Mr. CEO(75)

“Shh baby, we're going to have a lot of fun,” she reassures me as she shoots me that fallen angel's smile again. She reaches the waistband of my pants and cocks her head when she sees I'm wearing suspenders. Well no shit, I'm wearing a tux, and you don't wear a belt with a tux. “I like it. Very fucking sexy,” she says as she gives me a seductive smile.

“You're fucking sexy,” I reply, reaching down to stroke her hair. I'm only dimly aware of Mike saying something up front, but whatever it is, it doesn't matter. All that matters is this sex goddess in front of me and the way her fingers are unzipping my pants.

“Mmm, you're so big,” she whispers. I'm trembling again as she wraps her fingers around my cock and pulls it out. I'm rock hard, and Kitty licks her lips as she leans in closer... closer...

Suddenly, she pulls back as she jabs me in the chest below my right pec, and I find myself paralyzed. I can only watch as she opens the door to a crowd of paparazzi. My cock's still hanging out for the whole world to see, and countless flashes are going off. I can hear gasps of surprise, but also mocking laughter as Kitty sits back. She gives me an evil grin as she pulls what I'm just now realizing is a wig off her head. “Well, well, Jackson... nice to see you again,” she says, but the tone of her voice indicates otherwise.

I blink as my body slowly regains the ability to move, and the face in front of me drops into focus. The blue eyes that I haven't seen in ten years, the angular jawline, and hair so dark it's almost black, but it's shorter than it was before... I can't believe it, but it's true.

“Katrina?” I whisper, which is the most I seem to be able to do.

“It's Kat,” she says as she pulls some sunglasses out of her tiny purse. She puts them on before getting out of the limo, leaving the blonde wig behind. “And you just got scratched. That's for my parents. Have fun, Jackson.”





Chapter 2





Jackson





“Are you fucking kidding me?” Pops asks as he slams the tablet he's holding down onto the desk. He probably just broke the fucking thing, but I don't think anyone really cares right now.

“Why do you care? It's not like I had your nose candy out,” I shoot back. He's really pissing me off. Seriously, I just went through the worst night of my life. It was only because of Mike's fast reflexes that I wasn't arrested. Mike got me out of there after Katrina...no, after Kat got out of the limo. Once he realized something was up, he hauled ass for the Pontchartrain Expressway. By the time the photos went to print and anyone looking at the drugs in the photo instead of my cock could even ask questions, the limo had been taken care of. At this point, I doubt even the FBI could find a damn thing.

“Coke, K-X, whatever it was...it doesn't matter, Jackson! The pictures are all over the Internet, and you even made the goddamn Picayune, for fuck's sake!” He makes a sound of disgust.

Yeah, I know all of that. In fact, I've already gotten five texts from as far away as London about the pics. At least the ones in the print newspapers were censored with a black box over my dick. The pics available online show everything, and of course everyone's focusing on the ones taken from angles that make me look damn near dinky-dicked.

“No shit, Pops. By the way, Ellie in London says hi.” What Ellie actually said was I thought the cucumber in the pants thing was just in Spinal Tap, but I knew what she was getting at. Pops, however, doesn't think any of this is funny.

“You want to make jokes at a time like this, you little shit?” he asks as he rounds the desk to get in my face. I'm ready and on my feet in an instant. He might have a temper, and he's got a violent streak that makes me look like fucking Gandhi in comparison, but I'm no slouch either. I've got an inch on him, a lot less body fat, and twenty-eight years less mileage on my body. Pops knows this, and while his hands are clenched into fists so tight that I can see his knuckles turning white, he manages to hold himself back. I take a step back before either of us do something stupid.

I sit back down. “Okay Pops, you're right. Just... fuck, that was Katrina. Or Kat, as she's calling herself now. What the fuck did she mean when she said that was for her parents? What the hell do we have to do with Katrina Grammercy's parents?”

Pops shakes his head, and I know he's not going to answer me. I learned a long time ago that some things were off-limits. The problem is, I need to know. When it comes to his dealings with crooked cops, or the groups that run the Ninth Ward, or any of his other criminal enterprises, he's right. I shouldn't be asking questions, and I shouldn't concern myself with any of it. But this is Katrina... she was my best friend when we were kids. And less than twelve hours ago, she gave me half a handjob right before setting me up for global humiliation. No, this time, I need to know.