Cougar (Chauvinist Stories Book 2)

by Elise Faber

  Cougar

  Chauvinist Stories #2

  Elise Faber

  COUGAR

  BY ELISE FABER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  COUGAR

  Copyright © 2020 Elise Faber

  Print ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-56-2

  Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-55-5

  Cover Art by Jena Brignola

  Chauvinist Stories

  Bitch

  Cougar

  Whore

  Contents

  Chauvinist Stories

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Whore

  Chauvinist Stories

  Chauvinist Stories

  Also by Elise Faber

  About the Author

  One

  Artemis, Five Years Before

  He didn’t know I was a woman.

  That was wont to happen with a name like—

  “Artie?”

  I didn’t hold it against the young male director for staring around the room—devoid of people except for the two of us—in confusion for several long moments. With a name like Artie, I was often confused for a man. Especially considering that I was in the movie business, and specifically production, which was a male-dominated field.

  Though I had to give it to him, he recovered quickly.

  His smile was charming, his looks even more so, but . . . I was going to give him bad news.

  I couldn’t stand his films.

  Any of them.

  He was talented, an up-and-coming young director who could barely grow a beard, but he had vision, he was smart, and he could shoot a movie.

  They just weren’t for me.

  And so, I was going to pass on this project.

  Probably stupid, considering he was going to be the next hot thing in Hollywood, but also . . . that was me—not the stupid part, but the going with my heart and gut and never working on a film that I wasn’t passionate about.

  I’d promised myself that before getting back into the industry, after spending way too much of my childhood in the limelight, and I’d kept that promise for the last sixteen years.

  My films showcased women in strong, fulfilling roles. They featured talented female comedians and people of all colors, genders, and sexual orientations.

  I made films that weren’t Hollywood. Insert the air quotes here. But it was true. They weren’t what Hollywood typically made—huge budgets, lots of action and explosions. Not that there was anything wrong with those movies. I loved a good shoot-em-up.

  But I wasn’t passionate about making them.

  It wasn’t pandering, me producing these kinds of films. Audiences understood when they were being played.

  They also understood genuine.

  I’d built my career on that notion, and I’d become successful. But it had taken a solid ten years of working and hustling—and did I mention hustling—before I’d become well-known enough for producing and not simply being part of a infamous family and that I’d actually made some money.

  And also four Oscars, but I didn’t need to brag.

  Snorting to myself, I lifted my brows and raised my glass to my lips.

  “You’re Artie.” Pierce Daniels, the aforementioned handsome, young director, answered his own question and sat in the chair opposite me.

  It was late-afternoon in L.A., the restaurant we were in was one of my favorites, and I’d become fancy and important enough—ha—that they’d let me come in before they opened. Fancy and important had its perks, though this particular perk was mostly because I liked the chef—female, insanely good with all things carb-related (which was a feat sometimes in the land of Hollywood), and driven—and so I’d become a silent partner in the restaurant.

  “I’m Artie,” I confirmed. “Nice to meet you, Pierce.”

  He pulled out a laptop and I laughed internally. God, I loved energetic new blood, loved he was so excited about this project that he’d brought materials to go over. I’d been in the industry long enough to be jaded and cynical.

  Pierce had exactly the kind of enthusiasm we needed in this town.

  “Thanks for meeting with me,” he said, powering up the computer. “I loved In For a Penny”—the first film I’d produced that had made its way to the awards circuit and also had garnered me my first Oscar—“but I think my favorite is actually Into the Fire.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for saying that.” I set my glass on the table. “I was able to screen your most recent film. It’s going to be a hit.”

  Notice I didn’t subscribe to false flattery.

  Objectively, I didn’t like his movies.

  However, that didn’t mean I was immune to the knowledge that he was supremely talented.

  He froze for a minute, studying me closely, and I was locked in place by a pair of the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. Stormy gray with indigo bisecting their depths. Those irises darkened, understanding clouding his expression.

  Click.

  The laptop shut.

  “It’s a no,” he announced, sitting back in his chair almost haphazardly.

  I frowned.

  “You’re a no on the film.”

  My fingers circled the stem of my water glass. “It’s a no,” I agreed. “Probably the stupidest no I’ll ever give, considering how successful you’ll be in the next year or two.” I lifted the cup to my lips, took a sip. “But the script just isn’t something I’ll ever make.”

  A lock of brown hair drifted over his forehead, giving the twenty-something-year-old director the appearance of someone even younger.

  He brushed it back, almost annoyingly.

  “Why not?” he asked. “The female lead is strong, more powerful than most of the men in the film, and that dynamic is something you specialize in.”

  Cute.

  “Yes, she is strong.” I waited a beat. “However, that strength is undermined by a theme of the male co-star saving the day every step of the way. I counted at least three fight scenes where she’s nearly beaten before the hero sweeps in to rescue her, not to mention his masterful ability to always get her naked and the snarky comments he makes about her driving skills.”

  Pierce was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded. “You’re right.”

  The waiter came over and set a plate in front of me then handed a menu to Pierce. He took it, ordering an iced tea.

  “You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want,” I told him. “But if you do, I’ll still buy you lunch.”

  His brows pulled down. “I thought I was buying you lunch.”

  A shake of my head.
“I usually pay if I’m delivering disappointing news.”

  He laughed. “Ah. The stories of you are true.”

  I’d been busily spearing a forkful of handmade pasta, readying to shove it in my mouth, when he spoke. “What the hell does that mean?” I asked, after chewing and swallowing.

  “Just that everyone says you’re the most honest person in Hollywood.”

  Shrugging, I stuck the fork in my mouth and moaned when the delicious brown butter sauce made every single one of my taste buds orgasm. “It’s true,” I agreed.

  He tilted his head to the side, considering. “So, what did you think of Sunday Night?”

  “Hated it.”

  He burst into laughter and set the menu on the table, gesturing to the waiter. “I’ll have what she’s having.” The waiter nodded and Pierce turned back to face me. “How about Blue?

  “Nope. Didn’t like it.”

  One brown brow rose. “Well, it’s better than hate, so I’ll take it. Though, I’m almost afraid to ask what you think of Life and—”

  “Worst one of the bunch.”

  More laughter as he grabbed his laptop off the table and stuck it into his backpack. “I do love an honest woman.”

  It was my turn to lift a brow. “What’s that right there?” I waved my hand at his chest. “What’s going on with all of that?”

  “With what?” he asked innocently.

  “This smolder nonsense you have going on.”

  His lips twitched. “Smolder?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who’s too good for Disney movies,” I said and shoved another bite into my mouth. “Tangled is the best of the bunch.”

  “That’s the crazy talking,” he countered. “Clearly The Emperor’s New Groove is better.”

  I gasped. “Them’s fighting words, Pierce Daniels.” But my lips twitched. “Pull the lever?” I asked innocently, quoting one of my favorite lines from the film.

  Heat flickered in his eyes and head leaned forward. “Wrong lever?”

  I laughed. “Okay, so maybe you do have some Disney street cred.”

  “Actually,” he said, leaning back slightly to allow the waiter to set the plate in front of him. “I think those two things are actually mutually exclusive.” A beat. “But thanks for appreciating it. Even if that’s the only thing you appreciate about me.”

  “That is true,” I teased, shoving a bite of pasta into my mouth and barely able to hold back my moan of pleasure.

  Pierce gave me an affronted look, but then he picked up a forkful of food and stuck it in his mouth.

  I waited.

  His eyes widened in surprise.

  I knew the feeling because I’d experienced it just over a year ago, when I’d first tasted the chef’s food. Hence, my being a silent partner in a risky investment. Still, good food was half the battle and I’d eaten here enough to know that the other important part—service—was also exceptional.

  But Pierce didn’t know that.

  “This is delicious,” he said around the bite, which meant it sounded a lot like “Shish sish shulishush.”

  “Is this where I say chew with your mouth closed before surrendering to the smolder?”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin, set down the fork. “This is where I say I don’t give two shits about anything besides the amazing food on my plate.” He dropped the napkin back into his lap. “How did you find this place?”

  I shrugged. “A lady doesn’t give away her secrets.”

  Stormy gray-blue eyes went hot. “I bet I can convince you.”

  My pussy clenched. Straight up, right then. With a single look. Uh-oh. “I don’t date children.”

  He laughed. “I’m twenty-two. That’s hardly a child.”

  “Pierce. I’m thirty-seven.”

  “So?”

  He meant it, too, I could tell.

  “So, I don’t date people who work with me.”

  His laughter burned a hole straight down to my middle. “I think we’ve quite established the fact that we’re not going to be working together.”

  He had a point. And the stink knew it, given the way those hot eyes traced me up and down.

  “Eat your pasta,” he ordered huskily. Normally orders from men pissed me off, especially men who were many years younger than me, who deigned to think they had a right to give me orders, but there was something about Pierce’s gaze, heavy with approval and desire, that made it less annoying and more . . . promising.

  I lifted a brow. “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll just have to—” He broke off and waggled his brows, making like he was going to grab my plate.

  I lifted my fork threateningly.

  He laughed, went back to his own entrée. “Thanks for lunch.”

  My carefully constructed bite of pasta fell onto my plate. “I thought we’d established you were paying,” I said and when he did nothing more but chuckle and then smolder at me again, before continuing to devour his lunch, I knew I was in trouble.

  Then deep shit when he snagged the waiter and handed him his card.

  And then falling down into a crevice of even deeper shit when he gently tugged my ponytail out from underneath the collar of my jacket when I slipped it on.

  Between the table and front door, I considered my options.

  At the front door, I made a decision.

  I took his hand and pulled him over to my car.

  Two

  Pierce

  Artemis was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

  Hands down. No comparison.

  Eyes the color of the Pacific, hair the color of honey. A body that was more incredible than I could have ever dreamed of—hips and ass and breasts and—

  Her fingers went to her shirt, slowly tugging at the length of silk that was wrapped around her throat. The pale pink made a quiet swooshing sound as the silk slid free, and my cock twitched. I’d been dreaming about doing that the entire lunch, pulling the fabric to the side, exposing the skin underneath. I’d bet she would taste like sunshine. Or maybe sweet like honey. Or spicy like the fire she’d dished out over pasta.

  When her fingers went to the top button on her blouse, I stepped close and halted her movements, taking her hands into mine. I didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I also wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage.

  Gently, I brought her hands to my chest, opened my mouth—

  She slipped free of my grip, rose on tiptoe, and laid a finger across my lips. “Save the noble speech for some other girl,” she said. “I wouldn’t have brought you back to my house if I wasn’t sure. But I should ask you if you’re sure you want to do this.” She tapped my lips lightly. “It doesn’t matter how many orgasms you give me, I’m still not going to help you make that movie.”

  I smiled. I liked this woman. We’d known each other for all of an hour, and I already felt as though I’d known her my whole life.

  Especially when she added, “I wouldn’t want to use my very powerful position and—”

  I nipped her fingers, and she jerked her hand back. “That was a very naughty thing to do young Pierce—”

  One movement and I’d tugged her against me. “Is that what this is?”

  “What is?” she asked, burying her nose in my throat.

  “You have some cougar fantasy?” I teased. “Not that I’m opposed. For an old chick, you’re hot—”

  She gasped, outrage invading her expression.

  Which gave me the perfect opportunity to drop my mouth to hers, to slip my tongue past her lips, and tease—

  She bit me.

  “Fuck,” I grunted, pulling back.

  “I’m hot for an old chick?”

  My smile escaped, even though I tried to keep it in. “Yup. That exactly.”

  Her palm slid down my chest, nails digging in, moving lower. I’d appreciated the bright red nails over lunch, watching the flash of crimson appear as she ate, but I didn’t think I was going to enjoy those cherry t
ips repeating the action beneath my pants, so I caught her hands, pinned them in one of mine. “You know I’m teasing.”

  “Old chick?” she asked again.

  “I’m. Teasing.”

  “Out.” She pointed to the front door.

  Oh shit. I’d seriously fucked up. My heart sank as I scrambled to come up with a way to salvage this situation. If I didn’t, I might end up with permanent blue balls. “Artemis—”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Artie.”

  “Artie,” I repeated hurriedly. “I didn’t mean—” I froze, head cocking to the side. Had her lips just twitched? Fucking hell, they had. The little stink. Deciding to give it just as good as she was, I reached up and tied the strip of silk back around her neck. “I’ll just go then,” I said, hanging my head.

  Her eyes widened. “I—”

  Nope. Two could play these games.

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” I shook my head, dropping my gaze to my feet so she wouldn’t see me fighting a smile. “It was totally—”

  “Oh my God.” She stomped one heel-clad foot. “You’re totally fucking with me.”

  My eyes darted up, clashing with the bright blue of hers. “Yes.” A beat. “I’d rather be fucking you, though.” I slid my arm around her waist, fingers slipping just underneath the hem of her shirt. “If that’s something you’re still interested in.”

  “The fucking me? Or the fucking with each other?”

  I nipped her throat. “The first.”

  “Interested,” she murmured. “But this can only be for one night.”