Laurel's Bright Idea (Billionaire Baby Club Book 3) Page 13

“I think I owe you at least a dozen orgasms.”

  I laughed. “I’ll accept that. But it was hot.”

  “Hold on, just…just hold on. Let me catch my breath, and then I’ll clean you up and start paying you back.”

  I raked a gentle scratching touch over his belly. “Later. I’ll just jump in the shower.”

  I didn’t give him a chance to argue, I just slid out of bed, away from him, away from that mouth of his. I relished what it could do between my thighs, but I feared what it could do between my ears, my heart—such as it existed, at least.

  I closed my bathroom door and twisted on the shower water. Regarded myself in the mirror. Cum dribbled down my chin, smeared across the valley between my breasts and trickling down between them, coated my nipples in a thick sticky white glaze. All over me. I tasted it. Felt him all over me.

  I wasn’t about to tell him this, but in all my sexcapades in Europe and since, I’d never let anyone do that to me. BJs, handjobs, crazy sex in weird and wild places—everything I’d shared with my girls was true, and then some I’d never dared tell even them. But this? This was new. Unique to Titus.

  And it had felt like crossing a line.

  I didn’t regret it—it had been hot. Sexy as fuck, and I’d do it again. But the reason I’d done it… that was the line I’d crossed. The act itself was not something I was or would ever be ashamed of. I’d done it because I wanted to, of my own volition, and not due to any pressure from him. If anything, I’d drawn him into it. But I’d done so to avoid letting our interaction turn any more personal.

  I just couldn’t fucking handle anything deeper. Not after all we’d already shared. The stories I’d told him—the truths previously long-buried, which not even Lizzy or Kat knew…I couldn’t believe I’d told him that shit. I’d never told anyone. Not my parents, not my friends at school, certainly not any authorities. The only people who knew were me and the men who’d done it to me.

  Had I been defaulting to old habits, after talking about it? Maybe. Once I’d gotten past the blunt trauma of it, I’d devolved immediately into a party girl of all-new proportions—no more drugs, no more overindulgence of alcohol. Just enough to kill the inhibitions and loosen up, and then I’d chased sex. Sought out any male who could make me feel good.

  I’d sought pleasure as my only reason for existence. Hoping to fill the void. Hoping to fuck away the memories that haunted me. Hoping to fuck away the pain I’d felt, when I had woken up and knew what had happened, the hazy understanding that I’d been violated numerous times by numerous men. I’d turned into someone who used sex as my escape instead of chemicals. Used pheromones and oxytocin rather than vodka and oxycontin and tequila and THC and wine and cocaine.

  I’d succeeded, to some degree. Never thought about that day.

  Or rather…rarely.

  Never had bad dreams about it…almost ever.

  When I thought of sex, I thought about good things. The great sex I’d had in the years since. I’d refused to let those assholes ruin it for me.

  The bathroom was wreathed in a dense fog of steam; I’d spaced out. I adjusted the temperature to a heat I could stand, climbed in. Rinsed off, scrubbed away, somewhat reluctantly, the last vestiges of Titus. Washed my hair, conditioned it.

  Refused to think about the man on my bed.

  I expected him to be gone when I emerged—I’d been in there more than half an hour. But, when I opened the bathroom door, wrapped in a towel with another around my hair, he was naked on my bed, phone in his hand, sipping a beer he’d helped himself to from my fridge.

  “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, lifting the bottle. He had another one on the nightstand; he twisted the top off and extended it to me. “Here.”

  “Yeah, Titus, I mind—you can fuck me, but you can’t have my beer.” I sipped. “Thanks.”

  He laughed, his eyes on me. “How can you be even sexier just out of the shower than you were in a killer mini skirt and all made up?”

  I shook my head. “You’re crazy.”

  He took a big swig of his beer, then slid to the edge of the bed, his eyes hungry. “For real. Every time I see you, every different outfit, wearing nothing at all, with makeup on, no makeup on, like this in just a couple’a towels? You’re fucking sexier than ever… It’s crazy as hell and I just don’t understand it.”

  “I think it’s just you,” I said. “You must have done something to your brain.”

  He shook his head. “Nah, honey.” He reached for me. “You’ve earned a little payback, I think.”

  “We started with payback, Titus,” I said, reticent to start anything else—emotionally, I mean, not physically.

  He sensed it. “Yeah, I guess so. But what you did was…fuck, man, it was crazy.” His eyes hunted mine. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

  I shrugged, trying for a breezy, sexy grin. “You never know what you’re gonna get with me.”

  “No kidding. You keep me on my toes.”

  He stood up, and the intense sexiness of his body was so overwhelming I wanted to ignore my emotional and mental imbalance and just have my way with him again. Those fucking abs. That V-cut. Jesus, that cock. I wanted it inside me. God, he’d made me feel so good.

  He towered over me. Stared down at me. “Laurel, what’s up?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “You’re a shitty liar.”

  I huffed. “Why do people keep saying that? I am not!”

  “Maybe I can just tell, then. So.” He trailed a fingertip over my breastbone, through errant droplets of water. “What’s up, Laurel? Talk to me.”

  I guess maybe he deserved a little more truth. “It’s just that, actually—the talking.” I swallowed hard. “That stuff we talked about—what happened to me. I’ve never talked about it. I’ve never spoken of it with anyone, not with Lizzy or Kat or anyone. Not once since the day it happened. And I guess I’m just…” I shrugged, honestly not knowing what I was.

  He nodded. “I get it.” He gestured to the bed. “I can go, if you need to be alone. I’m just not the type of guy to…” A shrug as he tried to find the right phrase.

  “Ejaculate and absquatulate?” I filled in, with a snort.

  “Abs-skwa-what?” he said around a burst of laughter. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “Absquatulate. It means to flee, or leave abruptly. My friend used to say it, back in college. She came across it in a blog post about little-known words and thought it was fucking hysterical. And she used to complain about guys who would, you know, hump and dump, pounce and bounce, or, ummm…oh, I know—nail and bail. There’s a million, each worse than the last, and when Evelyn came across that word, it became her go-to. Ejaculate and absquatulate.” I shrugged.

  “God, I’m gonna have to remember that one,” he said, still laughing. “But yeah, that. I’ve never been a guy to ejaculate and absquatulate.”

  “It’s okay, Titus. I’m fine. I just…” A shrug. “I guess maybe I just need some time.”

  He nodded. Dressed quickly. Held his beanie in his hands. “Laurel, I still feel like I’m missing something, here.”

  “You’re not. It’s really fine, Titus.”

  “See, I’ve always been of the opinion that when a woman says fine, it’s never a good thing.”

  I laughed. “I am definitely one of those women, I admit. I can put a hell of a lot of different meanings into ‘fine,’ depending on the situation. But in this moment, I swear, I mean it in the literal sense. I am okay. Today was just a lot.”

  “As long as you’re sure.” He twisted the beanie into a tight roll. “Because honestly, I don’t really want to leave, you know. I like you. I like hanging out with you. Doesn’t even have to be anything else.”

  If he stayed any longer, he’d end up calling me a shitty liar again. Just hold on to the lie a little longer, I told myself. He can’t see through it.

  “Titus,” I sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He bent, cupped a hand tenderl
y around the back of my neck, and kissed me.

  God damn the man.

  How dare he be able to kiss like that?

  He backed away, leaving me utterly shook, breathless. Because that kiss had been a statement.

  “I see you, Laurel McGillis. I may not have much of an education, but I’m not stupid. I see you.” His fingers grazed my cheek. A smile graced his lips. “I’ll give it to you, and no arguments. For now.”

  I swallowed. Words had abandoned me.

  He backed away another step, toward my bedroom door, eyes narrowed, jaw tensed, the smile gone, a billion thoughts burning on his beautiful face. “Fuck,” he snarled.

  Launched himself across the space in a single stride, slammed up against me, and his arm circled my waist, and his lips slashed across mine. His tongue slid against my teeth and I had no choice but to open for him and his hand was raking at the towel in a turban around my hair, tugging it free. My damp hair fell around my shoulders in cold strings, stuck to my cheeks and back. He yanked my towel off and tossed it aside to leave me naked and cold, only to warm me with his own body heat. He dragged me harder against him, hand in my hair and the other clutching at my ass to clutch me in a fierce, wild, crushing embrace, and his mouth devoured mine, tongue slashing, lips greedy.

  I felt him hardening against my belly, felt my instinctual need for him rising in me like a flood tide.

  If the kiss before had been a statement, this one was…

  Him screaming from the rooftops.

  And then, all at once, he was gone. My front door slammed closed before I even knew he’d moved, and I was naked and aroused and confused.

  And alone.

  “Fuck!” I snarled, my tone a nearly exact mirror of Titus’s, moments before.

  8

  “And…your keys!” I handed my clients a keyring jingling with a set of keys to the house they’d just purchased. “Best of luck in your new home, and if you have any further questions at any point, call me—and thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for the opportunity to do business with you!”

  The clients each shook my hand and left the title company with huge grins on their faces. I finished up the paperwork with the girls from the title office, and then walked back to Six Chicks, which, conveniently, was just down the street a few doors. I filed the paperwork, and was preparing to look over my slate of clients and potential clients. The front door jangled; I wasn’t expecting anyone and I hadn’t seen or heard from Titus in almost a week, as he was up in Canada for a series of pop-ups, so I assumed it was for someone else in the office.

  “Not gonna say hi?” a deep, rumbling voice said, from a foot above my head.

  I started, clapping my hand over my chest. “Holy shit, Titus, you scared me.”

  He plopped down in one of the chairs opposite my desk, kicking his feet up on the edge. He wore a pair of battered Converse, a pair of khaki Dickies cut off below the knee, and a plain black ribbed tank top, with what I was coming to understand was his favorite headwear, the black beanie. “Whatcha doin’, hot stuff?”

  I leaned forward, pushing a pen tip against the sole of his shoe. “Feet off my desk, you heathen.” He pulled his feet down and crossed an ankle onto his knee, and I gestured at my computer. “Well, this being an office, and it being daytime, I’m working.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Okay, then, smart-ass, a better question would be, can you stop working and come hang out with me?”

  “Hang out with you.”

  He nodded, scratching at his jaw. “Yeah. Hang out. You, me, doing, you know, stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  A smirk. “Butt stuff.” He cackled. “Kidding, kidding. Actually, I rented out an arcade.”

  I gave a frowning smirk. “You rented out…an arcade.”

  “Yeah. I woke up wanting to play Skee-Ball. So I gave this arcade like ten grand and they’re gonna stay closed for us. Figure we could go play Skee-Ball, and drink some beers, and just…hang out.”

  I shook my head, laughing. “Yes, Titus, I can quit for the day and come play Skee-Ball with you.”

  He lit up, grinning. “Really?”

  I put my computer to sleep and grabbed my purse. “Yes, really. I just closed on a house today, and I don’t have anything else scheduled. I was going to work on putting together some staging pieces for a new listing, but I can do that tomorrow. It doesn’t even go up until next week anyway.”

  He clapped his hands on his thighs. “All right. Let’s go throw balls at holes!”

  I laughed. “I think you roll them, actually.”

  “You roll the balls, do you?” he said, snickering.

  I groaned. “Oh my god, you’re horrible.” I couldn’t help a cackle, though. “Yes, Titus. You take the big hard round ball in your hand, and you roll it down the tube and into the hole.”

  He laughed, head thrown back. “Ball jokes from Laurel. I win.”

  We were both still laughing as we climbed into his truck and headed for the arcade. The owner was an elderly man wearing yellow plaid pants, a brown button-down, bowling shoes, and a derby.

  “Mr. Bright, welcome, welcome,” the proprietor said. “I’m Louis, and it’s my pleasure to host you and your friend this afternoon. Anything you want, just ask. I’ve turned all the games so they don’t require coins. They’ll still give you tickets, but of course, anything from the gift shop you want, it’s yours.”

  Titus shook his hand. “Thanks, Louis. I appreciate you doing this for me.” He gestured at me. “This lovely lady here is my friend Laurel McGillis.”

  Louis took my hand and kissed the back of it. “A pleasure, Ms. McGillis.” He pointed at the counter where you exchanged your street shoes for bowling shoes. “I’ll be there if you need me.”

  Titus looked like he was as excited for this as if he were ten years old again. “A whole arcade and bowling alley, all to myself.”

  I laughed, resting a hand on his arm. “Is this, like, a lifelong fantasy come true?”

  He nodded, zero irony in his expression or voice. “Absolutely. When I was a kid, we couldn’t afford the arcade. Then I was too busy touring, and then I was too famous, and also too busy.”

  “Well, here we are. What are we doing first?”

  “Skee-Ball. Definitely Skee-Ball.”

  The next hour and a half, Titus lost in Skee-Ball to my clearly superior ball-handling skills. He never lost his good humor, though, laughing harder and harder as it became obvious he wasn’t going to win—I sank ball after ball into the highest point holes, my string of tickets reaching ever more comical proportions, while he struggled to sink a single ball. By the time he decided it was time to do something else, my pile of tickets was so long I had to carry it in my arms.

  Titus cackled as I tossed the pile of tickets on the prize counter. “So, you’re good at Skee-Ball.”

  I pointed at the giant pink stuffed bunny rabbit. “I want that.” Louis got it down for me, and I laughed as I took it from him—the thing was bigger than I was. “I played softball in high school, and my group of friends in college used to go bowling every week.” I smirked at him. “Also, I’m just really good with balls.”

  His voice dropped to a husky murmur as he took me by the hand and dragged me across the building toward the arcade area. “Yeah, you’re good with balls. I’m still thinking about the other night.”

  “Hey, that makes two of us thinking about that night.”

  “Well, I doubt we’re thinking about the same thing,” he said.

  “Oooh, I love this game!” I dragged him across the arcade to a vintage Ms. Pac-Man game. “There was a pizza place near my apartment in college, and they had a Ms. Pac-Man, and I’d play it all the time.” I sat down and started a game, while Titus stood behind me, watching with his hands on my shoulders. “What part of that night are you thinking about?” I asked, focusing on my game rather than looking up at him.

  “All the payback I didn’t get to do.”

  I snorted. “Funny
, I for sure figured you’d be thinking about, you know, how I let you cum all over me.”

  His fingers tightened on my shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, here, babe—I’m thinking about that. I think about that shit all the fucking time. Several times a day, if you want the truth.” His hand slid from my shoulder to my throat, and then down, over my breastbone, above my cleavage. “My cum all over your lips, all over your tits. Yeah, babe, I think about that. But what I think about even more? Getting you off. Licking your sweet pussy until you come so hard, so many times you don’t know which way is up.”

  I barely avoided getting eaten by a blue ghost. “You’re gonna make me lose, butthead,” I mumbled, thighs pressing together. “I never know which way is up when I’m around you, even when you’re not making me come.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, presumably at Louis, who for the most part had been behind the bowling shoes counter watching a TV in the bar area, on the opposite side of the building from where we were. Then, sneakily, his hand slid down, down, fingertips edging under the neckline of my dress and under my bra to cup my breast.

  I wiggled under his touch. “You’re gonna make me mess up, Titus,” I breathed.

  “You already kicked my ass in Skee-Ball,” he muttered. “Gotta make it even.”

  “Oh, you think you can beat my score in Ms. Pac-Man? Even distracting me like that, I guarantee you I’ll still kick your ass.”

  His other hand stole under my garments to cup my other breast, fingers tweaking and rolling my nipples. Damned sensitive nipples—it was intensely distracting. I tried like hell to tune out the yummy, tingly warm scratch of his hand on my naked skin, to focus on the yellow round…thing, eating its way around the screen. When he began twiddling both nipples at the same time, my breath caught and my attention wandered…

  “Dammit!” I sat back, grabbing his wrists but stopping short of yanking his hands away—his touch did feel good, after all. “You’re gonna pay for that, Titus.”

  He laughed. “All right. My turn.” He noted my score, and I scooted out of the seat so he could take it. “Prepare to lose, Laurel.”