Page 52 of Kandi's Crush: A BWWM Sweet Billionaire Romance

“Twenty-one and older. Squirt, we’ll need to see some identification,” he barked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m of age. Let me through,” I grimaced.

“Nah. I’ll be the judge of that. You don’t get through until you show me a driver’s license. Louisiana state identification, please.”

Some meatheads never change. I wasn’t in the mood for raising a big stink. The best course of action was to find something else to drink. I rolled my eyes and prepared to walk away. To my relief, my dear husband came to my rescue.

“Cut it out,” he growled. His eyes blazed into mine. “She gets whatever she wants.”

“Chill, C. Just joking. Right, Squirt?”

“Yeah, Playboy. Chill out,” James laughed.

Quad moved from in front of the keg and held his arms out to hug me. I did a Matrix-type move and avoided the hug completely. The move was anything but subtle. The guys let loose a chorus of “oohs“ mixed with laughter.

“I see you fellas haven’t changed.” Before I could pump the keg, Chadwick reached for my cup. He worked the keg, managing to get very little foam in the cup, a gentle smile on his face as he handed it back to me. His fingers brushed against mine, causing electrical sparks.

“I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will. Thank you,” I answered in a tone that was anything but innocent.

I left the meatheads behind and continued to wander the backyard, drifting from one conversation to another. I eventually landed at Chadwick’s mom, Genevieve. It was startling to remember she was now my mother-in-law.

“Please tell me you’re not one of her fans,” Mrs. St. Clair groaned.

“I am. I love the pink home décor and the menagerie of animals . . . She’s the star of the show.”

Chadwick’s mother and I were engaged in a lively conversation about all things related to the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Our love for housewives’ shows was one of the many things we had in common.

“Oh, honey. I thought you were an honors student,” she teased. She paused for a second before switching gears. “Kandi, I have a fabulous idea. One of the Antheas has a single son your age. I think you’ll be cute together.”

She didn’t know I was in a relationship with an Anthea son, and we were very cute together.

My phone buzzed. My heart skipped a beat when I read the text message from Chadwick. It was an instruction to make an excuse to come inside the house and meet him in his bedroom.

I searched the yard for my husband and spotted him bounding up the stairs leading to the enclosed porch. Our eyes met as he opened the sunporch door. I blushed as he winked at me, a silent invitation to crash into each other. The seconds crept like hours as I waited for five minutes to pass.

I politely excused myself and Genevieve pranced over to the next group of revelers. I nonchalantly walked to the door and entered the kitchen without notice, slipping through the entry leading to the second floor. Relieved that I’d escaped attention, I crept into the cool, darkened hallway leading to the bedrooms.

I stood in the hallway for a minute as my eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. When I was younger, I frequently spied on Chadwick in his room. I knew the route to his bedroom like the back of my hand and probably could have found my way blindfolded. I tiptoed over the wooden floor, avoiding the creaky spots until a powerful presence came to stand behind me.

Fuck. I’m caught.

A wall of muscle bumped against my back as two strong arms encased me, and a familiar hardening cock pressed against my ass. I relaxed in his arms as his hands moved down my sides to my hands.

“Shhh,” he whispered. He took me by the hand and pulled me into his bedroom, closing the door behind us. “Welcome to the trophy room.”

The bedroom had changed very little over the years. Several football trophies and plaques still rested on a large etagere, and the queen-size bed had the same wooden headboard. I assumed Mrs. St. Clair replaced the movie posters and sports with framed art of coastal scenes. The room still had a familiar scent of laundry detergent and polished wood, but it seemed much smaller than it had when I was younger.

“My mother can’t stand to get rid of these memories.”

I walked over to the dresser and peered at the framed photos of the St. Clairs and Chadwick’s friends.

“Wow. I remember you and your friends were assholes. Now, you’re all grown up. Well, except for Quad,” I snickered, sitting on the bed to flip through his high school yearbook.

“Back then, I would never have imagined a woman like you in my bedroom, my bed, or my life.”

He leaned in closer and took the book from my hands, placing it on the nightstand. I melted like putty when his warm breath tickled the shell of my ear. His hand inched from the bed and up my side until he reached my breast. My nipple sprang to life as he rubbed his thumb against the stiff, pebbled peak. I giggled and leaned into his hands. His hands continued to entice as he leaned in to kiss me below my ear, and I craned my neck to allow greater access. He increased the pressure of the kiss and sucked on the skin of my neck.

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