Devil in a Suit (Cocky Suits Book 1)

by Alex Wolf

  Rick calls and interrupts the moment. I glare at the phone.

  That motherfucker.

  “I wasn’t asking you on a date. I was just going to say this was fun and we should think about doing it again sometime. Just the sex. No feelings.” I grin, but it’s a cover. I’m lying to myself and to her. There’s something there, whether I want to admit it or not.

  “Text me sometime and we’ll see. No promises.”

  I nod as we exchange phones, putting our numbers in.

  “I’ll give your shirt to the driver when he drops me off.”

  My jaw clenches thinking about her taking it off in front of him. “Keep it.”

  “Bye.” She kisses my cheek and the word sounds so final.

  It feels like I just got punched in the stomach.

  Normally, after I fuck a woman so hard she can barely walk, I can’t get away from her fast enough. Why is she different?

  The challenge.

  It’s been a while since I’ve had one.

  I watch her walk out the door and wonder what I can do to make her change her mind.

  Brooke

  Tell me everything. What did you do last night? And don’t you dare tell me you went home and rang in the new year with Casper.” Misty looks at me with bright eyes eager for gossip. She tucks her hands under her chin and bats her lashes.

  I roll my eyes and take a bite of my bagel, then wash it down with mimosa to cure my hangover ails.

  “Actually, I ran into someone.” My cheeks heat at the thought of Weston and the night we spent together. The things the man did to my body—I wouldn’t mind a repeat. But I know that would only open me up to getting hurt. He’s not the kind of guy you hand your heart to. He’s the kind of guy that shatters it and leaves you to pick up all the pieces.

  God, he really is possibly the world’s biggest asshole. But there’s something endearing about him that just makes me want more. He left me unsatisfied. He makes me smile, and the orgasms—Jesus.

  “Who what now? When did you meet a guy? Is it a guy?”

  “Yes, it’s a guy.” I throw a balled-up napkin at her. “His name is Weston.”

  “Tell me more.” She leans in closer.

  “You’re ridiculous.” I look away. “We shared a cab from the airport the other night.” I leave out the part where he stole my cab. Why am I trying to paint a good picture of him?

  “What’s he look like? I need details, woman.”

  “Dark hair. You know that look that says I just rolled out of bed and I’m still hot? And he has dark eyes that are so—dominating. There’s a mystery to him. He’s cut, but not too cut. Lean but athletic build. He’s taller than me even when I wear my heels.”

  “Sounds like one of your book boyfriends. So you met up with him last night?”

  “That’s the funny thing. He was at the club. It was totally random.” I grin and finish my food.

  “Sounds like fate.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please. Don’t with that shit.”

  She holds her hands up. “I’m just saying.”

  “Well feel free to not just say.” I smirk.

  “Did you hook up?”

  I shrug and she glares at me.

  “Don’t withhold information, bitch. Tell me.” She pounds a fist on the table and gives me her best fake intimidating stare.

  I laugh. “What about you and Mr. Pike?”

  Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “I don’t want to get into it. You’ll judge me like you always do.”

  “I don’t judge you.” I scoff.

  “Do too.”

  “Do not.”

  “Now who’s the child?” I stick my tongue out at her. This is going nowhere fast.

  She folds her arms and pretends to pout.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re a grown woman. You can do whatever you want. And I promise to listen with an open mind if you want to talk about him.”

  “Thank you. Because I’m dying to tell you all about last night. He showed up at my place and cried about his loveless marriage. He always wanted kids. Wanted someone to leave his legacy to, but his wife refused. Their marriage is just business. Her father would merge the companies if he married his daughter.”

  “That sounds sad.”

  “He asked me to have his baby.”

  I choke on my drink. “He what now?”

  “I think I’m going to do it. He promised to pay for everything. And he’ll even live with the baby and me. His wife doesn’t care as long as he supports her financially.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I try to hold back my words, but it’s too late.

  Her face turns red. “You promised you wouldn’t judge.” She folds her arms over her chest.

  I take a deep breath. “I know. And I’m sorry. But sleeping with him is one thing. Having his baby—that’s a big deal. I just worry about what happens to you if he goes back to her or whatever.”

  “He loves me.”

  “I’m not saying he doesn’t care for you. Just, this is a huge decision.”

  “I’m pregnant.” Tears burn in the corners of her blue eyes.

  I suck in another breath.

  “I was going to tell you last night. I thought maybe if I got you drunk enough—”

  “That I’d give you my blessing?” I take a second and try to calm myself, then reach over and grab her hands. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you. It’s just—wow. It’s a lot all at once. Are you okay?”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  I stare for a brief second, then shake my head slowly. “No. Of course not.” I get up from my seat and go around to her side of the table and hug her. “You’re my best friend. I just want to see you happy.”

  “Pike makes me happy. I love him so much it hurts. I’d do anything for him.”

  I sigh and cup her head in my hand, holding her tight to me. “I know. I just worry he doesn’t feel the same.”

  She squeezes my hand. “He gave me his black card. I need some new clothes.”

  When she gets up from the table I see the small bump under her bulky shirt.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Three months.” She smiles, rubbing her stomach.

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  “I found out last month. I would have told you, but I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.”

  “I wish you would have come to me. I may not like Pike, but I’m still your friend.”

  “I know.”

  “Let’s go find you some hot maternity clothes that will have Pike on his knees.” That wins me a smile from her.

  Weston

  Can I get you anything else, Mr. Hunter?” Daisy stares at me from the doorway.

  “That’ll be all. Thanks.” I dismiss her with a flick of my wrist.

  She’s a sweet girl but way too nice to be in this business. She cares too much. You can’t practice law and allow your feelings to compromise the job. It doesn’t matter if I think a client is at fault. All that matters is that they pay me enough to represent their best interest. Their personal life is of no concern to me. I avoid politics and religion in the office and make it a point not to discuss either with my friends as well. People are so damn sensitive. One sentence taken out of context can cause a fucking shitstorm.

  The world is a bunch of sensitive pussies not afraid to go on a crusade.

  I see my brother across the hall through the glass walls of our offices. We have blinds if we need them, but mine are always open. I like to be able to see everything, including threats before they knock on my door. I don’t bring pleasure to work. He’s on the phone and looks like he wants to throw something through the wall.

  Glad it’s him and not me.

  He’s got a young client who just inherited the family ranch and has no idea how to manage the business or his life. The kid’s been arrested for two DUIs in six months. Brodie’s growing tired of his antics, but I file that situation under not my problem.

  It’s
been three days since I fucked Brooke, and I can’t get the memory of her pussy out of my mind. I’ve picked up the phone several times, tempted to reach out to her. I can’t believe she hasn’t called or texted me yet. I even called my cell phone provider to make sure my shit was functioning properly.

  They assured me it was. It’s ridiculous.

  I thought about having my driver deliver flowers to the place where he dropped her off, but that’s a bitch move. She needs to stop being stubborn and call me.

  I press the button on my phone and buzz my secretary. “Hey.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hunter?”

  “Hold all calls until I tell you not to.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Turning my cell over in my hands, I’m conflicted. Torn between my pride and wanting to see her again.

  Fuck it. I type out “hi” then quickly delete it. Then I type out “Are you thinking about me? You should be.” My head flies back against my chair. I’m so fucking worthless right now. Delete. I delete all of it. I think she’s broken me. I sound like a major league pussy.

  Weston: Dinner. Tonight. My place. 7pm.

  Before I can stop myself, I hit send, and instantly want to take the message back. At least it’s halfway demanding and not cringeworthy. This is stupid. She’s one woman. I already fucked her, so why can’t I move on?

  I can see that she’s read the message, yet there are no dots bouncing around. The dots always bounce immediately when I send someone a message. I don’t know how to deal with rejection. I’ve always been the one not interested.

  Why hasn’t she responded yet? It’s been two fucking minutes.

  Growing more irritated with every passing second, I know I’m not being rational. Maybe she’s at work. I toss my personal phone in the top drawer of my desk and bury myself in work.

  Brooke

  This week has been insane. When I returned to work on Tuesday, I had twelve cases needing representation. I’ve been doing research and trying to pick those who need my services the most. The cases I don’t take will get passed on to another lawyer like myself.

  The sad part is some of these cases will never see a courtroom. Most settle when they can. I avoid taking on family court. It’s mentally exhausting, and I become too invested emotionally with the kids. Some of them are bounced around from family member to family member but most end up wards of the state. It’s a sad reality but it’s the hard truth. I have more cases than I can count that come across my desk. Mothers who did time on drug charges and now want to gain custody of their kids back. Some of them do recover but more times than not they return to old habits. Rarely is there a good outcome or a happy ending. It’s why I read and listen to audio books—to escape reality.

  I stack four files to the side. They’re in my no way pile.

  As I go through another stack my phone lights with a text.

  My heart jumps into my throat when I see his name.

  Weston.

  Weston: Dinner. Tonight. My place. 7pm.

  All I can do is stare at the message for five minutes.

  The man who doesn’t do relationships.

  It’s been three days and I can still feel his touch.

  Dinner seems too intimate. I know that sounds dumb when he’s been inside me, but we agreed that it was a fling.

  I eyeball the caseload waiting for me.

  I type out four different responses, and quickly delete all of them. Nothing sounds good enough. My thighs squeeze together as I stare at the message from him.

  Brooke: If you want to see me again we need to lay down some rules. Nothing personal. No dates. We meet at a hotel.

  Send.

  I stare at my phone waiting for a response as the dots move.

  Weston: Presidential Suite. Four Seasons. 7:30 PM. Tomorrow.

  This is it. I’m really agreeing to this. Another casual hook up. I feel so Sex In The City.

  Weston

  Weston: Can’t wait to see you tomorrow night.

  Brooke: The feeling is mutual.

  Weston: What are you wearing?

  The dots start to move then stop.

  I wait for a response but don’t get one. I start to type out a new message but a picture comes through.

  Hot damn.

  Brooke sent me a shot of her thigh. She’s wearing a garter belt. Fuck me, I’d like to rip it off with my teeth.

  Brooke: I showed you mine. Show me yours.

  Weston: You didn’t show me shit, tease.

  Brooke: Don’t keep me waiting or I might lose interest in playing.

  Weston: Patience.

  I hit the camera icon at the bottom. Before I do anything, I take the remote to my blinds from the top drawer of my desk and bring them down, allowing me some privacy.

  Unzipping my pants first, I leave the button fastened to give her a taste of her own medicine. Two can most definitely play this game.

  I take about five different pictures and decide on the best angle, maybe even do a little cropping. I hit send once I’m pleased with the shot.

  Brooke: Tease.

  Weston: Isn’t that what you’re doing? Don’t give me that shit.

  Brooke: If I were a cocktease I’d be sending you photos like this…

  Attachment Loading…

  An image pops up of her cleavage.

  It’s sexy as fuck, but I want more.

  I want her down on her knees in front of me. Taking my cock in her mouth. Eyes watering, gagging on it.

  I send her a shot of my pec to respond to hers. I caption it “tit for tit.”

  Brooke: Ha! Funny.

  Weston: You’ll see funny when I put you over my knee…

  Brooke: Is that a threat or a promise? Because I have to tell you…thinking about you bending me over and spanking me…its hot.

  Her confession has me growing hard and I can’t stop myself from unbuttoning my pants.

  Weston: It’s* (sorry, couldn’t help myself) And that can be arranged. See what you do to me.

  Attachment Loading…

  I send her a picture of my cock.

  Brooke: You don’t play fair. That photo has me touching myself and thinking about you.

  Fuck, I bite the inside of my cheek.

  Weston: Show me.

  The dots start to move, and I wait to see if she’s willing to go there for me or if she’s all talk.

  Weston: waiting…

  Brooke: Patience.

  Attachment Loading…

  Fuck me, she went there, and I nearly blow a load on my hand. Two of her slender fingers stuffing that sweet cunt.

  Weston: Where are you? I need to be inside you. Now.

  Brooke

  I can’t believe what’s happening. I’m locked in my office sexting with Weston. I’ve never done anything like this before. He brings something out of me that’s never surfaced. When he sends me a short video of him stroking his cock, I lick my lips, remembering how it felt taking him in my mouth.

  In return, I send him a clip of my fingers sliding in and out of my pussy.

  Weston: Where are you? I need to be inside you. Now.

  Brooke: Patience.

  Weston: Jesus, I can’t stop watching that. I just came on my hand.

  Brooke: I wish it was my mouth.

  Weston: If you’d agreed to dinner tonight, we wouldn’t have to wait…

  Brooke: It’s a tempting offer…but we have an agreement.

  Weston: Care to renegotiate your terms?

  Brooke. Now who sounds like a lawyer? I’ll see you tomorrow. xx

  Weston doesn’t message me back and I’m ready to get home.

  As I leave the office my phone goes off. Part of me lights up and hope blooms in my chest at the idea that it’s Weston.

  I dig my phone out of my purse when I get in my car.

  My hope fades. It’s my mom. I never called her after my flight.

  Mom: Haven’t heard from you since last year. Wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten about us. You know�
�your parents?

  I roll my eyes at her dramatics.

  Instead of texting I call her like a good daughter would.

  She picks up on the second ring. “So nice to finally hear from you.”

  “I know I should’ve called sooner. I’ve just been busy with work.” I leave out the part about staying the night with Weston and all the orgasms.

  “You work too hard, Pookie.”

  I groan. “I know.”

  “Good thing I’m in town to make sure you get out and live a little. Your father and I are staying at the Four Seasons. We have dinner reservations at six-thirty at Wynega’s.”

  “Fine.” I look down at my phone, It’s already half past five. There’s no way I can make it home to change and be on time for dinner. I was already regretting not taking Weston up on his invitation. Now, it’s even worse. I could’ve said I had a date. That might be the one excuse Mom wouldn’t question.

  She’s been after me to find a new man since I broke up with my ex.

  She’d never understand the arrangement with Weston. She thinks a woman should be settled and having kids at twenty-five. I’m past my expiration date to find a suitable husband in her eyes. She’s highly old fashioned when it comes to marriage. She’d probably have a heart attack if I told her I was fucking a guy and didn’t even know his last name.

  Wynega’s is crowded and with good reason; they serve amazing food. It’s one of the main reasons I didn’t come up with an excuse not to do dinner with my parents. It may sound like I don’t love them. I do. I love them more than life, but I can only handle them in small doses. My mom can be very, umm, overbearing. She’s a helicopter parent and can’t help it.

  My parents are already seated at their table and Mom has taken the liberty of ordering for me.

  “I got you a nice salad, but I told them to leave off the meat. You’re looking a little thick around the hips. It’s ‘cause you take after me, and our family has always had dominating birthing hips.” She winks and pats my hand.

  I stand there and shake my head, then finally take a seat.