Trademarked: Bad Boys Need Love Too

by Misti Murphy

  “That’s correct. I’m Bree Jackson.” I slide my hand into his. Funny. I expected it to be slimy, but much like a snake his handshake is warm and dry. His eyes on the other hand are anything but beady as his gaze finally settles on my own.

  “Nice to meet you.” He smiles openly. Charm oozes from his almost invisible pores. Like a forcefield. Or a tractor beam. One that’s attached to my nipples and making them point straight toward him.

  Dropping my hand to my side, I step back. “If you need a moment to get dressed, I can start on the paperwork.”

  “Dressed?” Parker says the word slowly as though it’s a fresh new concept.

  I nod enthusiastically. For the love of all things sane, put some clothes on. Don’t you know that body causes women to lose their minds and their transportation? Christ, his wide shoulders and thick pectoral muscles look like they’re carved out of marble. Flat brown nipples take up prime real estate. There are ridges in his abdomen that I could fit my fingers into, and those lines that lead down, down, down... Hewn from freaking diamond.

  Oh shit. I’m looking at him. Staring. I may as well open my mouth and let my tongue roll out like a red carpet. Swallowing, I focus on his face. He smirks as he rubs his hand through his bed tussled hair.

  “I take it you haven’t been filled in on the details,” he says.

  “No.” I adjust my grip on my leather case, suddenly wishing I’d taken the few minutes I’d used to buy coffee to read the email Marissa sent as well. I’d just assumed, considering the clients I usually deal with for Global have extensive art collections, or billion-dollar homes, or luxury vehicles. Apparently I’m an ass, but really it was his fault. If it wasn’t for that stupid billboard I would have been at my desk on time and I would have had a chance to go over the notes before starting this meeting.

  A deep burly laugh rumbles through the man. His shoulders shake and his chest vibrates. Damn, those are the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. Blinding. His laughter cuts off but his enjoyment of the situation shines from his eyes. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab a shirt,” he says. “Then we can discuss the pussy assassin.”

  I gape. I know I’m gaping as he walks away because I’m pretty sure I manage to catch a fly with how wide my mouth is hanging open.

  Did he say pussy assassin?

  As in his penis?

  I’d heard he’d named it. Even had the name trademarked. But I figured that was one of those ridiculous rumors some gossip columnist perpetuated in order to sell magazines. Who the hell nicknames their penis anyway?

  Especially something that sounds like he’s planning on murdering vaginas. My own vagina lets out a shriek as I watch his taut backside disappear out of sight. No. No. No. He has to be talking about some weird artwork, doesn’t he? A cat with a spear or something. A priceless statue or painting. I drop onto his leather couch and pull my tablet out of my briefcase, click on the email from Marissa and speed-read it. Oh God. It really is his penis.

  I’m here to insure his penis.

  What am I supposed to do? Get down on my knees with my measuring tape? Take it for a joy ride to check out its performance? I cross my legs as a hot flush starts in my nether regions.

  Could he be any cockier?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Parker

  I drag the T-shirt over my head as I walk back into the living room. She’s sitting on my sofa with her tablet on her lap. A look of sheer horror graces her face. I kind of feel bad about the fact that she didn’t know what she was in for. Bree Jackson seems like a nice person, if a bit aloof and a tad prissy. Usually women don’t ask me to put my clothes on.

  I pause to take in the view. Her navy blazer is undone over a pale pink blouse and she’s wearing this matching skirt that’s folded and flared at the bottom. It’s very librarian, especially with the glasses she pushes back up the bridge of her nose when they slip down. Her hair is blonde, but kind of gingery. It’s almost naturally pink and pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. I get the itch to pull the pins or whatever else is holding it up and watch it tumble down her shoulders. It would probably make her shriek.

  She glances up when she realizes I’m in the room. Putting her tablet down, she stands and smooths her palms over her skirt. “Should we get started?”

  “Yes, in a minute.” I cross the room before veering toward the kitchen. Truth be told I could use a cup of joe, and she looks like some extra fortification might be necessary. “Coffee?”

  She’s silent for a beat, long enough to tell me that she isn’t sure what to make of this situation or me. I hope it’s the latter. “Yes, thanks. That would be great.”

  I get busy with popping the right amount of coffee into my machine and grab a couple of mugs. “Sugar? Creamer? How do you like it?”

  “Two sugars. Creamer.”

  “A girl after my own heart.” I grin as she starts to cough. Right or wrong, there are two camps women fall into. Those who want to fuck me. And those I’ve already fucked. And since I haven’t fucked Bree Jackson...

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Coming,” I call out as I pop her cup under the drip and hit the button that will release the perfect shot of espresso while I get the door.

  The delivery kid for the deli a couple blocks away is standing in the hallway with a bag of food in each hand. Thick wind tousled bangs cover half of his face. “Morning, Wes.”

  “Morning, Parker. I brought your order.”

  “Great. Come on in.” I leave him to follow me inside. “I’ll find my wallet.”

  “Where should I put the food?” He asks barely above a whisper. One thing I noticed from the first time he delivered to me is that he doesn’t talk much. Unless it’s about skateboarding or the cartoons he draws.

  “On the coffee table will be fine,” I tell him as I head to my bedroom. My wallet’s probably still in my pants from last night.

  I hear quiet murmurs from the living room as I snatch up my pants and hunt through the pockets. Wallet in hand, I make my way back. I pull several notes out and hand them to him. “That cover it?”

  He quickly counts it. “That’s too much.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” I open the door and usher him out. “That’s your tip. Put it in your college fund or something.”

  “Thanks Parker.” He almost smiles, but I’m not sure the kid knows how to.

  “Catch you next time, Wes.” I shut the door as he jogs to the elevator, and then I head back to the kitchen to finish making our coffees.

  Bree’s sitting in the middle of my couch, her briefcase placed beside her. In front of her is an official looking stack of papers and the food. Still in bags. Untouched. I hold a mug out for her to take. A little electricity passes between us as our fingers graze during the exchange. I rub my thumb over the spots where our skin touched to try and erase the tingling there as I take a seat opposite her.

  “Shall we start?” she asks, picking up the pen on top of the pile of documents.

  “Have you had breakfast?” I place my mug on the glass tabletop and start pulling things out of the bags. Donuts. Bagels smeared with cream cheese. Melon salad. Several croissants with ham and melted cheese. Muffins.

  “I ate,” she says, but she’s glancing longingly at the opened box of donuts like she wants to whisper sweet nothings to it.

  “There’s a lot of food here. More than I can eat alone,” I tell her, picking up the box of donuts and hold it out for her to take one. “Come on. It won’t bite.” Neither will I for that matter. Unless she asks me to.

  She tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth. “Okay. Just one.”

  “There’s plenty here. Help yourself to whatever you’d like,” I say, as she gingerly reaches into the box and pulls out an iced donut.

  “Okay.” She nods and takes a bite of the pastry. And then another. Two bites and she’s inhaled the damn thing.

  A smear of icing sticks to the tip of her nose. “Um.”

  “Um?” Her gaze narrows on me. />
  “There’s something—”

  “What?”

  “A little...” I glance at her nose and some rather lovely lips.

  “Oh.” She swipes her fingers across her mouth, completely missing the pink icing on the tip of her nose. “Better?”

  “Here let me.” Leaning in, I reach across the table and use the pad of my thumb to wipe away the sweet mess.

  “Thank you.” Pretty green eyes with flecks of amber stare at me through the lenses of her glasses as she tugs at the hem of her skirt. I’m torn. I don’t know whether to keep my gaze on her face or let it travel south to watch her progress. Her eyes are gorgeous, framed by thick lashes, but her golden pins, her shapely thighs promise they’d grip on tight around my hips.

  Sitting back, I suck the icing off my thumb.

  Her lips part on an exhale and again she reaches to adjust her skirt. “Should we get started? We should start.”

  “Absolutely.” I pick a bagel and stretch out in my armchair with my feet propped on the tabletop.

  She starts with the basics. Name. Birthdate. Occupation. Net worth. Etcetera. Etcetera.

  Then she stops and chews the end of her pen thoughtfully. “Is there a reason you want to insure your...” Her gaze drops to my lap. I’m pretty sure that question isn’t on the form, and her ogling isn’t either. This is blatant curiosity and I bask in it. The way her face contorts tells me she doesn’t want to say the word that is currently clawing its way up her throat. “Penis.”

  “Cock,” I say, just to get another reaction from her.

  Her eyes widen, her pupils grow bigger. Her throat muscles tense and relax.

  I sit forward, cradling my close to empty mug between my hands. “My cock...” I say the words slowly because her reaction is priceless. She’s both intrigued and desperate not to be. She looks like she’s swallowed my cock, when she really would prefer to spit it out and stomp it into the ground. “...is my brand.”

  Her face twists, her lips curving upward as she tries to squash the bubble of laughter that forces its way through them.

  I’m serious though. In the last twelve months my entire life has changed. One role in a high nudity miniseries and people know who I am. There’s a new woman in my bed as often as I want, not that I had a problem in that department before. Movie offers are pouring in where I used to have to fight tooth and nail for bit parts. Designers beg me to join their advertising campaigns. “My agent and I both think it’s a good idea that I insure my...brand. In this day and age branding can make or break a career, right?”

  “That’s true,” she agrees. “It’s just this is the first time we’ve looked at insuring a penis.”

  She thinks this is a joke. I get it, I do. Until recently I would have thought that it would take a complete jackass to do what I’m doing, but my agent, Brad Carlson, talked me around. “Calvin Klein contracted me purely based on the way I fill out a pair of boxer briefs. My cock is no joke.”

  “I’m aware.” Her brow furrows into a scowl. “Your billboards are a menace.”

  I don’t appreciate the way she says it. Like she’s disgusted by me. Or she’s personally offended by having to look at my image splashed across the city. But she doesn’t amend or detail what she finds so offensive. I shrug and settle back again. “Other women seem to enjoy them. I have a stack of emails telling me exactly how much.”

  Her lips part, then slam back together. She glances down at the papers in front of her. “So your bulge is your brand.”

  “My cock is.” It didn’t need to be reiterated, but riling her pretty feathers is entertaining.

  She rolls her gaze at me. “I’m guessing without it, you expect you’d lose what? At least your contract with Calvin Klein?”

  “And at least one movie that I’m in negotiations for.”

  “Income insurance then.” She eyeballs my crotch again. “And health. Catching the wrong STD could be detrimental to your lifestyle.”

  I hand hug my frightened cock. I’m always careful. Always protected, but the idea is still uncomfortable.

  “Plus we need to put something in place to protect your brand. Should I assume that rumor about you naming and trademarking your penis isn’t just rumor?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “You couldn’t think of anything better than Pussy Assassin?” she blurts, and her cheeks turn pink.

  I cock an eyebrow. “I haven’t heard any complaints until now.”

  “Right.” She crosses her legs and tugs on the hem of her skirt again. “Sorry, that wasn’t... I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “It’s fine.” I wave it off. “It’s a legitimate question.”

  “I think we should consider insuring your member as an entity, in case anyone decides to sully your brand.” She grimaces.

  My cock practically whimpers, knowing where her thoughts are heading. With everything going on in the world it’s possible that I could become a target for accusations despite the fact that I’m only interested in women who are enthusiastically consenting.

  “I agree.”

  “Great.” She picks up her tablet and makes a few notes. “I’m going to suggest coverage of a million dollars. Does that seem adequate to you?”

  I consider the amount for a few minutes. “It does.”

  She writes the information onto the paperwork in front of her. “There’s only one more thing you have to do before this policy can be put into effect.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll need a doctor to sign off on the current state of the asset.”

  “Or I could show you.” I know that’s not how this works, but her reactions during this meeting have been highly entertaining. Standing up, I slide my fingers into the elastic band of my briefs and start pushing them down. Not that I plan on taking them off. Again, I like my women enthusiastic. Preferably ripping them off me themselves.

  “No. No. No.” She jumps to her feet. “Don’t you dare. I don’t want to see it. I’ve had enough of your bulge for one day.” She starts packing her papers and tablet back into her case. “I have to cop an eyeball of that monstrosity every morning. Do you know how many car accidents you’ve caused?”

  Car accidents? What? “I wasn’t actually going to...”

  The clasps on her briefcase snap shut and she swings it in front of her. “I don’t want to be the one to stroke your ego, but your Calvin Klein advertisements are a roadside menace. Your brand, as you call it...” Her gaze slides to my cock, which gives a little twitch under her hard stare. “Is causing car accidents on an almost daily basis.”

  “Perhaps you should canvas the area.” I smirk as the joke leaves my lips. “You could probably get more clients out of it.”

  Her eyes flash as she swallows whatever her next thought is. Tucking a part of her bangs behind her ear, she says, “That’s not the type of insurance we provide.” She hands me two business cards and more small flickers of electricity buzz between us. “This is the doctor we like to use. He makes house calls. If you could call him and make an appointment at your convenience... we’ll get this policy in motion as soon as we have his findings.”

  “I’m clean,” I say, because I don’t like the insinuation that I might not be. Even if she doesn’t mean it to come across like that, which, by the way she blinks those wide eyes, she didn’t.

  “Okay, well it was nice to meet you, Parker. If you need anything don’t hesitate to call me. My number is on the card.” She nods at the cards I’m holding, the one for the doctor, and one for Global Insurance.

  “I’ll call the doctor straight away and see if I can get that set up today,” I tell her as I walk her to the door.

  “Great.” She hesitates as I hold the door open for her.

  She’d watched me kiss the twins goodbye. Is that the thought currently running through her head? Even though this is all business and not one ounce of pleasure, I’m enthralled by her full, nude lips. Bet they’d be soft under my own.

  She thrus
ts out her hand, and I catch it with mine.

  “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Parker.”

  “You too.”

  ***

  Bree: Have you had any luck booking an appointment yet?

  Parker: Yes. All set for next week.

  Bree: Great. Looking forward to having this paperwork ready for you to sign.

  Parker: Could we do that over dinner?

  ***

  Parker: You didn’t answer my question.

  Bree: What question?

  Parker: Let me take you out to dinner.

  ***

  Parker: What’s twelve inches long and hard as steel?

  Bree: Um. That’s inappropriate.

  Parker: What? I’m doing a crossword puzzle. Did you think I was talking about my cock? I’m hung, but twelve inches... Nice to know you’re thinking about me.

  Bree: I am not. You’re the furthest thing from my mind.

  Parker: Uh-huh. If you say so, but we both saw you checking me out. I’d just like to give you a chance to ogle me a bit more. Do you like French food?

  Bree: You’re not cute. This isn’t... I’m not going to have dinner with you. Let’s be professional. Okay?

  Parker: I’m going to call. I think we need to discuss this in more depth.

  ***

  Parker: That Tim fellow seems into me. I bet if I asked him out to dinner, he’d say yes.

  Bree: I’m sure he would.

  Parker: Do you normally pass on your calls, or am I exceptional?

  Bree: You’re exceptional.

  Parker: That wasn’t so bad was it?

  Bree: It was worse.

  ***

  Bree: I’ve been thinking about it and I think you should really consider asking Tim out to dinner.

  Parker: He’s standing right next to you, isn’t he? Begging?

  Bree: How did you know?