiac, and I couldn’t do anything but speak the truth. There was only one specific thing I knew I wanted.

“You. I want you.”

His hot mouth latched on to my pebbled nipple again as his hand slid into my hair and tugged my head back. I moaned, and he didn’t stop, his perfect mouth sucking and licking and flicking across my breast until he moved to the other one to give it the same mind-blowing treatment.

His lips moved back up my body, placing openmouthed kisses upon my chest, my neck, my jaw, until his lips were on mine again, devouring me like I was his favorite meal.

“Please. Now,” I begged, and I didn’t wait for him to stop me. I pulled his cock out of his boxer briefs and slid my bikini bottoms to the side. The instant the tip of him pressed against my clit, I whimpered. “Please. I need to feel you inside me.”

I was beyond shame or embarrassment. I just needed him. Skin on skin. Inside me.

I needed to feel him.

And I didn’t care that we were on my back deck. I didn’t care that anyone could’ve seen us if they had wanted to. I didn’t care about any of it.

I just wanted. Needed. Desired.

“Make me feel, Wes. Make me feel everything.”

His hands were in my hair again, and his lips were on mine. His tongue slipped inside my mouth at the exact same moment he pushed his cock inside me. Our breaths mingled and danced as our lips and tongue did the same.

And he pushed deeper and deeper and deeper until I couldn’t stop shaking.

God, the sounds I made. They were greedy and frantic, and I couldn’t stop my nails from practically clawing at his skin. His unusually expressive eyes never left mine, staring past my heart and into my soul. This wasn’t just fucking. This wasn’t just sex.

This was something else entirely.

Something I’d never in my life felt before. I understood what people meant by you’ll know when you fall. You’ll know when your heart tethers itself to someone else’s heart.

Because, in that moment, it happened to me—my heartstrings pulled straight out of my chest and knotted themselves with Wes’s.

I loved him. I was in love with him.

I felt like I was outside of myself, watching from a bubble that very well might burst.

But I didn’t care. For now, I was floating in a dream, and I had no immediate plans to wake up.

For the first time since my friends had fallen, I understood why they were so happy in their emotional jail cells.

Because, metaphorically, the accommodations were much nicer than they were on the outside, the linens finer, the satisfaction abundant, and the happiness overflowing. I felt content to live my life in those eight-by-ten feet, trapped in the spell of Winnie and everything she had to offer, and I couldn’t place a reason for it.

Instead, it was all the reasons, all the little things that made her up, the soft looks and exasperated eye rolls, and the constant fight to earn both.

I wanted to live every emotion she had to offer, see the way it changed her face to make it even more beautiful than before, and work out any of the lingering aggression in the most pleasurable of ways.

As I stood at the side of the field, listening to Coach Bennett wrap up the last practice before tomorrow’s game, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I would have let it go, certain it was Thatch, contacting me to paint his nursery or go pick up a breast pump, but lately, someone else had been sending me messages with some frequency—someone I was much more eager to hear from. Someone who’d been so goddamn hot, so overwhelming, in her hot tub four days ago, I’d temporarily lost my mind. I’d been this close to telling her I loved her.

Fucking LOVE, people.

Even now, I wasn’t sure what had actually stopped me. Common sense, premonition…a carefully exercised intervention by God, perhaps. It was just too soon. That kind of declaration wasn’t something I needed to take lightly. This was more than some simple purchase that you take back to the store when you’re dissatisfied or a hole wears through the sole—or soul, in this case—too soon. This was a real, live woman with feelings, a career carefully interwoven with mine, and a daughter.