Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2)(16)

“Goddammit! Put me down, you ogre!”

But Shrek ignored my demands, tossing me over his shoulder and striding toward his building. With impressive precision, he tossed the keys to the doorman and instructed him to park the Zipcar in an approved space.

“No! Do not park it! I’m using it!” I shouted as I slapped him across the back with an opened palm.

“Calm down,” he said through a chuckle as his legs ate up the tile in long, fluid strides.

“Thatch!” I shouted even louder, my voice echoing against the marble walls of the swank lobby. Fucking hell, I hadn’t been in control of one goddamn thing today.

One big hand landed against my ass in a smack, and I squealed in response.

“Cool it, Crazy, or else I’ll just keep spanking.”

I bored holes into his back, wishing like hell my feet were on the ground so I could slap the shit out of him. “If you touch my ass one more time, I will bite your dick off.”

“You know, I’m not much on teeth, but for you, I’ll find a way to enjoy it.”

Fucking king of one-upping.

He gripped the backs of my thighs with his big hands and strode onto the elevator. I heard him tap a button as the doors slid shut and then we were moving, up, up, way up, to what I could only assume was the penthouse level.

Thatch didn’t put me down until we were inside his apartment and my ass was hitting a plush leather couch. “Stay there,” he demanded. “I’m going to heat us up some food, and hopefully, that will give you enough energy to ride the subway home.”

“I’m not a dog,” I retorted as I let my head fall back against the cushions. I didn’t even allow myself the opportunity to browse his apartment. My eyes had already fallen shut from the luxurious feel of his couch, and I was too tired to think about anything else. The decor, the man—the weird way arguing with him made my blood hum—all of it would have taken a considerably larger amount of energy and cognitive function to explore.

“Comfortable, isn’t it?”

I peeked out of one eye to see Thatch standing above me with an amused grin on his face.

“I thought you were making me something to eat?”

“I thought you weren’t tired?”

The room went dark even as I flipped him the bird. “I’m just resting my eyes.”

“You know, that’s exactly what my mom says right before she takes a forty-hour nap.”

My lips twitched. Funny bastard.

“Shut up and make me food,” I retorted, but my voice wasn’t very convincing. Sleep was trying like hell to make me her bitch.

All I got in response were a few soft chuckles and the sound of his footsteps fading away.




“Huh?” I mumbled at the feel of big arms cuddling my body against a rock-hard chest.

Am I having another Henry Cavill dream?

I lifted my hands to cover my eyes from the light and the possibility of getting hit by rogue debris. It always seemed to be dusty in my Superman fantasies. And if it wasn’t a dirt thing, it was another. Last Cavill fantasy, I got a mouth full of cape instead of Supercock, and I had promised myself I’d never let that unfortunate dream sequence happen ever again.

“You fell asleep on the couch in about the most awkward position I’ve ever seen. I figured you’d be more comfortable in my bed,” the voice said, soft yet husky, and undoubtedly turning me on.

“Henry?”

“Who the f*ck is Henry?” The voice turned angry as we continued to move—or maybe we were flying?—to some unknown place.

I blinked my eyes open and came face-to-face with Thatch. His brown eyes were darker than normal, and his mouth was set in a firm line. I reached up and let my fingers run across the dark, scruffy, short beard covering his jaw. “You’re not Henry Cavill.”

“No,” he said with a smirk. “I’m better.”

“This dream is different, but hell if I’m not already into it.”

The truth was, I’d been here before, but it had been more of a daydream, a completely conscious exploration of what it’d be like to be close enough to Thatch that I could feel him, smell him—f*ck him until I couldn’t walk. It made complete sense that I’d transitioned into thinking about it in my sleep too.

A soft chuckle left his lips. “This isn’t a dream, honey.”

My back was pressed into something soft, maybe a comforter…or maybe we were about to bang on a cloud? I didn’t know, but one thing I did know was that I was down for it. All of it.

Dream Thatch lay down beside me and pulled blankets over top of us, and that’s when I realized we were in a bed, a huge motherf*cker of a bed. Fantasy or not, it made sense the Jolly Green Giant would need a California King to accommodate his size.

He got comfortable beside me, stretching out and getting into what I assumed was his preferred sleeping position—on his back with one beefy arm stretched over his head. I turned on my side and perused his body, even lifting up the covers to find that he was only wearing boxer briefs. Lord, the muscles on this man. He was a buffet, and I was ready to get my money’s worth.

“Cass? What are you doing?” He watched me rub my hands across his firm chest.

“I’m horny,” I told him. Because, yeah, I was, and why did Dream Thatch have to be so damn irresistible? I had to squeeze my thighs together just to curb the pulsing sensation between them. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more.