Cozen

by Bethany-Kris

  He pumped his hard cock with a firm fist a couple of times, but he didn’t linger too long there. He wanted to be inside her—was dying to get her pussy wrapping him tight, and sucking him deeper.

  It was better than a drink.

  Better than a drug.

  “Fuck,” Cozen breathed when he slid inside her pussy.

  The lingering tendrils of her orgasm fluttered around his dick, and took him all the way in. He put a hand to her back, and forced her to lean further over the rail as he leaned back to watch his dick come out when he pulled away.

  He came out hard, and soaked in her. He could see his heart beat pulsing in his dick.

  Cozen pushed back against him, and took him in again. He smacked her ass for that fucking trick, and held her tighter to the railing to keep her in place.

  “Behave,” he warned.

  “Fuck me.”

  “Behave, Zen. Or I’ll make you wait for the next orgasm. Pleasure is earned, sweetheart. And you should know by now how to earn it properly.”

  “Pl—”

  He slapped her ass again.

  Her moan answered him back. He liked the sight of his red handprints coloring up her backside. Rubbing his hand over the spots, he could feel the heat rising to her skin, and the way she shuddered with every stroke.

  Slowly, he pulled his cock out of her again.

  “I want you to fuck me,” she demanded.

  “You’re going to wait.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Oh, you will, or—”

  “You asked for this, Sarg.”

  He grabbed hard to her waist with one hand, and fisted her hair with the other. “Fucking little—”

  “Bitch, slut, your whore? Pick one and stick to it,” she gasped out. “I like them all.”

  Sargon pumped harder into her. A fast, brutal rhythm that sent Cozen slamming into the railing with every single thrust. He was sure she would have marks left behind from his hands, and from the railing, too.

  He was going to paint her back with his come.

  Then he would turn her around, and fuck her again.

  “Well, which one is it?” Cozen asked, backing into every thrust. “Your bitch, slut, or whore?”

  “All three—but only for me,” he grunted.

  Cozen peered over her shoulder. All darkened eyes, trembling lips, and sex on her tongue. “Only for you.”

  Sargon knew he was alone before he even opened his eyes. He could tell by the coldness of the sheets against his palms when he reached for the other side of the bed. He knew it when he reached for her, and found nothing but air slipping through his fingertips.

  Cozen’s scent—a teasing, sultry mix of vanilla, cherries, and sex—wasn’t as strong as it had been the night before when she was beside him. Now, it only lingered around him like an afterthought that he couldn’t quite get out of his mind.

  Peeling his eyes open, Sargon rolled to his back, and stared up at the white ceiling of the hotel room. He tried not to be pissed off about waking up alone, but what was the point, really. Of course, he was going to be pissed.

  Scrubbing his hands down his unshaven jaw, Sargon resolved his irritation for the moment by remembering the night before.

  Sex on his tongue.

  Cozen on her back.

  Buried in her pussy.

  It was just enough to get him up and out of bed to take care of the erection making itself painfully known under the thin, white sheet. He was just about to step in under a too-hot shower when his phone rang in the other room.

  “Fuck,” he snarled.

  Why could nothing go right?

  Sargon didn’t even bother to check the caller ID before he picked up the phone, and put it to his ear with a sharp, “What?”

  “Is that anyway to greet your boss?”

  His spine stiffened like someone had shoved a rod up it at the sound of Jett’s voice. He could tell by the barely contained frustration lacing the man’s tone that Jett was still in some kind of a fit about Cozen being gone.

  Or … Jett thought she was still gone.

  “I have news for you,” Sargon said.

  “Oh, do tell.”

  “Do you want it over the phone, or face to face?”

  “I just want it,” Jett snapped back. “Considering you only have one job at the moment, any news you relay to me had better be about that. So, what is your fucking news?”

  Yeah.

  Definitely pissed.

  Most certainly obsessed.

  Sargon wondered if Cozen understood the fire she was now playing with. He also wondered what was it about her that had gotten Jett so entirely fucked up over her like this.

  He knew why he was messed up over her.

  But Jett?

  The man was rich enough that he could have any fucking woman he wanted. Sure, he was in his mid-fifties, but he didn’t look a day over forty or so. He still kept up with his appearance, and fitness.

  So, why?

  “It is about Cozen,” Sargon said.

  “Good—did you find her?”

  “I didn’t have to go looking very far. She’s back in the city. Got in this morning.”

  “I beg your goddamn pardon?”

  “By the time I had found where she went—Florida, I guess; she has family there—and set up a flight to get in, she was already on her way back. I didn’t see the point in leaving the city.”

  “I told you—”

  Sargon interrupted Jett’s roar with, “My flight was to leave this afternoon. Soonest one I could get. Hers came in at six. Still want me to fly down there?”

  Jett quieted for a long while. A deathly silence, really. Had Sargon been in the man’s direct vicinity, he probably would have made himself scarce for safety reasons. No need to push the man’s buttons more than he already had.

  “Have you laid eyes on her, yet?” Jett demanded. “This morning since she flew in?”

  “No.”

  And that wasn’t a lie.

  “I need you to do that—now,” Jett said firmly. “Go to her place, and get eyes on her. Make sure she is okay, and … not up to something.”

  “Jett, I assure you, she is not—”

  “Do what I said, and then get to my home to fill me in on everything else. Do not fucking question me this morning, Sargon, I am not in the mood!”

  Clearly.

  Jett didn’t even let Sargon respond before he hung up the phone.

  Fucking wonderful.

  It looked like his shower would have to wait.

  Jett paced with heavy strides behind the large dark oak desk. He barely even passed Sargon a look as the man entered his office. It was the first time Sargon had ever actually been inside the space during the months that he had worked for the man.

  He took in the dark tones, leather furniture, and gold accents around the room. Shelves lined with leather-bound books, and portrait paintings on the walls of men that Sargon suspected to be long-deceased Griffin men if the resemblances were to be trusted.

  “Finally,” Jett said.

  “I had to wait to get eyes on her, as you wanted,” Sargon said.

  Jett waved a hand blindly. “Just … knock on her door!”

  “Wouldn’t that be a little … obvious?”

  The man stopped pacing. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Pardon me for saying this—”

  “Don’t preface whatever you’re going to insult me with by trying to excuse it, Sargon. I am not a stupid man.”

  All right, then.

  “If you think that woman will take kindly to the fact you are having her followed more than you already are, then you are mistaken. Do you think she wouldn’t freak out just a tiny bit to know that you immediately had someone looking for because she left the city? Not to mention, you knew exactly when she got back in?”

  Jett swallowed hard, and sat down in the chair behind his desk. “Well—”

  “Your purpose of having me approach her, and keep an eye on her, w
as because you felt I was not threatening to her. You thought she was not scared of me. Do you want me to frighten her? Because knocking on her door shortly after she arrives home from being out of town will definitely do that.”

  For the moment, Jett seemed content to agree with Sargon. He considered that as a battle won, of sorts.

  At least, for now.

  “And you did get eyes on her?” Jett asked.

  “Yes, and I even took a picture.”

  “Where is it?”

  Sargon tipped his head to the side. “You’re quite …” Don’t use obsessed, you stupid fuck. “Well, enamored with her, aren’t you?”

  Jett raised a single brow. “I enjoy a good chase, we’ll say. I enjoy ending the chase much more. It’s even better when something as beautiful as her is the prize.”

  Something invisible tightened around Sargon’s throat. He forced himself to speak through it. “The picture is on my phone.”

  “Send it to me, now.”

  Sargon knew better—just by the look on Jett’s face—whether than to ask if the man was serious or not. He pulled out his phone, and texted the photograph of Cozen drinking tea as she stood in her living room window.

  Not two minutes later, the same photograph was printing out of Jett’s printer behind his desk. The black printer rested beneath a large painting of Jett and his two sons.

  “How does she have family in Florida when she has practically been an orphan her entire life?” Jett asked.

  Shit.

  “It was a couple—young, like her. I don’t have all the details on them. I didn’t get that far as I was focused on getting to her after that. Do you want me to run some info on them?”

  Jett grunted under his breath. “Maybe; I will leave the option open. You didn’t even lay eyes on them, then?”

  “No—I told you, I didn’t get the chance to get there before she was already coming back. It’s possible they’re simply people she met on her travels, or maybe they were kids in foster homes she also lived in, and they remained friends. Whatever the emergency was, it was quickly cleared up.”

  “How did you find out she went to Florida, and not California, anyway?”

  Fuck.

  “Made some calls—flight itineraries were sent over. You’re not the only man in this city who knows people that can get shit done for them on a fast schedule. I just don’t call in my favors very often. That’s how I got the info she was back in the city, too.”

  Might as well add that info in before the bastard asked it.

  “Ah.”

  It was all doable. As long as someone had the right contacts. Jett had no reason to question Sargon, or distrust him.

  Besides, the man was more distracted by looking over the photograph in his hands of Cozen drinking her tea.

  “I like this,” Jett said, “I think I will keep it.”

  Sargon blinked, and replied, “Okay.”

  What else could he say?

  Without another word, Jett turned his office chair around, and stood. He grabbed the edge of the painting of him and his sons, and pulled it away from the wall like it was a door.

  Sargon supposed it was a door, of sorts.

  It hid a safe.

  Jett didn’t even attempt to hide the six numbers he keyed in to open the safe. Seven, five, nine, nine, five, seven. Each beep that accompanied the numbers rang heavily in the back of Sargon’s mind.

  He memorized the numbers.

  He eyed the items inside the safe once the door was open, too. Particularly, the cash stacked high on the top shelf. So much cash, that it filled the shelf entirely.

  Jett shoved the picture into the middle shelf with what looked to be other paperwork, although Sargon wasn’t close enough to tell.

  Then, the man pulled out a black box from the bottom shelf. He popped it open, and surveyed the ruby ring inside. A large, square-cut ruby—likely worth the cost of a large home, or a luxury vehicle.

  “I thought I might need to have this cleaned,” Jett murmured, “but it’s still quite beautiful.”

  Sargon eyed the jewelry. “I could have it cleaned for you.”

  Jett passed him a look, and shook his head. “No, I take good care of this. My first wife barely wore it for fear someone might take it from her—it has an interesting history, you could say. I think someone else would appreciate it far more than she did, and they won’t fear wearing it every second they have it on. She did say red was her color.”

  “And what exactly are you going to use that ring for?”

  Jett smiled.

  Slyly.

  “Propose. I have waited long enough to put another beautiful woman on my arm and in my bed. My wife has been dead for an appropriate amount of time. Cozen will fit my lifestyle and public persona quite well. So yes, I intend to propose to her with it. What else?”

  Time was counting down faster than Cozen could work. She had all of one week left before her deadline to return the Astor ring was up.

  One week.

  The Griffin party, on the other hand, was just five days away. It would be the one—and the last time—Cozen had the chance to get the ring. A ring that she still had not seen since inserting her presence into Jett’s life. A ring she was not even one-hundred percent sure the man still had in his possession.

  Her instincts told her that Jett did still have the ring. He was not the kind of man to simply give something up just because. Considering he wouldn’t return it to the Astors—claiming it belonged to his wife—he was unlikely to give it to anyone.

  He had to have it.

  All of Cozen’s planning and careful attention to details about Jett, his life, and his home made her pretty confident that yes, he did have the ring. Likely hidden in the safe in his office.

  Cozen didn’t like to work on maybes.

  It wasn’t smart, or safe.

  This was the first job she had in a long time where she was going into the home stretch—because of a deadline she had no choice but to follow—with far too little knowledge about the mark, and how she was going to extract what she was there to find. It made her uncomfortable. Like needles swimming in her bloodstream.

  Yet, she couldn’t back down.

  She couldn’t not try.

  Cozen would much rather return to her fate with the Astors and tell them that she had tried and failed, rather than the fact she hadn’t tried at all.

  It was that simple.

  “I am sure,” Tye said.

  “How sure?” Cozen asked.

  Her long-time friend, and programmer-slash-hacker-slash-fucker, sighed on the other end of the phone. This was the first time Cozen had called him since she started this job for the Astors. She didn’t think she would need his help.

  Now, she was just making sure.

  “Cozen, I designed the fucking program,” Tye said quietly. “You were the one who worked with me on it to make sure it was perfect. I know what it will do.”

  “Any electronic safe?”

  “Yeah, girl. Shit, just use the adaptor like I taught you, get the program app on the phone booted up and ready to go, force back the keypad on the safe, and you will find the plug to put the adaptor in. All electronic safes have them—how else can they recalibrate an electronic safe without access to the brain?”

  “I know they all have them, Tye.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you’re sure—”

  “Zen, I am fucking sure, okay? As long as the safe works in numbers from zero to nine with no special characters, no letters, and no need for fingerprinting entry, then it will find the code and open it for you. You know I wouldn’t fuck with you like that, right?”

  “Well …”

  “Okay, so I wouldn’t fuck with you when you’re on an actual job, then. Outside of work, I would mess with you all the time.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Cozen tipped her head back, and stared at the clear sky overhead. Fluffy white clouds danced in the sea of blue. All in all, it was a beau
tiful day. She wished that helped with the way she felt.

  Nothing helped lately.

  She was too close.

  Almost done.

  Then she would be better.

  She would be perfect.

  “By the way, how’s your g—”

  “I’ll call you when I get back to California to let you know how it went,” Cozen interjected. “Thanks for everything, Tye.”

  She hung up the phone, and shoved it back into her pocket. Silently, she added, if I even make it back to California alive, that is.

  Cozen figured Tye wouldn’t have appreciated that little tidbit. Although, she did feel slightly better to—once again—get confirmation from the man who had built and installed the program for electronic safe cracking into her phone that it should work.

  As long as the safe was standard—the quick look she had gotten of Jett’s said it was—it should get the code, and open it for her. Without alarming any security systems attached to it, and it should do it within three to four minutes.

  Cozen just needed to get at the safe in the office, and make sure she had the time to spare to get inside it. Nothing more, and nothing less.

  And of course, these were all still maybes. Maybes because what if she got that safe open, and the ring wasn’t there? Who was to say Jett didn’t have the ring stored in a lockbox somewhere across the city?

  Christ.

  She kept her back against the cool brick—being it was the first of June, it felt like it was the only thing around her that was cool. Even the air was muggy, and hot. The black uniform The Kingdom required her to wear was constantly sticking to her skin.

  Seemed like New York was going to have a heat wave this year. She couldn’t be more grateful that within a week, she would be gone from the city.

  Gone from the smell of pollution, and the over packed streets. Back to her small house on the beach, and sleeping in her bed instead of a nest of pillows and blankets. Soon, she would be home again.

  That was, if the Astors didn’t kill her first.

  Think good thoughts. Think only good thoughts.

  Even her mantra felt like it was patronizing her lately. It was times like now when she couldn’t help but think that maybe the life of a thief just wasn’t meant for her. Maybe she wasn’t as good at her chosen trade as she assumed, never mind what others whispered about her.