Bad Swipe Bad Swipe (Billionaire's Club #12) - Elise Faber Page 0,11

still hadn’t mastered the art of talking to women.

Case in point, what happened next. Ben sent,

Do you want to grab a coffee?

Then waited for her to reply.

And waited a little longer.

Then still longer.

Or not, he typed. If you’re not comfortable.

His pulse thrummed as he held his breath, waiting, but after long minutes without her responding, Ben knew he’d fucked up. Pressed too soon, asked her before she was ready. “Fuck,” he muttered, tossing his cell on his nightstand and shoving himself out of bed.

Coffee had been the wrong move.

But seriously, this was why he stayed in his world. Because business negotiations were less complicated than women. Maybe he should have doled out another compliment, stuck with asking her something about herself, about fucking physics, rather than moving straight to asking her out.

She probably thought he just wanted to get laid.

Which, yes, that was his intention.

But he knew better—or at least he should know that this type of thing needed finesse.

He might as well have sent a dick pic.

Sighing, he cranked on the shower and set about getting ready for the day. He’d go into the office, get started on phase two for Hunt Inc. He wanted to go global, and in order to do that, he’d need to make sure all his plans for expansion were in place.

And to do that, he needed to focus on work.

So, he was done thinking about women with sexy red lips and a glimpse of curves he wanted to get his hands on.

Even if that glimpse had him wrapping his fingers around his cock and stroking as the water sluiced down his spine, as the release built up.

This was just as good as a woman.

He didn’t need red lips.

Or breasts.

Or an ass to grab on to as he pumped into her pussy, deep and slow and steady. She’d be tight. She’d grind back against him, and—

“Fuck,” he groaned, slamming his hand against the tile as he came.

Imagining red lips.

Imagining curves.

Imagining . . . Stef McKay.

And knowing his hand wouldn’t be anything when compared to her.

Chapter Seven

Stef

Do you want to grab a coffee?

Such a simple question.

An easy yes or no . . . and in this case, it should most definitely be a yes. Because Ben Bradford was gorgeous, and he’d said he liked her smile, and he hadn’t sent her a picture of his cock or asked her to meet up to fuck without any fluff.

He’d asked her to coffee.

And she’d launched her phone across the room in a fit of panic, startling Fred awake. Which had led to her pupper needing to get pottied and fed right then. Which was fine, because she couldn’t look at that message and not start thinking about what in the fuck she had been doing to have swiped on the sexy Denzel in his younger days, cropped hair, stubbled jaw, deep, beautiful eyes man who’d come across her feed.

She was short and stout—

Like a fucking teapot.

Her hair was mud colored. Her eyes were fine, albeit a boring brown. Her skin was nice, if someone liked the nearly see-through version of white of someone who worked in a lab all day and rarely saw the sun—unless it was on beach day, and then that was as the sun was going down, so it didn’t do much to add any color.

She didn’t match with a man like Ben, even if an app had let her pretend that might be the case, just for a minute.

So, she’d left her cell in the corner of the room, had let Fred into the back yard for a few minutes so he could do his business, and then set about making his brekkie, with his vitamins and his shredded chicken and his super expensive kibble.

Then she fed her boy, showered, and she set about planning her meals for the week, just like she did every Saturday.

She went to the farmer’s market, the grocery store. She chopped and threw chicken in the Crock-Pot and prepped her lunches for the week, using some of that chicken but saving most of it for Fred and his meals. While doing all that, she watched a couple of episodes of a promising new superhero show on Netflix, knowing she’d complete the eight-part binge that evening.

After beach time.

And beach time was glorious.

Beach time was beautiful, the perfect mix of late afternoon sunshine and early evening breeze, the stars just beginning to shine.

Fred was exhausted when they returned, having just barely summoned the energy to eat before putting himself in