Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  “Yes. I like being your prey.”

  Lust washed through him, and he quickened his movements. He shrugged out of his shirt before drifting his hands down to his fly.

  “Let me.” She sat up, pushing him back as she did so. Her hot mouth fastened on one of his nipples before she ripped his fly open, sending shivers of anticipation through him. Her lips slid down his stomach, and her teeth nipped his fevered flesh.

  He groaned and closed his eyes as his pants were pulled down. His boxers followed a moment later, released his hard length.

  “Hmm,” she said in appreciation. “This will be a treat.”

  A hot mouth took in his girth before a hard shove forced him off balance. He fell to the ground, stopping himself from rolling and rising, a natural response to aggression. He was rewarded for his self-control.

  She pulled his pants off of his legs before running her palms up his inner thighs. Her breasts slid against his skin as she got into position. Her pink tongue flicked across his tip before swirling around it. Her lips widened before she looked up at him, her blue eyes dancing wickedly. He watched his cock disappear into her greedy mouth, all the way until his blunt head bumped the back of her throat. Her chin hit his balls and his eyes rolled with the suction.

  He put a hand to the back of her head, feeling her rise off of him, before plunging down a second time. Without thinking, he fisted his hand, clutching her hair.

  “Hmm,” she said, resisting his direction just enough to make him push harder. “Mmm,” she moaned again.

  A predator could sense the demands of the prey. Could feel what it would take to overcome, with fear, with pain, or with pleasure.

  He was the ultimate predator.

  He yanked her up by her hair, dragging her head off of him. Without warning, he sat up and grabbed her shoulders before throwing her. The springs screamed in protest as she hit the bed. The wood of the frame cracked under the duress.

  He ripped off his unbuttoned shirt, nude now, like her. Her gaze raked down his body, appreciation in her eyes. She needed a different kind of pounding, one she would strain toward, and not away from.

  He pushed one of her muscular thighs up before bending between her spread legs. He licked up her center before circling her clit. She gasped, her body stiffening. He sucked in that small nub, working his tongue around it while threading his fingers into her wetness.

  “Mmm,” she said, gyrating up toward his mouth.

  He started a fast pace, working her with his mouth and fingers. Making her writhe and moan with pleasure. Her muscles flared as he worked her higher, keeping her straining for more.

  “Yes,” she said, arching back. “Mmm yes…”

  He pulled off of her, keeping his fingers thrusting into her, and sank his fangs into her exposed thigh.

  “Oh!” He pumped in as much serum as he could, flooding her body to offset the pain. To heighten the pleasure. “Oh fuck. Holy…fuck. Oh fuck!”

  She stiffened, shaking under him. Her nails dug into his shoulders, ripping skin.

  He sucked in a few mouthfuls of her blood, feeling the magic pulse through his veins. Feeling his energy ramp up. One drop of her blood was worth a swallow of a humans. She was intensely powerful and deliciously mighty. He’d gladly take Darius’s punishment for this experience.

  Slowing now, letting her soak up the moment, he kissed up her skin and sucked in a nipple, twirling it in his mouth languidly. He switched to the other, hearing her breathing increase again. Her chest rise and fall with mounting desire.

  He continued up, settling his weight over her. Her greedy mouth met him and her arms curled around his neck, the fight gone, pure pleasure taking over.

  “You’ve won, vampire,” she said languidly. “Claim your prize.”

  He smiled against her lips. “Your wish is my command.” He gave her a teasing kiss before pulling back his hips, dragging his tip against her wetness. It snagged on her opening and he stopped before applying pressure, pushing against her.

  Her breath caught and held.

  He pulled back a little and let his tip slide by, disappointing her. Increasing the anticipation.

  A shaky laugh disturbed the silence. “You play women like a violin.”

  “Yes.”

  “I like it.”

  He took her lips again, plunging in his tongue. Her blood called to him, but he couldn’t take too much at one time. It would decrease the time she would last, and he wanted her for as long as he could have her.

  His tip slid along her again, her wetness dizzying his mind. Desire clouding his thoughts. Like her magic. Like her.

  Her palms roamed his back and she moaned into his mouth. His tip snagged, and this time he trust, hard. His shaft dug into her tight depths until he was fully sheathed, hugged by her warmth.

  “Fuuuck.” The word road her long sigh. “Mmm yes,” she said.

  He let his lips skim her chin while he pulled out and then thrust, keeping his movement coarse. Firm and rough. Her eyes fluttered and her legs tightened around him.

  “Bite me again,” she begged, her voice wispy. “Please.”

  He trailed his fangs across the hollow of her neck before increasing the pressure when he reached that throbbing vein. Her breath caught again, and like before, held.

  He wouldn’t disappoint her this time.

  He pulled back his hips before ramming into her as he bit down on her fragile skin. His fangs tore through and blood once again rolled over his tongue.

  He sucked and thrust, over and over. Keeping a fast, hard pace. She groaned before her volume increased. Her nails scratched down his back. He rammed into her, releasing the vampire serum. Pumping into her body.

  “Yes. Oh yes. Oh yes,” she said, loudly. Out of control.

  He lost himself to the blood. To her body. To the moment.

  Pleasure washed through him. Around him. Her essence invigorated him, made him strive harder. Pump faster.

  He hit a plain and released her neck, thrusting low over her. Rubbing her budded nipples with his hard chest. Her words were nothing more than sounds now, wild. Animalistic.

  He kissed her, sucking in her tongue and letting her taste the sweetness of her blood, which sent her to new heights in their passion. They hit the edge of the cliff, stalling.

  He slammed into her body.

  “Oh!” She screamed with release, her body shaking.

  He succumbed a moment later, feeling an orgasm tighten his balls and explode through him. It filled up every inch, out through his limbs and heating his middle. He shook over her, sweaty and satisfied.

  “Wow,” she said as they came down, hugging him close. “That was…”

  He let silence linger for a moment, letting the final stages of the orgaism tingle his body. A moment later he said, “That was…just getting started.”

  He chuckled darkly, giving her another moment to relish in the euphoria, before starting again.

  Five

  Moss opened his eyes as soft murmurs drifted through the closed door. He lay on his back in the king sized bed, the sheets twisted around his body, and the space next to him empty.

  He let his head fall to the side, looking at the empty pillow where the druid—she’d never given her name—had slept. Her scent still clung to the sheets, and to his body. Sitting up, he saw that her clothes and weapons were gone from the floor. She’d banged him, then taken off.

  He couldn’t help a smile. He would expect it of a woman like that. She was wild. Not one to be tamed. Not one to stick around after she’d gotten what she wanted. He respected her more for it. She’d been a damn good lay. Exactly what he’d needed after the night he’d had. A night she had created.

  At least now he wouldn’t have to kill her. Darius wouldn’t ask him to hunt her down. The situation had worked itself out, in a way. He’d take the punishment without a problem.

  He pulled the sheets from around his legs before swinging them over the edge of the bed. The murmuring outside rose and fell,
a conversation going on between more than one person. He knew better than to think the druid was out there making nice with Marie. So then, who was?

  He checked the closets, but didn’t find any satisfactory clothing. No one had kept up with stocking those types of things for the vampires passing through. He’d have to rectify that situation.

  After stepping into his pants and securing them around his waist, he made his way out of the room, leaving his shirt on the floor. Wearing soiled clothes didn’t interest him. He would’ve gone nude if he didn’t think Marie would take that as an invitation.

  At the edge of the hallway, he caught a glimpse of who awaited him in the kitchen.

  He froze. Then started to backpedal. He hadn’t expected the absolute worst case scenario. He was on a nice little high from the day before with the druid, he didn’t need that tarnished.

  “Well, well, well,” the she-devil said, pushing back from the table.

  Reagan Somerset. The bane of his existence, and the absolute best asset Darius had in his arsenal.

  “I never thought I’d see you doing the walk of shame.” She gave him a shit-eating grin as Darius stepped into view. “Not even a shirt. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like you have glitter all over you or anything but, I mean, you have sex hair, Moss. Sex hair and dirty jeans. Who are you right now?”

  “Is there a reason you’re here?” Moss asked her, forcing himself to continue forward. He hadn’t even put on shoes. She’d never forget this. She’d taunt him about it for the rest of eternity.

  She clasped her hands in her lap demurely, but her delighted smile said she wasn’t even close to being done. “You got used and abused. She hit it and quit it. Loved ya, and left ya. That’s gotta sting.”

  Moss paused next to the wall at the edge of the kitchen. Marie stood by the counter, presentable in front of their boss. She’d brought a change of clothes.

  “I couldn’t dispose of her like you’d asked,” Moss said to Darius. “At the Turning site, I was too weak. She kept me from an eternal death. Then back here…” He let his voice trail away. He didn’t have an excuse, and so he wouldn’t bother making one up.

  “You saved the key target,” Darius said, thankfully ignoring his bond mate and her taunting. Trying to quiet her would just make her more violent, and Moss wasn’t in the mood. “And you entertained one of Cahal’s favorite people.”

  Cahal was the very old warrior druid that had helped them take down the Mages’ Guild. While the woman he’d…entertained had been incredibly skilled and excellent under pressure, Cahal was in a league of his own. He was the best their was, and his help had been invaluable.

  “Had any harm come to Abarrane, he would’ve attempted to kill us all,” Darius went on. “Even knowing he’d likely die trying, he would set out to avenge her.”

  “Let’s hope he’s not jealous, eh Moss?” Reagan flapped her eyebrows at him. “You’ll have your hands full. Stiffed by the girl, beat up by the guy… A real shitty situation, that.”

  Moss wasn’t sure what he’d done in a past life to deserve this woman hanging around, but whatever it was, he was sorry for it.

  “As it stands,” Darius went on, “Cahal feels he owes us, since she unraveled my plans in order to get her mark. I can only be thankful her mark was different than my target.”

  “I’m going to be honest, what she did was genius.” Reagan leaned against the table. “She just pitted one magical species against the other and sat back. She’s good at her trade.”

  “She is lucky she has the protection of Cahal,” Darius said, his voice flat. The small hairs rose along Moss’s body. She was very lucky. People didn’t get in Darius’s way if they hoped to live.

  “She didn’t just save the damsel—I mean, Moss—because she wanted to bang him.” Reagan rose from her chair and went to the fridge. “She probably knew that saving him would alleviate some of your anger, Darius. Everyone you lost was replaceable. You know it, and she likely knew it. She warned Moss not to go into that house. He did anyway. She followed him when he got out. Then stepped in when things were dire. She would’ve played this whole situation easily if it hadn’t been for protecting your right-hand-man.” Reagan nodded and took out a water. “She knew the score, and she put herself on the line to protect your asset.” She eyed Darius. “Her allegiance is to you over the shifters. And we get Cahal for sure, now. We’re in a good spot. This worked out well.”

  A slow smile drifted up Darius’s face as he looked on his bond-mate. “I’ll teach you strategy yet.”

  Reagan rolled her eyes. “Ew. No thanks. You do the thinking, and I’ll do the killing.”

  “There’s no point in teaching a blunt instrument how to think,” Moss murmured.

  Her face turned slowly and she laughed. “Sticks and stones, Moss. Stick and stones.”

  Moss shook his head and turned back for the bedroom to retrieve his clothes, his mind drifting back to the druid. He wondered if he’d ever get a second chance with her, and if he did, if he’d want her to stay.

  About the Author

  KF Breene is a USA Today Bestselling author of paranormal romance, urban fantasy, and fantasy novels with over two million books sold.

  www.kfbreene.com

  Facebook

  Also by K.F. Breene

  DDVN World:

  * * *

  Fire and Ice Series

  Born in Fire

  Raised in Fire

  Fused in Fire

  * * *

  Magical Mayhem Series

  Natural Witch

  Natural Mage

  Natural Dual-Mage

  Don’t Get Cocky

  Ruth Clampett

  The artists at the Sketch Republic animation studio are in an uproar thanks to their noble leader wanting to do a series featuring a politically incorrect rooster character named, Sir Cocky Doodle Doo. Love struck Nathan and his dream girl Brooke (from Animate Me) hatch a plan to sabotage the Cocky show, and all the artists get behind them in an uprising of animated proportions.

  Don’t Get Cocky © 2018 by Ruth Clampett

  * * *

  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.

  Don’t Get Cocky

  This story features Nathan and Brooke from Animate Me, and takes place around a third into the original story, where they have become close friends … with additional benefits. Meanwhile Sketch Republic is in an uproar thanks to their noble leader wanting to do a series featuring a politically incorrect rooster character named, Sir Cocky Doodle Doo.

  In all of my years in the animation world, I've never seen anything like it. Arnauld, the ever-annoying head of our animation company, Sketch Republic, has called for a “very special story meeting,” and hasn’t just called forth the writers and directors from each team, but instead a strange mish-mash of people throughout our company’s staff. It’s as if Arnauld had his assistant randomly pick twenty names out of a hat for this momentous occasion.

  Sure, two of the team’s directors and a few of their writers are sitting around the large conference table or the chairs scattered along the meeting room wall, but there are also animation in-betweeners, digital colorists and even Chester, the IT guy attending—all people who have nothing to do with story development.

  Dani, a background illustrator on my team, catches my attention from across the table and gives me a dramatic eye roll after scanning the room, and I shrug back. Who knows what that twat Arnauld (or as I like to call him, Arnold) is up to? He has no idea of our production process, so if he’s deciding to get involved now, he has a long way to go before any of us take him seriously. I’m pretty sure I never will.

  A few moments later the double door swings open and Arnold, President of Sketch Republic, steps gallantly i
nside with two people right behind him. I half expect to hear an orchestral fanfare playing to match this flamboyant entrance. I’m distracted for another long moment observing my coworker's startled looks just to see this man in one of our story meetings, but then someone catches my eye and a warmth sizzles through me like a sparkler on a dark night. It’s my dream girl, Brooke, and she flashes me a smile as soon as our gazes connect. Knowing that Brooke is head of Development under Arnold, I was hoping she would be here, and now knowing that she is makes all of this pomp and circumstance tolerable.

  The atmosphere of team story meetings at Sketch Republic is usually boisterous; with rude character drawings eventually covering the dry erase boards, sporadic games of desktop football, and random offerings of Red Vines and Pringles being passed around. But as management comes in and claims their seats it’s as quiet and composed as a church service.

  Our noble leader, ‘Arnauld,’ who we privately refer to as Arnold Lord-King of BooFoo or Mojo Jojo, is rambling on that this next season is especially competitive with Netflix and Amazon getting in the cartoon market and how we have to up our game. So he’s here today to make sure we are at our creative best.

  Do we resent him implying that we are lacking creatively and that somehow he’s going to inspire us to do better? Oh, King Boo-Foo, you have no idea. I can imagine the cartoony slingshots aimed at the buffoon, and huge anvils about to drop over his head, being conjured by the creatives in the room. The reality is that it actually feels like a soggy towel has just been thrown over us and the most productive thing he could do for this meeting is to return to his office as soon as possible.