Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)

“We haven’t,” I pointed out. Weeks of courting and falling and fucking had taken its toll. “Just snuggle into me, baby. We’ll both catch some shut-eye. We’ve got about five hours until we get there.”

She didn’t say anything out loud, just nuzzled the top of her head farther into my neck and crossed an arm over my body.

I breathed in the smell of her shampoo and rubbed the soft strands of her hair with my fingers. I wanted to stay awake and savor it, talk to her, laugh with her, soak more of her in. But the lull of the plane and the hum of the engine enhanced a pull into sleep that already needed no help.

With my eyes shut and heart full, I was mere moments away from a deep sleep when Georgia called my name.

“Yeah, baby?” I asked, my voice thick and sluggish with the impending doze.

“I’ve never been happier to miss sleep in my life.”

Ditto.




“Just one room,” I told the front desk clerk as she handed me our cards. My assistant, Pam, had, of course, made the arrangements, and she’d have had no way of knowing Georgia and I were following a one-room sleeping plan.

Personally, I didn’t have even one fuck left to give. But Georgie cared. And I cared about what she cared about. It was a really mushy, complicated web of romance, but in the end, all that mattered was her.

“Yes, sir,” the young girl agreed, taking the keys back and tapping away at the computer.

We’d gone straight from the airport to the meeting, and from the meeting to dinner. Thanks to one of the best plane catnaps I’d ever had, we had just enough time to spend another night not sleeping before Georgia had to be on a plane back home in the morning.

“Here you go,” the desk clerk offered, handing me back a solitary key. “Room 554. The elevators are down the hall behind you and on the right.”

“Thanks.” I smiled and grabbed my small bag from its spot at my feet.

Georgia was already down the elevator hall, pacing the tile floor in front of them as she talked over the details of things she needed for tomorrow’s meeting with Dean. As imperative as the phone call seemed on the surface, I had a suspicion it was more of an excuse to avoid awkwardly standing next to me at the desk than a necessity.

“Ready?” I asked as I came to a stop in front of her.

Her finger shot to my lips and pushed to say ‘be quiet’.

“It was just Mr. Brooks,” she said into the phone, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m still in the lobby.”

I went to speak, but she pushed on my lips harder. “Nope. The meeting ran really late and we still have a couple of things to go over before we call it a night.”

I smiled. No one here was going to be calling it a night.

She shook her head in the negative and bit her bottom lip. My balls tightened immediately. Even they knew it was time to play.

“Georgie girl,” I whispered mischievously. She shushed me and waved me away, pointing at the phone with wild eyes. She was just too easy.

“Come tuck me in,” I teased, grabbing at her hips and backing her toward the elevators.

I pushed the up button to call the car and pulled her hips into mine. Hair loose from its earlier binding, she looked wild and willing and altogether too much like sex to stop.

“Dean, Dean,” she called, obviously trying to break into his end of steady conversation. “You know, you’ve got this covered.”

I smiled bigger. Pulled her breasts tighter to my chest.

“It was really just my neuroses calling. You’re plenty competent to have everything ready on your own.”

“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, moving the hair off of her neck and sucking at her skin greedily.

She was dying to give me one of her signature, scolding Kline!s, I could feel it in her posture and staccato-timed wording, but with Dean on the line, secrecy won out.

“I know. I’ll be sure to give Donatella Versace my recommendation, should I ever run into her on the street.” She nodded at the phone, at something Dean said, a gesture he obviously couldn’t see, and I swooned.

Hands down, Georgia Cummings was one of the most charmingly fascinating women I’d ever encountered. Dichotomous in nearly everything she did, I never knew which way was up or which version of her I would get. Awkward or easy, bold or shy, endlessly clever or laughably bumbling. Every time, day or night—work or play—I’d take any version I met.

“Hang up the phone, baby,” I coaxed, pushing her gently into the open and waiting car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said into the line. “Yes, butt-fucking early.” We both smiled like lunatics. “I’ll see you then.”

Finally, blessedly, she cut the call just as the doors of the elevator shut out the people.

I grabbed her hips, groping and squeezing at the top of her ass.

“God. It’s about time,” I teased, running my tongue along the closed seam of her lips.

“Fuck,” she breathed as her head fell back and her hair hung well past her shoulders. I gripped the ends of it and yanked her throat open even farther.

“Ahh,” she moaned, shoving her tit right into the palm of my waiting free hand.

“That’s it,” I cooed, circling her hard nipple with the tip of my thumb.

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