The Billionaire Boss Next Door(80)

My cock hardens, and I lose myself. Tasting her. Eating and sucking at her. It’s like I’m a man starved and she is the only item on the menu that will satisfy me.

Goddamn, she tastes good.

She moans and her thighs start to shake, and it’s then that she wakes up.

“Holy shit,” she whimpers. “Oh my God.”

“Ignore me,” I whisper against her with a smile I can’t hide. “Just go back to sleep.”

“I…Oh God…I-I think sleep is pretty much impossible right now.”

She arches her back and her supple breasts push forward, and I enjoy the fucking view of her losing herself to pleasure.

And she does lose herself. Legs shaking, breaths panting, incomprehensible moans escaping her lungs. The climax rolls through her body, and her blue eyes do that amazing thing where they glaze over and shine brighter at the same time.

Fuck. I could spend the rest of my life making this woman feel good.

Once her breaths slow and her muscles relax, I slide up her body and press a soft kiss to her cheeks, her lips, her nose, her neck. Pretty much everywhere my lips can reach.

“Good morning, Greer.”

“Yeah.” She snorts. “Talk about some morning.”

I grin down at her. “We’re not going to work today.”

“Huh?”

“We’re working off-site. I’ve already updated the team.”

“Oh,” she responds, and her lips form a perfect little O. “Where do we have to go?”

“Nowhere.”

“Huh?” she asks and scrunches up her adorable nose.

“This is where we’re working today. Right here.” I waggle my brows. “In my bed.”

“I’m sorry…what?”

“We have a lot to accomplish here,” I whisper into her ear and reach down to slide my finger inside of her.

“We do?” she asks, and a little moan leaves her lips.

“We do.”

I slip my finger out of her, and she whimpers her annoyance. But that annoyance turns to hip-gyrating arousal when I rub the tip of my cock against her clit.

“Fuck,” she moans and wraps her thighs around my hips. “I hope you sliding inside me is one of the things on today’s list.”

“Oh, don’t worry, honey,” I say with a little smirk and just barely push the tip of my shaft inside her. “That’s at the very top of our list.”

The feel of her pussy as it touches my bare cock is almost more than I can handle.

Thank Jesus and all of his disciples for Greer’s perfect pussy and the fact that she’s on birth control.

“Well, thank fuck for that!” she cheers, and I use that moment to slide all the way home.

And Greer’s delicious moans follow me the entire way.

Yeah. Today is going to be a fan-fucking-tastic day.





Greer



My head pounds. Not, I should note, from an actual hangover involving too much alcohol, but simply from being in my thirties and staying awake past midnight.

I swear, the body switches off all cooperative function when you enter your third decade, and three years in, my suffering is only magnified.

I cover my eyes to block out all the sunlight and reach to the side of my bed to switch off my alarm.

Only, for some reason, I don’t feel my nightstand at all, but the hard yet supple flesh of a warm, naked body.

What am I doing on the wrong side of the bed?

And why does the empty spot on my bed feel like a human?

I peek one eye open, squinting through the crack of my fingers to find a navy-blue wall and gray drapes. It’s masculine and decorated and looks nothing like the plain white box I’m still living in.

Ironic, I suppose, since I’m an interior designer, but I’ve been really fucking busy.

Finally, after a minute of start-up time, my brain starts to run at full function, and I immediately remember where I am.

In fact, now that I do, I can’t even believe there was a scant moment I didn’t.

Trent Turner—the billionaire boss next door—and I…had sex last night.

And all day yesterday.

And even the night before that.

Basically, for the past twenty-four hours, we’ve been exploring each other until we can’t keep our fucking eyes open.

Wild, loud, sometimes dirty sex that I can still feel between my legs.

The craziest part of it, though, is that it didn’t feel crazy.

It felt right and easy, and simply…amazing.

His bedroom has been our home, and the painting Ben made of me in Jackson Square leans against the wall on top of his nightstand.

When I finally noticed it during a break from our sex yesterday, I took the opportunity to tease Trent about the fact that he does have a shrine to me.

I turn to face him, studying the lines of his face. He’s still asleep, and all the hard edges have rounded off into softness.

He looks tender and peaceful, and without the hypnotizing spell of his open green eyes, I can almost convince myself I stand some sort of chance against him.

But only almost.

I reach out slowly, carefully, and run the knuckles of my right hand over the tiny stubble that’s formed on his cheek overnight.

His hair is a mess, but I don’t think he’s ever looked more perfect.