Cocky Suits Chicago: Books 1-3

by Alex Wolf

  Her cheeks flush and she nods.

  Holy fuck.

  Quinn takes me all the way to the base, and I groan when she squeezes tight around me. It’s so much better this way, bare, skin to skin. I palm her ass and spread her cheeks apart. After her little show earlier, I’m not about to let up on pressing that button. I slip my pinky up against her puckered ass as she rides me. It doesn’t take long. Another orgasm rocks through her. It’s so intense I can barely hang on.

  Her hot pussy clenches around me, and without the condom between us I don’t know how much more I can take. Everything about her intensifies to eleven.

  She doesn’t know, but Quinn’s the only woman I’ve ever fucked without protection. In a way, I feel like she’s my first. It’s so much more than sex. It’s real and passionate and emotional. It’s everything, and I can’t let go of it now that I’ve experienced it with her.

  My eyes roll back in my head and I want to come inside her so bad it aches down to my bones. I hold back, knowing I shouldn’t.

  My brain goes to war, because I don’t want to fucking hold back. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. The thought alone should terrify me, but with Quinn it feels so fucking right and the rest of the world fades away, leaving nothing but the two of us here in this moment.

  I lean up and push her back, breaking our connection for a split-second before I slide right back in.

  Her ankles hook around my waist and I slant over her mouth and kiss the shit out of her. I know I said I’m possessive, that Quinn is mine, but she owns me just as much, if not more. Nothing has ever felt more right than this, than us.

  Our tongues intertwine as I take her as deep as I can. Our foreheads press together, and I lock eyes with her. I swear I can see everything about her in them, all her thoughts and feelings, her goals and desires.

  I slide into her over and over, long deep strokes. She gives me everything I want and more. Things I never knew I wanted or needed but I want and need them from her.

  Only her.

  So.

  Fucking.

  Intense.

  I bite down on her shoulder as my balls tighten. The war rages in my brain as an orgasm inches up my shaft, but at the last second, I pull out and come all over her stomach. Using the head of my cock, I sign my name in it, right there on her belly, my eyes never leaving hers.

  Through my rough pants, the only word that escapes my lips is, “Mine.”

  Quinn hooks her arms around my neck, pulling my mouth to hers for a kiss.

  After we catch our breaths, I grin down lazily at her flushed expression. “We need a shower. You can’t go home like this.”

  We both laugh while she shakes her head.

  “Definitely not. I don’t care how good you were at football.”

  It’s hard as hell to keep my hands off her in the shower. It’s equally difficult to keep my dick from getting hard, but I know if I touch her right now it’ll send me on a mission to convince her to spend the night. That’s a position I refuse to put her in, regardless of how many positions I’d like to put her in. Her dad needs her, and she has to get home.

  I know without a doubt I’ll be jerking off later to the image of her all soaped up in my shower.

  Once we’re toweled off and dressed, and it’s time for her to leave, I pull her back one more time for a kiss. Who am I kidding? I pull her back four times, promising each one is the last. I can’t remember ever feeling this carefree in my life. Colors are more vibrant and sounds more vivid. It feels like I’m floating in the clouds, completely weightless.

  She breaks away from my last kiss far too soon.

  My hands instinctively roam her hips.

  “Deacon, I gotta go.” She pulls away, still grinning.

  “Text me when you get home.”

  “I will.” She stops to get on the elevator, but before I close my door, she sprints back for one more kiss, then finally breaks free and leaves.

  When she disappears into the elevator an emptiness settles over me and I don’t like it at all.

  She’s the only one who can soothe this ache deep inside me. Not seeing her face is torture.

  My phone rings from the other room and it’s a welcome distraction from thinking about Quinn walking away. I jog back to the bedroom and Rick Lawrence’s name lights up on the screen.

  About fucking time.

  I’ve been waiting on this call. I swipe my finger across the screen and place the phone next to my ear. “Tell me something good, bitch.”

  “Better than good. We need to meet.”

  “The Gage?” It’s a restaurant with a nice bar over by Millennium Park. Everyone from the office hangs out there after work sometimes.

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Perfect timing. See you there.”

  I hop out of a cab on Michigan Avenue, across the street from the park. I didn’t feel like driving and parking downtown, and I wanted to be able to think freely about Quinn without dealing with traffic. Walking through the glass door, I spot Rick at the bar knocking back a rocks glass that’s most likely filled with expensive whiskey.

  I take the stool next to him and order a scotch.

  He doesn’t say a word, just slides a file in front of me. “I smell virgin pussy in my future.”

  Jesus, this guy.

  I crane my head around to make sure nobody is within earshot.

  Rick grins wide as hell but stares straight ahead, clearly amused with how uncomfortable he makes people. The guy has no filter. It’s one thing to talk that way with the guys in a fucking locker room, but he lets it fly no matter where he’s at.

  “Depends on what you have here.” I flip through the folder and my eyes widen. My hands speed up on the papers, my eyes scanning the pages. “Fuck, can I use any of this? How the hell did you get it?”

  “First, we have something more important to discuss.”

  “Okay?”

  “I saw Donavan looking at my sweet, innocent Mary the other day. You’re going to take care of that, right?”

  I wave a flippant hand in his direction, my eyes still roaming the evidence he brought. “Yeah, yeah. Consider it done. Can I fucking use this shit?”

  “All admissible. Didn’t have to do anything shady.”

  I turn and give him a stare that says don’t fuck with me.

  He holds both hands up and laughs. “I’m not bullshitting. Nobody knows. I kept up my end of the bargain.”

  I slide my rocks glass over and bump his with it, unable to peel my eyes away from the documents in front of me. “I’ll talk to Donavan.” There’s no way I’ll talk to Donavan, because then he might actually take an interest if he knows there’s competition. I already know there’s no way in hell he wants Mary and her ankle-length skirts. I’m sure he just glanced in her direction or ordered her to do something for him.

  Rick knocks back his whiskey and stands up. “Well then, I gotta go to mass or whatever it’s called. Have to get right with the Lord. Jesus won’t be the only one getting nailed in church this week.” He tosses me a grin and heads out before I can reply to his blasphemy.

  My eyes glance once more to the papers. I’m about to score a game-winning touchdown for the firm, and I’m going to rub that shit right in Tecker’s smug faces.

  Deacon

  It’s early Monday morning and I couldn’t feel better.

  Dr. James Flynn stands in front of the building as I hop out of a cab.

  “Mr. Flynn.”

  “Deacon.” He reaches out and shakes my hand.

  Dude has a decent grip for being in his sixties. He looks confused.

  I hold up the file Rick gave me. “It’ll all make sense in a minute. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  We walk into the building and head to the receptionist’s desk.

  Dr. Flynn’s eyes roam around, taking in the surroundings. “Why are we meeting at her lawyer’s office?”

  “I’m about to put this whole ordeal behind us.
Trust me.”

  “Can I help you?” asks the receptionist.

  “We have a meeting with Chauncey.” He’s the lawyer representing the woman who accused Dr. Flynn.

  “Oh yes, right this way.”

  She leads us down a long hallway, the clacking of her heels amplified by the tile and twelve-foot ceiling. At the end, we walk into a conference room surrounded by four glass walls.

  It’s nice, but not as nice as my firm’s building. Their shit is on the first floor, and I’m about to remind Chauncey and his client they fucked with the wrong people.

  “Mr. Collins, Dr. Flynn.” Chauncey shakes both our hands. He’s about Dr. Flynn’s age and probably thinks he’s about to steamroll a young hotshot attorney into a settlement.

  I told him on the phone we were ready to talk about making a deal, but it was really just laying a trap for an ambush.

  His client sits there with a cocky grin on her face. I can practically see the dollar signs in her eyes.

  Despite that, I can’t help but notice Dr. Flynn doesn’t look angry. He has no idea what I have in my file, but he doesn’t look emotional at all. His demeanor is friendly even.

  Fuck, this guy has way more composure than I do. If some woman tried to ruin my career I’d burn her house to the ground. There’s no way I’d smile and be nice. I wouldn’t even pretend.

  We all sit down, and Chauncey starts in, “So, we have matters to discuss.”

  “Yes, we do.” I pull the manila folder out and set it in front of me.

  Every eye in the room lands on it.

  “What’s that?” asks Chauncey.

  “Just some research.” I open it up and rifle through the pages, pretending to read them even though I have them pretty much memorized. “Has your client ever lived in Phoenix?”

  The smug grin disappears from her face, and her eyes widen.

  “Maybe worked for a…” I pause, for dramatic effect. “Dr. Lancaster?”

  Now, her face turns red with rage. Her entire body tenses and her hands grip the arms of her chair.

  “What is this?” Chauncey reaches over for her forearm. “I thought we were discussing a settlement?”

  I ignore his question and keep going, staring right at her. “Of course, you weren’t using the name Bridgette Smith at that time, were you? How about New Orleans and a Dr. Markwardt? That ring a bell?”

  Chauncey looks at Bridgette, then back at me. “What’s going on here?”

  “Well, it seems your client has a pattern. Job as a nurse. Sexual harassment suit. Payday. Moves on when the money runs out, I’m guessing. It’s a clever little cycle, until you get caught.”

  “Let me see those.”

  I slide the papers over to him but keep some in front of me.

  He fumbles through the pages. “Even if you can prove this is her, it doesn’t mean your client didn’t do what she’s accused him of.”

  Bridgette, or whatever her real name is, perks up in her seat, like maybe there’s still some hope.

  Surprisingly, Dr. Flynn remains calm and collected, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He hasn’t said a word and hasn’t looked worried the entire time this case has developed. All he ever insisted on was a fair defense, from the beginning.

  I glare at the woman across from me, because the shit she does undermines every real victim of harassment and sexual assault and makes it difficult for them to come forward. There’s a fear they won’t be believed, because it’s rare for concrete evidence to be present in these cases. Not to mention, I just don’t like her.

  “Let me just squash any hope you have of getting paid today.” I keep my eyes locked on her. “These…” I slide more papers out into the middle of the table. “Are text messages to and from your friend, Crystal.”

  Her face heats up again and her jaw sets firm. She knows I have her.

  “If you’d kept quiet, we might be cutting you a check. But you had to go brag, didn’t you? And I’m guessing, since you like to screw people over, none of your friends are actually loyal friends. Yet, you spilled your guts to Crystal about how you were about to get a huge settlement from Dr. Flynn.” I slide another sheet of paper out. “This is a sworn affidavit from Crystal stating you also told her you made it all up. You can read it if you want. You go into a lot of detail.”

  I push the papers toward her and she shoves them back at me.

  I snicker and gesture toward the affidavit. “Know what that cost me? All your messages and emails and that affidavit?”

  Bridgette glares. “I don’t know. What?”

  “Five hundred bucks. That’s how easy your friend rolled over on you.”

  “Well, I think we all need to step back a moment…” Chauncey backpedals in a hurry. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or embarrassed by us blindsiding him.

  “That won’t be necessary.” All eyes go to Dr. Flynn. He stares right at Bridgette.

  She’s moved past anger, and I swear it looks like she’s about to cry now. It has to be an act. She’s a damn con artist.

  Dr. Flynn looks across the table at her with soft eyes. “Do you still want your job at the hospital?”

  What the fuck?

  I put a hand on his arm. “Doctor, I would strongly advise—”

  He holds up his other hand to cut me off, but doesn’t break eye contact with her. “Would you like your job back, Bridgette?”

  The tears flow down her cheeks and she sniffles. “Yes, please. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, then. It looks like we have a settlement after all.” He stands from his chair, walks around the large conference table, and holds his hand out in front of her. “See you at work Monday.”

  She looks up at him and takes his hand, nodding. “Yes. I-I’ll be there.”

  “Sounds great. Can’t wait to have you back.” He looks at me and gestures with his head toward the door. “Let’s go, son.”

  I don’t know what the fuck just happened, but I gather up everything and head out with him. We make our way to the front of the building and I turn to face him.

  “I have to advise that this is a terrible idea. I mean, I would understand if you don’t want to go after her for defamation of character, but hiring her back...”

  “Did you see that woman in there?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  He sighs. “She didn’t just start doing the things she does one day out of the blue. Someone taught it to her. She grew up with that. It’s all she knows.”

  “I mean, okay? That’s not a good reason to ruin people’s lives for her own gain. Have you seen the things they’ve said about you on the internet? Even when we dismiss this case, the stigma will still be there. It’s all over Twitter. ‘High profile heart surgeon sexually assaults nurse.’ All it takes is being accused. They won’t publicize them dropping the suit because it’s boring. It’ll be back-page news.”

  “Do you have good parents? Do they love you unconditionally?”

  What the hell is he talking about? “Sure. I mean, my mom would tell us she loved us no matter what. I always knew my dad felt that way, even if he didn’t say it.”

  He points back at the building. “She’s never known that. She’s never had anyone care about her, even after she made a mistake. This is an opportunity to show her what that’s like. If she continues the same behavior, then so be it. But I won’t be the one who perpetuates it.”

  “I just… Okay. Fine. You’re the client. If that’s what you want to do, go for it.”

  I sigh.

  He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Deacon. It’s why I like you. I can see you care about those close to you and your clients more than you care about money. I know you think you’re looking out for me, and I appreciate that. People need to step back and see the big picture, though, before rushing to condemn someone. Nobody is perfect, I don’t care who you are.” He stares off across the street. “God knows I’m not, even if I didn’t do this. The world needs a lot more empathy and a lot less judgment.�
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  He climbs into a cab and I wave. It wasn’t exactly how I saw this thing playing out, but it’s still a win for the firm. Also, in roughly a decade of being a lawyer, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that happen.

  Regardless, I can’t wait to see Tecker’s face when I shove this up their ass.

  Quinn

  I can’t stop glowing from my time with Deacon. It’s nothing like what I expected a relationship with him would be like. He leaves me breathless with the things he says and the sweet things he does.

  I still can’t believe he called Dad to check in on him. I mean, who the hell does that? I can’t remember any guy I’ve dated taking that kind of initiative. The old man was impressed.

  Like it wasn’t already bad enough he worships Deacon as a football god. Dad keeps mumbling things like, “That boy is perfect.”

  The funny thing is, I can’t argue with him.

  He freaking cooked for me!

  Maybe I’m a little jaded from years of preparing every meal, but I can’t remember a man ever cooking for me, other than Dad, and that seems like ages ago.

  My only complaint about the weekend is it went by too fast. I didn’t want it to end. I spent most of yesterday studying and texting back and forth with Heather. She must’ve thought I was insane, because I never share intimate details of my dating life, not even with her.

  But I couldn’t help myself. Maybe I’ve never opened up to her because I’ve never dated anyone worth mentioning. I didn’t share everything, of course, but I’m pretty sure I gushed non-stop to the point she likely rolled her eyes and wanted the conversation over. It was payback for all the times she’s done it to me.

  Now, it’s Monday, and I’m already looking forward to Friday.

  I get to my desk and don’t even have to look; the sound of Tate’s heels clacking on the floor is unmistakable. I glance in that direction just in time to catch her curly blonde head of hair turn the corner. I swear she’s always so put together and dresses like she stepped out of a fashion spread in a magazine.