CHAPTER TWO: Cain Bohannon

The room was still dark because of the heavy drapes and blackout blinds installed over the wall of windows that faced the east river from my penthouse apartment.

I had earplugs in, but I was awake enough to hear the bedroom door open. I felt the king-sized bed bounce when she climbed in and cuddled up next to me.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t open my eyes.

I felt her head on my chest.

Her warm breath, and then her wet tongue, teased my hard nipple.

She trailed her fingernails down the line of my stomach, circling my belly button for a moment before swirling into the thick curls above my cock.

Her lips moaned against my nipple as her fingers closed around my cock and started slowly sliding up and down. I was already hard and waiting for her, as I was every morning, but her touch always brought out more of me.

When I grew to full length in her hand, I felt her lips start their downward trek. She planted little kisses down my stomach. She pulled at the dark curls with her teeth. Then her mouth engulfed the bulbous head of my cock as her hand slowly pumped up and down.

I took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly.

Faleen’s lips and tongue were like magic. In less than a minute, I exploded inside her mouth. She hummed as she swallowed my load. Then she cleaned me off with her tongue as she had every morning for as long as I could remember.

God, I loved waking up in the morning.

Then, as silently as she had come, she slipped out of the bed and left the room.

I lay quietly for a moment, wondering, as I often did, what it would be like to feel her pussy around my cock instead of her lips and hand, to explode inside her cunt rather than inside her mouth.

Sadly, I would never know.

Faleen wasn’t famous enough to be on my fuck list. And if a bitch wasn’t on my list, she wasn’t going to ride my cock, my fingers, or my face.

It was a code that probably knocked me out of getting some pretty decent pussy, but I was Cain Bohannon. I didn’t settle for “pretty decent” anything, especially when it came to women.

* * *

“I want accounting to give Faleen a bonus this month,” I said as I stepped out of the shower onto the thick rug. My personal assistant, Drew Inman, was sitting on the closed toilet with his long legs crossed, taking notes with his iPhone. I caught him glance at my dangling cock as I stood at the sink toweling the water out of my hair.

“Stop looking at my cock,” I said, turning my ass toward him long enough to drape the towel around my waist.

“Well stop putting the damn thing in my face,” he said, drawing out the words in his overdramatized, effeminate manner. Drew waved a hand at me. “I swear, you should register that thing as a deadly weapon, because you might kill somebody with it.”

“Well, it won’t be you,” I said with a grin.

“Your loss,” he said, clicking his tongue.

I lathered up my face and nodded at his phone. “Did you make a note of what I just said?”

“No. Your giant cock distracted me,” he said with a sigh. His fingers quickly tapped the screen. “Dear accounting, please give Faleen a bonus for being such an awesome cocksucker.” He looked up at me and pooched out his lips. “Isn’t giving her a six-figure salary, a rent-free apartment downstairs, and a Mercedes to drive compensation enough for sucking your cock every morning?”

I scraped the razor up my neck and stared at my reflection. “I believe in rewarding a job well done,” I said. “You would know that if you ever did your job well.”

“Fuck you,” Drew said, slapping a hand at me. “Good luck finding another PA who will sit on your fucking toilet and take notes while you wash Faleen’s spit off your cock.”

“Fine. Give yourself a bonus,” I said with a grin. “Now, what’s on the agenda for today?”

He flipped through my schedule he kept on his phone. “You have a meeting with your executive team at ten, lunch with Simon Cowell at one, an interview with Rolling Stone at three, and the fundraiser for homeless veterans tonight. You’re the co-chair this year with Ivanka Trump, so you can’t just write a big check. You actually have to go.” He looked up at me and sighed. “Just another fun day in the life of Cain Bohannon.”

I turned my cheek and smiled at myself in the mirror as I finished shaving. “Oh, by the way, I’m tired of shaving myself and washing my own cock. Will you see if you can find a woman with big boobs and a Kardashian ass to come in every morning to take care of that for me?”

Drew rolled his eyes at me. “Why don’t you just add that to Faleen’s job description since she already has the boobs and ass?”

“Faleen already has her hands full,” I said with a grin. “And her mouth.”

Drew sunk his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Wanted, woman with big boobs and Kardashian ass to suck cock, wash cock, wash balls, wash ass…dry cock, dry balls…” He made a silly face. “Oh, my god, this might be a two-person job.”

I chuckled as I rinsed my face with water. “Fine. Forget that idea. I’ll just do it myself.” I blotted the water from my face and started into the bedroom with Drew close behind.

“Oh, don’t forget that battle of the bands tonight,” he said, wiggling his phone at me. “I talked to Rusty at the Rusty Nail, and he says they have a dozen top-notch acts for you to check out.”

I dropped the towel from my waist and walked into my closet, which was the size of a New York studio apartment. I pulled on a pair of Jockey’s and thumbed through the wall of Armani suits hung there.

“Wear the navy blue,” Drew said, leaning against the door. “Did you hear what I said about the battle of the bands?”

“Yes,” I said, pulling a dark blue suit from the rack. I handed Drew the jacket while I pulled on the pants. “Is Rusty Nail his real name?”

“I’m not sure,” Drew said thoughtfully. “Would you like me to ask?”

“No. Just tell me what I’ve gotten myself into with this battle of the bands.”

Drew held out the jacket on one finger while I chose a pressed white shirt. He said, “The guys in talent acquisition think BEG needs to break out more new artists rather than relying on the current list to generate future revenue. They worked a deal with Rusty to do this band showcase. His club is hot right now, packed every night with our demographic, and he seems to have his finger on the pulse of the New York band scene. He’s lined up twelve bands that he thinks might be worthy of a look.”

I buttoned the shirt and clipped in the diamond cufflinks. “So, let me get this right; I have to go listen to twelve shitty bands, then let the talent acquisition guys know which one I think is the least shitty so we can tentatively award them a contract they will probably end up owing us money on.”

“That’s about it,” Drew said, bobbing his head. He put his phone away so he could hold out the jacket for me to slip on.

“What time does this fiasco begin?” I asked as I slipped my bare feet into a pair of brown leather Ferragamos.

“You have to be at the club by nine tonight,” he said.

“You mean we have to be at the club by nine,” I said, checking my reflection in the wall of full-length mirrors at the back of the closet.

“What? No! I have plans,” Drew whined.

“Yes, you have plans to come with me,” I said. “I’m not going to sit there by myself and be tortured. It’s much more fun to share the torture with you.”

“Fine,” Drew said with a pout. “But you’re buying all my drinks.”

“I’ll buy your drinks,” I said. “But if you hook up with some girly-man, don’t put his drinks on my tab.”

I chose a gold Rolex Mariner from my collection and strapped it on my wrist. I slipped on a couple of gold pinkie rings for good measure and then clicked off the closet light.

“Fair enough,” Drew said. He gave me the once-over, brushed lint off my lapel, and then turned to go. “I’ll get the car brought around. See you downstairs.”