by Max Monroe
Tapping Her: A Tapping the Billionaire Novella
Published by Max Monroe LLC
© 2016, Max Monroe
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
ISBN: 9780997540611
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Contact Information
Acknowledgements
Tapping You
To the extra five pounds we gained while writing this novella: Fuck you.
And to donuts: You’re delicious. Don’t change.
New York, Thursday, April 20th, Early Morning
Georgia: Good Night from Bora Bora!
Ah, Georgia. My beautiful, sweet, funny, newly married, currently annoying as fuck best friend.
Her lovely text included a photo of her and her hot husband, lounging in the tropical sun, on a private beach in Bora Bora. They’d been on their honeymoon for no more than three days, and I’d already received fifteen nauseatingly happy messages.
Me: You. Are. An. Asshole. Another picture of you and Big Dick at the beach, and I’ll drop Walter off at the Humane Society.
Georgia: If you fuck with my cat, I will disown you.
Me: Your cat is Satan. Seriously. I think the devil was reincarnated inside him. He’s evil.
Did I fail to mention that while Georgia and Kline were on their honeymoon, I had been given the responsibility of taking care of Walter? And not in the cool way that a mobster would. Georgie actually wanted me to look out for his well-being. Well, Thatch and I had been given that task, but I was the one at their apartment, spending time with their asshole of a cat.
Georgia might’ve thought he was a big sweetheart, but he was the opposite—a big feline dick. That cat’s life mission was to make everyone else’s life a living hell. And he did it often. So far, in the span of forty-eight hours, he’d pissed on my favorite pair of Chucks and left a generous gift of his shit—yes, his actual cat shit—inside my overnight bag.
Which explained why I was tits out, standing around in only my thong and rummaging through Georgia’s closet. Fresh out of the shower, I needed something to wear that didn’t smell like feline feces.
“Thanks a lot, douchenozzle,” I said out loud, looking directly at Walter—who was currently lounging on their bed, licking himself. “Nice. Real classy, Walnuts.”
He just stared back, irritated and completely aloof, all at once. I guess that’s the look you get when a good fifteen hours of your day is used up by licking the rim of your own asshole. He eyed me for a solid ten seconds without a single blink and then strode out of the room, kitty paws tip-tapping across the hardwood floor. I couldn’t put my finger on the exact reason, but everything about the way he moved screamed fuck you.
“Yeah, walk away, buddy! Walk the fuck away!” I shouted toward him as my phone vibrated on top of the dresser next to the closet.
Georgia: He is not evil! He’s just a little hesitant with new people. He’ll warm up to you.
Me: Ohhhhh…so when he pisses on my shoes, that’s just him being “hesitant”? Or is that him “warming up to me”?
Georgia: Another 24 hours and you guys will be buddies. I promise.
Me: He shit inside my overnight bag, Wheorgie. This tells me that your promises mean nothing. I hope you don’t mind me going through your closet. Because I already am.
Georgia: You can wear anything but my favorite LuLaRoe leggings.
Damn, she makes it too easy. Looks like hot dog leggings will be worn today.
For all I knew, those leggings were an inside joke about Kline packing a foot-long in his pants, but whatever. I’d make those stretchy pants my bitch. Hell, maybe I’d take a leisurely seventy-mile jog in Central Park just to make sure my twat left her mark.
Gross? Definitely.
But should I remind you her cat has been using my personal belongings as his litter box?
Point made.
Georgia: Wait. Why did you bring an overnight bag to my apartment?
Me: Because I’m watching The Asshole.
Georgia: That still doesn’t answer my question. We just asked you to check in on Walter and feed him twice a day, not move in.
Me: Yeah, but I can’t rummage through your kinky sex box at my apartment.
This was me calling Georgia’s bluff. I had no idea if she had a freak-a-leek box of goodies, but I was real curious. She had always been a bit reserved when it came to sex. I mean, she was a virgin up until she let Big Dick inside. Which honestly surprised the shit out of me. It was how I knew, when she gave it up to Kline, he would become a permanent fixture in her life.
To quote Phoebe Buffay, Kline Brooks was Georgia’s motherfucking lobster.
Okay, so the profanity was all mine. The lobster part was a la Friends.
Needless to say, I was the over-sharer in our relationship. Georgia had nailed down the “I don’t kiss and tell” role from the very beginning. And I couldn’t deny the enjoyment I got from pushing her boundaries and making her blush.
Georgia: Do NOT go through my shit, Casshead.
Me: But this vibrator looks really cool. And a ball gag? Shit, G, I didn’t know you had it in you. Color me impressed. Kline’s dick looks good on you.
Georgia: Shut. Up. I’m done with this conversation.
Holy mother of awesome. My best friend had a stash full of sex goodies somewhere in her apartment, and I was going to find it.
Me: I was kidding. But now, I’m not kidding. Canceling my “get rid of Walnuts” mission. New mission: Find Georgia’s box of freak. I’m so proud of you.
Georgia: Greetings from Bora Bora, asshole!
Attached to that text? A lovely picture of Georgia flipping me off while she stood on a deserted beach, twinkling water and her fucking beaming, handsome husband behind her.
Me: One question before I start my search in your closet. Do you clean your bag o’ dildos after each use? Because if you don’t, you’ll need to pick up a new box of magnums on the ride home. I don’t have any latex gloves, and one of these isn’t big enough for my whole hand.
Georgia: You’ve already gone through Kline’s nightstand?!
Me: Oh, come on. That’s the first place you ALWAYS look. Does Kline really fill the entire magnum? Because if he does, I’m convinced his cock is a mythical unicorn.
Georgia: I’m not discussing my husband’s penis with you.
&
nbsp; Me: Haha! I could literally hear you say the word penis like a schoolmarm. “Peeee-nis.”
Georgia: I’m disowning you when I get back from my honeymoon.
Me: Just remember to pick up milk too on your way home. You’re almost out.
Georgia: Since you’ve made yourself at home. House rules: NO sex in my bed.
Me: Okay, but those rules start right now, right? Yesterday shouldn’t count.
Don’t worry, I’m not that much of a weirdo. I don’t make a point of using my best friend’s bed as my own personal brothel. But it’s too funny not to make her think that.
Georgia: WASH MY SHEETS.
Me: I love you, Wheorgie. Go back to enjoying your honeymoon and riding Kline’s peee-nis with the glow of the sunset behind you. I’ll take care of everything here like it’s my own.
Georgia: Ugh. I love you too, Casshead. Replace everything you destroy.
I swear, my best friend was far too easy to rile up. I probably shouldn’t get that much amusement out of it, but I did. She pulled off adorably embarrassed like no one else. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Kline used it to his advantage, frequently. It was one of the reasons I loved him. He knew Georgia better than she knew herself sometimes, and he also respected her, cherished her, and treated her like a goddamn princess—all the requirements for avoiding genital mutilation, courtesy of me.
Since I was alone and there was absolutely nothing more fun than walking around without a bra on, I stopped my clothes search and placed my phone in their speaker dock. Once my playlist was set, it was time to search this place like I was a key investigator for the FBI.
Rhianna’s “Cockiness” was speaking to me, echoing throughout the apartment and getting my exploration mojo off to the right start.
“I love it when you eat it,” I sang, shaking my hips to the seductive beat and moving back toward Georgie’s closet.
And then, in my peripheral vision, my eyes caught sight of a large, looming figure in the doorway.
“Ahhhhh!” I screamed. “Holy son of a whore tramp!”
Fucking fuck.
I mean, fuck me.
No.
Titty-fuck me.
“Helloooo?” Cassie’s perfect, heavy tits said while they swung back and forth, free from cover and uninhibited by clothing or bra. “Hey, fuckface!” they yelled. “Are you perverted or just dumb? The normal amount of time to stare at someone uninvited passed like forty-five seconds ago.”
God, not only were they the perfect size and shape, they were fucking smart. Speaking in full sentences and shit. This had to be the most talented pair of tits I’d ever encountered. They sounded a little agitated, but I was pretty sure that was just a side effect of the blood roaring in my ears.
“Ow!” I flinched as Cassie grabbed my nipple through the fabric of my dress shirt and twisted. “Jesus! What the fuck?”
“What the fuck? I’ll tell you what the fuck. You’ve been staring at my chest for the last two minutes!”
I watched as her mouth moved, even heard it form the words, but try as I might, I couldn’t not notice that they still hung there, uncovered in all their perfect, creamy, pink-tipped glory. When they swung toward me again with her lunge, I forced my eyes back to her wildly beautiful face.
“Look, I’m sorry. But they’re out and they’re perfect and they were fucking talking to me.”
I pressed a hand to the uncontrollably swelling cock in my pants. She raised an eyebrow in response.
On my way to work, I’d decided I should do my bit for the cat, see if I needed to order an exorcist, that kind of thing, but I wasn’t expecting tits. And my cock certainly wasn’t expecting them to be so perfect. But, first thing in the morning like this, it was no wonder I couldn’t control his desire to crow.
“My tits don’t talk.” She turned her back, and I trained my eyes hard enough that they almost bore their way through to the other side. Voice muffled a little by the still-playing music, she went on. “They bounce and swing and wrap just about perfectly around a worthy cock, but they don’t speak.”
“I don’t believe you,” I argued. “They spoke to me, and I’ll take that reality to the grave.”
“You’re fucked in the head, you know that?” she asked as she sauntered brazenly across the room to Kline’s closet and pulled it open. The light went on, illuminating the space, and she bent over, her bare ass up and out, and started rummaging around.
“What are you doing?” I asked, giving the base of my cock a healthy squeeze in an attempt to choke the overzealous life out of it.
“Looking for Georgie and Big Dick’s box of kink,” was the mumbled reply.
I turned away and crossed the room, eager to find some kind of solace.
“Oh. It’s under the bed,” I said as I closed my eyes tight and flopped back onto it. Hard and hurting, my dick had taken over, and there was absolutely no hope of a resolution until I stopped looking at all of her flawless skin.
“Oh, shit,” she squealed. The sound of her running toward me gave me a mental image of her body in motion that would likely be the largest test of willpower my eyes ever had or would receive. I stayed frozen, hand locked on my easily manipulated dick and eyes sealed completely.
“How the hell did you find this before I did?” she complained from below me, the bed shaking slightly from her effort to pull out the box of phallic treasure.
“I found that shit months ago, about two days after they moved in together.”
She pulled the box out, dumping it on the bed right beside my head and tossing her body below it, right next to my hip. At the feel of some piece of her skin brushing against my hand, my eyes gave up the fight and popped open faster than a jack-in-the-box.
“Good God,” I cried when my vision returned. She was on her hands and knees, digging through the pile of dicks and vibrators beside my head, and her naked tits were no more than ten inches from my lips. “Am I dead?” I whispered, staring at the pink of her nipples and licking my lips.
Is this heaven or hell?
My hand wouldn’t be denied, reaching out to test my location. When the soft, full, fucking perfect flesh of her breast met my greedy palm, she yelped, smacking me first on the hand and then on the face.
“Ouch!” I groaned before confirming, “Hell.”
Definitely hell.
“What?” she snapped. “You can look, but you’ll have to do a lot more to earn the right to touch.”
My lips pursed in thought. “I could—”
“Not today, asshat!” she yelled. “Come on, help me clean this shit up.”
In shock, I couldn’t do anything other than what she asked, touching my best friend’s things—things I swear I’d never otherwise touch—and completely abandoning thoughts of being on time for work or accomplishing anything I was supposed to that day.
And yes, I’m sure I wouldn’t normally touch them. Look, sure. Touch, no.
Cassie left me to finish up and crossed the room back to Georgie’s dresser, my gaze following her as she did. She was one of the hottest women I’d ever seen and the first ever to stand in front of me naked with the same confidence as she would if clothed. I didn’t know where she found that kind of self-esteem, and I wasn’t going to ask. The first rule of dealing with a woman without her clothes on is to never ask her anything that could lead to a change of heart.
I slid the box under the bed as she slipped a tight T-shirt over her head, sans bra, and stepped into a pair of what had to be the most ridiculous leggings I’d ever seen.
“Are there fucking hot dogs on those pants?”
“Yeah,” she deadpanned, turning to face me and pulling her crazy hair into a sloppy ponytail. As her nipples pushed through the thin cotton, I realized no one would give a goddamn what was on her bottom half.
She turned for the hall, stepping out of the room without a word, and I followed. I’d have followed her into a volcano at this point.
And yes, I am fully aware that this kind of bli
nd arousal will be my downfall.
“Hey, Walnuts!” she called when we made it to the living room, searching the space with her strikingly blue eyes. They were so vivid they were nearly violent, reaching out and smacking you every time they turned your way.
The contrast between them, her creamy white skin, and the rich chocolate of her hair was arresting. Like God had a sense of humor when he made her, pasting together all the things that shouldn’t go well together into a singular messy canvas, but when he was done—her magnificently wild radiance shone up to heaven. The joke was on him.
“Yo! Walnuts!” she called again. “I’m talking to you, dick cat! Food’s on!”
She turned to me with her eyebrows pinched together, and the simple gesture was enough to break me out of my stupor.
I joined in the search, scanning the room endlessly, and unfortunately, my eyes landed on the open apartment door at the same time Cassie’s did.
Shit.
“You idiot!” she yelled, charging for the door and tearing ass out into the hall.
I followed hot on her heels, pulling her to a stop before she got to the stairwell door and spinning her to face me.
When I’d come in and heard the music, I hadn’t thought of anything but finding the source. I wasn’t used to having a pet, so closing doors wasn’t naturally ingrained. It probably would be now.
“You lost Walter!” she screamed immediately.
