The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(34)

“What are you thinking right now?” he asked.

“You make me want to take my clothes off,” she whispered.

His turn to be shocked right down to his gutter-dwelling thoughts.

“Dangerous.” Her eyes glanced off his mouth.

“Fun,” he corrected when he could find his voice.

“Fun.” She smiled, and he was rewarded with the dimples he’d nicknamed her after. She leaned in for a kiss that felt really final. Turned out it was. In a flash, she climbed off the couch, leaving him wanting and hard as steel. “I’m going to go, but thank you for dinner.”

Maneuvering the erection pressed against his fly into a manageable location, he stood and limped forward as she gathered her purse. Because he couldn’t resist her scent, he leaned in for a cheek kiss. Then because he couldn’t resist watching her squirm, he nipped her ear and kissed behind it.

“Can I see you again?” she asked, her voice a satisfied sigh.

“You’d better.” He’d been asked a similar question by women in the past. His answer was always the same: a varying version of a gentle blow-off. Of course, he’d usually sealed the deal by now, but instead of being disappointed at not getting Rachel naked and underneath him, he was irrationally excited about having another shot at pushing her boundaries. Or watching her take something she wanted from him.

Was that what she needed? A chance to assert herself?

“Good night.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile, one that pushed those shallow divots into her cheeks, then left. He stood at the threshold as she popped the door open on the stairwell and headed down to Oliver’s apartment.

Half of him wanted to follow, drop her off with another longer, wetter, deeper good night kiss, and the other half of him (the half above his waist) decided to let her simmer. Because if he followed her downstairs, he would have her in bed in five minutes flat.

Tempting, but he was looking forward to next time.

He shut his door and locked it, his thoughts torrential and his frustration at a peak. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman more than she’d wanted him. Wait. Yes, he could. Jennifer Byron. He’d been sixteen when he asked her to a movie and was terrified she’d say no. She did, and then dated a shorter, less interesting guy named Tom.

Since those dark days of high school, Tag hadn’t felt this particular type of lightning rod attraction. For Rachel, there was no substitute. Every encounter drew him in, made him want to know more.

No matter how he felt, he decided he wasn’t going to jerk off and lose the fire for her. He adjusted himself through his jeans, wincing at the discomfort. No matter how much it killed him, he vowed not to come until she was at the controls.

This was a thirst only she could slake.

*



Against Oliver’s front door, Rachel blew out a breath of pure torment. Every part of her wanted to strip Tag’s clothes off and savor every last naked inch of him. From the feel of his hardness in her palm tonight, there were a lot of inches to savor.

He’d wooed her and coaxed her and she’d given herself silent permission to take what she wanted. He let her control the pace, and though she’d voiced that she wanted to slow down, a switch had flipped the moment he kissed her earlobe.

She’d practically attacked him.

She shivered, pinching her eyes closed and trying not to relive the moment. Impossible. She lifted her head off the door and bonked the back of her skull lightly on the wood. “Pull it together, Foster,” she told herself, earning a curious whine from her canine companion.

Instead she’d sleep next to a big, slobbery dog. What a consolation prize. She turned and looked at the doorknob for a good five seconds, then backed away as if it had caught fire.

Tag made her bold, which in turn made her almost…afraid? Her heart rate ratcheted up at the thought of him. She was sexually excited, yes, without a doubt, but also…nervous. When she’d first moved to Chicago, she’d been fearless. Bold. When she dated Shaun, she’d been the same way. She went after what she wanted unapologetically.

Somewhere between moving in with him and losing what they had together, that boldness had fizzled. Shaun had rattled her, and as a result she’d lost the ability to trust her own sexual prowess.

Now she was out of practice, but then she’d been at her prime. Yet according to Shaun, she’d done everything wrong. A fact she could hide from a normal guy, but Tag?

She winced. There was no way to fake it with that sex god. Tag knew what he was doing. She tugged on her earlobe, remembering his warm, wet kisses.

Really knew what he was doing. And she was simply too overwhelmed to try.

She’d stripped out of her sweater and yoga pants and was pulling a pair of flannel pajamas from the dresser drawer when another idea struck. The idea of soaking in a long, hot bath and relieving some of the sexual tension ricocheting in her bloodstream.

Without having to involve Tag further.

It’d been a long while since she’d touched herself, since she’d needed to. With Shaun, sex was on the back burner, and then off the stove, and at the end, not even in the kitchen. She’d focused on work and, after she quit, focused on finding a new job and moving out.

She hadn’t indulged in anything more fun than wine nights with Bree, and even those had been rare considering one or both of them were usually clocked on and slinging drinks at Andromeda.