Player in a Suit (Cockiest Suits Book 3)

by Alex Wolf

  I work out three days a week and take a pole dancing class at a local studio. I work hard to maintain my body and to earn paper.

  What I really want is to open my own boutique someday, selling my own jewelry and costumes. It’s a pipe dream but it’s pretty much all I’ve got.

  I’m not naïve enough to think I can strip forever.

  By the time I’m ready, Ben is parking in the private underground garage of the building.

  We all get out and he punches in the security code for the private elevator. As I step inside he whistles, thoroughly checking me out. Maybe I’ll give him a private dance one day.

  When the elevator doors open, a grin spreads across my face. Judging by the penthouse we’re walking into, I’m about to get paid. The entryway is nicer than my apartment.

  Brodie

  I stand at the open bar. It’s my brother and his client, Pike’s, joint bachelor party. I still can’t believe my older brother is getting married. He was a sworn bachelor until he met his fiancée, Brooke, whom I suspect he’s on the phone with now. I saw him sneak off a few minutes ago.

  I’m happy for him, but I’m here for the booze and strippers. The strippers are my treat. I hired a few girls from the club of one of my clients. He’s a friend from college. Rod was always a dick, but he pays me to handle his business, not care about his lacking personality.

  I hear a few cheers as some busty blonde steps into the middle of the living room wearing a smile and the skimpiest police uniform I’ve ever seen. It fits her like a second skin and compliments her golden hair and deep tan. The boy shorts she’s wearing show off her curves and an ass that screams for me to spank it.

  “Sorry to bust up the party, boys, but we’ve had several loud-noise complaints.” She taps the fake club against the palm of her hand. I step closer to the center of the room—where all the action is—closer to her. “You’ve got the right to remain silent but I kinda wanna hear you beg.”

  Her pearly whites graze her bottom lip and my cock stirs, jumping to life at thoughts of her doing just that—trying to make me beg.

  Fuck, she’s sassy and gorgeous. Her long legs look like they could wrap around me three or four times.

  The redhead standing next to her isn’t so bad either. I’ve got to hand it to Rod, he knows how to pick them. I regret not accepting his invitation to visit the club and receive the preferential treatment. He has a ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ policy when it comes to the girls taking money under the table for more than a lap dance.

  “Where’s Mr. Hunter?” She stares around the room.

  I know she means my brother, but I can’t stop myself from stepping forward and saying, “That’d be me, sweetheart.”

  “I’ve got it under strict authority to take you upstairs for interrogation.”

  “You gonna cuff me too?” I wink and hold out my wrists.

  “That depends on how bad you’ve been.” Her hips sway as she steps toward me and smacks my ass with her club. The redhead joins her, each of them taking an arm. I grab a bottle of liquor as I lead them to the stairs as hoots and whistles sound in the room below. Glancing over the balcony I see Pike sitting in a chair straddled by a woman with a whip.

  My brother stares up at me, shaking his head, and I shrug before taking the girls into one of the guestrooms for a little fun.

  We share the bottle of liquor, passing it back and forth between the three of us. It’s strong. I already feel buzzed.

  “Sit down.” The busty blonde pokes me in the chest with her black baton.

  I sink down on the edge of the bed as her friend slinks across, coming up behind me. She pulls my jacket off. Her fingers go to my tie, loosening it. “Are you a stuck-up suit?” Her soft voice whispers in my ear. “Or are you a bad boy who needs punished?”

  I start to answer when the blonde cuts me off. Her long red nails grab my mouth. “No more talking.” She pulls a phone from her back pocket and turns on some music.

  Her girlfriend rubs her hands over my chest and breathes heavily in my ear. Blondie’s got her back to me and her hips start to move, nearly hypnotizing me. Chick has an ass from heaven.

  She moves closer and closer to my lap, and I want to pull her down on me. Her ass is so damn tempting. I’d like to sink balls-deep inside her.

  Before I can act she turns around to face me.

  Her full red lips lift into a sexy smirk as she continues to dance. Her fingers tease at the cleavage of her top, promising to reveal more skin. I can’t wait to see what she’s hiding under her skimpy uniform.

  Sensual and seductive, her dance continues.

  Damn, I love the way she moves.

  Her body grooves in time with the beat of the music. My eyes follow every thrust of her hips as her tits bounce in my face.

  Spinning around she grinds her ass over my crotch, and I can’t help but smack it. Tossing me a cheeky grin over her shoulder she drops down, grinding her firm cheeks over my growing cock. Up and down and side to side—she’s driving me wild.

  The attractive redhead works on unbuttoning my shirt, wasting no time getting down and dirty. Just how I like it.

  “Do you have any party favors?” Her tongue traces the shell of my ear.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. Try downstairs.” Cocaine has never been my thing. I prefer alcohol or a fat joint on special occasions.

  “Bummer.” She pouts and leaves the room.

  Blondie shrugs and begins her strip tease.

  The more skin she reveals the harder I get.

  Her soft fingers brush along my arm, igniting a fire in me that has my cock ready to burst from the seams of my pants.

  I’m going out of my mind, I want her so bad.

  I need to taste those tempting lips.

  There’s nothing stopping me but the small voice in the back of my head telling me I don’t know this chick. But as she grinds down I find I’m unable to resist. I’m a fucking man after all.

  April

  The man I’m giving a private dance is hot as fuck in that tortured, cocky asshole kind of way. Medium brown hair that has that tousled look. Deep green eyes and a smile as sweet as apple pie yet deviously evil. I’ve danced for some attractive men before, but this one, I wouldn’t mind taking home. Too bad this is a bachelor party, and he’s the groom. I’d do him in a New York minute.

  Watching him get worked up is such a turn on. His hands keep finding excuses to touch my nearly naked body. I’m down to my thong and his mouth is extremely close to my breasts.

  With every stroke of his heated fingers on my hips, he brings me closer to his erection. I’m straddling his lap, practically dry-humping him. To say my pussy is wet would be an understatement. I’ve never been so turned on by a client. Maybe it’s drinking the liquor he offered me too fast. Maybe it has gone straight to my pussy because I seem to be like a man thinking only with his dick.

  A lot of the men we dance for are usually older. This guy seems to be early thirties. Probably three of four years older than me.

  The tip of his cock rubs against my pussy and dear lord he’s thick.

  His mouth caps over my nipple and what little self-control I’d preserved goes sailing through the air like a deflated balloon. Flicking his tongue over the heated skin, he’s relentless in his pursuit.

  Breathless, I meet his hungry gaze and all thoughts of this being wrong leave me.

  We’re two consenting adults. What’s one night in the grand scheme of things?

  “Fuck, you’re hot.” He growls the words before paying attention to my other breast.

  My fingers comb through his soft hair. “Not so bad yourself.”

  His fingers make work of the strings on my bottoms.

  With two swift movements he tosses them to the floor. My bare pussy grinds up against him.

  His thumb rubs over my clit, and I throw my head back, loving the sensation. I’ve always been a wild one, but this is new for even me—making out with a client.

  I’ve always played it
safe. I never get involved with men from the club. I’ve had several older men offer to be my sugar daddy, but that isn’t me.

  Running my fingers over his chest, I explore the contours of his muscles. He’s ripped and defined in that lean kind of way.

  “This is happening.” He claims my mouth.

  Our tongues meet in a burst of passion filled with pure carnal lust. He deepens the kiss as he maneuvers us farther up on the bed.

  My hands seem to move of their own accord to rid him of his shirt and undo his zipper, freeing his hard cock. I’ve never thought dicks were fun to look at but his, it’s fucking gorgeous. I lick my lips wanting nothing more than to taste him. I’m eager to see if I can take all of him.

  He smacks my ass harder than expected. “Fuck.” His fingers dig into me as he groans into my mouth. His fingers fill me to the brim.

  My pussy greedily clenches wishing it were his fat cock in me instead.

  “God, take what you want.” I gasp the words, needing him to fill me. Whether it be my mouth or my pussy, I want him.

  A guttural fuck rips from his throat. He leans his forehead against mine, never stopping his fingers that now piston in and out of my tight center.

  I’m panting into his mouth as he continues to work my body.

  Gripping his shaft, I jerk and rub my fingers up and down, never missing a beat.

  We’re nothing but a flurry of fingers and mouths as we taste and tease one another. My skin is fevered with pure desire. This man is driving me crazy with lust.

  I moan into his mouth again as his tongue seeks out mine, reuniting as if they’re old friends. Sweeping in sync against one another in perfect harmony. God I’m so hot for him.

  I angle myself so that I can take him in my mouth. His cock is so thick and long, I can hardly wrap my lips around it. His free hand fists my hair pushing my head down until he hits the back of my throat. He’s so commanding and controlling, and something in me surrenders to it. It’s not something I’m used to. Tears spring from the corners of my eyes but I fight through the burn of my lips stretching to take him in all the way.

  I can hardly breathe as I work his cock with my tongue and lips, bringing him pleasure as he growls and thrusts his hips up to fuck my mouth. Precum beads at the head of his cock and I savor the taste as it spurts onto my tongue. It’s a salty, earthy taste that I can’t describe except to say I like it.

  Pulling my head back, he slips from my mouth. “I’m not ready to come yet, sweetheart. Not until I’ve been balls-deep in that cunt.”

  His dirty talk would be a turn off coming from anyone else, but this guy just has this sexiness and confidence that has me completely captivated.

  “Aren’t you getting married?”

  “That’s my brother.”

  I pant as his fingers continue to bring me close to orgasming. “Fuck it then.”

  “That’s what I plan on doing.” He whispers the words against my mouth and replaces his fingers with the head of his cock.

  Forcefully, he slams into me and I cry out in a wave of pleasure and pain. He already had me stretched from finger-fucking me but not nearly enough for the size of him. I ache between my thighs in the most delicious of ways.

  Over and over his body slaps against mine as he pounds into me.

  “So tight.”

  Pound.

  Thrust.

  “So hot and wet for me.”

  Laughter bubbles in my throat but quickly dies down when his darkened eyes meet mine. He’s looking at me like a man possessed, with nothing on his mind but dominating my body. Bending me into every position, he takes me hard, without mercy, pulling my orgasm from me precisely like a skilled surgeon.

  His smooth body weighs me down as he comes at me from behind. One hand teases my clit while the other fists my hair. He bites down on my shoulder as he pistons in and out. All I can hear are wet smacking sounds of flesh on flesh echoing through the room.

  I can barely catch my breath as he brings my head back and captures my swollen lips with his eager mouth. His tongue dominates mine in the most delicious fashion.

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  SHAGGED

  I don’t like people.

  I avoid them whenever possible.

  They always want something from me whether it’s money or attention.

  My ten-figure net worth isn’t the product of being what people would consider a “nice guy.”

  When I see something I want—I take it.

  I’ve been called an asshole more times than I can count, and I don’t care.

  Caring about things makes you vulnerable, and vulnerable is the last thing I’ll ever be.

  Until Christina walks in and threatens the foundation of my life with her tight little body, sassy mouth, and soft curves.

  She doesn’t put up with my sh*t.

  She makes me human.

  I fight the attraction.

  But, there’s one problem…

  I have to have her.

  And I will have her.

  Chapter 1

  Matthew Spencer was a man who had it all.

  He woke up to the sound of fake birds chirping and artificial sunrise creeping up his wall. It was a program on his phone, designed specifically for that purpose.

  He ran a rough, calloused hand through his hair and sighed contentedly. His eyes blinked open, focusing on the golden sun that slowly climbed to his left.

  Another beautiful day of being me.

  The rich aroma of his morning coffee wafted into his nose and he sniffed, then rolled over in bed, feeling quite rested and rejuvenated. Matty knew his morning routine by heart. He would get up at his own leisure, have a cup of coffee, eat a healthy breakfast prepared by his personal chef and nutritionist, and then maybe he’d consider starting work. Maybe.

  His phone switched on using the same system that handled his alarm routine. It buzzed with an influx of text messages and missed calls.

  Matty Spencer was a popular man. He was a loved man. But he was also a busy man, and he was not about to leap out of bed for anyone.

  They knew his phone was off all night. If it was important, they could come to him. They didn't need his attention. They just wanted it.

  Although being loved was a rewarding feeling, to Matty, it was also very tiring. He was not a machine, made to constantly please others. He was aware of how desperately they clung to him for his wealth and connections.

  The phone lit up again and rattled against the nightstand. He sighed and tensed up. It was as if he were under attack.

  He glanced at the phone and decided to scroll through. His mother and a couple of friends had tried to call him. The jingling-coins ringtone told him that he’d received a message from one of the countless gold-digging sluts on his booty-call list. He snickered at that.

  They all thought he was unaware of their intentions. He laughed at how foolish they were, knowing that he could play people the way they tried to play him. For all the people he despised and had to be polite to, there were hundreds more willing to grovel at his feet. He knew it was wrong to enjoy this, but he didn't care. Why should he put up with all the responsibilities of being wealthy and popular if he couldn't enjoy the perks?

  As his body acclimated to the day, he rose and scrolled through more of his messages. Thank God he kept separate phones, one personal and one business. He couldn't imagine digging through the pile of shit trying to find an important memo from a client or partner.

  Good morning texts from countless numbers who didn't even have names attached to them came through like clockwork. Sexts from three different girls—two with pictures. He didn’t ignore those.

  A message from his mother consisted of three hundred emojis and a cat picture. A few were friends begging for handouts. And, of course, one girl throwing a hissy fit because he’d rejected her the previous night.

  It wasn't his fault h
e wasn't always in the mood for her. Sometimes he wanted someone else.

  If there was one thing that Matty Spencer knew, it was the fact that he was an asshole. He wasn’t so deluded as to believe that everyone liked him, or that he couldn't try harder—that he shouldn't be better, but at the end of the day, he knew he didn’t have to be. It was good enough to be a billionaire, have every girl he reached for, and to be respected and admired.

  When he was younger, he’d often cared what others thought of him. He’d done everything he could to please them. It’d only taken being ripped off twice to realize that you couldn’t be a pushover in this world. From then on, he’d lived only for himself. At thirty-one, that philosophy had yet to fail him.

  He dropped his phone on the floor and walked to the window, pressing a button and watching the screen roll up. A beautiful view of the London skyline appeared in front of him. He nodded and smiled, pleased with the day, before wandering over to the other side of the room where his coffee would be ready.

  He sipped it. Perfect aroma, perfect taste, and perfect temperature. Modern technology was a wonderful thing, coordinating his mornings for him. He streamlined everything in his life to suit his needs. And to think that he’d funded and co-developed all the programs which made his house run so seamlessly. No doubt his shower would be ready to begin, his chef would’ve just received the message to prepare his breakfast, and his maids received an alarm telling them his bed would need to be made. Most mornings he didn't even have to think actual thoughts until eleven or twelve. It was beautiful.

  His business phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. A loud tone, immediately associated with one person. His secretary at his office. She knew not to contact him unless strictly necessary. Sighing, he called out to his robotic assistant on his phone. “Mia, answer call.”

  Emilia Hernandez's voice came through crystal clear as though she were standing next to him in the room. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Spencer. I’m sure it’s some misunderstanding, but—”