C*cky Author Read online

  C*cky Author

  Fettucine Holliday

  Contents

  About the Author

  1. The Story

  Noodles to Support

  About the Author

  Fettucine is a limp, overcooked spaghetti lounging on a pool chair by the ocean. “Don’t throw your sauce at me, sir!” she shouts at scandalized passerby. Noodle nudity is an equal right.

  Copyright © 2018 Fettucine Holliday.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  If a legal fund is put together for those affected by #cockygate, some of the proceeds of this book sale will go to those defending freedom of dick slang speech.

  Created with Vellum

  1

  The Story

  “Alright, Jack,” I say to my cocker spaniel, rearranging his leash from my right hand to my left. “Time to get to work.”

  It’s early in the morning, at the ass crack of dawn, and I’m opening up the bookstore I own early so I can do inventory. There’s a famous author coming in today for a signing, and I need to make sure everything is just perfect. Taking out my keys, I open the front door to my store, Really Good Reads, and go on in. First thing I do is unclip Jack’s leash so he can wander around the store until he inevitably falls asleep on his little dog bed.

  I’ve had a hell of a week. Earlier in the month, a trademark attorney mailed me a strongly worded letter. The name of my bookstore, which goes back three generations of women in my family, has apparently been trademarked by some chain store. They’re threatening to sue me if I don’t change the name right away, but I just don’t have the money. Doing it will cost thousands of dollars: a new sign, new listings and website, business cards and branded bookmarks. This store is barely getting by as it is, and I have bills to pay.

  If I don’t figure something out soon, I’ll go bankrupt.

  That’s why I invented him to speak here. Mark Meyers is a famous erotic romance author with a reputation for sleeping around. Women flock to his signings, and I need customers.

  Once, I would’ve turned men like Mark away. Really Good Reads is a literary store; we have beat poets and a pagan women’s group that reads lesbian literature every Wednesday. But with the big bad trademark lawyers breathing down my neck, I’m desperate.

  Busying myself around the store, I get a cup of coffee brewing and go down my list of tasks. Soon enough I’m working up a faint sheen of sweat, and I have to put my long brown hair up into a bun.

  There’s something nice about being alone in the store. Almost no one comes here, even during the daytime, so when I hear the door on the front bell ring I assume it’s the delivery guy. Hurrying to the front, I say, “I wasn’t expecting a package this early – ”

  It’s not the delivery guy. It’s him.

  Mark Meyers, tall and handsome. He has a chic yet casual suit on. His face is like something I’ve seen in a magazine – in fact, I could’ve sworn I’ve seen it a thousand times, like it’s been on a lot of book covers because that’s something any reasonable person expects when they purchase a non-exclusive license. He just has that stock photo kind of face.

  He has one unique feature, though: a lopsided dimple in his cheek that shows when he smiles at me brilliantly. “The package has arrived.”

  I practically gag at the amount of… what word am I looking for? It has a definition that goes something like “conceited or arrogant, especially in a bold or impudent way.” Other words like it are arrogant, conceited, overweening, overconfident, cocksure, self-important, egotistical, presumptuous, boastful, and self-assertive.

  There’s a word. Five letters. Kind of… like…

  It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t come out with it for some unknown reason.

  “You’re here early,” I tell Mark, crossing my arms across my chest. That draws his self-assured gaze to my breasts, and I flush. “The store isn’t even open yet.”

  “I always come early to sign books,” he says in that cock...sure, cocksure voice of his. “Surely my publicist told you? She usually emails the owners in advance.”

  “I, uh, might have gotten an email that said something about it.” Truthfully, I barely have time to check my email these days; I’m too busy trying to pay bills and outrun this crazy trademark thing. “I’ve got a few boxes with your books in the back. I’ll go fetch them.”

  “Let me help.”

  He follows along behind me through the bookstore towards the back, his annoyingly confident presence like a shadow just behind me. I know better than to tell him off; even though I wasn’t ready for him, I have to be nice to the author no matter what.

  Of course, I wish I looked a little better. My hair is dusty, my clothes are frumpy, and I haven’t even had my coffee. Normally I clean up a little before the signings, but Mark never gave me the chance.

  As we pass by Jack’s bed, the cocker spaniel jumps to his feet and barks at Mark. He charges between us and makes as much noise as his little body can.

  “Sorry!” I reach out and grab his collar. “He’s not always a fan of tall men.”

  “What a kooky little dog,” he says with a smile. “He doesn’t want me near you. You could even say he’s a cockblocker.”

  I blush at his innuendo and let Jack’s collar go, secretly hoping he’ll get down to chowing on some arrogant author ankles. But to my surprise, he just reaches out, sniffs Mark, and wags his tail.

  Little traitor. He loves a smug pretty boy apparently.

  “He’s a cute dog. I had a dog like him when I was a kid. Broke my heart when he passed away.”

  Bending down, he reaches out a hand to pet Jack’s head. The dog, of course, wags his tail harder. Mark smiles that little half-dimpled smile of his and of course, melts my heart.

  I can see now what the appeal of this author is. He may have a rude exterior, but any man who my Jacky like is a friend of mine.

  “The boxes are just back here.”

  I lead him through the door to the stockroom, which is full of boxes of unsold books. The ones I got for this signing are near the front, full of hardcovers with very typical romance book titles, like: Bad Boy Roommate, Arrogant Biker, Big Cowboy, Hung Soldier, and more. Mark is definitely a hard worker.

  “Here they are.”

  “Thanks… what was your name? I didn’t catch it.”

  “I didn’t tell you.” I brush off my shirt and try to look presentable, reaching out to shake his hand. “Ella Pierce.”

  “Mark Meyers.” He takes my hand, and my pulse soars. Instead of shaking it, though, he pulls me towards him. I’m drawn into his orbit and nearly stumble, but he reaches out to support me with his other hand on my hip just at the last minute. “Whoa there. Easy girl.”

  I swallow. “You sure are… well. Thank you.”

  “Tell me, Ella,” he says, “when is the last time a man laid some pipe in you.”

  I blush from head to toes at his sensually erotic words. “It’s, uh, been a while.”

  “Well. If you want me to, I can introduce you to the snake in my pants.” Kicking the door closed, he draws me close with two ham-sized hands on my hips. “I always like makin’ whoopee with a real pretty girl like you.”

  The lady garden between my legs, which was dry as the Sahara, Gobi, and all the other deserts combined, moistens up like a nice angel food cake at Mark’s words. It’s a real slick roast beef situation down there if you know what I mean.

  “Lay it on me, sexy,” I tell him.

  Grabbing me close, he mushes our mouths together like we’re two middle schoolers with top and bottom braces. His V
ienna sausage fingers reach under my clothes and pull them off so fast that they’re gone in a blink. I tongue my tongue against his tongue, tonguing him real nice. He tastes like salty hot dog water and old spinach fished out of the bottom of the crisper drawer, which gets my engine revving even louder.

  “I’m going to get naked now,” he says to me, real serious-like. “I’ve got a big one down there, though, so I just have to warn you in advance. You might scream when you see it.”

  “Show me.” My voice comes out desperate and wanting. I haven’t seen a good piece of pipe in a real long time.

  “You asked for it.”

  Stepping into the overhead light of the stockroom, Mark unbuckles, unzips, and unbuttons all his clothes. He then takes them off one pant leg and arm sleeve at a time, going leg, arm, leg, arm, head, all backwards-like. I’m so overcome with carnal desire at his totally unique way of undressing that I barely notice his naked body at first.

  But then I see it in all its glory, and oh boy is it a good one. He has thick, muscular thighs like a Russian Olympian who cheated with drugs. His calves are even better than a lady soccer player. A six pack to match that of one of those superhero characters leads to pecs that he flexes for me real nice.

  Between it all, hanging between his legs, is a thick piece of sumthin’ sumthin’ that has the word [CENSORED] taped over it in black tape.

  “What, uh, happened to your cock?” I ask, very confused.

  “A trip to Japan. They do that to all of them down there. It works itself out once the snake is awake. I’ll show you.”

  Reaching down, he strokes his length until it’s even harder and longer in his hand. Now, the shaft is bare, but the tip has a little blurry bar across it. His dick sticks straight up between those giant thighs, long enough to practically touch his belly button.

  “Okay, okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “The blurry censor is a little weird, but I can work with that.”

  Defensively, he says, “It’s a great cock – EEEEEEEE, a cockroach!” Leaping up on top of the box full of books, he skitters around very much like he’s not a super conceited author. “Kill it, kill it!”

  Sighing, I reach into the box for one of his books and throw it at the cockroach. It dies with a gross crunch. “Now can we get down to it?”

  Mark unfurls himself from the box and reaches out to grab my naked body. “Can we ever.”

  First, he kisses me again, this time like a dog drinking out of a pool of rainwater. His tongue bathes me all over until I’ve got tingles running from my lady flaps to my lady boobies. Mouth moving down, he sucks on every part of my skin bit by bit like a broken vacuum at an estate sale. His mouth turns my nipples redder than a string of Christmas holly, and before I know it he’s right there, face buried in the place between my thighs.

  I moan and press against him as he licks his way between my folds like a Korean oyster diver off the coast of Jeju. He’s single-minded in his mission, sucking and licking on the puss puss until it’s wetter than a recently used dish sponge.

  “Oh my god!” I cry out, trembling all over as I crescendo into a very unlikely quick orgasm, but what can I say, I’m a lady who pulses for a conveniently easy and contrived plot moment. “I’m ready for it now. Let’s do the real sex that counts! Put your heterocentric snake in my lady lasagna.”

  “Gladly.”

  Rising to his feet like the Adonis god that he is, Mark grabs me and pushes me against the wall of the stock room. My legs wrap around him, because I do the advanced yoga every morning despite being a busy working woman with things to do besides keep myself fit for the purposes of sex. His eyes bore deep into my soul, fulfilling my every need like no real man ever has, as he grabs his improbably large cock and thrusts it into my pussy. He puts his original content in me like no man ever has before.

  I make all the good noises, and it doesn’t hurt at all (except in the good way) as he pushes me hard against the wall and fucks me. He grunts and groans, making that weird man-having-sex face that they all should see in the mirror sometime. I hold on tight, crying out with every thrust as his member hits my G-spot over and over again until I’m trembling and screaming with the biggest orgasm I’ve ever had. Soon enough he’s driving into me and releasing his cum inside me, and I’m not worried about that at all for some reason.

  “God, that was hot,” I say as he slides me onto the ground and I wobble around on jelly legs. “You’re a real good fucker.”

  “Thank you,” he responds modestly. “My father never loved me.”

  “I can replace that lack of love in your life,” I tell him earnestly.

  He kisses me, and I ask, “Will I ever see you again?”

  “Of course,” he responds. “Your lady parts were like no other lady parts I’ve ever fucked before. I will never want another woman other than you. What can I do to make you mine?”

  “Well,” I explain, a convenient idea coming to me all of a sudden, “I could really use a lawyer.”

  Noodles to Support

  Cocky Bastard

  Cocky Duke

  Cocky & Ballsy

  Cocky: A Reverse Harem Romance

  The Cocky Cage Fighter Nine Book Box Set

  Arrogant Fiancé

  Cocky AF

  Cocky Client

  Cocky Prince

  Cocky Chef

  Her Cocky Doctors

  Her Cocky Firefighters

  The Cocky Thief

  Cocky Prick

 

 

  Fettucine Holliday, C*cky Author

  Thanks for reading the books on GrayCity.Net