Cocky Senator's Daughter: Hannah Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 8)

by Faleena Hopkins

  Well, that’s nice to see.

  I wonder what kind of lives they lead outside of here.

  Do they grab a pitcher of beer with the boys every weekend and play fantasy football?

  Do they have dogs? Families?

  “Hello Wifey.”

  My spine stiffens before my head slowly turns. We lock eyes, Justin Cocker’s tall frame blocking out everything but his beauty.

  He points to the numbers above our row. “My boarding pass says I belong here.”

  As my mouth falls wide open in an unflattering way, Justin slides into the empty seat next to mine and stretches out his long legs. The legs that were holding me up as he fucked me just minutes ago.

  Turning back to the window, I whisper, “This isn’t happening.”

  The flight attendant returns with my drink. The one I regret ordering now that I have a witness. “Double whiskey,” she announces like a total bitch, handing it to me across Justin’s lap.

  “Thank you,” I mutter, deeply mortified as I glance to his entertained expression.

  Her eyes go soft as they drink in the stunning architecture of his face. “Can I get you anything?”

  She meant that. Anything.

  He jogs his thumb my way. “I’ll have what my wife is having.”

  Disappointed, she mutters, “I’ll be right back.”

  As he slims his seatbelt to fit his athletic frame, Captain Huge Cock asks, “You visiting Atlanta?”

  “What makes you think I don’t live there?”

  “You seem more Boston to me.”

  “Thank you.” I want to down this whiskey. It needs to be in my bloodstream ten minutes ago. Now I have to appear like I don’t want it.

  I’m not a problem drinker.

  It’s just a really hard day for me.

  Really hard.

  Hard.

  My eyes fall to his lap and dance away with sweet memories replaying despite my best efforts to appear polite. He caught me. That’s what I hate most about having looked…the smirk he gave that told me he saw.

  He decides to remove his suit jacket after a moment of concentration. Even in these large seats it’s not easy to get out of a tight fit like that custom-tailored piece. He moves to the edge of his chair and wriggles out of the sleeves, muttering, “Excuse me,” as he knocks his leg into mine. He didn’t touch me on purpose. It’s kind of adorable that he’s trying to remove that jacket smoothly and it’s not working.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  “Am I smiling?”

  He eyes me. “You are.”

  I motion for him to come closer. He leans toward me and offers his ear. Cupping my hand around it I whisper, “Someone just fucked me in a closet.”

  He doesn’t flinch, and instead meets my eyes with a look that disintegrates my already damp panties. “Oh? Lucky guy.”

  “Very lucky,” I smile, leaning back.

  He crooks his index finger for me to return to him. I can’t help but do so. He hovers by my ear and breathes in it a second before rasping, “That’s funny, because two of my fingers smell exactly like an insanely hot woman I just fucked…in a closet.”

  “You don’t say,” I breathe, eyes heavier.

  His tongue licks my earlobe and I shiver. “It’s the truth. I swear it.”

  “What a coincidence.”

  As the flight attendant approaches I smile at her and give her a wink.

  She literally sneers at me.

  Handing him the drink she bends in such a way that her cleavage deepens, available for his admiration.

  He glances to it. With a bored look he reaches for my leg and starts stroking it over my dress. “Can you set that down for me on my wife’s tray table?” Unable to say no, she reaches over and sets his glass beside mine. He dismisses her with a blasé, “That’ll be all.”

  Mortified, she straightens like a shot, turns and collides with a passenger carrying a huge carry-on bag. “You can’t fit that in the overheads!” she barks.

  “Oh, sorry!”

  “We’ll have to check it for you. You can pick it up when you deboard the plane.” Grunting under the heavy load, she tugs the old suitcase back toward the door.

  Justin’s smirks to me, “Doesn’t she know I’m married?”

  Laughing under my breath, I reply, “Seems she’s not the type to care.”

  His thumb is still absently stroking my thigh. He doesn’t move to release me and I’m not sure what to do with this.

  Hypnotized by the warm sensation of his stroke, my eyelashes drop to watch. His hands are very beautiful in a thick, masculine way. Strong fingers. Short nail beds. There’s a scar along two of his knuckles. He pulls his hand away, retrieving his glass and bringing it to his parted lips.

  “Where’d you get that scar?”

  Stretching his knuckles out he stares at it, twisting his wrist to catch it better in the light. “My brother Jason and I got into a bar fight in New Orleans almost three years back. Or was it two?” He stares into the memory with a smile. “We were saving his future wife. Not that we knew it at the time.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  “We kicked ass. It was entertaining.”

  I laugh and his fake-seriousness transforms into a smile.

  The intercom crackles and the pilot comes over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to begin our ascent, our destination Atlanta, GA where the weather is a warm seventy-seven degrees.”

  On an inhale I glance to the window in time to see our baggage handlers driving their cart away as the plane pulls back from the terminal. My drink gets a solid gulp as I watch our slow and steady journey down the runway.

  A whole chapter of my life is over.

  How do I brace myself for this?

  My dad says he needs me.

  How could I say no to that?

  No matter how much he drives me crazy.

  No matter how little we get along.

  He is the only family I have left.

  “And you can’t say no to family,” I mutter.

  “Hmm?” Justin asks.

  “What?” I glance over. “Oh, nothing. Didn’t mean to say that aloud.”

  Boston miniaturizes as the plane reaches higher. Somewhere on those tiny roads U.P.S. trucks are hauling boxes of personal items I couldn’t part with to my father’s home until I find my own place. Which must be very soon. No way am I staying with him long.

  “You want another one?”

  Distracted I turn my head. “Hmm?”

  He motions to my empty glass. “Your whiskey went south.”

  Eyes falling to it, I sigh, “Like this trip.”

  He pauses. “Is this a bad visit to Atlanta? Someone sick?”

  Smiling it off like a pro, I shake my head. “It’s wonderful. I’m very happy to be going.”

  One blonde eyebrow cocks. “Uh huh…sure you are. Who are you visiting?”

  “Do we have to do this?”

  Those gorgeous, pale green eyes darken. “Do what?”

  “Chit chat. I’m really not interested in it.”

  Staring at me a beat, Justin chuckles, “I’ll just stay quiet over here then.”

  “Thank you.” I return to staring out the window, even when all I can see are blinding-white clouds now. What gives them the right to look so optimistic?

  The overhead speaker crackles as a male flight attendant tells us, “Ladies and gentlemen, out of courtesy to your fellow travelers, please lower your window shades at this time.”

  Darkness. Just what I need.

  Pulling it down, I face forward and close my eyes. I wish I could scream at the pilot, Turn the plane around. I want to go back home! Take me back to Boston! I don’t even know my dad!

  “Another for Jaimie.”

  I glance over to see the male flight attendant nodding as he disappears.

  “I’m not an alcoholic.”

  From the corners of his eyes Justin looks over. “Didn’t say you were.”

 
“I must seem it.”

  “Anyone would think so.”

  I tilt my head. “But?”

  “I’m not that close minded, Jaimes.”

  Jaimes…

  That’s what my mother used to call me.

  He holds my eyes.

  Does he understand something big is going on for me? He looks like he gets it.

  These feelings — of pain and sadness and frustration and annoyance, along with so many others I couldn’t name if I tried — have nothing to do with him, and he knows that. I was ordering whiskey before we even spoke today.

  I take his hand and rest it back on my leg, holding it there while I close my eyes.

  I need this warm touch. I just do.

  We remain this way until my new drink appears. Justin takes it with his free hand. “Thank you.” Squeezing my thigh he asks, “You want this?”

  “Hold it a moment longer?” I’d shut the tray table before lift off as you’re supposed to do. Which is really just a pain in the ass.

  After I unlock it and bring it down again, he sets the glass on it for me. “Here ya go.”

  Under its shield I lay my hand on his and slide it up my thigh. “Thank you,” I smile.

  Justin needs no further coaching.

  His hand slips between my legs.

  My eyelashes lower to watch his fingers disappear under my dress’s hem, and he wriggles the fabric around so that I remain modestly covered. Oh, he’s done this before, has he?

  I don’t mind.

  He’s a boy toy, this one.

  That’s his lot in life.

  To make women feel better.

  And I need to feel better.

  I can’t see his thick fingers anymore but I can feel them slip under my panties and stroke me while he stares forward like we’re not doing this.

  I press my shoulders into the seat, pushing my hips up a little. Justin casually takes a sip of his drink while hungry fingers work away with pure talent. I glance over to him. His profile mouths, “So wet.”

  Oh, God, it’s impossible not to moan, but I manage not to.

  The female flight attendant peeks out to check on First Class and my body tenses, but Justin yawns and sets down his whiskey on his own tray table so as not to call attention to me. The whole time his middle finger flicks my clit in steady beats.

  She vanishes again, having seen nothing out of the ordinary.

  The guy across from us is snoring. His neighbor by the window is working on her laptop under one of those stupid spotlight bulbs she just switched on overhead. She could easily glance our way at any moment.

  This is so wrong.

  So dirty.

  I love every naughty second of it.

  Shifting my body toward him I give him easier access to my aroused, hot little pussy. He plunges a finger deeply inside me and holds there, biting his lip and shaking his head with desire. My hand wraps around his wrist, because I want him to keep going. His lips part. I glance to his crotch. His huge cock is pushing at that zipper. God, I want it.

  Justin holds my look as he starts flicking my clit on the side I love the most. He sees my reaction and after about a minute of staring at me he mouths, “Cum for me.”

  His lips.

  That close shave.

  The fucking tie I want to unravel and string him up with.

  Biting back a whimper I silently explode on his thick fingers.

  His long blonde eyelashes drop to my lap. His mouth is open. I can see his tongue. I want to taste it one more time. We both bite our lips at the same time and lock eyes with lust. He cups me and massages my tender pussy until I’m a puddle.

  Pulling his hand back he darts a quick look around and decides more can’t be done here. All the seats are full. But I love that he’s thinking about it. How great would it be to just climb on his lap right here in the seat?

  Oh my God. He just brought his fingers to his lips and closed his eyes, sucking on them for his pleasure alone, since he can’t have more.

  He completely melts me with this.

  He loves the taste. He loves women.

  All women.

  Which means he’s dangerous, doesn’t it?

  Yes, it really does.

  I push my dress down and lay my scarf over my legs, stealing one last glance at his handsome profile before I start reading my magazine.

  Remember he’s not a man you can get attached to, Jaimie. He’s one to use up and throw away before he does that to you.

  Justin

  Had to gather myself together there.

  I almost pulled her onto my lap I wanted to fuck her so badly. I’ve never had sex in an airplane, and I’ve never gotten someone in the seat right next to me off, either.

  Fucking hot.

  Opening my eyes I glance over to her, but she’s faced away from me, reading a woman’s magazine like I’m not here and that didn’t just happen.

  First she leaves me staring after her in the janitor’s closet. Now this. I’m intrigued.

  I take note of the fact that she hasn’t touched the second drink. Addiction I have no patience for, thanks to a certain ex-model’s coke habit nearly crushing my brother, Jason. I was curious about this woman’s before-noon cocktails. Joined her ‘morning drinking’ as purely a strategy to get under her skirt. I was very aware she might have a problem, which is a real turn off for me in general.

  She doesn’t. That glass would be bone dry if she did. She’s paying it as much attention as she is to me.

  I have good instincts about people. I’m not as naive as Jason is. I sensed at the bar that something big is going on in her life, that the drinking was just a momentary escape rather than a daily need.

  But she hasn’t told me what.

  I’m growing very curious.

  What’s bringing her to my city?

  How long is she staying for?

  I doubt she’ll even tell me. She seems to enjoy being a mystery. “What’s your name?”

  She glances over like I interrupted an interesting article. Her face relaxes. “It’s Jaimie.”

  On a smirk, I mutter, “Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.”

  She blinks. “It’s Jaimie. It is.”

  “Yeah right,” I chuckle, pulling my phone out for the political podcasts I subscribe to. I can feel her staring at me so I wave at her to go back to her magazine. She turns away from me and shrugs.

  Minutes tick by, but I can’t focus on what these experts are debating. I’m hearing nothing but the plane engine’s dull and ceaseless hum…and my building curiosity.

  The thing is, women I make cum like that would normally be talking my fucking ear off.

  They’d be asking questions about me.

  Personal things I don’t want to share with strangers.

  They’d be offering unsolicited tidbits about their personal lives.

  Why is this gorgeous woman ignoring me?

  I glance over as she uncrosses her legs and kicks off one of her heels, bending while reading to absently rub the arch of her foot. Her toenails are perfect. Red nail polish. I like it.

  Reaching over I take hold of her foot to knead her flesh with stronger thumbs. She’s forced to adjust in her seat and face me as I bring it onto my lap.

  “Well, you’re just a full service shop, aren’t you?”

  On a smirk I confess, “With things like this I serve only myself.”

  “So what are you getting out of it?”

  I glance to my crotch and she follows my lead. Her eyes flicker from playful to lustful, but she covers it quickly.

  “What’s your name?”

  On a wicked smile she murmurs, “I already told you.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  “Why do you want to know?” She closes her magazine as I work the sore spots under her toes. Inhaling through her teeth, she rasps, “Oooooooh, you’re good at that.”

  “I’m good at a lot of things.”

  “And so modest about all of it.”

 
“Modesty isn’t something I’m good at,” I smirk, slowing my thumbs to small circles.

  Feigning surprise she asks, “No?”

  “Modesty is something mediocre people want you to feel.” Off her amused expression, I smile. “You don’t agree?”

  “I think you’re a jerk.”

  “I am one. Shall I continue?”

  “Please.”

  “Give me your other foot.” Her dress makes a sensual hiss as her thighs brush together during the switch. She has to adjust her body a little and when she does her eyes remain on me. She’s fucking breathtaking, this one. A dark-eyed beauty with mystery behind her every move. And I’ve finally got her full attention.

  “Society teaches us to put ourselves down. Why? Who does that help? It helps only those people who aren’t trying. Who could, but don’t want to live up to their full potential, that’s who it helps. Only them. But what if we all owned what we’re good at? Everyone. What if it became normal for people to say their positive attributes rather than their negatives?”

  “Interesting theory,” she purrs, closing her eyes as I press hard into her heel with my thumbs. “That feels so good.”

  Smirking I continue my diatribe, because this is a subject I’ve thought long and hard on, and it pisses me off that belittling yourself is a reality people demand, as a society norm.

  “Thomas Edison said, If we all did the things we are capable of doing we would literally astound ourselves. But people would rather numb themselves with an infinite selection of self-sabotaging behaviors than start a revolution and demand that term-limits be set for members of Congress, both the House of Representatives and Senate.”

  Her eyebrows rise up. “That was an interesting segue. Why should there be?”

  “There are term-limits for the President! Why not for Congress? It makes no logical sense.”

  “But if a Senator knows what he’s doing, why should he be forced to step down?”

  “He’s got six years to finish what he came to do,” I state with finality, because I’m used to the discussion stopping here.

  She surprises me by arguing, “The people vote them into office. It’s up to them to take them out.”

  Wow. Okay. Now it’s way more difficult to keep my thumbs moving slowly. I’m getting really worked up. “The people aren’t paying attention to what their Senators are doing. They don’t understand the system, so they turn a blind eye when they should take the time to learn.”