Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2)

by Kirsty Dallas

  Leah once told me that Decker had erectile issues; it had been a psychological problem brought on by years of meaningless sex. I found myself wondering if I had the opposite problem—maybe my cock was begging for attention because I had been ignoring it? Maybe I needed to get laid. Maybe I could take a pill to make the fucking thing soften. Maybe I just needed to screw Wiska and get her out of my system.

  “Nope, she fucks other men for a living; she is trouble; she’s just like Leah . . .” I sighed, remembering her vibrant glow as she had tried to get closer to the swans—the playfulness in her eyes, the sweet laughter from her lips. “She’s nothing like Leah,” I confessed quietly. I drew a deep breath and gritted my teeth against the sweet smell of her perfume that clung to my shirt after carrying her when she fainted. “Come on, womb whistle. You really need to back the fuck off. I can’t walk around the goddamn hospital with you trying to break out of your package.” I took a few more deep breaths and tried to ignore Wiska’s scent. I tried to think of anything but Wiska, anything to tame the beast in my shorts. I thought of baseball, football, my mom . . . yeah, that did it, my mom, and nanna! “I swear to god, if you do that to me again I will . . .” I glanced down at my groin and laughed. “Who am I kidding? We’re good, buddy. Just try to control yourself next time.” I pushed off the wall and stepped around the corner only to come face to face with Casey, Lionel, and Wiska, all of them staring at me with curious looks on their faces.

  “Who were you talking to?” asked Wiska, glancing around, clearly seeing an empty corridor behind me.

  “I was on the phone,” I spluttered.

  “Sure you were,” said Casey, grinning.

  Wiska snorted and slapped him across the chest with the back of her uninjured hand, and then she gifted me another of her stunning smiles. My cock twitched again, and I panicked.

  “Come on. I’m late for work,” I growled, moving around them.

  I needed to get out of here; I needed space between me and Wiska, like nothing short of a football field. I could still smell her, and damn, she smelled good. Maybe a golf course between us would do the trick. I glanced over my shoulder when she giggled at something Casey said. She was so beautiful when she laughed. Fuck, maybe I’d need to leave the country for a while.

  *

  Two days later, I sat at my desk, drumming away to the beat of “Counting Stars” which played from my phone, straight into my earbuds. I was on the tenth floor of a thirty floor office building owned by the Willie Bianco estate. He had hundreds of other business interests in the UK, many of which ran out of this building. The other offices were leased by other companies, which made sure Willie got the return he needed on this prime piece of real estate in the middle of London. I was holding a sticky note in my fingers.

  Her handwriting was loopy and soft, feminine, just like her. She had drawn a heart around it, and for some reason, probably courtesy of my incessantly ignorant dick, I had grabbed the note off the kitchen counter this morning and stuffed it in my pocket. Now I was mooning over it. Dammit! I scrunched it up and threw it in the trash can at my feet.

  With the music flooding my ears, I obviously didn’t hear the knock at my door, so Davina let herself in. She was my sixth secretary in three years, and I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t keep one. They were easy enough to catch, but I’d be damned if I could figure out how to keep them. The last one, Jackie . . . well, I had screwed that up spectacularly by screwing her. Willie didn’t give a fuck who I fucked or where, but working with a woman you accidentally slept with in a moment of weakness was total insanity, especially when the woman wanted something I couldn’t give her. I wasn’t looking for a commitment, and I felt like pond scum for not making that clearer to Jackie.

  I didn’t normally behave that way with women. I was always up front when I was looking to scratch an itch. But, I’d been pissed off at the monumental failure my relationship with Leah had been, and I’d turned to a very willing secretary.

  I liked women—hell, I fucking loved women—and I loved to show them just how much I love them. But I had rules:

  1. I treated them with respect, even if it was only a one-time tumble between the sheets.

  2. I didn’t do employees, friends, friend’s sisters or relatives, and just recently, I’d added porn stars to the list.

  3. I didn’t sleep over, and I sure as shit didn’t cuddle.

  4. I made sure women knew what they were getting into before I got into them. It was always casual, no strings attached, mind blowing sex.

  Jackie had hoped for more, and for that I paid dearly; I lost a great secretary and was still sorting through some very angry hate mail with some very explicit plans for my genitals.

  I glanced at another sticky note sitting on my desk. It was far from hate mail and was one I had saved from yesterday.

  She had done my laundry! While I had been rudely ignoring her in an attempt to battle the raging lust burning under my skin, she had been nothing but completely sweet. SHE DID MY FUCKING LAUNDRY! Her tiny hands had been on my underwear. I groaned and glanced up as Davina paused in front of my desk, one hand on her hip, a wad of files in her other.

  She was stunning, and I was appalled that I had hired someone so fucking stunning. I was not going to break my rules again, but as Davina stood there in a tight grey skirt, which hugged her ass in a way that made my fingers twitch, and a sleeveless white silk top, which gave an impressive view of her cleavage. I really wanted to slap myself for tempting fate on rule number two. I should have specified to the employment agency that my secretary needed to be over fifty. Over fifty, married, kids . . . fuck, even grandkids. That would be a safe secretary. Davina was not safe!

  I scrunched up the second sticky note from Wiska and threw it in the bin as well, then pulled a bud from my ear and stared at Davina. Finally, she rolled her eyes and threw the files on my desk. Her eye roll wasn’t anywhere near as endearing as Wiska’s. ‘Endearing’, now that was a little less gay than cute and adorable.

  “That’s the last of the Xavier merger you were curious about,” she purred in that British accent that got under my balls and tickled them.

  “Cool, thanks,” I murmured, sticking the earbud back in place. I purposefully ignored Davina, and my gaze sought out the computer screen in front of me.

  I had just started playing The Walking Dead, and I was already stuck. I hated gaming, but I was waiting for reports to be emailed from the US, which meant I didn’t have shit to do until they arrived. And I was hiding. At home, all that greeted me was an eccentric gay man, his way too serious lover, and a porn star. A gorgeous, blue eyed, blond haired porn star that could break down fucking walls and destroy my rules with nothing more than a smile.

  A gentle warmth at my side caused me to jump, and when Davina lowered her fine ass to my desk, her silk covered thighs pressed against my arm. I pulled both buds from my ears and gave her my best ‘boss man’ stare. She smiled, her cherry red lips curving into a grin that would give the most hardened warriors goosebumps. Leaning to peer down at my computer screen, her blouse slipped forward and her spectacular lace covered tits were placed right in my face. I looked—I’m a dude, and that’s what we do. If I guy tells you he doesn’t sneak a peek at the abundant cleavage of a woman’s breasts when she leans forward, he must be gay.

  “So, Emerson,” Davina purred. “What do you have planned for your Friday night?”

  I raised a brow and just stared. I stared long enough that she began to shift nervously, and I almost smiled. “Just the usual, I’ll be heading out to the Lovely Lounge for a few drinks.”

  The Lovely Lounge was one of London’s most renowned strip clubs. They were exclusive, their women were spectacular—the best money could buy—their clientele was refined, and the drinks were expensive. The Lovely Lounge was respectable and sophisticated, yet they still sported private booths at the back of the establishment for the superb blow jobs the angelic staff graced upon us mere mortals if we so wished, and we gladly
paid the hefty price tag that went with those mind blowing BJs.

  “Why don’t you take me out to dinner? I promise your night will be a thousand times better, and maybe a little bit cheaper than a night at the Lovely Lounge.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “That’s a very bold claim,” I murmured. “You place yourself on a very high shelf, Davina.”

  She smiled and picked up one long leg, sitting her heeled foot on the corner of my chair. I only had to lean to my right an inch and I’d get a great view of her juicebox. I almost snorted as I recalled the childish name Decker and I had given a woman’s vay-jay in our pre-teens. We were no longer pre-teens, though, and I could stand up and take her on my desk right now if I wished. I kinda wished—I did need to get laid—but I wouldn’t. Rules, damn, fucking, rules!

  “And I can back that claim up. Take me to dinner, Emerson.”

  She was so sure of herself she didn’t bother to ask, she simply thought to command me. There was no doubt if I took her out the night would be spectacular. She was stunning—with her long, dark hair, olive skin, and dark chocolate, almond shaped eyes, she was as lovely as the highly paid ladies at the Lovely Lounge—she was offering me everything, and it would definitely be cheaper than a night at the strip club. I found myself wishing her hair were lighter, her skin paler, her long, svelte body more petite, though.

  “Davina, the last secretary I took to dinner is still sending me emails threatening to shove my cock in a hole I use as an exit only. While I have no doubt we would have a great time, I really need a secretary.”

  I put the earbuds back in my ears and turned my chair, causing Davina’s foot to slip from the corner of it, which in turned forced her to suddenly stand from my desk. From the corner of my eye, I watched as she stood there, completely perplexed by the fact I had turned her down. Her cheeks were flushed, but I don’t think it was with embarrassment—she was pissed. The moment she stormed out of my office slamming the door in her wake, I breathed a sigh of relief. I needed to get out of here, and I needed to get laid, pronto. A safe lay, with a safe woman who was exempt from the rules.

  It had been too long and images of Wiska were constantly filling my mind, causing the never-ending erection from hell. I had beaten off so many times in the last two days I was beginning to feel like the dirty fucking pervert I was behaving like. Shutting down my computer, I grabbed my phone from the desk and left the building.

  “Did you have a good day, Sir?” Floyd asked as I stepped into the elevator. I grunted noncommittally. “Your guests have been busy today. Miss Wiska was fitted with her new cast; it’s very bright,” he continued with a smile.

  “If Casey and Lionel had anything to do with it, it will be bright pink.”

  “Hmmm,” Floyd said with a small smile. “She seemed a little down in the dumps on her arrival back. I hope she is well.”

  I turned to ask Floyd what he meant, but we had already reached my floor and the doors slid open. That wouldn’t have stopped me from continuing to talk, but the hands that suddenly dragged me out of the elevator certainly did.

  “Have a good evening, Sir.”

  The elevator doors closed, and the sight that stood in front of me brought my world to a sharp, grinding halt.

  “What the fuck are you wearing?” I snapped, my eyes taking in Casey from head to toe and back again.

  He shoved a bag into my arms. “No time to talk. Get dressed.”

  I glanced down at my suit, to the bag in my arms, and then back to him. Bewilderment had turned me into a speechless mute. “Why are you dressed like that?” I finally asked.

  He was in a costume, and if my memory served me correct, I believe he was dressed as He-Man. With a blond bob wig, skin colored muscle suit with a silver sash that crossed at the chest and met at a red cross like symbol in the middle. Around his hips, he wore a fir loin cloth, and I silently prayed he wore underwear beneath it. God, I hope his junk was tucked away. His feet were covered in matching fur boots, and a plastic sword was strapped to his back.

  “Wiska isn’t doing so good, and it’s Fancy Dress Friday. I took the liberty of getting you a costume, so quick, put it on before we go inside.”

  I shook my head as I tried to decipher the foreign language he was speaking. “What is Fancy Dress Friday, and what’s wrong with Wiska?”

  “Dammit, Bradley! You ask too many questions. Wiska is having a pity party; she’s homesick, her wrist hurts, and after everything that’s happened over the last two months, her pride has taken a massive hit. Back in the US, Wiska and her friends, that would be us and a few of the Ryder Harder team . . . oh, and sometimes Andi and Decker, would get together for drinks on a Friday night, and we’d always dress up. It was a hoot, and Lionel and I thought it might help cheer her up, so . . .” he snapped his fingers in front of my face, “make like a dump truck and haul ass.”

  “I’m going out. I have plans.”

  Casey gave me an exasperated sigh. “Bradley, Wiska is really struggling. She is always the happiest person in the room, she is loving, kind, generous, everyone adores her, and the only reason she is in her current predicament is because she trusted her heart to a flea infested bunghole!” His use of the word bunghole made me want to smile.

  “Everyone, at one time or another, has trusted their heart with someone who drove them crazy. That’s life, Casey. Maybe Wiska just needs a good night’s sleep and some Tylenol.” I tried to hand him back the bag of clothes, but I was ruthlessly forced against the wall, pinned there by the formidable homosexual mass that was Casey, dressed as He-Man.

  “Listen here, Bradley. This crazy was the bad kind of crazy, the kind that takes a beautiful girl’s trust, spits on it, shits on it, passes it around for the entire world to shit on it, then sits back and watches with big, puppy dog eyes that echo Bart Simpson’s wise and unforgotten words: ‘I didn’t do it.’ Wiska’s kind of crazy should have his genitals deep fried; instead, he’s celebrating with his wife and children in the Maldives, while Wiska hides out here in your sorry-ass excuse of a home. She’s homesick, she misses her apartment, she misses her friends, and she misses her parents who haven’t spoken to her since it all happened. Now, put the damn costume on, or I will use my sword.”

  I wasn’t used to violence; I may have worked for a violent man in a violent organization, but I was a pencil pusher. Casey’s sudden use of strength caught me by surprise, but his words made that show of dominance slip right from my mind.

  “What the fuck did he do to her?” I growled.

  “Ask Wiska. She’s embarrassed about it, but she would tell you if you asked . . . nicely. Now,” Casey backed away, “sorry about that. I went all He-Man on your ass.” He giggled. “Well, not on your ass, but, you know. Come on, Bradley, pretty please, with sexy, sparkly vampires on top, play Fancy Dress Friday with us . . . for Wiska?”

  I sighed and glanced down at the bag. “Please tell me this isn’t a Battle Cat costume.”

  Casey clapped his hands together with glee. “Not even close. Now hurry up before the ninety-year-old bat who lives across the hall pokes her head out the door to see what all the noise is about. With her Coke-bottle glasses, I doubt she’d see much, but I bet you a hand job she’d shuffle on out here and try to cop a feel.”

  I scrunched my nose at Casey’s description of Lady Becket, who lived across the hall, but didn’t discount it. She was old as dirt, but I had already been on the receiving end of her wandering hands once. Twice was way too disturbing to even consider.

  CHAPTER 6

  Wiska

  With my left hand, I unsteadily poured myself a glass of grape juice and watched Lionel set up cheese and crackers on the large, square coffee table in front of my sofa bed. My arm already itched beneath the rainbow cast I now wore. It was pretty, so, so pretty, but looking at it made me sad. This wouldn’t have happened if I had been at home; there were no swans in the vicinity of my apartment, and my stupid arm would be in one piece. If I hadn’t been stupid enough to date Kasper
, I’d be home, my family would be talking to me, and my mom would be baking me brownies because I couldn’t get through a week without them. Much to my dismay, I had been through eight weeks without them, and I missed them so much. I forced away the tears that threatened to fall and took a sip of juice while I watched Lionel prepare the game we had purchased earlier in the day. Loaded Questions, surely there was little room for Lionel to go all board game Nazi on us with that one. Lionel loved board games and became a little overzealous whenever we played. I refused to play Scattegories with him ever again; the man was all-out brutal.

  Casey had disappeared while I was dressing, and I could only assume he was adding the finishing touches to his He-Man costume. Lionel was wearing a grey flight suit, which sported badges on its shoulders, and a pair of aviator sunglasses. According to Lionel, he was Iceman from Top Gun. He refused to be Tom Cruise because, as far as Lionel was concerned, the man needed a good dose of Ritalin.

  I stepped back and checked my reflection in the dark glass of the oven sitting in the wall before me. Dressed as Wonder Woman, I had on tight, blue lycra shorts with silver stars on them that stopped an inch below my Bermuda Triangle. They were short, but hey, I was freaking Wonder Woman. The top was a strapless number that dropped like an upside down triangle to my navel, the lower half gold, the fabric over my breasts red. I had red knee high boots, a pretty gold head band that pulled my blonde hair away from my face, and silver wrist cuffs, one still sitting on my bed because it didn’t fit over the cast. It was a fantastic costume, I looked good, but my heart just wasn’t in it. I wanted to climb back into my jammies and sulk.

  The front door burst open, and Casey sauntered through with a smug look on his face. Where the hell had he gone dressed like that? When Bradley followed in after him with a sullen look on his face, my mood rocketed from miserable to ecstatic in a heartbeat. Holy Spartan hotness, Wonder Woman. My blue lace thong wanted to melt right off my body.