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Quick & Dirty
Book 1, A Quick Billionaires Novel
The best way to get over a millionaire is to get under a billionaire.
Travel writer Parker Ryan wants to erase every last trace of her ex from her mind, body, and soul, and what better way to forget a man than to take an all-expenses-paid trip to Tahiti? She’ll have ten days to write a feature piece about The Windward Hibiscus Resort. That leaves plenty of time for fun and sun—
And a smoking hot fling with Tate McAllister, billionaire resort owner, scuba instructor, philanthropist, and let’s face it—sex god.
Parker knows she’s not supposed to mix business with pleasure, but Tate’s ready and willing to wow her in and out of the bedroom. She can get the job done and let him fulfill all her fantasies, can’t she?
But she won’t, repeat—won’t—fall in love with the man. Even if every part of her wants to.
You know,” he started, making my head snap up from where I’d been staring to blatantly at his crotch, “I don’t see why we can’t make the most of your time here. Make one another feel good for the next ten days. You said you’re coming off a rough breakup, and I’m unattached. Isn’t it pretty much necessary to have an endless stream of mind-blowing, meaningless sex after you break up with someone?”
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No matter how hot the sauna was, my cheeks were hotter.
He moved over on the bench and pushed himself up, his forearms flexing with the weight of having to hold up his body. A second later, he was next to me on the bench.
“I mean, if you say ‘no,’ I’ll obviously respect your decision and back off.” His lips twisted, and he reached out and fingered a strand of my damp hair. “But something tells me you’re not totally sure if you want to say ‘no.’ Am I right?” His voice was dark and low, almost gravelly. It kissed across my skin, licking and biting, tasting and teasing and I wasn’t even touching him.
I swallowed and squeezed my thighs together, biting back a whimper from the ache I felt deep in my belly and my swollen clit.
“Quick and dirty, wasn’t that what you said?” His voice now tortured me. Every word, every syllable sent shards of need directly to my erogenous zones and made them spark alive.
All I could do was nod as I watched a sinfully delicious bead of sweat emerge on his sculpted upper lip. I wanted to lick it off; I wanted to lick every damn inch of the man.
“Well, ten days is quick, and what I’d like to do to you is all kinds of dirty, so . . . ” His eyes flicked up to mine while his hand landed on my bare thigh and squeezed. I inhaled abruptly from the heat of his touch. I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t control it, they had a bloody life of their own; my eyes drifted down once again to his crotch. I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth and watched as the bulge in his Speedo started to grow, lying thick and eager against his pelvic bone, desperate to break free of its Lycra prison.
Oh my freaking God.
“Tate . . . ” I breathed, unable to form a complete sentence, let alone a complete thought.
“You can say ‘no,’ Parker.”
He stood up on the bench below and positioned himself in front of me, spreading my legs and moving into the V. His fingers made their way up my thighs and waist, finally resting on my shoulders, hooking beneath the straps of my swimsuit.
“Say ‘no,’ Parker, and I’ll stop right now.”
Slowly, excruciatingly so, he drew the damp straps of my suit over my arms, exposing my breasts, then my stomach. His eyes drifted up to mine for a second before he bent his head low and latched on to a nipple, drawing the tender bud between his teeth and tugging. I arched my back to give him better access, my eyes fluttering shut like a vintage doll’s as a moan built in the back of my throat. Dear God, the man’s mouth was diabolical. Hot and wet and so freaking wonderful. His tongue flicked over the achy bud, and I choked on a sob.
“Tell me ‘no,’ ” he said again, moving over to the other nipple and delivering the same erotic torment. “Tell me ‘no.’ ”
I buried my hands in his hair and pulled his head up. His gaze snagged mine.
“No,” I breathed, tugging on his scalp just hard enough to make his eyes go wide in surprise. “No. Don’t stop.” I smashed my lips against his and wedged his mouth open so I could ram my tongue inside, taking what he was offering and then some. Our tongues plunged and swirled in a hypnotic dance all their own, exploring the deep recesses of each other’s mouths while teeth gently nipped and hands roamed and deftly removed clothing (not that he had much). Once we were naked, he backed away, and I mewled in discontent before I could stop myself.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said matter-of-factly.
My face fell. Then what the hell were we starting?
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t make you scream.” Then, without any further ado, he knelt down on the wooden bench, spread me wide and dove in, ears deep.
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