Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)

by Max Monroe

  Far off in the distance—as in the same room—I heard a rustling behind us.

  But I ignored it, too consumed with this sexy-as-fuck man. My hands moved down his broad shoulders and slid over the muscles of his biceps. He was cut. His body was one I could spend hours and hours examining with my mouth and probably never have my fill.

  The rustling grew louder, and a few snorts accompanied the noise.

  Shit.

  Thatch paused and pulled away from the kiss. His head tilted to the side as his gaze stared deep into mine. “Did you just snort?”

  I had two options in this scenario. Either fess up and risk popping the soon-to-be bubble of hot and sweaty sex or… “Yes,” I lied.

  Obviously, option two was the best choice. I wanted him naked and between my thighs, and I had a feeling if I revealed my teacup surprise, Thatch wouldn’t be feeling all that horny.

  Angry? Yes. Horny? Probably not.

  His face grew skeptical, the line of his mouth turning down minutely, and he attempted to glance around me, but I grabbed both of his cheeks and forced our noses together.

  A few more snorts came from behind us, and I joined in the barnyard orchestra, snorting louder and more obnoxiously than Phil—who had obviously managed to wake up and make his way into the living room—and doing it directly into Thatch’s face.

  He tried to gently disentangle my hands from his face, but I stayed resolute in our literal nose-to-nose position.

  “Cass,” he said, and his brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s that fucking time of year when everything is blooming. I’m all stuffy and snorty.”

  “Stuffy and snorty?”

  “Yeah, you know, allergy season. It kicks my ass.”

  “This is the first time I’ve ever heard you complain about allergies.”

  “Well, they usually don’t bother me, but…” I paused, searching for a reason. “But, I went for a run today in Central Park, and they were cutting the grass, and I think it just triggered the snorts.”

  He raised a curious brow. “You went for a run today?”

  “Um, yeah. I love to run.”

  His eyes squinted in disbelief. “You love to run?”

  Fuck, this hole felt deep. “All the time.”

  “Considering the last time I tried to wake you up for a run, you told me you’d bite my dick off, I’d say that seems a little farfetched, honey.”

  Before I could offer a retort, the soundtrack of snorts and rustling started to play again, which meant I had to snort along and, obviously, come up with a quick plan. Because, yeah, this was not going to work for any substantial amount of time. Christ, I had brought Phil home to help me mess with Thatch, not cockblock me from fucking the prankster. I’d just wanted to live through the high of another one of Thatch’s unexpected reactions. They made me feel good.

  My gaze found the tie loosened around Thatch’s neck, and I quickly unfastened the Windsor knot the rest of the way. “Let’s play, baby,” I purred and held the tie in front of him.

  His expression remained skeptical, but his cock showed a biological reaction a little suspicion couldn’t deny, hardening instantly between my thighs.

  “We’re going to play,” I instructed as I secured the makeshift blindfold over his eyes, “What part of Cassie’s body are you touching.”

  “I’ll only play if by touching you actually mean your lips, pussy, or tits touching my mouth.”

  “Deal,” I agreed, removing myself from his lap and turning around to find Phil face-deep in a bag of plain tortilla chips that had come inside the takeout bag.

  “Shit,” I muttered and silently prayed to the heavens above that the little piggy hadn’t managed to reach the nachos. I wasn’t an animal expert, but my general knowledge of Mexican food and digestive tracts told me that would have been the opposite of good.

  “Wait, where’d you go?” Thatch asked behind me.

  “Uh…I just wanted to freshen up my pussy and tits for you,” I said, and even though I realized how gross that sounded, I was too determined to care.

  I had to hide the porcine chastity belt so I could resume the sex bubble.

  “Stay right there, baby. Don’t move that big cock from the couch. I’ll be right back.”

  It should be noted here that I do not have a tuna twat or hairy nipples.

  I’m groomed and fresh as a motherfucking daisy in those goddamn Irish Spring commercials.

  Seriously, my pussy smells like a meadow full of flowers.

  Well, the meadow with a hint of pussy.

  Because let’s face it, pussies smell like pussies.

  And there’s no avoiding that fact unless you want a yeast infection.

  I picked up Phil and carried him down the hallway, muttering, “I gave you one fucking responsibility. Be. Cool. That was all you had to do, and you pretty much fucked it up.”

  Phil snorted, and his tail wiggled back and forth when I set him down on the bed.

  “You’re being a bit of a cock-block, dude,” I chastised, but he didn’t mind, seemingly more concerned with rooting through the comforter.

  “Who’s a cock-block?” Thatch’s voice filled the room.

  I turned to find his large frame—still clad in a sexy charcoal-gray suit—standing in the doorway, sans blindfold.

  His jaw dropped the second his eyes met the tiny, teacup pig snorting and nudging his nose against the bed.

  “What in the ever-loving fuck?”

  Well, shit. So much for waiting until after we boned.

  And since the cat—well, pig—was out of the bag, I did the only thing I could…

  “Surprise!” I exclaimed and did jazz hands to punctuate the statement. “I bought you a pig!”

  “You…” His gaze moved back and forth between Phil and me. “What?”

  I picked Phil up from the bed, cuddled him close to my chest, and walked over toward Thatch, who appeared to be frozen in the doorway to his bedroom.

  “I bought you this little guy,” I explained. “I wanted to do something thoughtful for you.”

  “I brought home nachos for you, and you bought me a pig?”

  I tried not to smile. God, this was almost as good as sex.

  “Aw, babe, we aren’t keeping score. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll repay me with something even more thoughtful.”

  He just stared back at me. “I never said I wanted a pig, Cassie. I live in the city, for fuck’s sake. What in the hell am I going to do with a pig? Fuck. I’m pretty sure they’re illegal in New York.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said, handing Phil to Thatch. “I’ve got that covered,” I assured, grabbing the ID off the nightstand. “He’s a registered service pet.”

  “Service pet? For who?”

  I held up the ID. “For you, silly.”

  His eyes scanned the ID. “Mr. Philmore F. Bacon?”

  “Isn’t that the best name ever?”

  “What does the F stand for?”

  “Mr. Philmore Fucking Bacon. He’s classy, but he’s also a badass. I think it suits him.”

  “How in the fuck is he a service pet?”

  “He helps your anxiety and depression.”

  “I don’t have anxiety and depression.” Thatch adjusted Phil in his arms so he was holding him like a football.

  “I know that, but the city doesn’t know that.”

  “Cassie,” he started to say, but I interrupted before he could continue.

  “Thatch,” I said quietly, fluttering my eyelashes as I prepared to unleash the big guns. “I really feel like this is the next big step in our relationship. You know, before marriage and kids. I want to make sure we’re responsible together before we move forward. I figured a pet was the best way to do it. And, well,” I whispered, feigning emotion. “He just reminded me so much of Dad. And you remember how much I loved Dad.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered to himself.

  “Do you want to move our relationship forward?” I asked, pretending to
get choked up.

  He stared at me for a few seconds before glancing down at Phil.

  When his eyes met mine again, he finally answered, “Yeah, honey. I think this was a great idea.”

  I waited for my chest to fill with the usual disappointment and annoyance of not being able to get Thatch to fold, but it never came.

  Thank fuck.

  I never wanted him to fold.

  “Wake up, honey,” Thatch whispered in my ear.

  “Go away.” I groaned and swatted at his face.

  “C’mon, Cassie. It’s time to rise and shine.”

  I rolled onto my side and pulled the comforter over my head, and his chuckles practically followed me under the blankets. “It’s too early for this shit.”

  We’d spent the rest of last night eating and watching trashy Lifetime movies while Phil fell asleep in Thatch’s lap. And when I had fallen asleep, I’d relished the idea of spending today sleeping my ass off. This wake-up call was not on my agenda.

  “You don’t even know what time it is.”

  “I know it’s too fucking early.”

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and turned me onto my back with ease, even managing to pull the comforter away from my face in the process. “But I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “I don’t want a boner, Thatcher.” Though, my pussy hadn’t gotten any kind of party last night, so maybe I did. If only the pull of sleep wasn’t so strong.

  He laughed. “It’s not my dick.”

  I peeked out of one skeptical eye and turned my head to face him. “Then what is it?”

  “Belgian waffles. What breakfast dreams are made of.”

  “As in Wafles and Dinges?” They were my favorite waffles. Think whipped cream and hot fudge and caramel and pretty much any topping you wanted, and that was Wafles and Dinges.

  He nodded. “I figured we’d get Phil some fresh air in Central Park before the Saturday morning crowd hits and grab waffles on our way back.”

  “But what if you and Phil went together? You know, since you haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other…” I trailed off and turned over on my side again. “I think that’s the best idea. You take Phil to the park and bring me back a waffle on your way home.” I made kissy noises as I pulled the comforter back over my face. “Kisses. You’re the best, baby.”

  He chuckled, and I felt the mattress move as he stood up from the bed.

  I sighed a breath of relief, but before I could snuggle myself back to sleep, Thatch yanked off the comforter and flipped me over his shoulder. “Motherfucker!” I shouted.

  “Time to wake up!” He spanked my ass. “This is for the good of our relationship, honey. We need to be doing things with Phil together. We don’t want to bring him into this world only to immediately make him feel like he’s a part of a broken home. Which means, you get to accompany us to Central Park today.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s a little after six,” he answered, setting me on my feet.

  “A little after six?” I shouted and poked him directly in the chest. “Are you kidding me? It’s too early! Way too goddamn early.”

  He smirked. “I would agree, but Phil would not agree. He’s been whining—well, more like squealing—since about five thirty this morning.” And right on cue, Phil came tip-tapping in on his tiny hoofed feet and grunted when he plopped his little ass down by Thatch’s feet.

  “See what I mean?” Thatch questioned, and Phil looked up at me.

  “Fine,” I groaned. “But I’m not even brushing my hair,” I announced as I tossed my long locks into a messy bun.

  “Just wear a bra and some gym shoes.”

  “Huh?” I questioned in the middle of brushing my teeth, but Thatch ignored me. He picked Phil up and walked into the bedroom, setting the pig on the bed and fastening the harness leash around his body.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were headed toward Central Park, one of Thatch’s hands holding mine and the other wrapped around the leash. Phil’s head stood tall as he trotted down the sidewalk, his little ass swaying side to side with each step.

  This pig knew how to bring all the girls to the yard. We had stopped four times for random people to kneel down and give him attention. Two of which were giggly women insisting on taking a picture with the pint-sized Casanova.

  It didn’t help that the man holding his leash proudly was bigger than a giant and soaked up the attention just as much as the snorting pig. Winks and smirks and hearty chuckles were being passed out like fucking candy. If I wasn’t so pissed off for being woken up at six in the morning, I might have found it all amusing.

  Liar. You’re totally loving every second of the Jolly Green Giant and Philmore show.

  Thatch led us toward a table sitting just outside the entrance of Central Park and smiled down at the gray-haired lady holding a clipboard. “Thatch Kelly and Cassie Phillips.”

  She scrolled her paper with the tip of her pen until she tapped it twice and grinned. “Looks like you’ve already filled out the forms and paid the entry fee.” She handed Thatch two square pieces of paper with safety pins attached. “Just pin on your numbers and head on over to the starting line. The race will start in ten minutes.”

  My eyes went wide. “The race? What race?”

  “Thanks, honey,” he told her and grabbed my hand, tugging me through the entrance of the park. He led us toward a bench, ignoring my persistent questions about what the hell was going on and urged my ass to sit down by giving my shoulders a gentle shove.

  When he tried to pin the paper on my shirt, I slapped his hands away. “Thatcher,” I snapped. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “We’re running this 5K together,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Oh, hell to the no,” I disagreed. “I am not running in a fucking race. Do you even know me?” I questioned his sanity. Cassie Phillips did not run in races. The closest she came to running was when Macy’s was having their end-of-year clearance sale on shoes. And even then, my pace was more speed-walk than run.

  “But you love to run,” he stated. “Isn’t that what you said last night?” His gaze met mine, and I didn’t like the devious glint of amusement that rested behind his eyes. “I’m really trying here. Trying to do nice things for the good of our relationship. I wanted to be thoughtful and do something with you that you said you loved to do.”

  His smile said sweet, but his eyes, well, they said checkmate.

  “Do you not want to spend time with me today, honey?”

  Oh man, he was evil.

  The fucking king of one-upping had just laid down the gauntlet.

  I plastered a sugary sweet smile on my face. “Of course, I want to spend time with you, baby. I’m so happy you did this,” I lied, snatching the paper from his hands violently and pinning it to my shirt.

  As we lined up at the starting line, I had the urge to kick Thatch in the nuts. The cute pig standing at his feet was the only thing that had stopped me.

  The gun fired and everyone around us was off, their gym shoes slapping against the pavement in the direction of the finish line. I started off slow and silently prayed that Thatch would speed ahead so that I could sneak off the path and find a park bench to plop my already tired ass down on. But of course, he didn’t do that. No way, that would have been too damn easy. Thatch jogged leisurely at my side, letting my pace lead us.

  A minute into the run, I was silently cursing everyone and everything.

  Fuck you. Fuck running. Fuck the beautiful sun. Fuck those chirping birds. Fuck that lady pushing her kid in the stroller. It should be me in that fucking stroller.

  I looked up from the ground and found Thatch smiling down at me, his long legs running at a slow and easy rhythm and not an ounce of discomfort on his face. He paused briefly to pick up a squealing Phil and adjust him in his arms like a baby, and I took that moment to scratch the side of my face with my middle finger pointed directly in his direction.


  He caught it and his smile grew wider. “You okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine,” I bit out between panting breaths. “Never been better.”

  I refused to let him know my body was practically screaming for me to stop.

  But ten minutes after that I could no longer keep quiet.

  “For fuck’s sake!” I shouted, and the runners in front of me shot glares over their shoulders. “I can’t go any longer, Thatch,” I gasped and jogged off to the side of the path. My feet stayed firmly planted by a bench as I leaned forward and rested my hands on my knees. “I’m done. I’m fucking done. Why do people do this? This is so fucking stupid. Why would anyone want to run unless they were actually being chased or Prada was having a going-out-of-business sale?” I rambled through shallow breaths.

  Thatch sat Phil down on the bench, and before I could stop him, he gripped my hips, lifted me over his head, and set me on his shoulders.

  “Whoa! What the hell?” I cried. My head spun from the abrupt change in altitude.

  “I’m really proud of you, Crazy,” he said and picked Phil up from the bench. “For someone who’s never run before, you kicked ass for the first mile and a half.” He glanced up at me and winked. “So now, just sit back, relax, and hold on tight to Phil. I’ll take it from here.”

  He lifted our little piggy above his head and put him into my arms.

  Phil squealed in protest, but I slipped him inside the front of my shirt and held on tight to comfort him. “It’s okay,” I soothed. “I’ve got ya, little buddy.”

  Eventually, his squeals stopped, and he peeked his little head out above my neckline. He sniffed the air a few times and snorted his content, inside the warmth and safety of my shirt.

  “That’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Thatch said as he held his phone in front of us, catching all three of our faces in the shot. His gaze met mine in the screen and those chocolate eyes of his glimmered with affection. “Smile, honey,” he said as his lips curled into a handsome smile.

  I smiled.

  Phil snorted.

  Snap. And just like that, our happy little moment had been recorded.