Cocky Senator (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 5)(3)

By: Faleena Hopkins

“Yours for the next thirty minutes.”

My breath hitches as I squirm on my chair while trying to retain my normal grace and self-possession. By the glint that jumps into his eyes, he caught how much I loved that.


Fairly loudly I counter, “Thirty minutes? Really? Wouldn’t you last…only two?”

The bartender pauses as he sets the Macallan 18 in front of Justin before quickly departing.

The gorgeous bastard’s smirk hasn’t faltered in the slightest. A less confident male would have been embarrassed or defensive I said that as loud as I did, and in front of another man. He’s neither. “Now that we’re alone again,” he quietly tells me in a thicker tone. “My name is Justin Cocker. And I could get you off in two. Want to see?”

My lips part.

His smirk deepens.

He’s loving this.

So am I.

Unsure of my next move, I face away from him with a bored look. “Excuse me, Mr. Cocker, but you must have me confused with a woman who would say yes to something that cheap.”

“I know it’s beneath you. I don’t go for low-class girls. I go for women like you.”

I take a sip of my whiskey and try to slow my heart, licking the sweet heat off my lips before I say, “Well, that’s very interesting, but I’m staying put, thanks.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I cut a quick glance to Justin’s wolfish smile. “You’re an arrogant bastard!”

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “But arrogance is born of the knowledge of one’s own abilities and the refusal to fake modesty. Lick your lips for me again.”

“No,” I whisper, taking another sip.

I lick my lips and hold his eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

I’m pulsing so hard my clit is panting.

I have zero doubt that Justin could make a woman’s body sing the National Anthem in more ways than one and with little effort.

“Stop staring at me," I whisper, squirming.

He glances to my lap and meets my eyes. “Do you wish that chair vibrated?”

My eyes go big. “Oh my God!”

Under his breath so that no one can overhear him, he says, “I know I’ve gotten you all wet. I also know that you won’t tell me your name because you’re considering having anonymous sex with me. That’s the only way you’ll do it. If I never know who you are.”

“I am not considering it!”

“Yeah, you are.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Nerve?” Justin chuckles.

“You’re very cocky.”

“No. I’m confident.”

“Confidence doesn’t boast itself.”


“You can be very confident and not be an asshole.”

“You’re thinking about my asshole now?”

A grin flashes on me but I quickly stifle it and force myself to be serious. “I’m thinking you are one, not about your…well, you know.” My face flushes and I glance away, wishing I knew how to get out of this.

He whispers, “I know a janitor’s closet that locks.”

Suddenly the image of us hidden away with cleaning products and metal shelves, fucking like animals, springs into my core.

“Oh, you do?”


“At every airport? In every terminal?”

His eyes narrow with lust, loving that I’m giving him a hard time. After a second of thought he rises from his barstool with the grace of a panther, pulls out his wallet and calls to the bartender, “Can my wife and I settle the tab?”

I whisper, “Your what?” but he ignores me.

Glancing between us in barely masked surprise the bartender returns. Before I have time to deny our fake union      , Justin tells the older gentleman, “My wife and I role play. Acting like strangers meeting at an airport keeps things interesting for us. Keeps the heat alive.”

Salty eyebrows relax. “I might have to try that.”

“I recommend it.”

Glancing to me, the bartender asks, “How long have you two been married?”

Justin waits to see what I’ll do.

“Just under a year,” I casually smile, lifting my handbag. “But it got boring fast.”

The bartender uncomfortably looks at Justin, but my fake-husband agrees, without missing a beat, “I’m very mundane. Can barely hold a conversation.”

“And his skills in bed,” I add with a roll of my eyes. “Well, let’s just say they needed some help.”

Justin’s nod is solemn. “Without my wife’s guidance I’d just lie there. Frigid and clueless.”

The bartender has grown increasingly more uncomfortable with this much ‘honesty,’ so he hastily mutters, “I’ll be right back,” and exits to run the credit card.

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