Playing to Win (Billionaire Playboys #5) Read Online Tory Baker

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Insta-Love Tags Authors: Series: Billionaire Playboys Series by Tory Baker
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Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
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“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” I goad her when she’s eerily quiet.

“I’m going to knee you in the balls, Theo Goldman, but yes, let’s test that theory, and then maybe you’ll be so worn out by the time we make it to my floor, it won’t take much to take you down.” Her voice is garbled since her mouth is near my back, so I ignore her need for violating my balls in a manner I’d much rather not feel. If Danica were to use her hands or mouth, that I would no doubt like a hell of a lot more. Since the little fairy has a personality like a firecracker, I don’t think my family jewels will be safe anywhere near the vicinity of her body with how she’s threatening bodily harm.

SIX

Danica

All the blood in my body rushes to my head, and all I can do is hold on for the duration of Theo exuding some weird macho man mentality. Why I’m not more upset than I should be, I have no idea, except he’s the first man who doesn’t give me the absolute ick. What really annoys me is that my thighs are clenching, my hands are digging into his sides, and it’s not to get a firmer hold on him either. Nope, I’m practically copping a feel like a horny cougar, except I’m younger than him, drastically younger, and I can’t let a man get in my way of meeting my goals.

Unfortunately, I have a feeling Theo Goldman isn’t going to allow me to push him away. We’re currently on the last set of steps. The worn step that’s been painted over time and time again gives me the clue; otherwise, I wouldn’t really know in my upside-down position. My apartment and the building are a steppingstone, sixteen hundred dollars a month for a studio apartment the size of a postage stamp. When you walk inside the door, you’re smack dab in the kitchen with its undersized fridge, stove, and sink. The countertop is maybe two feet long, making it impossible to keep anything on the old and aged Formica except my beloved Nespresso machine. A splurge to say the least, along with the pods that go with it. If it weren’t for the all too smooth and rich coffee, I’d have a normal coffee pot. I blame Mallory for this current addiction and obsession. The woman is a caffeine connoisseur of the coffee variety and has four different machines in her office at Clean and Gleam.

“Which apartment, Danica?” How, how is Theo not breathless after ascending two flights of stairs while carrying me? Now I’m even more annoyed with this damn man. How is it I get winded after working all day and trudging up the steps, yet he doesn’t?

“Three eleven.” The only good thing about this place is that my apartment number is the same as a rock band’s name I absolutely love. My music taste is not that of today’s hits but more of the music of the past. When I’m not working, you can usually find me in an old band tee. And yes, I’m asked to name one or two songs on the musician on my shirt more times than I can count. Theo chooses that moment to move his hands along my thigh in a massaging manner, ruining me further. I’d like to think he has no idea what he’s doing to my body, but from the way he surrounded me before picking me up like he’s some type of caveman, it would prove otherwise.

“Nice.” I bite my lip. Making a smart remark won’t have Theo putting me down from his hold. Nope, I’m sure he’d more than likely hold on tighter, demand my keys, unlock the door, and walk me inside. No freaking way. There are some things an almost-sort-of boss/pseudo stranger should not see. My unmentionables that were easier to hand wash and hang dry are one of them, the stack of dishes in my sink are another, right along with my unmade bed. I’m a crazy sleeper, moving all over the place, tossing around like a hot potato, turning counterclockwise half the time. There are actually times I wake up and my head is at the foot of the bed with not so much as a pillow beneath my head or sheets on my body.

“Theo, you can put me down now.” I didn’t fight him earlier simply because I wanted to prove him wrong on being out of breath and potentially worn out, but the joke is on me because the man didn’t even break a sweat. Well, at least from my vantage point, he didn’t.

“Are you going to kick me in the nuts?” he asks, yet I’m still hanging over his shoulder. I lift myself up using my hands, wiggling my legs, and still he’s relentless in his hold. “Quit wiggling. I’m not letting you go. Not until you promise to keep your knee away from my baby maker.” This fucking guy. Next, he’ll be coming up with dad jokes, the one-liners only a dad thinks are funny while we’re all left scratching our heads trying to understand their laughter.


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