Excerpt for The Devil's Cum in His Eye by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.

Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

Copyright© 2018 James Cox

ISBN: 978-1-77339-540-1

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: JC Chute


WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


What's the point of writing if I can't name a strip joint after myself? lol. This story is, as always, for my readers. I hope you enjoy!


A Cox Club Story, 1

James Cox

Copyright © 2018

Chapter One

Tomkin Coburn turned over in bed and checked the clock with barely open eyes. “Shit! Fuck! Son of a bitch!” The curses rolled off his tongue. “I’m gonna be late for work.” If he was late again, Captain would make him do bike patrol. He fucking hated bike patrol. How the hell was he supposed to look like a badass cop about to take down a criminal, when he was riding a bike with a fucking bell on it? How?

Coburn untangled himself from the blanket. He landed on his knees on the soft white rug in his bedroom. “Goddamn it!” He grabbed the uniform shirt off the back of his door and shoved his arms in. He cursed again, took that off and first put on his white undershirt, then shoved the uniform shirt back on. “Hey, Pat.” Coburn glanced at the lump on the bed, his date for the last couple of weeks. Last night, the fucker had stumbled in through the open window and woken Coburn up with a fucking blowjob. He had been seriously torn between shooting the intruder and shooting his load.

Pat didn’t stir.

Of course, last night would make for a hell of a good scene in his new book. “Pat.” He grabbed the pen on his black wooden desk and started jotting down the idea. He was on his twenty-fifth erotic romance novel, and the awards that decorated his office showed how hard he’d worked. Coburn hoped he’d be able to decode that scribble when he came home from his day job as a police officer. He buttoned up his uniform and grabbed the belt that hung on the back of his chair. “Shit, my pants!” All he was wearing was a black sparkling G-string from work. Not the cop job. On the weekends, he stripped at a hole-in-the-wall joint called The Cox.

Pat still hadn’t moved. Coburn tugged the decorative underwear off and kicked them toward the open closet door. His cock flopped around, smacking against his thigh as he headed toward the bed. “Seriously, Pat. Get your hoover-lips out of my bed, and get your ass out the window. My kid’s down the hall and he cannot see you in here.” Yes, the reason he worked all these insane jobs was for that kid. The son he and his ex, Lin, had created at eighteen. That was a story unto itself. It’s not that Tomlin didn’t know his father was gay—or rather, bisexual—but there was definitely something disturbing about parading around a man in front of his sixteen-year-old son. “Damn it, Pat.” Pants! He couldn’t go to work with his cock hanging out. He shoved his legs into his pants leaving the zipper open. Coburn slapped the highest part of the lump, hoping it was his lover’s ass. Pat rolled slightly, and his arm fell from the covers and hung over the bed. “How much did you drink last night?” He hadn’t remembered the intense smell of alcohol on Pat’s breath. Actually, after getting some sucking action on his dick, he didn’t remember anything. When did they have sex?

A bright crimson drop of blood landed on the white carpet, followed by another.

“Pat?” Pants forgotten, Coburn walked cautiously up to the lump in his bed and carefully pulled down the blanket. Pat’s wide-open eyes stared back at him, but Coburn couldn’t even tell you what color they were. He was busy staring at the knife stuck in Pat’s chest. “Fuck!” The word was a sputter as he heard his kid stirring down the hall. Coburn zipped up and ran to the open door.


“Hey, kid.” Coburn made sure the door to his bedroom was closed tight behind him.

“Everything okay?” Tomlin, who had begged when he was ten years old to be called Tom, narrowed his eyes. They had the same soft brown hair that often stuck out at impossible angles after waking. Tom had his mother’s eyes, though, a mellow brown that almost looked orange in certain lights.

“I’m fine, kid. Shouldn’t you be running for the bus?”

Tom flattened his hair with his hands, and then checked his phone for the time. “Shit! Fuck! Son of a bitch!”

“Hey, watch that language!”

Tom’s cheeks colored. “Sorry, Dad.” He grabbed his backpack, which had been thrown on the floor yesterday and left there all night. “Math test today!” Tom shouted as he hauled ass toward the front door.

“Good luck,” Coburn yelled and waited as the door thudded shut. Tom was a good kid. When he’d first gotten custody of this tiny, screaming baby, he thought he was going to go fucking insane. No sleep. Poop and vomit and funky smells. Lo and behold, sixteen years later and they were practically best friends. God, He loved that kid. Coburn sighed and then straightened as he heard the wailing of the sirens. At least Tom would be off at school when the shit hit the proverbial fan. So much for being in the closet. How else could he explain a dead naked guy in his bed without first explaining he was bi-sexual?

The sirens sounded closer.

The only one who knew of his love of cock was his police partner, Andy. Coburn opened the door and flattened his hair with his hands like his kid did. At least he wouldn’t be greeting his entire precinct naked with a dead lover in his bed.

The front door opened, hitting the wall with a harsh thud.

“It’s back here in the bedroom.” Coburn walked down the small hall that held their two bedrooms, an office and the bathroom.

“What is?” Tom asked, whizzing by so fast that Coburn couldn’t grab him. “I forgot my English home… work. Oh, my God.”

He ran up to his kid and slammed his hand over Tom’s eyes. “Don’t look.” Goddamn it, motherfucker, cock-sucking bitch…

“Was that… Dad, was that a dead body?”

Coburn pushed Tom back toward the kitchen just as the cops swarmed through the front door. “Down the hall, first door on the left.” He shoved his kid on the sofa and waited as two cops, both of whom he played poker with, came in.

“What the fuck, Coburn? You got a DB here?” Smith was a pudgy bastard with a thick mustache and a thin skin when he lost.

“In the bedroom. Where’s CSI?”

“On its way.” Smith peeked into the room. “Holy fuck, man! There’s a dead, naked guy in your bed.”

“So, you see why I was kind of shocked when I woke up.”

Smith narrowed his eyes. “You gay or some shit? I thought you had a kid.”

“Tom, get to school. We’ll talk when you get home.” No way was he letting his kid hear anything like this. Whether Tom liked men or women when he was much, much, much older made no mind to Coburn. He just wanted Tom to be happy and healthy, and free of this homophobia shit for a few more years. It was in his prayers every night.

Tom wouldn’t budge.

Smith flounced down the hall. “You let your kid see you fuck another guy?”

“Looks like it’s a day for surprises.” Coburn took a step forward. “I think I might be fired for hitting a fat fucker that likes to pick on victims.”

Smith scoffed. “Don’t threaten me, you… fairy.”

Coburn rolled his eyes hard. A smart-ass remark was on the tip of his tongue, but more people were coming through the front door. Tech people, other cops, friends, and a few like Smith. He edged his kid further into the kitchen toward the back door and then out to the patio. “Just stay here, okay?”

“He was dead, wasn’t he, Dad?” Tom’s brown eyes were slightly wide as he asked.

He looked so young when he did that, not like the sixteen-year-old he was. “Yeah, kid. It’s a long story.”

“But you’ll tell me the story?”

Not the details. “Sure. Later.”

Tom nodded and then plopped onto the outside seat with his backpack in his lap.

Okay. One crisis averted. Coburn buttoned his shirt, which he hadn’t tucked into his pants, and went back inside. He blended in with the officers, so he wasn’t surprised when the detective came strolling in and passed him up. But Coburn noticed him. The guy was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and no tie. He hadn’t caught a name or a face, however.

“Who’s the owner of the house?” The deep, gruff voice rose over the clatter of specialists taking prints and photos.

“That’d be me.”

The detective turned around. Well, fuck, this guy was hot. That suit wasn’t tight enough to accentuate his muscular body, which was a shame. “You own the house?”

“Yes. Officer Tomkin Coburn.” The detective had blond hair that curled at the ends, near his collar. Blue eyes stared back at him, and despite the shitstorm around them, Coburn found his cock thickening.

“I’m Detective Luke Mark Early,” he said. There was a stain on his white shirt that looked like mustard and a baseball hat stuffed in the inside pocket. “You found the body?”

“You could say that. I was lying next to him. I was late for my shift, and was running around getting dressed when I noticed he wasn’t moving.”

“The deceased’s name?”

“Pat.” Coburn nipped his lower lip.

“Pat, what?”

“Just Pat.” Yeah, that didn’t make him look too good.

“You don’t know his last name?” The detective’s eyebrow lifted in question.

“His name’s Pat. He’s the same age as I am, thirty-four. I met him at The Cox. It’s a gay bar a few blocks away.”

“I know where it is,” the detective said, then straightened like he hadn’t meant to admit that. “Have you known… Just Pat long?”

Coburn snorted. “A little over a week. We spent the night together once before. Last night, around midnight, he snuck in my window.”

“He came in your window?” The detective’s pen paused over the pad he was writing on.

“I have a teenage kid. I don’t want him to know the guys I’m… entertaining.” Coburn kept talking, notwithstanding the question lingering in the air. Everyone always asked. What’s a single guy doing with a biological kid? “So, he came in. We were getting… intense, and then… nothing.”

“Nothing? You didn’t––” The detective licked his lower lip and his cheeks colored a bit. “You didn’t come?”

What?” Coburn jumped to his feet. “No, not that. Well, kind of. I meant that I can’t remember nothin’ else.”

His wicked smirk fell. “You can’t remember?”

“What, am I speaking Swahili? He was sucking my dick and before I could come I blacked out. I woke up confused, and slept through the damn alarm. I was getting dressed when I realized he was dead. I called you guys and here you all are.” Coburn crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t exactly six feet, but he could still be intimidating. “I’ve got a dry mouth and if I move too quickly, I’ll get dizzy.”


“Maybe. I don’t know why Pat would do that though, or when.”

Detective Luke grinned. “Maybe when you were otherwise occupied? It’s not like you’d feel a puncture when you’re in the middle of… it.”

Coburn snorted. “True.”

Luke called one of the tech guys over. “Get a blood sample.” He tilted his head and indicated Tom sitting outside. “He seen anything?”

“Just the body.” Coburn dropped his arms. Damnit. He became a cop to protect his kid not scar him for life.

“Don’t leave town. I’m sure I’m going to have more questions.”

Coburn nodded. He watched as Detective Luke Mark Early walked down the hallway to the crime scene. With the coroner coming in the front door and his kid watching with morbid curiosity from the glass, he wasn’t ready for any shit. Of course, that’s when Smith made another fairy comment and Coburn punched him in his fucking flabby gut. The older bastard when down hard. Several cops turned around, but Coburn held up his hands and walked back outside to sit with his kid.

Charges be damned.

Some serious shit went on here last night and if he was drugged, why hadn’t Tom heard anything?

He hadn’t planned on spending the morning like this.

Chapter Two

Luke ignored the attraction he felt for the extremely sexy guy who was his number one suspect. He was behaving this way because Coburn was a cop. It had nothing to do with how his ass looked in that uniform. Nothing. At. All. He walked into the bedroom and stood for a moment in the doorway. No obvious signs of a fight. There was sparkly black underwear on the floor that barely looked big enough to cover a man’s balls. Next to that was the belt that went with the uniform Coburn was wearing. There were pictures in various frames on a black dresser. The walls and floor were white, but all the doors were painted black. Luke could see the strokes from the paintbrush. A man who liked to work with his hands...

Two techs stood near the bed. It was unmade. White pillows, black sheets and a combo of the two colors on the comforter.

“What are you thinking?” Detective Paul Paisley asked. They had been his partners for a long time now. The fifty-year-old was pudgy around the middle and easy to smile usually. But just then, Paul stared at the bed with a frown. “Coburn seems sincere, no?”

“Yeah. I’m kind of doubting he’d perform a murder with his son in the next room,” Luke admitted. The victim was still on the bed. His arm hung out over the edge, dripping blood onto the carpet. The flow had slowed considerably since he’d gotten here, which meant ‘Just Pat’ hadn’t been dead long. His eyes were open and fixated on the ceiling above. He was naked. That much Luke could surmise. The pile of clothes near the window was his, or so Luke assumed at this point.

“What do you think?” Paul asked, walking to the side of the bed and staring closely at the evidence.

“I think that knife is from the set in the kitchen.” He hated to admit that, but he did have a job to do. Even a sexy psychopath was still a psychopath. They’d try to kill you all the same.

Purchase this book or download sample versions for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-10 show above.)