Drunk on Love (Cock Tales #1)

by S. L. Scott

  “That is so hot. Keep it up,” a voice intrudes.

  Simone sighs, irritated, and pulls away. I turn to the photographer’s assistant standing at the edge of the set just as Simone reveals her frustration by leaning back and swinging her leg over me to stand up. Leisurely, my gaze slides up her lean legs. She’s taller than most women and the heels she’s wearing add another good five inches. Appreciating her physique, I smile and recline back with my hands behind my head while watching her adjust the strings at her hips. Her head snaps up and her eyes narrow on the assistant off set. “If you want us to keep it up, then shut up next time.” She storms off, her shoes clacking loudly against the gray cement floor.

  Knowing an angry model needs time, I sit up, and ask, “How much time do we have?”

  Everyone is well aware that the mood has changed on the set. Worry creases the assistant’s brow when he answers, “I think, umm… five or ten minutes.”

  The guy’s anxiety rolls like waves crashing around me. Feeling bad for him, I reassure, “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine. Just give her a few minutes to cool down.”

  “Thanks.” He smiles though it’s weak. “Are you doing all right?”

  I smile genuinely while standing up. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” When I start to walk, the knit boxer briefs I’m wearing for the shoot tighten uncomfortably, so I stop to adjust. They’re a size too small, so I grab my cock and shift. “Actually, I could use a larger size. These are cutting off my blood circulation down here.”

  Before the assistant can respond, two women suddenly appear from the darkened side of the large loft. A cute, petite blonde offers, “Let me take a look. Maybe I can help.” She’s bold, not shy like I would have guessed from the librarian look she’s chosen.

  The other lady—taller with some gray strands running through her dark hair—seems new to the modeling world. She stands there staring below my waist, and by the way she’s ogling me, I’m guessing she might be new to naked men in general. Maybe she’s never worked on an underwear campaign before. She clears her throat and finds her voice. “They fit around the waist so I can add more material, if you’d like? But I’ll need them to do that.”

  Bypassing the first offer, I accept the second. This is my job. I’m a pro, a model, and used to being naked in front of strangers, so I drop my drawers. I bend down to get them, and when I stand back up I’m greeted with two mouths hanging wide open. “Ladies, you’re gonna make me feel shy,” I tease. I’m not shy at all.

  Lifting their chins until both their mouths are closed, I chuckle as they continue to stare unabashedly. The taller woman says, “Oh you have nothing to be shy about.”

  “Absolutely nothing,” the blonde adds insistently.

  “Thanks,” I reply, my voice it’s usual charm. I hand the boxers to the lady and walk off set to grab my robe. When I slip it on, Becs from wardrobe approaches and says, “I can add some room in there for you. I’ll have them back in ten minutes.”

  “I already gave them to the seamstress.”

  “What seamstress?” she asks.

  “The one over there.” When I turn to the set, they’ve vanished. Scanning the loft from one side to the other, the two women are nowhere to be found. “She was just here with a blonde lady.” Perplexed I scan again. “I have no idea where they went.”

  Becs rolls her eyes, shakes her head, and sighs loudly. “Good grief. Not again.” Turning on her heels, she yells out, “Security. We’ve had another breach.” With her eyes narrowed on my waist, she adds, “Tighten the belt. You don’t want anyone selling a photo of your frank ‘n beans to the highest bidder.” Her mood lightening, she smiles and shrugs. “Or maybe you do. I’ll get your next wardrobe change—”

  I laugh but point to my privates. “Extra roomy.”

  Becs waves her hand in the air while walking off. “Yeah. Yeah. I got it.”

  I make my way to craft services where I find Simone eating what appears to be her third Snickers by the wrappers littering the table next to her. “Do they have fruit today?”

  She speaks with a full mouth. “Down at the other end of the table.”

  The photographer’s assistant announces, “Five minutes.”

  Eyeing her as she shoves the last of the candy bar into her mouth, then makes what I guess is the universal sign for vomiting with her finger, I try to hold my lecture for another time. When she disappears down the hall, I understand the stress she’s under. The modeling world is competitive. One pound over the other girl and a model can lose the job. Simone desires to keep working, to stay on top of her game, but I’ve never found gaunt sexy. When the camera adds ten pounds, I get why they do it.

  Grabbing an apple, I eat while walking back to the set. Becs is there and hands me a pair of customized black briefs, extra fabric finely sewn into the middle. “Let’s get these on and see how they look.”

  I pull them on under my robe before untying the belt to let her take a closer look. She bends and eyes my dick, making me smile. When she stands up, she clasps her hands together. “Yep, looks good.”

  “Thanks,” I reply smugly. What? I’m human. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  Becs’s attempts at playing it cool are undermined when her cheeks pink. “I don’t date models, Danny.”

  “Who said anything about dating?” I wink playfully.

  “That’s exactly why I don’t date models,” she replies, not able to hide the cute blush. Watching her walk away, I notice the pep in her step and hope I made her day a little more enjoyable.

  After three-pointing the apple core into the wastebasket, I mentally celebrate scoring with a self-satisfied smile while returning to the bed and waiting.

  When Simone returns, she sits next to me. Her body is tense, her hands have a slight shake, and she’s paler than before. As makeup rushes over and starts touching her up, I whisper, “You okay?”

  She stares down at the floor while they apply more powder. “Fine.”

  I’ve known Simone for a few years. Not quite twenty-four, her career is going strong, but sometimes she’s moody. I think it’s the constant lack of food, so I offer, “Wanna grab a bite after?”

  The makeup lady leaves and Simone looks up. Touching my cheeks, she says, “You’re always so sweet, but you know I don’t really eat, much less out at restaurants in front of others.”

  “I was hoping you’d break your rule for me.”

  She smiles, and sounds hopeful. “I’ll break mine if you break yours. Why won’t you sleep with models?”

  “I’ve slept with many models.”

  “Then why haven’t we ever slept together?”

  With a cocked eyebrow, I point out, “You were too young.” Taking advantage of young girls isn’t my thing. A lot of male models go through these girls with abandon, but by the time I hit my upper twenties, there was no appeal in dating a girl barely legal to drink just because she was hot. Now that I’m in my early thirties, I don’t want a girl. I want a woman. “And as you pointed out, we’re friends.”

  A gleam enters her eyes when she laughs, leaning back on the bed. “That’s right. You were the first to ever turn me down. The only, in fact. Why are you so good, Danny Weston, when being bad is so much more fun?”

  Memories flash through my mind like a spinning Rolodex. “I’ve done a lot of bad, and nothing worked out. Maybe a little good will suit me better.”

  Maneuvering her body, she wraps her legs around me, and drags her nails very lightly down my chest, careful to not leave a mark. Moving close enough to kiss, she whispers, “Well, if good doesn’t work out for you, come find me.”

  The photographer shows up and without noticing the intimacy, starts filling us in on the angles he wants to complete the shoot. “We’re not going to use the bra in this set. You two will be blurred in the background, but I want side breast and shadows. Covered nipples, but that’s all I want hidden. Intimate, desire, like in pre-sex. Give me foreplay. I want kissing but no tongues showing. Simone, his
scent is driving you wild and you can’t keep your hands off him.” He turns around and shouts, “Prepare for the close-up of the cologne bottle. Whoever has been spraying my studio with that shit is fired.”

  When he leaves, Simone’s lips quirk into mischievousness, ignoring his rant. “Foreplay. Pre-sex.” She reaches around, her breasts pushed out, and unclasps her bra. Bare before me, she directs her eyes on mine. “We can do that, right, Danny?”

  Keeping my eyes on hers, I don’t deviate lower. “I think I’ll manage.”

  From the sidelines, the photographer instructs, “Touch her breasts.” When I do, he adds, “So hot. Keep going.”

  Two hours later, Simone lies on the bed, her gaze is lowered, her body exposed without care. I try to stand, but she stops me by grabbing my waistband and tugging. “Maybe I’ll see you again soon.”

  “Yeah, maybe we’ll be booked together again. See you around, Simone.”

  “See you around.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I walk out pulling my T-shirt down over my head. “Hey, Becs, I’m late meeting the guys. Got anything I can snag from the shoot to wear?”

  “I’ve spoiled you in the past, but you know you’re not supposed to take anything. We have to turn in our expenses and return all of the clothes.” She takes a navy blue button-down shirt from the rack and hands it to me. “So don’t get caught. Wear it like you already own it.”

  I tug the shirt off and swiftly slip on the other. “Thanks.” I kiss her on the cheek as I button up.

  Good-humoredly, she shoves me away. “Go, handsome. Get out of here and have some fun.”

  Shining my million-dollar smile, I reply, “You’re the best.”

  “Always the charmer, Danny.”

  “You know it.”

  “I think I see you on a shoot next week anyway, so go.”

  “If you miss me in the meantime, you’ve got my number.” While heading for the door, I waggle my eyebrows.

  “Oh, I have your number all right. Go, ya big flirt. Go find someone who will fall for that line.”

  “What about these abs and my sparkling personality?” I rub my abs to tease. “No love for these?”

  With her hand on her hip, she continues to play along. “Those abs are easy to fall for.”

  “Ouch. Nothing for my personality?”

  “Go!”

  Laughing, I sneak out before I get caught with the shirt. “See you next week.”

  “See you then, playboy.”

  Checking the time, it’s just gone ten. I jog to my Jeep, which is parked down the block. Dinner with the friends has long passed. I’ll catch hell for missing it… like I always do. I rev the engine to life and take off so I can catch them for the second half of tonight’s festivities.

  Tempted to drive home instead, I turn on the radio to mentally amp up for the night. I have a feeling tonight will be the same as Wednesday and the Sunday before that. I’m ready for something different, a change in scenery, a change in company, something or someone that makes me excited to go out.

  Silver lining: every night is a new opportunity, every day, a second chance to make things right.

  I arrive at the club and toss my keys to the valet, who gives me a welcoming nod. “Dan Man.”

  “When did you start working here, James?”

  “Last week. The hotel canned me for taking a lady for a ride in a Ferrari.”

  “Did you at least score points with the lady?”

  The valet smiles and purses his lips. “You know it.”

  “Way to go, but I imagine the owner of the Ferrari wasn’t too happy.”

  “He was more upset about me borrowing his car than his wife blowing me. My boss didn’t like that either.”

  Bursting out laughing, I fist bump him. “Oh shit. Well, take care of the Jeep. No joyrides.”

  “You got it, bro.” Just before he hops in, he calls to me, “Good luck and have fun.”

  “I intend to.”

  To continue reading Bestselling Sweet Talk, click here: http://bit.ly/SweetTalkbook

  * * *

  NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING NOVEL

  The Resistance by S.L. Scott Sneak Peek

  The Resistance

  Copyright ©S. L. Scott 2016

  Prologue

  I’m a fucking fool.

  I’m not even sure how I got into this mess, but I know I need to get myself out of it. I look down at the hand on my thigh inching up higher and my stomach rolls. Squeezing out from between the tight confines of the third row in this van, a girl on each side wanting a piece of me, I fall over the seat into the cargo area and move away from their astonished stares. They’re speaking German and I don’t know what the fuck they’re saying, but I’ve been in this type of situation enough to know how it will end, if I let it.

  Everything has changed… or sometime around my last birthday I changed.

  I didn’t invite these chicks. Dex did. He’ll fuck’em all before the night’s through and the bad part is, they’ll let him. Thinking they’re special, that they’ll be the one to tame him. They’ll let him do what he wants just to be close to him.

  Beyond this set up being predictable at this point, it’s really fucking old or I am, probably both. I ignore their taps on my shoulder and them calling my name. I ignore everything to do with them and focus on my phone.

  On the inside, I’m freaking the fuck out that I’m sitting in the cargo hold of a huge van in Germany with attractive girls willing to do anything I want them to, but I prefer to look at a photo of a little blonde with hazel eyes. Freaking the fuck out might be an understatement.

  I’m a player or was, supposed to be, maybe still am. I don’t keep score or anything like that, but I’ve slept with plenty of women, sometimes more than one at a time. I used to blame my lifestyle, but more recently, I realized I’m the common denominator in the bad relationships I’ve had.

  The car comes to a stop and the driver rushes around to the back to let me out. I stumble while climbing out, and hurry inside away from the sound of my name being called. The girls will be upset when they realize I’m not staying to play, but Dex will be thrilled—more pussy for him.

  Cory hops out from the front, and follows me. “Wait up,” he says, jogging to catch up.

  When we reach the elevators, we look back. Dex is helping the girls out of the vehicle one-by-one. With a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, he’s sloppy, already drunk. He never lacks for female companionship. By the way he acts, I don’t see the appeal, but I don’t think that’s why they’re hooking up with him anyway.

  Cory looks at me and nods once. “What’s up? What happened back there?”

  The elevator doors open and we step in, pushing the button for our floor. “Over it. Over it all.”

  “The girl from Vegas?”

  “She’s not from Vegas, but yeah, I’ve kind of been thinking about her.”

  When the brass doors reopen, we walk down the hall to our rooms. Cory and I don’t do small talk. We’ve been friends for years, best friends if I think about it.

  “Maybe you should call her,” he suggests as we open our doors.

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Night.”

  “Night,” I mumble and shut the door behind me.

  Chapter One – Holliday Hughes

  “Comfort zones are like women. You have to try a few before you find the one that feels right.” ~ Johnny Outlaw

  That damn lime and coconut song has been playing on a loop in my head, driving me nuts for hours. I make a mental note: Fire Tracy in the morning for subjecting me to that song twenty-thousand times yesterday. She called it inspirational. I call it torture after the first two times.

  Rolling over, I look at the time. 4:36 a.m. I have four hours before I need to be on the road. This may be a business trip, but it will still be good to get away for a few days. I need a break. I’ve been in a bad mood lately. The spa and I have a date I’m really looking forward to. The thought alone relaxes
me. I close my eyes and try to get a few more hours of sleep before I need to leave for Las Vegas.

  I get two tops.

  I tighten my robe at the neck. Just as I open my front door to get the paper, I hear a male voice say, “Hello?”

  Peeking through the crack, I hold the door protectively in front of me just in case I need to close and lock it quickly. “Hi.”

  “I’m your new neighbor. I just moved in last week. I’m Danny.”

  Curious, I slowly stick my head out to get a better look at this Danny. Strands of my sandy blonde hair fall in front of my eyes, so I tuck it behind my ear and get an eyeful. To my surprise, he’s quite handsome and has a big smile. “Oh, um,” I say, dragging my hand down the back of my hair, hoping to tame the wild strands. “Hi. I’m Holli. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  He nods toward the paper on the bottom of the shared Spanish tiled steps that lead to our townhomes. “I’ll get your paper since you’re not dressed.”

  “Thanks.” I watch him. He looks like he just got back from a run or workout—a little sweaty, but not gross, in that sexy kind of way. Or maybe Danny’s just sexy. He’s well built with short, brown hair and when he bends over, I notice his strong legs and arms. Well-defined muscles lead to—Oh my God! Not just my face, but my entire body heats from embarrassment. Hoping he doesn’t say anything about me checking him out, I turn away and start picking at a piece of peeling stucco near my house number. “Um, so are you settled in, liking your place?”

  His chuckling confirms I was busted. But he’s a gentleman, so he acts as if it didn’t happen. “I like the neighborhood. The place is great,” he says. “I like all the space, especially the patio. I’m thinking of having a party to break it in, maybe in a few weeks after I finish unpacking.” He hands me the paper and takes two steps back. “You should stop by.”

  Nodding, I look into his eyes. I think they’re brown, lighter than mine, more honey-colored. His offer is friendly, not a come on, which is good since we’re neighbors now. “Thanks for the invitation.”