Laurel's Bright Idea (Billionaire Baby Club Book 3)

by Jasinda Wilder

  He rocked backward. “You—you’d want that?”

  I waved a hand at the house. “Why would I want you to buy a house to live in, Titus? I love you. I’ve spent the last three and a half months celibate so we can start a real relationship. If that period is over, why the fuck would we not want to live together? If you want to settle down, do it with me! Not a house of your own. Jesus, of fucking course I want that, Titus. You said you’d propose. So propose! OR don’t! I don’t need a ring and a Mrs. to be happy with you, Titus. I just need you.”

  “I…” He twisted in place. “I don’t…I didn’t want to…to assume. To invite myself into your life—your personal space, I guess I mean.”

  I laughed, but it wasn’t entirely mirthful. “Titus, my god. You’re in my personal space already. You are my entire fucking life, do you not get that?” I held out my hands. “You showed up, told me I was going to be yours, I just didn’t know it yet. Well? Now I do. I’m yours, Titus. So yes, if you need a fucking invitation, consider this it—I want you to move in with me. I’ll give you half of my extra bedroom for closet space, for all your leather pants and vests, and you can put your eight hundred Grammy’s on my mantle.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I have three, not eight hundred. And I don’t actually have all that many pairs of leather pants.”

  “Whatever, you’re missing the point, Titus.”

  He laughed, took me in his arms. “I know, I know. Are you sure?”

  I rested my cheek on his chest. “Can we have sex, if you move in?”

  His laugh was a rumble. “If not sooner.”

  “Promise? Because my vagina feels dusty.”

  “What happened to Grimace?”

  “Oh, he’s still around. Getting plenty of use, let me tell you. I’ve had to recharge him quite a few times in the last couple months, and let me just make clear here that until this abstinence thing, I only had to recharge Grimace a couple times a year.” I gestured at him. “Point here being, a vibrator doesn’t really count. The puss is still dusty from disuse. Needs a good workout, if you know what I’m saying.”

  He grumbled a laugh. “I think I understand. I’m not sure what the male equivalent is of a dusty vagina, but whatever it is, I’ve got it. Rusty dick, maybe?”

  “Rusty and dusty, you and me,” I laughed. “Funniest part of it all is that we did it to ourselves.”

  “Worth it, though, right?”

  “Yeah.” I inhaled the scent of his throat, the scratch of his beard. “Worth it.”

  “I’m sorry, Laurel,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I just miscalculated.”

  “Yeah, dumbshit, you miscalculated.” I could laugh at it, now, and did. “I can’t believe you thought I’d let you buy a fucking house instead of moving in with me.” I pulled back. “Or.”

  He smirked at me, hands on my hips—the most erogenous touch I’d received from him in months. “Or?”

  “Or you buy it, we flip it, and sell it or rent it out.”

  He hummed thoughtfully. “You think so?”

  “It’s a good place, for a good price. Barring any unforeseen and unforeseeable catastrophes, which are always possible but unlikely since this house isn’t all that old, we could get it demo’d and reno’d in two months if we’re lucky, three if we’re not. It’s actually a decent market for flipping, and I know Mark would be down to split profits. He and I have talked about it before.”

  “Should I be worried about Mark?”

  I cackled. “Decidedly no.”

  “Why do you laugh like that?”

  “Because he’s married, for one thing.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “And his husband’s name is Richard.”

  “Oh.” A chuckle.

  “They have three adopted kids, one from Ethiopia, one from South Korea, and one from here in LA. Mark is one of the best contractors I’ve ever met, and we’ve been buds for ten years. We throw each other work all the time, and like I said, we’ve knocked around the idea of flipping together. We just never bit the bullet.”

  “If you’re in, I’m in. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at construction.”

  I laughed, but he wasn’t laughing with me. “Oh, you’re serious.”

  He gave a droll eye roll. “Yes, I’m serious.”

  “Well, knock yourself out. If you help, it’ll go faster and we can move on to the next flip.”

  “How does flipping work?”

  I shrugged. “We buy a house like this, renovate it to be attractive, sell it for max profit. Take that profit, and use it to buy another fixer-upper. Rinse and repeat.”

  “Oh. Well that’s pretty simple.”

  “In theory it is. But you’re guaranteed to get a lemon now and then, of course. Rip up carpet because you checked in one corner and saw some sexy wood floors, but it turns out the rest of the floors are water-stained garbage and you have to rip them all out and put in new hardwood and that eats into your profit. And then suddenly there’s a wiring issue, and your tile supplier fucks up your order, and the plumber messes up a toilet install and there’s a leak underneath the subfloor, and bam, you’re over budget by fifteen grand and passed deadline by a month and comps are saying you’re only gonna net ten grand max, if there’s no other issues.” I laughed. “There’s that.”

  He laughed. “There’s risk to everything. But good news is, I’ve got cash to burn. I don’t spend all that much, and with these pop-ups driving my streaming income, I’m sitting on more than you’d think, most of it cash or easily liquidated assets. So, you know. No worries.”

  “So you want to get into flipping with me, is what you’re saying.”

  “What I’m saying is, let’s go get my shit outta my rig, move it into your place, and then I’m gonna flip you.”

  “Ooooh,” I purred. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m down.”

  “It means I’m gonna take you home, strip you naked, and fuck you six ways to Sunday.”

  “Why stop at six? I can think of a dozen ways I want you to fuck me off the top of my head.”

  He laughed. “I love the way you think.”

  It took all of two hours to pack up his stuff off his touring rig, which until today, had doubled as his full-time residence. He had about a dozen Rubbermaid bins full of random shit, half a dozen contractor bags full of clothes, and some music equipment he wanted to bring home with him, rather than leave it on the rig, guitars mainly, and some mobile recording and mixing gear, as well as a keyboard.

  We put it all in the back of his truck and made the short trip from the parking lot where he parked his rig while in LA to my house in the suburbs. Another hour of unpacking, while I condensed my clothes in my main closet and the extra bedroom to make room for his stuff. Which, fortunately for me, really was minimal, and only took up a small corner of my extra closet/spare bedroom.

  Some shower stuff, and his music equipment in a corner of the living room—which I actually really liked, since it gave my otherwise kind of spartan living room a more lived-in and eclectic appeal.

  He filled my home with himself. His scent, his warmth, his laugh.

  And that was just within the first couple hours.

  Once his stuff was settled and organized, we plopped onto my deck chairs on the back porch, sharing a beer.

  “Well, Laur,” he murmured, as he took a sip. “I now live with you. What next?”

  I smirked, and decided to play dumb. “I think you need a key, and you need to make my address your official address.”

  He swallowed hard. “You want me to? Make this my address?”

  I frowned at him. “Not this again.”

  “I just…I’ve never had an actual home address before.”

  “Wait, you don’t have an address?”

  “Nope. Any official mail, anything I need an address for, I use the PO Box associated with Troubadour Enterprises, my record label and various other business-related stuff.”

  “So let me get this str
aight. You don’t have a phone, you don’t have an address…you’re, like, barely an official person.”

  He snorted. “Pretty much.”

  “Okay, well first, yes, we’re going to the DMV and putting my address on your license, then a phone, and then we’re going to a hardware store and getting you a key for my house.” I paused, smiled at him. “Our house, I mean.”

  “Our house,” he repeated, and sounded more than a little wonderstruck. “I have a house. A home.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He swallowed hard. “I belong somewhere. To someone.”

  “You do.” I took his hand. “With me, and to me.”

  I took a sip of the beer, and handed it to him. “Shit, why wait? Let’s go get that stuff done.”

  He held up a finger. “Can I borrow your phone?”

  “Sure,” I answered, and handed it to him.

  He dialed a number from memory. “Jer, hey, it’s me. So, um. I moved in with Laurel.” A pause, a laugh. “Yes, for real, finally. I know. Amazing, is how it feels. Just happened, so I’m still sort of processing the whole thing. I just wanted you to know, so you know where to reach me, should anything come up.” A pause, as he listened. “Yeah, you can call her. If I’m not on the bus, I’m with her. Nah, she’s saying she’s gonna get me one, but I’m gonna try and talk her out of it, because shit, I’ve gone forty fuckin years without a phone, I don’t see the point of getting one now.”

  I just rolled my eyes. He chatted a few more minutes, and then hung up, handing me my phone back.

  “You really don’t want a phone?” I asked.

  He shook his head, shrugging. “No point. If I’m not with you, I’m on the bus. Who the fuck would I need to call?”

  “Um, me, while you’re on the road?”

  “Oh. I can just borrow Jer’s.”

  “He travels with you?”

  “Sure he does. He’s my manager, basically. He sets up the venue and arranges for the social media posts notifying the fans when and where the show is.”

  “Okay, well, program his number into my phone, then, so I can call him and get ahold of you. As long as I can reach you while you’re gone, I don’t care if you have a phone or not.”

  He frowned. “You don’t?”

  I shook my head, shrugged. “Nah.”

  “Really.” He eyed me. “You don’t want to, like, modernize me?”

  I laughed. “I love you the way you are. I just want to be able to talk to you while you’re gone. I miss the hell out of you when you’re not here and I hate not being able to talk to you. And I promise I won’t blow up Jeremy’s phone. Just a call once a day is all I ask.”

  “I think I can manage that.” He finished the beer and set it on the table between our chairs. “Well, I’m moved in.”

  “Indeed you are.” I chewed on my lip and grinned at him. “So. Now what?”

  He extended his hand to me. Wrapped my hand in his and pulled me to my feet. “Now? Now I do a whole bunch of very dirty things to you.”

  I followed him inside. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  He led me to my bedroom—our bedroom. “Any last requests?”

  “Last requests?” I asked, laughing breathlessly as he kicked the door shut and began taking off my leggings. “What is this, an execution?”

  “Yes,” he mumbled. “Death by orgasm.”

  I tugged one leg free, then the other, and eagerly waited for him to peel my thong off. “My only request is that if I were to, for some weird reason, beg you stop making me come, just ignore me.”

  “Why on earth would you ever want me to stop?”

  I shook my head as he made quick work of my shirt and bra, and finally, thank fuck, I was naked with Titus. “I don’t know. I’m so horny I can’t make sense. Just get down there and make me come already, dammit.”

  He dropped to his knees and gazed up at me, hands caressing my ass, then up to cup my breasts before sliding down to trace fingertips over my seam. “Yes, my love. As you wish.”

  I gathered his head in my hands and drew his face to my sex, and I gasped as he lapped at me. “I wish for this to never end.”

  “Wish granted,” he growled, tonguing me slowly.

  “Problem is,” I gasped, hips flexing as he circled my clit with his tongue. “As much as I want you to just make me come a million times with your mouth, I equally as much need to get you naked and get my hands and mouth and pussy on your cock. Which I’m going for first, I don’t know. Hands, then mouth, then pussy, probably. That makes the most sense, I think.”

  He rumbled a laugh. “Laurel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re babbling. Shut up and come.”

  I shut up and came—his fingers slid into me, one and then two and then three, curling and slicking in and out and gathering my wetness, and so needy for his touch was I that it took moments only to make me thrash, to bring me to quick shaking screaming orgasm.

  Nothing and no one had ever been able to make me come as hard and as fast as Titus Bright.

  Hard on the heels of the first, I felt another one rising, building, and he chased it, followed the path of my gasps and screams until he dragged the second orgasm out of me. Titus being Titus, he didn’t relent, didn’t give me quarter from the shredding ecstasy until I’d come apart on his wild, talented mouth twice more.

  I yanked myself away abruptly, once the fourth shaking quake of ecstasy had settled within me. Caught him by the hand and yanked at him. “You, bed, now.”

  He laughed and shot to his feet, allowing me to pull him up. “Okay, okay. Whatever you want.”

  The moment he was even remotely vertical, I was ripping at his clothing, tearing his shirt off and shoving his shorts off without bothering to even unbutton them. I had him naked in record time, and pushed him to the bed, roughly shoving him backward as hard as I could. He flew backward, laughing, and let the bed catch his weight, flopping hard to the mattress and crawling backward.

  I lurched to him, collapsing forward onto the back edge of the bed, wrapping both fists around the hot hard shaft of his erection. “Mine.”

  He groaned, laughing. “Yeah, baby. All yours.”

  I squeezed and caressed, petted and stroked. “Fuck, I almost forgot how big you are.”

  I stroked him with both fists for a moment, just plunging my touch around him and enjoying the heat of him, the thickness in my hands, the silk-on-steel feel of him, the veins, the plump fat head as it began to weep at my touch.

  “And I almost forgot how incredible it feels when you touch me,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”

  “You think that feels good?” I had so many needs. Him, all of him, in every way. But mostly, just his pleasure. His noises, his body, his cum. To be joined with him. “Then you’re might just faint when I do…this.”

  I took him in my mouth, and he caught at my hair, wrapping it in his fists, groaning a snarl. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Laurel. Fucking god, your mouth.”

  I hummed around him, and used my fist to stroke the many inches of him that wouldn’t fit in my mouth, even after I had him at the back of my throat. One hand to caress those inches, the other to cup his balls and massage them, so every last inch of his manhood knew the touch of my hands and mouth.

  “Fuck, Laurel, been so long, I can’t—shit, shit, shit.”

  I backed away to lick the tip. “Give it to me, Titus. We have all night. All day. We have every day for the rest of our lives to make love every way there is.” I took him deep, swallowing around him, then backed away. “For right now, baby, just come for me. Give it to me.” I took him deep again. “Right now. Give it to me, Titus.”

  He groaned and brushed my hair away from my face, cupped my face in both hands, and with furrowed brow, jaw dropping open in bliss, fed himself slowly between my lips. “Fuckin’…I fucking love you, Laurel.”

  I swirled my tongue against him as he filled my mouth, my throat, and I pulled away and went deep again, and again, and then faster, and t
hen I began pumping at his base with my fists and bobbing on the top inch or two with my sucking mouth and swirling tongue. Faster, faster.

  “Laurel, god, fuck, Laurel.” He gasped my name again and again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Laurel, my Laurel, fuck, you feel so incredible.”

  “Mmmhmm?”

  He groaned, thrusting into my mouth, now. “I need to…fuck, I’m gonna come, Laurel.”

  “Mmmm. Mmmhmmm!”

  At the last moment, an instant before I knew he was about to fill my mouth, he yanked away with a snarl. “No, fuck no. I haven’t had you in over four months, not since that day here. I’m not coming the first time with you since then in your damn mouth.”

  He flipped me to my back and grabbed my hands, pinned them over my head with one of his, and felt between my thighs, tracing my seam with a fingertip. Guided himself to me, nudging against my opening. “Can I? Bare, I mean.”

  In answer, I wrapped my thighs around him and lifted, sinking him into me. “Does that answer your question?” I breathed.

  His eyes widened, raw emotion and pure pleasure warring in his eyes. “Laurel, god, oh my god. Are we covered?” he asked.

  “I’m clean, obviously, and yes, I’m on birth control.” I felt him fill me, withdraw, and fill me again, spearing deeper every time. “Fuck, you’re huge, Titus. So fucking good. I love the way you feel inside me.” I touched his lips before he could speak. “Yes, I know you’re clean. Just…just fuck me, Titus.”

  He stopped, buried deep. “No, Laurel. No matter how good it is, no matter how hard I fuck you, it’s never going to be just fucking again.” He moved through me, and I quaked around him, tightening as my climax rose to meet his. “It’s love. I’m making love to you. We’re loving each other. I don’t care how the fuck you say it. It’s love. You and me, always, it’s love.”

  “I know, baby,” I murmured. “I know. Make love to me, then, and make it good.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled, chuckling. “How’s this?”

  I faked a bored face. “Meh. Could be better. Maybe a little faster.”

  “Yes, ma’am, right away, ma’am,” he said, laughing, and arched forward over me as he quickened his pace. “How are you always able to make me laugh during sex?”