The Suit (The Bro Series Book 3) Read online

  The Suit

  The Bros Series #3

  By Xavier Neal

  ©Xavier Neal 2018

  Cover by Dana Leah with Design By Dana

  All Rights Reserved

  License Note

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization from the author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in a court of law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Note

  Dedication

  Playlist Selects

  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

  Epilogue

  PLEASE NOTE: This is a WORK OF FICTION. While there are realistic issues and topics touched on, along with careers, please be aware the details of such were created with combinations of person to person research, online research, and creative liberty. Please be aware the following content is intended for MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. (18+)

  Dedication:

  To the Universe...Thank you for protecting my passion.

  Playlist Selects

  Here are seven songs from “The Suit” playlist!

  Feel free to follow the playlist on Spotify to find more songs I felt related to the book.

  1. I Get Lonely – Janet Jackson (R&B)

  2. The Good Left Undone – Rise Against (Rock)

  3. Play – David Banner (Rap)

  4. That’s Life – Frank Sinatra (Contemporary Pop)

  5. Loser- Jagged Edge (R&B)

  6. Good Girl – Dustin Lynch (Country)

  7. All Of Me – Billie Holiday (Jazz)

  More songs: https://spoti.fi/2A1inzW

  Chapter 1

  I can easily think of a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t put her pussy in my mouth. At the bottom of the fucking list? This goddamn cigar.

  She takes a slow, deep breath causing the edge of her gray t-shirt to inch up further, flashing me the tiniest glimpse of the smooth, shaven delight between her thighs.

  My jaw locks in place as my mouth waters in anticipation.

  There’s wrong and then there’s wrong.

  Fucked up thing is, I’m fluent in both.

  Even more fucked up thing is I especially enjoy the latter.

  The elements of taboo.

  The shit in the dark you’re not supposed to want.

  Crossing lines that are clearly marked not to be crossed.

  That type of shit turns me on. Gets me so fucking hard I could nail a chick into a steel wall using my dick as a fucking hammer. The sight of having her pinned in place at my mercy would just thicken me right back up. I’m definitely the type of man who enjoys adding that extra wrong to get off ‘cause it feels fucking right.

  Turning my attire into tools of dominance.

  Submission. Surrender. Suppression.

  Adding assistance in the form of whatever’s closest.

  Finger. Tongue. Bottle.

  Leaving an obvious bruise in the public’s eye to remember me by.

  Jaw. Neck. Wrists.

  Under normal circumstances this would be no different.

  But these aren’t normal circumstances.

  And no matter how fucking amazing this premium, aged cigar is, there’s not a chance in fucking hell it tastes better than a sopping wet pussy that’s been calling my name since I walked through the front door.

  Fuck that.

  Since I laid eyes on her across the altar.

  All of a sudden, her thin, hazelnut colored fingers pluck the tobacco thrill I was enjoying from my lips.

  A grunt of disbelief escapes, but I remain silent and intently watch the relocation process, completely mesmerized by her execution.

  Her every movement.

  Her every breath.

  The phallus shaped object lands between her thick, full lips and my dick protests with a harsh thump against the zipper of my suit pants.

  Fuck…If I don’t get off this couch right now and walk out of this room, I’m gonna break a fucking boundary I swore I’d never break again.

  Let my tongue breach an area not meant for it to breach.

  Bury my cock in territory meant for a better man.

  A decent man.

  Not a fucking savage.

  Her mouth forms the perfect O as it sucks the sweet essence out of my smoky retreat.

  I growl from the hunger ignited.

  The match dangled.

  The spark lit.

  Restraint…control…those are requirements I put on like the suit and tie for work.

  I’m not accustomed to them after hours.

  I’m not obligated to be a slave to them once the paperwork is filed.

  And I won’t be.

  She slowly removes the cigar from her mouth, tips her head backwards, and blows out a long stream of smoke. The wicked smirk lingering on her lips is an invitation.

  A temptation.

  A fucking challenge.

  Rather than allow my body to glide itself to the very edge of the dark green leather couch, I casually run my fingertips up the back of her slender legs, silently demanding she come closer.

  Soundlessly commanding to be presented a new treat like the fucking king I am.

  Her entire body trembles from the light touches, yet when my hand roughly grips the curve of her ass, she anxiously rocks her pelvis towards me as if begging to be tasted.

  Taken.

  “Feed me that pussy.”

  The words receive a small whimper followed promptly by the placing of her foot on the back of the couch directly beside me. Our eyes lock, and she slowly relocates the cigar to her lips. Without needing to be further persuaded or instructed, her fingers relocate to the top of my smooth, completely shaven head. In one swift motion, she yanks me forward smothering my face in the scorching juices dripping from her pussy.

  I take a deep inhale and instantly salivate from the sweet smell.

  Her moan is initially muffled, but the moment my tongue snakes out to deliver a single, stiff swipe, she purrs, “Eat me like you fucking need me.”

  Suddenly, the desire to deliver pleasure, a task I’ve prided myself in, considering it to come naturally, transforms into something deeper.

  Darker.

  Primal.

  Her heated request pours gasoline on a fire I didn’t realize was waiting to become roaring.

  My mouth latches onto her wet lips, teeth lightly grazing her clit, gauging the amount of domination she can truly ingest. The action causes her to dig her fingers harder into my scalp yet not hard enough to prove I’ve touched her limit.

  I steal another lick before warning, “It’s gonna hurt.”

  “Make it.”

  The rebuttal rips another growl out of my chest.

  Love a woman who isn’t afraid of a little pain.

  I drop my jaw and infuse my face in her pussy. Every. Inch. One arm wraps itself around her waist to insure she stays anchored in place while the other drags itself down the crack of her ass, hinting to an area I plan to conquer right alongside this one. My tongue viciously thrashes around,
ferociously tasting each drop that lands in its path. Groan after groan springs free as her pussy weeps in approval at the lashing. Sweet, sticky sensations smother my senses.

  My stability.

  My sanity.

  I allow my finger to sample the soaking area and spread a thick trail to her asshole. At the same time I push it in, I bury my tongue deeper into her hole, growling at the way she quivers on my tongue. In a ruthless tandem, they pierce the tight muscles, determined to meet in the middle even if it fucking breaks her in the process. Light moans transpose to desperate whimpers, and an unusual sense of pride pumps through my veins.

  Of course I like knowing a woman’s satisfied…but this is different.

  This is…important.

  Life changing…

  Life changing?

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Did I have that much wine at dinner?

  Her fingers abandon the notion of gripping and send her nails to do the task. The sharp scraping of my scalp merely encourages the savage hidden behind this expensive suit to strip free of his final chains. She begins to shake harder, muscles warning at the pending orgasm, and I don’t hesitate to snatch it out of her. My tongue plunges just as my finger forces its way past the second knuckle. High pitched screams fill the dimly lit room in such a rapid succession it would be harder to decipher from the outside if someone was being pleased or tortured.

  Maybe a bit of both?

  Is it that wrong to combine the two?

  The tip of the lit cigar brushes the top of my bare foot, but it barely registers. Her pussy continuously pulsates around my frantically winding tongue that refuses to pick a direction. That refuses to become victim to a predictable pattern or speed. That refuses to stop moving until it’s branded my name not only on the orgasm it’s stolen, but the ones waiting in the wings.

  She screams louder.

  Scrapes my skin harder.

  Shouts like we’re in a courtroom, and she needs the person in the back corner to know I’m guilty.

  Guilty of stealing.

  Guilty of claiming.

  Guilty of a whole new level of possession.

  I lick and suck and thrust until the reward of my exploits are dripping off my goddamn chin. Then and only then do I abruptly pull back to admire the mess I’ve made.

  Her leg dramatically drops off the couch, and our gazes once again lock except this time, the look in her eyes is one harder to interpret. The mixture of thrill and regret are woven so tightly together I’m torn between apologizing and demanding she gets on her knees so I can fuck her like I need her, too.

  She doesn’t give me the opportunity to do either. She simply pushes her messy, wavy black hair out of her face, retrieves the dropped cigar, and presses it back to my lips.

  Disbelief drops my jaw, which is when she slips the object back to where it once belonged.

  There’s not another word spoken or look exchanged. The smooth skinned vixen simply sashays back the direction she came. As soon as the door to the parlor is shut, my back braces itself against the couch, unsure of whether to be furious this was a one off or thankful she left before it went further.

  Fucking a client’s step-daughter whether it’s with fingers, mouth, or dick is not a wise decision.

  I swore off letting the lower brain do higher brain thinking years ago.

  I can’t mix the world of personal with professional.

  Not again.

  Not even if I know that woman belongs to me and no one fucking else…

  Chapter 2

  “What was I supposed to do, E? I was in a vulnerable state, and he had been eye fucking me the whole night.”

  My best friend, Eden, simply states, “I’m not judging.”

  With her Doctenn accent it almost sounds like she’s being compassionate. And honestly? While she may not be judging me, I certainly am. Letting a basic stranger tongue my brains out because I was emotionally imbalanced was a terrible decision. That’s not how a responsible person, let alone a parent, behaves! I’m supposed to keep my legs closed, set an example for my daughter, not open them for the first pair of dark brown eyes that look at me rather than through me.

  “So,” Eden drops down on the bar stool at the high island and crosses her burnt sienna colored legs, “when are you gonna let the pussy screamer give an encore?”

  A heavy sigh escapes as I place the lid on my coffee mug. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Yet you did, which means not only was it worth bragging about, but that you want to see him again.”

  I hate how she’s not wrong.

  But it won’t happen.

  It shouldn’t happen.

  “Can’t happen,” I absent-mindedly finish the train of thought out loud.

  “Because he’s your new step father’s divorce lawyer?”

  “That, too.”

  Gotta admit, it’s a bit awkward to wanna sleep with the man who recently made your mother sign a pre-nup that had enough clauses to make you question if she was marrying just another millionaire or a man who could bail out a small country. Nonetheless, she happily signed. She’s never wanted Bartholomew for his money or status. When they got engaged I asked her why she wanted to marry him, especially considering they had only been together three months, and she said because he knows just the way to make her smile. It was the sweetest, most basic answer. An answer a mother should tell her child. An answer…I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give mine.

  Shaking away the romantic thought, I casually add, “Plus, I’m seeing someone else. Well. Kinda.”

  “Ry, you went on one date with that Match.com maybe and couldn’t even bring yourself to go on another!”

  “It wasn’t because I didn’t like him. It was just poor timing between work and impromptu prep for this unexpected wedding.”

  Eden tilts her head condescendingly at me.

  “Okay, so I didn’t like him, but I didn’t hate him.”

  Her eyes lower to a stern stare.

  “Fine! I did hate him. And his shitty taste in Indian food and permanent eye gunk I nonchalantly kept trying to let him know he had, and the fact he kept reminding me he was infertile so we could have all the sex we wanted.”

  Online dating is the absolute fucking worst thing. All the success stories they report having I’m fairly certain are bullshit. When I finally returned to the world of dating a little over a year ago, I had high hopes that doing it this way would be better, more efficient, safer in some aspect to meet someone. Instead? Instead, I have a new-found respect for the good old fashion ‘we met at a bar’ scenario.

  “Exactly.” Eden offers me a mirth filled smirk. “Now that we’ve cleared away your first lie, let’s get to the second. The Pussy Screamer-”

  “Paxton,” I quickly interrupt. “You can’t just keep calling him The Pussy Screamer.”

  “I mean I could…but for the sake of little ears possibly overhearing in the future, I’ll call him by his actual name.”

  The teasing kicks a bright smile onto my face.

  “You can see Paxton again. And you should. At the very least, admit it to yourself that you want to. You’re a single mom, Ry, not an extraterrestrial. It’s totally acceptable to want love and great sex. There’s nothing wrong or irresponsible about wanting someone in your life who makes your toes curl.”

  Fuck, he sure did that last night. Effortlessly, might I add. He would just shoot me a dark glance during dinner, and my entire body would clench in anticipation. It was like he was sending me silent, dirty demands to be wet and ready for him at any given moment.

  And I was.

  And I wanna be.

  Ugh. I can’t believe how ridiculous I sound right now.

  How reckless.

  I have a small sip of my coffee and confess, “I’d love to see him again, E.”

  She smiles victoriously.

  “But it’s highly unlikely.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this mornin
g, when he asked me could we see each other again, I told him if it was meant to be, he’d find a way to make it happen.”

  Eden tosses a frustrated hand in the air. “What? Why?! Why would you say that?!”

  A small shrug bounces my shoulders. “I don’t know. Thought it sounded cute? Flirty?”