Cooper

“If you’re not here by eleven, Coop, then forget about the afternoon with him.”

“Are you serious right now?” I grip my phone tight as I stand outside the hotel I'm scoping out. It's Monday morning, the day after our first in-person meeting and Beth asked me to find a swanky hotel. She gave me certain parameters for the place she wanted us to do the deed, and I don't want to fuck this up. Unfortunately, I have to deal with my ex first.

“The court said that I can deny a visit if you don’t come on time, and that’s what I’m doing,” she shouts through the phone. I momentarily pull it away from my ear because it’s so damn loud.

“You know that’s bullshit, Britt. I’ll be there on time, I’m running an errand first.”

“I know all about your errands,” she spits. “You should really change your address with the bank. I saw a large payment to a The Perfect Match dating service on one of your statements. Is that where you find your whores now?”

Groaning, I rub my hand down my face. “That’s none of your damn business. We. Are. Divorced. What I choose to do with my dick and money on my free time has nothing to do with you, or my son.” I’m pacing back and forth because this woman makes me crazy.

“Maybe I should show this to the court since you seem to care more about who you fuck rather than your son.”

Through clenched teeth, I tell her, “I'll be there on time.”

“Okay. We need to talk.” Shit, her voice goes from harsh to sweet in a matter of moments. Who knows what the hell she wants this time.

“Whatever,” I mutter, ending the call before she has a chance to poison me with more of her words.

My ex-wife is such a fucking cunt.

Yes.

A cunt.

I used to think that word should never apply to any female, but after my sham of a marriage to that woman, I changed my tune completely. The only good thing that came out of our relationship was our wonderful son Alex.

I met Brittany Amber Wilson in college and stupidly thought that it was love at first sight. I was dead wrong. She was and still is a master manipulator. When I think back to the first time I saw her brown eyes, ran my fingers through her thick dark hair, and palmed that curvy ass of hers, I can see how I was blinded.

My dick knew what it wanted, and my brain went along with it. I would have never met her if I weren't hung over from the night before, and ended up in the wrong classroom at the wrong time. When the teacher came in and announced that I was in African American History, I hurriedly packed my bag and prepared to leave. Don't get me wrong; I would have taken the class if I didn't have so many electives that semester. I think it’s important to learn about other cultures, and what better place than in a college melting pot.

After the last book was thrown in my bag, this beauty sat next to me, and I had to know her. The smoothness of her light brown skin was like a vision, and I almost reached out and touched her face the first time. Of course, I stopped myself because she probably would have punched me. What I did do was sit through the entire class, and the next one, until the professor realized that I didn't belong. Eventually, I got her number and the rest was history.

I like fucking … a lot, and she satisfied me the entire time we dated. I thought we'd go on like that for a while until she proved me wrong months after the wedding. I don't know if it was her friends' influences, or the fact that she was always a bitch that caused our downfall. She would withhold sex to get me to do things for her, mainly spend money. I made a decent living, but I also had a trust fund from my grandparents, which I didn't plan on touching. But then Brittany would need a new pair of shoes, or maybe a better car, or weekly hair and nail appointments. I appreciated the fact that she wanted to keep herself beautiful for me, but it got to be too much. Coupled with the fact that I was horny all the time. I attempted to make it work, but the prostitution incident told me that she was toxic to my psyche. I needed to escape. I didn't get arrested, thank goodness. It made me realize that I never wanted another woman to hold that much power over me again.

The hustle and bustle of Times Square brings me back to the present, and I stare at the hotel of my choice, the Intercontinental. I researched several other New York City luxury hotels. However, the layout of this place fits what Beth described. I couldn't choose between the Manhattan Bay Suite and the Penthouse, so I thought it prudent to come in person, deciding then.

A burst of excitement hits me as I stare up at the lavish building. The outside structure is a mix of old and new, with the brown and tan bricks on the lower floors and the steely skyscraper built on top, a true Manhattan hotel.

The doorman smiles as he grabs the gold colored handle of the tall glass doors and motions for me to enter. My senses are assailed with the sounds of clicking shoes across the black marble floor, the squeaky wheels of the luggage carts, and the incessant chatter from the clerks at the registration desk. The soothing scent of pine from the Christmas tree located in the center of the lobby permeates throughout the room, its exquisitely designed ornaments a testament to the high-end locale.

Striding around one of the tall brown pillars, I head directly to the concierge and wait for the man to finish his call. The tone of his voice is highbrow, and by that I mean snooty. In my business, I’ve dealt with this type before, people pleasers. They’re great when you need something, but annoying when you don’t.

When he stands to greet me, having finished his call, his features become more evident. He has a slender, less than masculine figure and a platinum blond ponytail that extenuates the angular structure of his face. Add the expensive looking suit, and you have yourself an example of a project runway contestant. I may or may not have watched that show once or twice with the ex.

“Welcome to the Intercontinental, sir.” His eyes scan my body a little too long, and when I give him a gotcha look, a blush forms on his cheeks. I’m not wearing anything special, a simple charcoal grey suit with a black collared shirt. No tie because it’s my day off.

Extending my hand, I introduce myself to the man who is showing an interest other than professional to me. I have this effect on both sexes. “Hi. I’m Cooper Whitmore. I have a 9:45 a.m. with Ms. Brooks.” He takes my hand in greeting.

“I’m Bradley, her assistant. Unfortunately, she is out sick today, but I can take you on the tour you requested.”

“No problem,” I reply. The poor guy hasn’t let go yet, but I won’t call him on it. I merely tug my hand back gently, not enough to startle him. Clearing his throat, Bradley directs me to the elevators. As we enter, Bradley drones on about the history of the hotel and the renovations. I zone out the entire time, occasionally throwing in a mmhmm or wow, in order to pretend I'm interested. My thoughts go to Beth instead.

The minute I saw that ginger, I was hooked. She is the perfect mixture of innocence, with a side of devilish behavior, and I can't wait to get her naked. I thank my lucky stars that she picked me and Jared. I've known him for years, and we have shared women before, so what she asks for is no big deal. I don't foresee this turning into a relationship, but I am definitely open to anything when it comes to her. Jared couldn’t care less. He is a sexual being as much as I am, but he prefers variety.

“And here we are.” The dinging of the elevator on the 33^rd floor pulls me back to the present. I follow Bradley down a short hallway, and moments later he opens the door to the massive suite.

“This is the Manhattan Bay Suite,” he tells me, motioning toward the tall glass windows. “There are two full bathrooms, including a rain shower and a soaking bathtub.” Flashes of fucking Beth in the shower run through my mind as Bradley mentions something about square footage and dining room seating.

“The nightly rate is two thousand, and we would need a credit card payment for one night to hold it.”

“Sure I’ll take it, but I need a favor.”

Bradley raises an eyebrow at me, and before he has a chance to ask me what the request is, I divulge, “I’m going to be honest with you, Brad. Can I call you Brad?”

“Uh, sure, Mr. Whitmore, but I’d have to ask my manager if you need …”

“Let’s not get any managers involved. Can we keep this between you and me?” I grin and throw on some smolder to get his interest, his blush a clear indicator that I have him for the most part.

“I need this place for two nights, but I have to make certain changes. I realize that it’s against hotel policy to do anything that would alter the room. However, I’m willing to do whatever you like if you agree to keep my secret.”

“I—I can’t lose my job, Mr. Whitmore, I’m—”

“Shh, Brad." I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, being sure to add a little thumb rubbing action at the end. The man shivers, and I nearly laugh. By no means am I into guys, but I'm not afraid to use my natural God-given talents to get what I want.

“What exactly do you need?” he questions me, as I let go and give him one of my sexy grins.

“Well, Brad, I plan on having an … interesting weekend with a woman, and a man.” His eyes widen as I smile. “And the changes that I have to make involve certain extracurricular appliances if you will.” Actually I need to drill a hole in the wall for a sex swing, but I don't tell him that. “I'm asking that you make sure no one comes into my room Saturday night. I know that you guys keep a tight ship here and you want to make sure that high-end guests are taken care of, however, we won't need any help at all.”

Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I wait for Brad’s response. I can tell that he’s thinking hard about it by the way he bites his bottom lip.

“Okay,” he agrees, “but umm can I watch?” Brad whispers, and I can barely hide the shock on my face. Maybe I should give him the name of the dating agency. No, I have an even better idea.

“Sorry Brad, but my other partners aren’t into that, but how about I give you something for your spank bank I know you’ll enjoy.” I can’t believe I’m about to do this, but getting into Beth’s pants is my top priority. With the limited time I have to secure a location, I’ll do whatever I have to in order to make this happen.

Walking up the stairs to the bathroom I began to undress. I check behind me to see if Brad is following, and yup, he so is. At this point, I'm down to my black silk boxers, and the chill of the air conditioner is giving me goose bumps. I turn on the shower, looking forward to the steamy warmth the water will bring.

“Have a seat on the toilet and watch me. The number one rule, Brad, is no touching me. If you'd like to touch yourself, then, by all means, go for it.”

As soon as I drop my boxers, I hear an audible gasp come from the young man. I’m already hard, and not because of him. I use the vision of Beth’s tits as a focal point and little Coop comes to attention.

The heat of the water hits my skin and I moan at the contact. I’m not acting out for the purpose of Brad and whatever his dirty thoughts are, the water feels that fucking good. Grabbing the soap, I rub it slowly across my chest, creating an ample amount of suds. I want this to last more than a couple of minutes, so I move on to my hair, running my hands through it like a porn star. When I do the proverbial shake of my head, I hear the echo of a belt being unbuckled and this is when I realize that shit just got real.

Lathering up my hands again, I glide one of them down my abs, eventually gripping myself at the base of my cock. I’m still hard because Beth does that to me.

First, I picture her tits peeking out at me at the coffee shop … stroke, stroke. Beth jogging, her tight ass in the gray exercise pants … stroke, stroke. Her, in a Tigers cheerleader outfit … stroke, stroke. The speed of my glide increases tenfold, and I groan when my hips thrust faster into my fist. Rubbing myself off feels so fucking phenomenal that I don’t even hear the heavy breathing and eventual coming of Brad.

“Fuck,” I growl as I come all over my hand, spilling on the shower floor. I’ve never done anything like this before, but it actually wasn’t that bad. I chance a glance at Brad and see that his pants are at his ankles, his face is red, and hand covered in his own release.

“We got a deal, Brad?” I give him another smile. He stares at me wide-eyed, but nods. “Good. Give me a few minutes to clean up, and we'll talk more about the fees.”

“Ssure,” he stutters as he cleans himself up and leaves. I can barely contain my glee at my success, and I can't wait to tell Beth. It will have to wait though because I need to deal with my bitch of an ex-wife. This weekend can't get here fast enough.