THAT MAN: Holiday Box Set Books 1-5

by Nelle L’Amour

  “What were you doing with that girl?” asked Kirstie, her voice snippy.

  I explained I was just playing some kind of game with some chick I didn’t know. And would never see again. They turned to each other, did that twin telepathic thing, and then responded in tandem with one snarky word: “Right.”

  I paid the price all right. Once in my fuck pad, the dynamic duo decided they wanted to play a game with me too. Kirstie blindfolded me with my tie, and Kristie pulled down my slacks and boxers. While one got down on her knees and sucked my dick, the other mouthed my balls from behind. I got hard okay. Fast and furiously. But it wasn’t the cock-sucking blond duo that was making me hard. It was that girl. That crazy blindfolded girl. In my mind’s eye, I imagined her on her knees doing all these things to me with her lush mouth and that deft velvety tongue. Me, fondling her, pulling at her ponytail, talking dirty. Her, sucking, licking, moaning. Fuck. Why didn’t I pull off her blindfold? Why didn’t I find out who she was? I groaned. Chances were I’d never see her again. Stupid fucking me. I’d let one get away. I’d been prey to a game, and I’d lost. I never lost. No, never in my almost thirty years on this planet. I sucked in a gulp of air. My cock was heavy and beginning to pulse, and my nuts were contracting. The telltale signs I was on the brink of a major orgasm. My body stiffened, and I tilted my head back. “Oh, yeah!” I cried out, but before I could come, all mouth contact was gone.

  “Bye, Blakey,” cooed the twins. I heard the door slam shut before I could remove my tie from my eyes. Fuck them! The brats had blue-balled me. Wrapping my fingers around my aching cock, I finished what they’d started. As I stroked up and down my rigid length, her sweet voice resounded in my head. “I have to kiss you,” and at those words, my cock exploded in my hand. For the first time in my life, the memory of a kiss had brought me to the point of no return. I had to find her, see her again. I clambered to pull up my pants, and after tucking my cock inside, I dashed out the door. Back inside the club, my eyes circled the crowded, pulsing room, then darted left and right. She wasn’t at a table, at the bar, or on the dance floor. Maybe she went to the ladies’ room. I waited patiently for her return, my roaming eyes on the lookout. “Blurred Lines” was blasting, and clubbers were wildly singing and dancing along. Ten long, desperate minutes passed. Fuck. That girl was gone. Out of my life.

  My mind returned to the moment. Where was this new girl? She definitely must be lost. I set my eyes on my computer screen and scanned the latest ratings report. Our prime time and late night ratings were through the roof, but as usual, our daytime ratings were lackluster. I just didn’t get why our porn lineup in the morning wasn’t getting eyeballs. Big dicks fucking preened pussies weren’t cutting it. Something was missing.

  “Mr. Burns?” A sweet voice at my doorway diverted my attention, and I looked up from the screen. In tandem, my eyes blinked, my body jerked, and my cock tensed. Subtly for her not to notice.

  Though her neat auburn bun, prim tweed suit, and tortoiseshell glasses made her look like some bookworm who should be working at a corporate law office, I swear I’d recognize that face anywhere—with its dewy-skin complexion, delicate bone structure, and those expressive, turned-up lips. Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming. But there she was. That girl I’d kissed last night. In fact, her lips were still swollen. Holy fucking shit!

  “Hi, I’m Jennifer McCoy.”

  It took several long moments for my brain to communicate with my mouth. I cleared my throat and licked my lips. “Please come in and take a seat.”

  Unlike last night when she was blindfolded and took short hesitant steps, she strode into my office with a strong confident gait and lowered herself onto one of the two armchairs facing me. She placed her shoulder bag and briefcase on the floor next to her and crossed her shapely, long legs. I had the burning urge to uncross them.

  “So, Ms. McCoy—”

  “You can call me Jennifer.”

  Okay, let’s start over. “So, Jen-ni-fer, you come highly recommended by my boss, Saul Bernstein.” God, I loved saying her name. It sucked the air out of my lungs.

  She flashed a small smile. Two little dimples winked at her kissable lips. My cock twitched and I continued.

  “However, I’m not sure why someone with a passion for children’s television would want to work for a porn channel.”

  Without flinching, she held my gaze steady. “Adults are no different than children. They need to be entertained.”

  That was a fact. And that’s why we referred to our network and programming as “adult entertainment.” I wasn’t done testing her. Or studying her—especially her eyes. Her blindfold had hidden them from me last night, and after she’d disappeared, I kept imagining what they looked like. I thought they might be brown or blue and deep-set. But they were wide-set and green—the greenest eyes I’d ever seen on a human being. When she blinked, it was if they were two leaves fluttering in the wind. I caught my breath.

  “Well, it’s one thing to tell a producer of a cartoon that he—”

  “Or she,” she interrupted.

  “Or she needs to make the shaggy dog bark louder, but it’s another to tell the producer of a porn flick that his female star who’s being shagged needs to scream louder.”

  “Not a problem,” she said flatly.

  “Well, then, let’s pretend I’m the producer, and I’m not quite sure what you want. Can you please demonstrate?”

  “Sure.” She cleared her throat and then took off her glasses, setting them on my desk. Fuck. Her eyes were beautiful.

  My gaze stayed fixed on them as she flung her head back, and a look of torturous pleasure washed over her face. It was identical to the expression on her face last night as I held her head back and fucked her mouth with my tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Oh, baby, yes! Make me come! Oh God! Oh, yes, Yes, YES!” Each breathy “yes” was louder than the one before, the last one a roar so loud I thought the whole office would hear her. Holy shit. This girl was a fucking tiger. Beneath my desk, my cock was applauding. Was this how Ms. McCoy, M.A., came, or was she just a great actress? If the latter, this girl should be starring in porn flicks, not giving script notes.

  “Was that loud and clear enough?” she asked matter-of-factly, staring me in the face. A slight blush colored her cheeks.

  I felt heated. Flushed and flustered. And I could feel my cock uncomfortably strain against my fly. Fuck this girl. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to work with her, but I had no choice.

  Collecting myself, I said, “So, I assume you’ll be able to work long hours. Be on the set if necessary to oversee a shoot. Even at wee hours in the morning.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to do a great job.”

  How about a blow job? Or a hand job? I bit down on my tongue.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  She scowled at me. Damn. She was sexy when she did that.

  “What kind of question is that? What does that have to do with this job?”

  “I’m just curious. Is that a crime?”

  “Well, it borders on sexual harassment, and the answer is yes. I have a boyfriend. In fact, a fiancé. He’s a dentist.”

  Her tone was defensive. Like she was off limits. I glanced at her left hand. There was surprisingly no ring on her fourth finger. I let it go and instead handed her a thick file.

  “What’s this?” She opened the file and gazed down at the stack of papers.

  “Your first assignment. This file contains our latest ratings reports. I’d like you to review them and then tomorrow present a full analysis of why our daytime ratings are sagging.” I checked my agenda in Outlook. “Why don’t we say at ten a.m.?”

  She closed the file and then retrieved her shoulder bag and briefcase. “I’ll get right on it,” she said, rising to her feet.

  My eyes glanced down at my desk. “Don’t forget your glasses.”

  She twitched an embarrassed little smile. I handed them to her and brushed my fingers again
st hers.

  “Thanks,” she said, nervously setting them back on her face. “And thanks for hiring me. You won’t be disappointed.”

  With that, she marched toward the door and disappeared. My cock flexed. I hoped she was right. The word “disappointment” didn’t exist for Blake Burns.

  Chapter 3

  Jennifer

  I spent the rest of the morning going through orientation. I met with Human Resources to fill out some paperwork and then moved on to some down-the-hall conference room where another straight-laced HR person explained company benefits and policies to a group of new hires like myself. One thing she made loud and clear was that the Conquest Broadcasting Company (CBC) did not look favorably upon fraternization though it wasn’t banned; what was important was that you reported any such liaison to HR so they could evaluate if it was affecting your job performance. I had nothing to worry about. I was engaged to my college sweetheart, Bradley Wick, DDS. The love of my life. The lecture was long and boring, and before long, my mind was wandering. My heart hammered. I was once again reliving last night’s kiss with a total stranger. Those beautiful lips crashing on mine, sending me orbiting into space. My body heated with hot tingles everywhere. I couldn’t let it go. Or stop thinking about that man. I gave myself a hard mental kick as the HR rep told us we’d now be going on a tour of Conquest Broadcasting.

  Occupying the lot of a defunct movie studio in Culver City, the complex was vast, almost as big as a college campus. In addition to the towering building where I would be headquartered, there was another rambling building that housed a cafeteria, gym, and state-of-the-art theater for screenings. Scattered across the campus were numerous soundstages where they shot television series, including some for SIN-TV. I instantly recognized the set for one of the network’s porn game shows—Wheel of Pain. I’d forced myself to watch it once. Big-boobed women and their endowed partners were strapped together on a wheel and had to fuck while the wheel spun around. As the wheel turned, the contestants were subjected to all forms of torture like ice cubes, insects, and nauseating speeds. Whoever lasted the longest won the grand prize—money and a trip to Vegas. What sicko came up with this concept? Watching it once in my lifetime was one time too many. I was glad the job of overseeing current programming belonged to someone else. Thank God, I didn’t have to deal with this show or the rest of the pornographic crap that filled the lineup.

  After orientation, I settled into my new office. Adjacent to my new boss’s corner suite on the main floor, it was the size of a closet consisting of the following: a utilitarian blond wood desk with a computer and phone, a matching bookshelf and credenza that housed a small outdated TV, and a pair of basic armchairs. It was sterile and claustrophobic, but at least, there was a window overlooking the parking lot. I sat down behind my desk and assembled the few possessions I’d brought along. On it, I set a framed photo of my parents and another of my fiancé Bradley and me taken at one of his dentist conventions. Opening the top drawer, I lined up the three T’s—toothpaste, toothbrush, and Tampax—along with a box of SpongeBob Band-Aids. Accident-prone me went through Band-Aids as fast as some people went through tissues. I stood up and strode over to the bookshelf next to the door. I placed the two other possessions I’d brought along on the top shelf—my cherished Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary and vintage Roget’s International Thesaurus—both gifts from my dad, a retired English professor. Heading back to my desk, I promised myself I would try to personalize my new office. Maybe buy a few framed posters and hang them up on the sterile white walls. Yeah, some art would liven the place up and give it a little personality.

  At noon, I met up with my best friend Libby in the commissary. She and I were roommates and had been since our college days at USC. One year ahead of me, she had landed a position at Conquest Broadcasting—as a Research Analyst in the Consumer Insights division—and had been the one who encouraged me to apply for a job here. She’d raved about the creative working environment, the benefits, and the cutting-edge personnel. And the great low-cost food at the cafeteria.

  Over delicious cheese burritos, Libby fired away, never one to hold back.

  “So, is Blake Burns as big an asshole as everyone says he is?”

  I was taken back by her question, expecting something more along the lines of “How’s your day going?”

  I hesitated before answering. The answer was a loud “yes,” but Mr. Burns had had an unexpected effect on me. While I had googled him and knew he was good-looking with that thick mass of dark hair, I just didn’t expect him to be that good-looking. Okay, breathtaking. Tall, built, and with the face of a movie star. He was not my type—the brainy preppy type—but the way his sapphire eyes held me in a fierce gaze did something to me. I was a heated up, nervous wreck throughout the interview, and thanked my lucky stars I’d taken some drama courses so I could get through it.

  “So…” Libby’s inquisitive voice brought me back into the moment. I loved Libby to death, but I needed to be careful with my answer. Tell Libby, tell the world. My curly redhead friend was a gossip, though loveable one, and proud of it.

  “Actually, he was very nice and very professional.” Arrogant asshole. “He’s given me a very challenging first assignment.”

  “Like what?” asked Libby, her hazel eyes wide. She forked a chunk of her burrito and put it to her mouth.

  “I have to analyze ratings and SIN-TV’s morning lineup.”

  Libby swallowed and scrunched her face. “The ratings suck in that daypart. I keep telling Blake we should do some focus groups to find out what’s going on. But he’s very anti-research. He believes one should program by instinct, and his instincts are never wrong.”

  I digested Libby’s information. My instinct told me that Mr. Burns’s instincts were wrong. I quirked a sly smile at my friend. “Well, we’re going to change that.”

  “How?”

  “Right after lunch, I’m going to start figuring that out,” I replied before taking the last bite of my burrito.

  Chapter 4

  Jennifer

  I had to admit it was a good first day at work. Conquest Broadcasting was a great company. I just wasn’t sure about working for its porn channel, SIN-TV. Is this where I really belonged? Developing this cock-driven programming? Working with my arrogant, know-it-all boss who kept checking in on me all day? Could I make a difference? After spending all afternoon in my office poring over the ratings to the point of getting bleary-eyed, I’d begun to think maybe I could.

  At six o’clock, I gathered up the ratings files I needed to finish reviewing and stuffed them into my briefcase along with my laptop. The Coach leather briefcase had been a graduation gift from my parents, and I treasured it. My next stop was dinner. I was meeting Bradley at a restaurant close to his office. Much of me wanted to cancel our dinner date as I was eager to get home and continue studying the ratings package and even watch some more of SIN-TV to get a better handle on the programming. But I couldn’t disappoint Bradley. He had made a reservation and said he had a surprise for me.

  With my briefcase in hand and my shoulder bag slung over my shoulder, I stepped out of my office. During orientation, I was told to be sure to lock my door every night; the company had recently experienced a barrage of break-ins, with the thieves stealing anything from computers and televisions to office furnishings and personal possessions.

  As I curled my fingers around the handle and began to close the door, a familiar voice called out to me.

  “Good night, Ms. McCoy. Looks like you have your work cut out for you.”

  It was my boss. Blake Burns. Flustered, I turned my head at the sound of his sultry voice, and my mouth dropped open. A loud gasp of pain escaped my throat. Stars swarmed my head, and a sudden rush of nausea rose to my chest. It took me a sickening moment to realize what I’d just done. I’d accidentally slammed the heavy door on my middle finger. The throbbing was so intense I couldn’t think straight or get my mouth to close.

  “Are you
okay?” The words whirled around in my head. I couldn’t get my brain to communicate with my mouth to respond. As the nausea intensified, a black fog descended on me, and my legs turned to jelly. “Geez” was the last word I heard as I felt myself going down. Before I hit bottom, two strapping arms wrapped around me and then everything faded to black.

  When I fluttered my eyes open, there was Blake, looming above me, his dreamy blue eyes moving slowly over my face. The throbbing in my finger brought me back to reality. Fuck. I must have fainted, and now I was stretched out on the leather couch in my new boss’s office. He had propped a pillow under my head. How embarrassing was this? What a dumb thing to do on my first day of work.

  “Are you okay?” he asked before I could utter a word.

  I nodded.

  “Are you sure? You blacked out.”

  I nodded again. “The door to my office slammed on my finger.”

  “Let me see it.”

  I lifted my hand. My finger was swollen and quivering, the cuticle torn. He gently took my hand in his. I felt chilled and still sick to my stomach from the excruciating pain. His touch warmed and comforted me.