Quick & Dirty (The Quick Billionaires Book 1)

by Whitley Cox

  He nodded. “Yeah. I lived there for a while. Did a year of my undergrad in Seoul, then went back and got my MBA there, as well. I also worked in Busan for a bit. I have a lot of connections in Korea, and we get quite a few Korean businessmen at the resort.”

  Shaking my head in wonder, I couldn’t think of anything else to say besides, “Wow.”

  “I’m pretty good at Spanish too. Know a fair bit of Arabic, though I can’t read a word of it, and I’m learning Mandarin. But that’s slow going. I can’t seem to get the tone right.”

  “Wow.” For an English major and photojournalist, my words were seriously lacking.

  “That’s it, baby, just like that,” Tate said, after he’d shown me how to tie a reflector onto my line and cast it into the ocean.

  My cast was not nearly as impressive as his, maybe half the distance, but it hadn’t been a plop right next to the boat either.

  “Now give it some line, maybe twenty or thirty tugs, set the bail and then put it in the holder.”

  “Like this?”

  He nodded, a big, proud grin on his face, while the sides of his eyes crinkled beneath his sunglasses. I smiled back, pleased as punch with myself for doing it right.

  “Now what?” I asked, putting the rod in the rod holder.

  “Now, we wait.”

  I looked back down at the rod, my lips pinching into a pout. “Well, that seems boring.”

  His chuckle made my belly stir and a warm tingle ignite even lower. I couldn’t control myself; when I was around Tate, I was on fire. Constantly turned on and ready to be ravished. He’d awakened a beast, and the beast was starving.

  “Yes, well, sometimes it takes a while to lure the fish. Some days we don’t catch anything. But I think today we’re going to get lucky and land a whopper.”

  “A whopper,” I mocked, eyeing him from beneath my lashes.

  He came up behind me after setting his rod in the holder on the opposite side of the boat, his arms encircling my waist as he tugged me close, nuzzling my neck. “Mhmm, a whopper. I’ve got a whopper for you in my pants.”

  A snort rumbled from my nose before I could stop it. “Do you use that line on all the women you sleep with?”

  “Mhmm,” he hummed, setting us off to a sway.

  Damn! Why did that sting?

  “And does it work?”

  “Mhmm.”

  Laughing, I spun around in his arms and draped my hands around his neck, playing with the soft hair at the nape. Extending up on tiptoe, I pecked him on the lips. He took my gesture as an opening and drew me closer, capturing my gasp with his mouth and driving his tongue inside.

  “I like the beard,” I said breathlessly, when we came up for air. “I’ve never been with a guy with a beard before. All my past boyfriends have kept their faces bare.” The skin around my mouth tingled and burned slightly, and I lifted my hand up to rub it. His grin made my bathing suit bottoms wet, and I could feel a trickle of need escaping the fabric and running down my inner thigh beneath my loose shorts.

  “Beard-burn, baby. It’s a thing.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Once you go beard, you’ll never go back. My beard on your clit, on your tits, your thighs, the possibilities are endless.”

  “Hmm,” I hummed, shifting on my feet and loving the light chafing on my inner thighs from said beard. He’d given it to me good this morning, and I was rather glad it was just the two of us out on the boat. My thighs were a tad red.

  His eyes flicked to my fishing rod behind me. He released me from his embrace and took it from the holder for a second.

  “Do I have something?” I asked, giddy with the thought of bringing in a trophy on my very first cast.

  Tate held the rod still and watched, checking to see if it jerked again. Finally, he shook his head and put it back in the holder. “Just a bite, I think. They took off.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I asked, taking a seat and sipping my water.

  He fell into the seat across from me and tipped back his beer. “Shoot.”

  “You’re so secretive about your resort and all the good you do; why is that? Don’t you want the world to know, so that your cause can be more public and you can gain more support?” Even though I was having a marvelous time and it didn’t feel like work at all, I still had a job to do and questions to ask. I wanted to find out more about Tate McAllister, billionaire philanthropist and sex god.

  One dark brown winged eyebrow slowly arched upward, and the corner of his mouth lifted mildly in amusement. “Off the record?”

  Letting out a huff, I nodded. Shit, there wasn’t going to be anything on the record for me to write my article about.

  “Some people have likened it to a concentration camp,” he said, an evident chip on his shoulder. Meanwhile, my own eyebrows nearly flew clear off my head.

  “If it’s anything, it’s a commune,” he said with a nod. “But it’s not even that. More like working on a cruise ship, where you live where you work, except it’s on land instead. There are hundreds of resorts around the world where the staff live on site. This is nothing new. My staff are free to leave whenever they like. We have no religious affiliation. No binding contract. If they want to quit, I would appreciate two weeks notice, but it’s not mandatory. They can live here or live off the property, eat here or eat off the property. Everyone has to work forty hours a week, they get two days off, and they all get holidays and benefits. The difference is, I hire refugees and immigrants mainly. I just want to give these people who have come from nothing . . . something. But it’s hard to do that when half the world is rejecting them, telling them they’re not welcome. A lot of my staff are refugees, nearly half. And when the rest of the world is calling them terrorists or accusing them of stealing the jobs of the locals, even if they do manage to escape their own country, they’re not welcomed very warmly into another. I’ll employ nearly any local that walks in with a resume and can prove their worth. And I do employ a lot of Tahitians, but I want to give others a chance, too.”

  I was still shaking my head at the concentration camp statement. Some people were so crass. “I think what you’re doing here is marvelous. Saving people, saving the environment, and all from the pockets of those who could afford to give more.”

  He smiled, and his gaze turned avid. The chip seemed to have disappeared. “See, you get it. But if I advertise what I’m doing, and who I am, and what this place is, then the media will be all over it, all over me, all over my staff. And some bleeding heart without enough information but a penchant for stirring up shit will paint me as a slave driver or a cult leader or something, and then all that I’m trying to achieve will be for naught. And my hundreds of staff members will be jobless and homeless again. Or worse, sent home.”

  “I won’t say a word,” I said solemnly. “Not a word.” This man was incredible. So giving, so . . . perfect.

  His grin took my breath away. “I know you won’t. I trust you, Parker.”

  I dropped to my knees and shuffled toward him until I was at his feet. Looking up into his eyes, I smiled while my hands made their merry way to the front of his shorts and worked the belt and zipper.

  “You’re an incredible man, Tate,” I purred, plunging my hand into the hole of his boxers and pulling him free. He was already getting hard. “I’ve never met anyone like you. So powerful, so giving.” Dipping my head forward, I flicked the shiny crown with my tongue.

  “Parker . . .” he growled. He grabbed ahold of my braid, and tugged just a touch too hard, but I loved it. Every synapse in my brain fired at once as a surge of unbridled lust ran through me.

  Yes, more! Pull my hair again, please!

  Bowing my head, I took him in my mouth, running my tongue up and down his shaft in circles. He inhaled as I pushed him deep so he hit the back of my throat, only to bring him all the way back out and swirl my tongue around the top. A dewy bead of pre-cum glistened like a diamond when I brought him out again, oozing from the small hole. Using m
y finger, I pushed it around and around until the plum head glowed. Only then did I let him bottom out again, savoring his salty flavor and the way he shamelessly bucked up into my face. I felt the exact same way when his head was between my legs, craving more, craving everything. I loved that I could make Tate as crazy as he made me, loved that I could take him to the brink and beyond.

  “Holy fucking Christ,” he said breathlessly. “That is so fucking hot.” His grip tightened in my hair, and he demanded his own rhythm, pulling up only to slam me back down, forcing himself even further down my throat until I was damn near gagging and tears pricked the corner of my eyes.

  I worked him hard and fast, pumping and twisting my fist around, sucking on the head before ramming him back as deep as I could go, not caring that I was now crying and spit poured from my mouth. I wanted to please him, I wanted to please him so badly. He moved his free hand to my cheek, caressing my face softly, feeling himself inside my mouth with his thumb. Making a fist with my braid, he rammed me down one last time, his cock jamming into the very back of my throat. His whole body stiffened, and then with a grunt and a sigh, warm thick spurts fell across my tongue as the man in front of me came undone. His chest heaved while his cock pulsed inside my mouth, beautiful profanities tumbling past his lips and up into the sky as he found his release.

  Gently, I slid him from my mouth, licking and kissing my way up his shaft before pushing myself back up to standing. I went to go grab a sip of water but wasn’t even given the chance before strong hands grabbed me by the waist and hauled me back down so I was sitting on his lap.

  “That was fucking incredible,” he said with a whisper, his breath a burn against my ear. He nipped it, then licked the bite, tracing his tongue along the shell. “You’re fucking incredible.” He drove his hand into the top of my bathing suit and drew out a breast, pulling and pinching the nipple until it was a hard, red peak. His other hand was deftly making work of my shorts, and within seconds I was perched on his lap in nothing but my bikini.

  I tried to spin around and straddle him, but he kept me firmly in position, facing outwards toward the horizon. A pull of some strings, and my bottoms and top fluttered to the deck in front of me and I was naked, his one hand still torturing my breasts while the other one made its way down between my legs.

  I was a sopping mess. Taking Tate in my mouth had been such a huge turn on, and the way he’d come, so virile, so primal—I hadn’t even been the one getting pleasure, but I had been close to coming. My clit throbbed as he lightly ran a finger over it, dipping two into my heat, slipping them around with ease. He pulled them free for a moment, and I could hear him sucking his fingers, moaning as he delighted in the taste of me. He was such a dirty bugger.

  “You love it,” he said, reading my mind, his voice dark and smooth like melted chocolate as those fingers made their way back down between my legs.

  “I do,” I panted. The hand on my breast came up and gently cradled my neck, keeping my head slightly tipped up but unable to turn. Tate stood up, and I was forced to move with him. The sound of his shorts falling to the ground filled my ears. Seconds later, I was brought back down, his cock forcing its way into my body, splitting me open.

  I moaned from the pleasure, how good it felt to have him inside me again. We’d made love last night and then again in the shower this morning, but I was becoming an addict. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone . . . anything, and each time he filled me I was becoming more and more dependent, obsessed with the need to be taken again.

  The hand was back between my legs, rubbing rough and filthy circles around my clit, his other hand still cradling my throat, not letting me move or turn around to face him, to kiss him. He bucked up into me, driving his cock further into my quivering pussy, the sound of our sweat-slicked bodies raging at each other, the only sound on the water. I was lost. Completely and utterly lost to the sensation of this gigantic force of nature inside my body and the way Tate possessed me. I’d do anything for this man. Willingly. Down and up, down and up I rode him, my thighs cramping from the steady movement of having to bend and lift while my clit grew hard and swollen beneath his fingertips.

  Teeth and rough stubble raked my shoulders and back as he snarled and groaned behind me, his release gaining ground, much like my own. I was close, so close, I could practically taste my orgasm, and it tasted so sweet. Lifting his hands from the juncture of my legs, he grabbed my arm and pulled it around behind me. Then he reached for the other one, holding them behind my back with his one hand like shackles, the other hand still poised on my throat. He was holding me in place, ramming up into me, taking what he wanted, using me.

  “You’re going to come hard, baby,” he said, his breath like a gust of warm wind in my ear. “You’re going to come so hard. Then I’m going to bend you over the side of this boat and fuck you again.”

  All I could do was close my eyes. I couldn’t even nod. Words eluded me. I was gone.

  “The way your pussy grips my cock. So snug. I feel like it was fucking made for me. So perfect.”

  “Tate,” I mewled. “Tate . . . please.” I was ready, so very, very ready.

  Using my neck and arms for leverage, he lifted me up until there was nothing but the tip inside. A quick erotic swirl of his hips had me seeing spots, then he slammed me back down. I came instantly.

  Bright lights and stars flashed behind my eyes as the climax ripped through me, eviscerating everything in its path like a tropical storm. I moaned and gyrated into him, biting my lip to stifle my cries as I shook on his lap in the aftershocks, slowly coming down from the surge.

  He granted me no moment of respite before we sprung up from the seat and he barreled us over to the side, his hands releasing me as he ordered me to bend over. We hadn’t even come apart, and without waiting for my hands to grip the railing, he began pounding into me again, my breasts jostling beneath me with each thrust. I squeezed my muscles around him tightly and then let go again. I let the orgasm take control and do with me what it may. I was a slave to the pleasure, completely and utterly at its mercy . . . or was it at Tate’s mercy? I was too happy, too wrapped up in rhapsodic glee to know the difference.

  Tate grunted behind me as he found his own release, but we were both suddenly jarred out of the moment when my fishing rod bounced and twanged beside us and the sound of line being pulled filled the air, drowning out our groans of ecstasy.

  “Oh, shit!” he cried, pulling out of me mid-orgasm. Cum dripped and spurted from the head of his cock onto the deck of the boat as he lunged for the rod and started to crank the reel, making his erection thwack against his belly with his efforts. A flash of yellowy-green skimmed the surface of the water, darting back and forth. I had no idea what fish we were after, but whatever it was, it was big!

  “Here!” he said, thrusting the rod into my hands. “This is your rod, your catch.”

  I shook my head. “No, I can’t. What if I lose it?”

  He shrugged as he came up behind me, helping me hold the rod as it vibrated and leaned toward the water, the fish desperate to pull it under. My muscles ached from the strain, but I held on firm, the base of the rod jabbing me in the belly. With my right hand I reeled in, sometimes grunting with the effort to turn it around even once. All the while Tate was behind me, keeping the rod stable, his hand on mine.

  “You’re doing great, Parker. Oh, shit, it’s a big one. Mahi-mahi, I think.” More green and this time a bit of blue shone through the turquoise water, a big tail flipping back and forth, while the body shook like a ragdoll in the mouth of a big dog.

  “Mahi-mahi?” I asked, not sure if I could remember what the fish looked like.

  “Almost there, babe. Keep going.”

  I groaned with the effort. It was getting harder. Both the fish and I were tiring, but I wasn’t fighting for my life, so I’m pretty sure the fish was fighting with everything it had. Tate let go of me for a moment and went to reach for the big net. He dipped it over the side of the boat a
s the big fish struggled with all its might to get away.

  “All right now, Parker, keep reeling but swing the line this way if you can, toward the side of the boat. I’m going to try to scoop him up.”

  “Okay.” Sweat beaded my forehead and chest as the sun beat down from above. I did as I was told, maneuvering the line and fish as best I could into the net. It wasn’t easy, but Tate managed to get the net over the fish’s head. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he scooped him up and heaved him into the boat.

  “A beauty!” He grinned, reaching for the measuring tape from next to the steering wheel. He quickly measured the beast and then placed him on the scale. “Might be the biggest we’ve ever caught, at least this year, anyway.”

  It wasn’t a pretty fish, that’s for sure: big forehead, wide, almost beaklike mouth, and a fin that ran the length of its back like a sloping hill. But its color was magnificent, striking chartreuse and deep indigo. Without a second thought, I reached into my shoulder bag and grabbed my camera, snapping a few shots of my catch.

  “Here,” Tate offered, handing me the fish so I could hold it sideways. He took the camera from around my neck and started taking pictures. I grinned wide, feeling the cold, slippery scales beneath my fingers. But then I looked into the creature’s eyes and saw nothing but fear, while its mouth opened and closed erratically. It was drowning. I let Tate take one final picture, and then I walked over to the side of the boat and let the fish go.

  No dead fish!

  Today had been so freeing. I felt more alive than I had ever before when I was with Tate, more open to the possibility of anything, more open to fun and adventure. Today was a day to be alive. Even for the fishes, there would be no death on my watch. And no dead fish, even more so.

  I turned around and found Tate watching me. He still hadn’t put his shorts on. We were both still completely naked. Oh, shit! I wouldn’t be able to show those pictures to anyone now! Drunk on orgasms and my big catch, I’d completely forgotten I wasn’t wearing any clothes.