Banking the Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires Book 2) (51 page)

I don’t care about anything but you.

I shrugged. “I don’t care about anything but you.”

My heart and brain were finally in sync.

A giant smile spread across my face, and I watched him intake a sharp breath. He stared down at his fingers while they fiddled with sterile packaging.

“You want me to tattoo you?” he finally asked after a pregnant pause. He searched my eyes for all of the answers I was willing to give. “Do you have something in mind? Remember, it’s gonna be with you for life.”

“I want you to choose.”

“Are you crazy?” he asked sincerely.

I smiled at the irony and nodded. “You
know
I am.”

“You’re trusting me to pick out your tattoo?”

I shook my head and held his eyes with my own. I needed to make sure he got it. That despite everything I’d blown hot air about, I did need him. Because he made me a better version of me. Not different. Not worse. A newer, improved model. “I’m trusting you with everything.”

He searched my unrelenting gaze for another moment, and then he turned away to prepare his station. He set up the ink and set out the needles, and I watched each movement as though it was gospel. I’d missed the sound of his voice and the sound of his laugh and all the little things that only I got to know about him.

“Everything is sterile,” he instructed as he opened up each needle and turned back to me. “These will only be used on you, and then they’ll be disposed of.”

“Well, that’s fantastic fucking news because I just want a tattoo, not Hep C,” I teased, but my voice didn’t hold any of its usual intensity.
I want my giant back.

He smirked and gestured toward my exposed rib cage, but he didn’t pull me into his arms and tell me he loved me either. I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. “This where you want it?”

I nodded.

“And you sure about this?”

I nodded.

He cleaned off my skin with a cool cloth.

“You’re one hundred percent certain you want to do this?”

“One hundred and ten percent.”

Ten minutes and several more “Are you sure?” style questions from Thatch, the sketch was on my ribs, and he slipped on latex gloves.

“Do you want to see it before I start?”

I shook my head and rested my head on the table. “No. I’ll want to see it for the first time when it’s done.”

The very edges of a smirk graced his lips as he held up the tattoo machine for my eyes. “I’m going to do a dry run so you know what the needle feels like.”

“Test away,” I said and shut my eyes. The initial sting of the needle made me flinch, but otherwise, it wasn’t too awful bad.

“How does it feel?” he asked, the edge of his glove-covered thumb skimming softly over the surrounding skin.

“Like you’re about to create something amazing for me.” I peeked out of one eye and caught his tender smile. It felt like I could breathe for the first time.

“You ready, honey?” he asked on a whisper, and I had to fight the urge to burst into tears at the sounds of his sweet endearment.

Honey
. I’d missed that so much.

Taking several gulps of newfound air, I nodded my head enthusiastically. “So ready.”

“Okay, Crazy. Just try to sit back and relax.”

His latex-covered hand rested on my side as he leaned forward and put the tattoo needle to my skin. His face was mere inches from my ribs, and I could feel his warm breaths ease in and out from his lips and brush against my skin.

The room stayed silent, only the buzzing of the gun filling the space. I winced when the needle pushed against a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Just relax. You’re doing great,” he encouraged.

I closed my eyes and let Thatch work his magic, and forty minutes later, he was cleaning off my skin again and announcing, “All done.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

“Can I look at it now?” I asked with excitement.

He nodded, snapped off his gloves, and helped me off the table.

I walked over toward the floor-length mirror and turned to my side.

The second my gaze caught sight of the black words etched across my reddened skin, tears filled my eyes.

She was crazy. Wild.

Chaos & beauty.

My heart.

Mine.

He stood behind me, watching my reaction in the mirror.

“For most of my life, I had only been sure about one thing,” I said quietly and glanced back down at the beautiful tattoo he had created for me. “
Photography
was my one sure thing. I loved the control it brought me,” I admitted. “For as long as I can remember, I had always hated not having control of my choices. It’s just the way I was. I needed it. I needed the freedom to go and do and be whatever I wanted.”

He started to speak, but I put a finger to his lips as my gaze met his. “But then I met you.

“You’re the one and only thing I’m sure about. Everything else is just details. Because you’re it for me, Thatch. And I trust you with everything because I know you trust me back.”

I closed the distance between us. “I’m sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for jumping off that cliff. It was selfish and cruel, and I’m so sorry I hurt you like that. When you begged me not to do it, I should have known you weren’t trying to control me, you were just trying to keep me safe.” I reached up and touched his cheek.

He leaned into my touch and closed his eyes. “I should have gotten over it faster.”

I shook my head. “Will you forgive me?”

“Of course, I will, honey,” he whispered with his heart in his eyes.

“Will you still love me?”

Both of his hands cupped my cheeks. “I never stopped. And I’m sorry I told you like that.”

I inhaled a cavernous breath as relief coursed through my veins.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on my tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you.”

His answering smile was blinding. He lifted me up, hands putting the softest pressure at the juncture of my ass and thighs, and wrapped my legs around his waist.

“I love you too, honey.”

“Enough to still marry me?” I asked against his lips.

He chuckled. “Are you asking me?”

I nodded. “Marry me, Thatcher.”

His eyes changed from playful to serious in the span of a heartbeat. “You’re really asking me?”

I pressed my forehead to his and locked our gazes. “Yes. Marry me. Make me the luckiest fucking girl on the planet.”

“You’re that sure about us, honey?”

I held up my left hand and showed him the engagement ring I now refused to take off. Funny how this afternoon I’d been one shake shy of cutting off my finger just to get it fucking gone.

“Yes. I’m that sure.”

He took my lips in a hot, deep, sexy kiss.

“Is that a yes?” I asked against his persistent mouth.

He shrugged, but a soft smile graced his lips. “Maybe.”

I leaned back and stared at him.

His goddamn smile grew, and I couldn’t stop my lips from mimicking his.

“You’re giving me a maybe? Leslie’s Instagramming about this right now. Hashtag CuntResponse.”

He winked.

That fucking wink
.

This was a challenge. I could see it all over his face. He wasn’t content to let our relationship follow the normal path, and the more I thought about it, neither was I.

All we needed was a promise. Not some over-the-top proposal.

God-fucking-dammit, I loved him.

“I’m not taking this ring off.”

His response was immediate, demanding, and everything I never knew I needed it to be.

“Rule number seventy-five, never take that fucking ring off.”

T
he early morning sun filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling window of the living room as I padded back into the kitchen to pour a fresh cup of coffee. I stirred my favorite caramel creamer into my brew while I wiped the sleep out of my eyes.

It was early. Too goddamn early. But my internal clock had been off-kilter over the past few weeks. Lately, I’d been waking up before Thatch
and
Phil, which said a lot since our little piggy tended to rise and shine before roosters crowed.

The clock on the stove glowed 6:00 a.m. and I groaned.

This morning bird bullshit was annoying.

After a few sips from my mug, I fixed Thatcher a cup of coffee and headed back into our bedroom. My eyes took in the numerous photographs I’d hung up throughout the apartment over the past two months. Black-and-white landscapes and colorful cityscapes filled the hallway, and the picture Thatch had taken of the three of us in Central Park hung proudly over the mantel.

Thatch’s apartment was no longer just his place; it was
our
home now.

Sometimes, I still couldn’t believe it was real. Sometimes, it was difficult to process, that at one point in time, I had almost lost him. But we
were
real. We were an
us
. And we were
forever.
That much I was resolute on. Everything else was just minor details.

Yeah, that big motherfucker had won my heart. Loving Thatch had changed me. He was my best friend, and because of his love and friendship, he made me a better version of me.

I know, I know, that’s some real sappy bullshit, huh?

Well, Love is a real fucking bitch, and once she’s got you in her hold, consider yourself done for. Which is why I can honestly admit that I am officially a woman who is head over heels in love with a man who loves me for me. I know, I got real fucking lucky. I almost lost him because I had been stupid and selfish and stubborn. But I swear on Thatch’s Supercock that I’ll never make those mistakes again. The Jolly Green Giant is stuck with me and my crazy for life.

So, I’d like to thank you guys for not killing me off before our story got its happy ending.

And I’d also like to thank Love for being a bigger bitch than me.

Loving Thatch also made me really horny. Like I needed to bone all day long.

Over the past few weeks, all I had thought about was sex with Thatch and blowing Thatch and Thatch going down on me and Thatch naked in the shower and Thatch spanking me and me spanking Thatch…

It was a never-ending list of porny thoughts. I wondered if my selfishness had filtered from my heart to my puss-ay. And to be honest, she was a bit out of control. But man, oh man, once she expressed her need to get laid, she was fucking merciless.

Which probably explained why I set our mugs on the nightstand and crawled into bed beside a sound asleep Thatch with the intent of waking him up for a morning bang.

The sheet barely covered his huge frame, and soft snores fell from his lips. My greedy eyes took in his body with the soundtrack of my pussy shouting her approval in the background. I ogled his trim hips, his sexy V muscle, his defined abs, and as I moved my eyes up his body and caught sight of his tattoos and the shimmer of his piercing, my nipples got hard.

I wanted to eat him with a spoon.

Scratch that, I didn’t need a spoon when I had two hands and my mouth.

And me
, my pussy purred. Fuck, she was demanding. If I wasn’t so horned up, I would’ve considered having a come to Jesus talk with her.

I’m aware that referring to Jesus in the same sentence as my pussy is probably frowned upon by the majority of the population. But they don’t have to live with her.

I do.

And fuck, she is bossy, and I’m starting to wonder if she is on a one-pussy mission to get us pregnant, even though she knows we’re on the pill.

Trust me, she needs Jesus.

And possibly a tranquilizer with a side of exorcism.

I ran my hand across the smooth skin of his chest and kissed up his neck until I reached his earlobe where I bit down gently and tugged a few times. “Thatch,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

“No,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Baby, I—”

“No,” he repeated before I could finish.

“But—”

“No, Cass,” he refuted. “I think you actually broke my dick. We’ve fucked no less than ten times in the past twenty-four hours. It’s physically impossible for me to get hard right now. It’s just a prop at this point.”