Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  Luckily for me, it was right in front of the bagels. I grabbed a poppy seed one and started mowing down on it.

  Unluckily for me, the seat I’d chosen was directly in front of the lone empty seat.

  The door to the conference room opened and the room quieted as George escorted my new fucking boss to the seat directly across from me. He gave me a surprised and sure smile for a minute before giving lesser smiles to everyone else around us.

  I wanted to slide right under the table.

  When a man was deep inside of you for the first time, his face contorted in that sexy mix of pleasure and determination, one could argue that it’s decidedly not the best time to ask important questions, such as:

  Are you single?

  Are you a serial killer?

  And, most significantly in that moment: what did you say you did for a living?

  If only I’d asked that third question, I could have saved myself a lot of awkward.

  Because seated across from me was Ben, who happened to be my new fucking boss.

  Pun not intended on the ‘fucking’ part.

  Like the excellent and professional employee I was, I barely listened to George make his speech about restructuring and eliminating the constant pace we’d maintained with downsizing. All the while, I was fishing stupid poppy seeds out of my teeth and studiously avoiding making eye contact with the man whose face I had practically tried to swallow the night before. Felicia, the ‘subtle one’ of the office, made advance after advance in Ben’s direction, since she was seated directly to his right, but he was deflecting them with an ease I was impressed with.

  Not that I was looking at him. Oh, no. I most certainly was not.

  When George announced private meetings to discuss our positions for the company, with Ben, I choked on my bagel, which had become rock-hard in my mouth, and gagged down some cold coffee, before ducking out of the room entirely and into the hallway.

  Oh, I could tell Ben all about my fucking positions. Literally. But I wouldn’t have to, because he already knew.

  Every swear word I’d ever said or thought or read flew from my mouth as I paced the hall outside the conference room.

  I was going to fucking throw up.

  I was going to die.

  I was going to die with a giant bite of bagel still in my gullet and poppy seeds all over my teeth, in a pile of my vomit.

  I’d barely made it to the bathroom when I heard the meeting disperse and people greeting Ben with limp fish handshakes and half-hearted messages of welcome.

  I waited a full five minutes before exiting the bathroom, hoping to sneak by without that little one-on-one meeting, but I’d barely made it past his door before he was calling me in.

  If there was a God who’d have listened, I would have sent him/her/them every prayer request I’d ever withheld, just to not be alone, with Ben my boss.

  “Hey,” he said casually, like this wasn’t a Big Fucking Deal—proper style like that. “Have a seat.” He closed the door behind me and I sat unceremoniously into the chair across from his wide and empty desk. I wanted the chair to dissolve under my ass, and then under my feet, so I could just fall straight through the floor and not be here.

  “So…” I began, clasping my hands in my lap and rocking back and forth. “You’re my new boss.”

  “Yeah,” he said on a laugh and wrapped his hand behind his neck, rubbing the tension that had to be there away. “I guess this is awkward, right?”

  No, I thought. You dusted off my vagina a mere twelve hours ago and now you’re my boss. Totally normal, bro. “Just a little.”

  “I’m just going to get this out of the way—if I’d known…”

  “I know,” I interrupted, wringing my hands together, wanting to say what he was going to, before he had the chance to. “Last night was a mistake.”

  Silence fell over us, the ticking of the clock and the beating of my heart in my ears the only sounds I heard, until he asked, “Was it though?”

  I lifted my head. “Are you seriously asking?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  He pinned me with those baby blues and I wanted to groan when that stupidly perfect eyebrow rose. It was like he knew what that did to me. I’d thought banging him would get him out of my system, but seeing him, in a suit and in the daylight was blowing a lid off the cap of my libido.

  “This…” I waved between us. “Complicates things.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I don’t think last night was a mistake.” He came around the desk and instinct had me pushing in the chair—thinking it was a wheely one, but instead I just wobbled and nearly fell over. My dignity was still at the bottom of my trash, along with my microwaved nachos. “It means that while we’re in a delicate situation here…” He paused for effect and it worked because I raised my head, so I met his eyes. “We don’t have to pretend that last night never happened.”

  “But don’t we? This makes you unbiased, especially if you’re examining our individual positions in this company.”

  The side of his mouth curled. “Positions…”

  I hated and loved the way that word hissed from his mouth. “See? Oh, shit. You cannot possibly be unbiased.”

  “You’re wearing the leggings you wore last night.” He was eyeing them the same way he had then, like he wanted to remove then with his mouth. I crossed my legs.

  “Oh no.” I laughed. “See? This will never work. Now, you’re my boss and you have to decide if I’m worth keeping around here or not and you can’t very well make a clearheaded decision about that considering the fact that we boned on my couch last night and now you’re looking at my legs like you want to nibble on them.”

  “I do, you’re right.” At my tortured groan, he laughed and stepped even closer to me. “So, whether we continue what happened last night or not—it makes no difference, right? Because it’s already happened, so—in your mind—I’m already biased.”

  I slouched in my seat for a moment, forgetting where I was. “Then what do we do?”

  “We.” He smiled at my use of a plural pronoun. “I simply disclose my inability to be biased when it comes to you, which means that George or someone else will take over in interviewing you for your position.” He said this matter-of-factly, like it was so obvious. “And then we figure out us together.”

  We and us, when the night before the only we I’d known had been me and my chicken pajamas. “And that’s it?”

  “That’s it.” He leaned against the front of his desk, so close that our knees brushed and neither of us pulled back. “I like you. And I’m willing to bet you like me at least a little. You need fun and so do I. So, if you’re up for it, I am too.”

  I chewed on my lip for a moment, studying his stupidly perfect, handsome face. He made it sound so simple. I mean, my job was still on the chopping block if the downsizing continued, but the night before I’d been lamenting about my boring life and now I had a man-sized snack asking me to figure shit out with him.

  “Was it the pajamas that sold you?” I asked.

  “The cocky pajamas? Yeah, pretty much sealed the deal for me.”

  I nodded. “I figured.” What was I waiting for? Chicken pajamas and sad nachos were yesterday. A baby blue convertible and a man named Ben were today. “I guess we owe it to Elizabeth to find out what this is,” I said and was rewarded with that cocksure grin.

  “Like I told you before, I won’t take unless you give.”

  I crossed my legs at my knees, remembering how much he had taken and given the night before. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

  The End

  About the Author

  Whitney Barbetti writes character-driven contemporary and new adult romance novels, heavy on the emotional connection. She lives in Idaho, where potatoes are abundant and delicious.

  http://www.whitneybarbetti.com/

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  * * *

  --- STANDALONES ---

  The Sounds of Secrets

  The Weight of Life

  Hooked

  Ten Below Zero

  --- DUETS ---

  The Mad Love Duet

  - Six Feet Under (Book One)

  - Pieces of Eight (Book Two)

  The Bleeding Hearts Duet

  - Into the Tomorrows (Book One)

  - Back to Yesterday (Book Two)

  The He Found Me Duet

  - He Found Me (Book One)

  - He Saved Me (Book Two)

  A Wicked, Cocky Plan: A Prequel to Wicked Force

  Sawyer Bennett

  Short story prequel to Wicked Force, featuring Kynan McGrath from the Wicked Horse Vegas series. Kynan will be spinning off a new series called Jameson Force Security in March, 2019.

  Copyright © 2018 by Sawyer Bennett

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Kynan

  I normally wouldn't answer my phone while a gorgeous redhead was performing a strip tease for me in my bedroom, but it's Rachel calling, and my second in charge at Jameson Force Security wouldn’t bother me if it weren’t important. Besides, I'm just cocky enough to take on a business call while receiving personal pleasure.

  "This better be good, Hart," I say curtly after connecting. My gaze drifts ever so briefly down to the almost empty glass of scotch in my hand before going back to the woman who is dry humping one of my bedposts to some rock song I don't recognize. She watches me through heavy-lidded eyes, knowing that I'll reward her with spectacular orgasms and the pleasure of my cock.

  "I don't know if ‘good’ is the word," she drawls. "There's a lot of money involved, but you aren’t going to like who it's from."

  "If it's that bloody congressman who hired us to babysit his duffer son, the answer is no." I learned from that job there are some things money can't buy.

  "What the hell is a duffer?" Rachel asks.

  "Someone who's useless," I tell her distractedly as the woman peels off her bra, exposing a pair of gloriously perky tits.

  "You Brits have a funny way of talking," she replies. "Why couldn't you just have said 'useless'?"

  My lips curve up into an amused smile, but she'll never know that. My tone is one of impatience when I tell her, "Just tell me what the job is, and I'll approve or deny it."

  "It's Jocelyn Meyers."

  My blood pressure spikes, and my fingers tighten so hard around my glass, it wouldn't surprise me if it were to shatter. It's difficult not to yell into the phone, but there's no mistaking the force of my words. "Not only no, but hell no. Whatever she needs, the answer is a bloody fucking no."

  "I think you should listen—"

  "I said no," I bark into the phone. "Now, is there anything else we need to discuss that doesn't have to do with Jocelyn Meyers, or can I get back to what I was doing before you tried to ruin my night?"

  "She's in serious trouble," Rachel snaps at me.

  "Don't care," I snarl back.

  "Her life is in danger."

  Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and a slight sweat breaks out on my forehead that has nothing to do with the woman who is currently shimming out of her panties. I give a hard shake of my head, wondering why Jocelyn still has the power to do that to me after all these years. Still, I manage to grit out between my teeth, "Don't. Care."

  "That's what you want me to tell her?" Rachel asks calmly into the phone.

  "I don't give a shit what you tell her as long as the word 'no' is somewhere in your sentence." I push away every bit of concern for Jocelyn that's starting to rear its ugly head. "Refer her over to Miller's agency. They do protection detail just fine."

  There's a long moment of silence as Rachel digests what I'm saying. She's well aware of my enmity toward the world-famous Jocelyn Meyers, and I can't understand why she wants to fight me on this. I let my eyes roam all over the now fully naked woman—who is indeed a natural redhead—and hope she will distract me from this distasteful conversation.

  "Fine," Rachel says with a sigh. I choose to ignore the fact that I'm also strangely unsettled that nothing is actually really resolved. Not for Jocelyn anyway. "I understand and respect your decision. But you can tell her yourself."

  What Rachel says hasn’t quite penetrated before Jocelyn's soft voice comes over the line. "Kynan," she says hesitantly.

  I bolt upright in my chair, my spine stiff and unrelenting as I set my glass onto the table beside me.

  "Kynan," Jocelyn says again, and her voice quavers with emotion. "I could really use your help."

  Fuck.

  I scrub a hand over my face and blink stupidly at the woman as her hand works between her legs and she moans softly.

  My jaw locks hard for a moment as I tell myself to stay strong. "We aren’t taking on celebrity detail anymore. We can refer you to a good agency to better suited for your needs."

  Not the truth, but she doesn't need to know that.

  There is no one better than us.

  Jameson Force Security has expanded greatly since I bought it from Jerico Jameson two years ago in a cool, seven million dollar deal. The first thing I did was change the name from The Jameson Group to Jameson Force Security. I thought it brought a bit of pizazz and made us more marketable to the civilian population who might be in need of protection. While our most lucrative contracts had come from the U.S. government or various foreign allies for special forces work, as my business grew, I took on more mainstream and run-of-the-mill security jobs.

  Like protecting celebrities and installing top-of-the-line security systems for them. It was work that was below my expertise level, but I hired the best of the best to handle this stuff. I personally vet every single member of my company and I'd trust them all with my life.

  "If it's a matter of money—"

  I cut her off. "It isn’t."

  "Please, Kynan," she implores, and I can hear the watery tears in her voice.

  Thankfully, I'm momentarily distracted as the redhead crawls on her hands and knees toward me. Blue eyes flashing with heat and her tits swaying provocatively. I sit silently and with a little bit of satisfaction that this woman before me is exactly what I want and need, and the woman on the other line, probably sitting in her multi million dollar Malibu mansion, is not.

  The woman's hands come to my thighs, slide up, and work at my belt. My cock finally decides to get into the game and thickens at the prospect. I settle back into the chair, lifting my hips briefly so she can reach inside my pants to pull me free.

  I suppress a groan as her hand circles me tight and starts to stroke. I cup her breast, relishing the weight of it before giving her nipple a pinch. Her lush lips peel back into a wicked smile and then her mouth is on me.

  Fuck yeah. That's exactly what I need.

  My hand goes to her hair, fingers gripping tight. I help her bob up and down, starting to get lost in the sensation.

  "He almost killed me last night," Jocelyn says, and for a moment, her words don't register.

  When they do, I pull the redhead off my cock. She looks at me in surprise, but I give her a small shake of my head as I sit straight in my chair again.

  "What?" I manage to rasp out.

  "A stalker," she whispers. "He's been harassing me for a really long time, but he managed to break into my house last night. I couldn't get to my panic room in time."

  The air in my lungs freezes.

  Everything around me seems to freeze for that matter as my ears ring with her revelation.

  "He heard the sirens approaching before he cou
ld . . ." Her words trail off and bile rises in my throat. She takes in a breath and lets it out before finishing softly. "He ran off, and they didn't catch him."

  I clear my throat from the thick emotion that's built up. "Where are you? Is someone with you now?"

  Jocelyn gives a mirthless laugh. "I'm in your office. Over on Clarke Avenue."

  She's here?

  In Vegas?

  "Put Rachel back on the phone," I instruct her, my words clipped and impersonal.

  There's an indistinct murmuring between the women as the phone gets passed. Rachel's voice comes through brisk and professional. "What do you want me to do?"

  I look longingly at the redhead, who has since moved to lounge in a sexy pose on my bed. I want to get lost in that and forget everything else.

  There's no holding back the long sigh of resignation that escapes me. "We're taking the case. Starting now. Bring her to my house."

  "Your house?" Rachel asks with surprise.

  "For safety’s sake, she stays with me until I can figure out who to assign this case to."

  Rachel is silent for a moment and then says in an ultra low voice. "But you aren’t alone."

  "True," I reply as I push up out of the chair, assuming Rachel must have heard the music and moaning. My pants barely cling to the edges of my hips and I've lost my hard-on, a matter that needs to be rectified immediately. I walk around the bed and stare at the beautiful, luscious creature lying there. "But that's none of Jocelyn's concern. We're nothing to each other but business."

  "Gotcha, boss," she says, and I can hear the amusement in her voice. Rachel's known me for years, and we were fuck buddies for a time. She caught me on the tail end of my and Jocelyn's breakup, and I got easily lost between her legs as we traveled the world, seeking adventure and thrills.

  But Rachel and I aren't like that anymore. We became colleagues at Jameson over a decade ago, and it's been purely professional since. After Jerico sold the company to me, Rachel took the spot as my most trusted peer in this business. She's also non judgmental and won't hold it against me if my treatment of Jocelyn is less than civilized.