by Alexis Angel
Sure, his ego is sometimes too big for his own good, but with that comes confidence.
I feel his intoxicating draw as soon as he steps next to me … his warmth, his strength, and his cologne—a mixture of leather, and spice, and seduction. And don't get me started about his suits. Anything would look good on a body like Mason's, it's true, but his suits elevate him to the next level. It's as if James Bond has handpicked his entire wardrobe. Classy and perfectly tailored. It's delicious.
There's something about him … his power, and success, and drive. He's driven in a way that few men are, and I find that incredibly sexy. When Mason walks into a room, he commands it, almost without effort. People turn, and stare, and want to know this man.
Many want to be him.
In that sense, he's my opposite. I was painfully shy in school. I'll admit it. I've gotten better over the years, but I've always admired people who don't have that level of social anxiety.
God, just listen to me.
I'm gushing on and on about a man who's technically my stepfather.
I shouldn't be feeling this way … but I have to admit that I do.
I think I'm really falling in love with this man.
I'm lying on my bed in the soft light of my room and I realize I better start packing. I promised Mason I'd come by his apartment later, and stay the night.
I tap my cell phone and check the time. It's almost 8 pm.
I jump up and rummage through the top drawer of my dresser … where I've neatly stashed an enviable collection of lingerie. I decide to pick out something a little … naughty. I grab a sheer, black lace set. You can't go wrong with black. It's sexy and classy, and flatters everyone who wears it. If you don't believe me, you can ask Aubrey Hepburn or even the stripper down the street at Scandals. And if you ask men, most will pick black. Yes it's true, more men, if given the choice, will choose black even over red.
Next, I spritz myself with a little perfume, something ultra feminine—a floral scent that is sexy, like walking through a secret garden of jasmine and orchids, and rolling around in a bed of roses. I dab some perfume on the pulse of my wrists, on my neck … and even a dab in between my thighs. The fragrance is impossible to miss, which is a good thing. When it comes to Mason, I want to be unforgettable.
I also need to also think about clothes for the morning. Maybe we'll splurge and grab breakfast at Norma's—their Papaya Mango Brown Butter Cinnamon crepes are seriously to die for. I'm not even exaggerating. If you haven't tried them hun, I suggest you do sometime.
And honestly, the thought of waking up next to Mason tomorrow morning makes me giddy. I don't know what's come over me, but the thought of nuzzling into his strong chiseled chest and walking hand-in-hand with the King of Wall Street down the streets of New York City is enough to make my heart leap.
A man has never made me feel this way before.
I lean down and zip up my overnight bag when I hear something.
There's a thump, and then I hear what sounds like two people laughing in the living room. It's normally quiet around this time, so the commotion piques my interest. Maybe my mother is talking to Carl? I didn't think mom was having any guests over tonight, so I walk over by the wall and strain to hear.
"You like what you see?" Lorna says. "This is just the beginning … a taste, if you will."
A man replies, “You think you’re going to have me?”
"Oh, just wait till I wrap my lips around—"
The rest of the conversation is muffled and I strain against the door to hear more. It's clear that something is going on, and then something else becomes crystal clear … the man's voice is … Mason.
What in the hell is he doing here? He's supposed to be at his apartment. We made plans. And what's he doing with my mother?
Yes, I know they're married, but only on paper. He swore it was all against his will.
But if that's the case, why is he in my mother's house in our living room … being seduced by the sound of it?
"Ah, ah, ah—no hands … yet anyways," Lorna purrs. "Someone's awfully eager."
“That’s not what I came here to do,” he says. “This wasn’t what we agreed to, Lorna.”
"I'll tell you where, when, and how I want you. All you need to do darling is follow my lead," she replies.
"I'm not a man used to taking orders," he replies. "Especially not from women."
"I'll think you'll find this a nice change of pace," she replies.
What exactly is happening in there? By the sound of things, Mason seems to be going along with my mother's desires. This isn't the man I know … or maybe I never really knew him at all.
I feel a boulder-sized rock nestle itself into the pit of my stomach and I can barley breath. It's a heaviness I can't shake.
Maybe Mason isn't the man I thought he was.
One thing's for sure; I definitely won't be going to his apartment tonight.
I reach for my overnight bag and draw back the zipper. I grab the lingerie sitting on top of my clothes and wipe back a tear that's threatening to spill out from the corner of my eye.
I throw the lingerie to the floor in disgust.
I'm not helpless, and I'm certainly not weak, or gullible.
If that's what he thinks, he doesn't know me at all.
Mason
Lorna is right fucking here. Her tits are nearly spilling out of her dress. Her body is angled into mine. Even the way that I'm sitting has my cock open to her and don't I fucking know it, I feel first her knee rubbing at my crotch, and then her hand starts massaging my cock through my trousers.
She's squeezing it, palpitating it like a shoe saleseman as she squeezes down the shaft looking for the head.
She finally reaches it, and just by her manipulation, she's gotten me fucking hard.
Understand before you get fucking pissed at me that I have zero attraction to Lorna Lowell—I refuse to even think of her with my last name. I fucking hate what she's done to the people around her—her father, her daughter, you name it. There is no way I want to fuck her in this lifetime.
In fact I came in here fully expecting to end this shit.
But she was ready. She was waiting for me to do that. And she pounced.
Try telling someone you’re trying to end the marriage and be nice about it, okay Gorgeous? Especially when they’re the single largest shareholder in your company after you.
It’s not easy.
But my cock doesn't know that. It feels a pair of hands squeezing and massaging it and it's an instinctual response.
Lorna rubs her open palm on the head of my cock as her eyes open wide.
"Jesus Christ, Mason," she whispers throatily. "You're so huge."
Yes, we already fucking know this. 12 fucking inches of pussy pleasing power when the average in the United States for adult men is 5.5 inches. I'm double the man as the national average.
It has Lorna openly salivating. She's breathing heavy.
"I can't wait to see what this cock is going to do to me," she says.
Doesn't she know that her daughter is somewhere in the house?
It grates me enough that I fucking mention it.
"You don't want to close the door even, at least?" I ask, and immediately wonder if she's going to take my question as an acceptance to fuck.
But Lorna, being the selfish person that she is, only shrugs. "And tear myself away from this magnificent cock?" she asks. I sigh. "I'm just saying that as her mother..."
That's when Lorna's face snaps back to reality from whatever deluded lust game she was in.
"I'm not her mother!" she snaps at me. "Her loser of a father brought her into the marriage. He was a widower. When he went off to join his poor wife in the afterlife, it was a tax credit to claim her as my dependent," Lorna explains to me.
There's a fucking ferocity to her that momentarily stuns me.
And is it me, or did you just hear a gasp from outside the door?
Holy fucking Christ, is that Becca?
Does Becca not know about...
"Does Becca know?" I ask Lorna, flexing my abs to sit up a bit more.
Lorna shrugs. "I let her think whatever she wants," she says to me. "It usually helps me if she thinks of me as her real mother."
That's fucking it.
If there was ever any way that I had thought that this evil woman in her short skirt trying to rub herself on my body would get me to succumb—any iota in my brain that was even tempted by that body—it's gone now.
"Get the fuck off of me," I snarl at her and push myself off the chair I was sitting in.
I flex my muscles and stand up; my only thought is to get out of this house.
Lorna goes to move, but apparently she's not fast enough because by the time I'm standing she's still on me, and once I get off the chair, she's sliding, falling ungraciously in a heap on the floor.
"I'm never going to fucking touch you, woman," I spit at her, not just my mortal fucking enemy but the woman who on her own destroyed Becca's childhood. "I suggest you stop trying."
That's all I have to fucking say to her. I start walking out of the living room.
Her voice stops me for a moment. "Don't think this is over, Mason," she says to me, much more bitterly and spiteful than the purring she was doing a few moments ago. "Don't ever think you can get rid of me so easily."
I pause as I let her continue without turning back. "Your company is going to be mine if you don't do what I say," she hisses like a fucking witch. "And if you think you'll be able to stay away from me after that, you've got another thing coming."
Fuck her.
“I haven’t finished hunting you down, dear,” she says as I exit. “You will be mine. I swear it.”
I walk out the living room and through the foyer of the condo.
I know I should have stopped and seen after Becca, but I need to clear my fucking head.
A part of me is thinking of going back up once the elevator doors open and let me out into the building lobby, but I realize that my temples are still throbbing with anger.
No, I need to calm the fuck down first.
I mean, there's a lot of things women can do. They can be sweet, innocent, and naive. Hell, they can be sexy if they want to and I won't judge. They can even be slutty, and sometimes the sluttier the fucking better.
But there's a fucking line between wanting to have sex because you enjoy the human contact and appreciate the fucking beauty in people, and wanting to have sex because you're a selfish leech that's looking to satisfy your own dark fucking desires for power and control.
No, there's nothing fucking sexual about Lorna. She's more a nympho than a slut.
That's the realization I have as I get into the cab. I tell the cabbie to take me to midtown to the Kane Price offices.
There's one thing I need to do before I get home and try finding Becca.
I head into my office and pick up the phone.
I can't tell you yet who I'm talking to, because there's a chance that if Lorna finds out, she'll try to stop me.
"It's me," I say into the receiver.
Don't worry. The one person who was expecting my call knows my voice. They know who I am if I tell them it's me. They stay silent as well.
"Lorna's probably going to go to war," I speak into the phone. "I want to be fucking ready in case she does."
Again silence. But that only means that they understand. Asking for a vote of no confidence will mean war. It has the potential to tear the company in two. I'm going to prevent that if I have to.
But right now, I've said everything I need to.
I quickly head out of my office.
I texted my driver and my limo is waiting outside of the entrances to Kane Price and I hop in, telling the driver that I need to go home.
As the limo makes its way toward Seventh Avenue and One57 apartment, I look at my phone.
Becca hasn't texted. She hasn't called.
Does she think that Lorna and I started fucking?
Or is she just too distraught at what her mother said?
Fuck, I need to get home and sit down with a glass of scotch. Then I need to figure out how to get to Becca without having to go back to Lorna's house. There's gotta be a way.
I'm not thinking of any solution as I unlock the door to my condo and walk in.
But then, a moment later, I stop thinking altogether.
Because I don't have to; standing right in front of me is Becca Lowell.
She turns to me, and I try to figure out what the look on her face means.
Is she hurt? Distraught?
"Becca," I say, dropping my keys on the table and walking over. "Nothing happened with your mom," I say.
She smiles at me. "I know," she says and takes a step over. Is it me or does she sound happy?
"I heard everything Mom said," she says and then stops herself. "I mean actually, I guess I heard everything Lorna said. Since she's not really my mother."
This is the part that I fucking dreaded.
"You heard that?" I ask.
"Mason, it's okay," she says to me and wraps her arms around me. "It means I'm not related to that bitch. And, that I'm not fucking my stepdad anymore since I'm technically not related to her at all. Thank you for standing up to her."
I pause. Becca's happy. I guess I can understand, but a part of me stirs when she says the word stepdad.
"I guess we're just two people then who aren't related at all," I say slowly.
Becca unwraps herself and takes a step back. "But it's so dirty to still imagine it, isn't it?" she asks me with a wicked grin.
I feel my cock twitching just looking at her. It's filthy. It's taboo.
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asks me. And then slowly she says the word, "Daddy?"
I have no idea how she got here before me. But when she pulls her pink shirt over her head I stop caring.
She takes a few steps back and I follow. She takes a few more steps back, and I follow again.
We end up in the guest bedroom.
I’m staring at her.
She wears a black lace bra, her round breasts a perfect match for the almost transparent fabric. Still holding my gaze she takes her hands to her back and unhooks the bra, allowing its straps to slide down her arms and the whole thing falls onto the floor.
I want to reach toward her breasts, feel her already hard nipples under my fingers, but I restrain myself.
Becca doesn’t want to have anything to do with any kind of restriction, though. She closes the distance between us again with a quick shuffle of her feet and grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. My naked torso calls for her, her eyes coveting my solid pectorals.
“Let’s take some of these clothes off,” she says, looking up at me with wicked eyes. “Daddy.”
Fuck, I need to have her.
Her tongue runs over her lips in anticipation; she leans forward into me and I respond, my mouth pressing into hers, sweet electricity discharging all over our bodies. They’re like two coiled springs yearning for release.
I raise one hand to her waist and embrace her figure, pulling her down onto the bed. Her breasts feel my warm skin as she presses them against my naked chest. Needing to feel me all over she takes her hand to my crotch and pushes down, her heart skipping a beat as she felt something as solid as rock there, something aching for her.
“Oh, Daddy, is that for me?” she purrs into my chest.
What the fuck is going on? Why is my cock harder than it’s ever been before?
She groans lightly as I suck on her tongue, my hands going down to her backside and pulling her closer, the friction between our bodies enough to start an all consuming fire.
Taken by an impulse I grab her hair and pull her head back, exposing her bare breasts. I takes her nipples into my mouth, softly sucking each of them, my tongue tracing their outline with care. I feel my cock hardening even more and, for a fraction of a second, I almost throw her onto the ground and pull down her tight p
ants, having at it there and then.
You don’t have to be a fucking scientist to see how I’m aching to fuck her; I know it, you know it, and most importantly she knows it.
She gets up from the bed after squeezing hard on my cock, and takes her fingers to her waistline.
“Should I pull this down, Daddy?” she asks me.
The anticipation in my eyes is self-evident. Happy to indulge me, she pushes down, her tight pants sliding over her toned legs in a slow hypnotizing motion. My cock tenses up against my boxer briefs at the sight of her small black thong, my heart almost in pain with desire. How I want to fucking reach for her underwear, slowly pulling it down with my teeth and feeling her scent taking hold of me…
Like a wild cat she approaches me, her movements charged with lust and hunger; her hands dart to my pants and pulls them down with my boxer briefs, her fingertips scratching at my skin harshly. My cock rises up, all 12 hard, thick inches saluting her expectantly.
She doesn’t need instructions.
Her knees touch the floor and, before I can breathe out, her lips wrap around my hard cock. As if pushed back by an invisible force I fall on my back, spreading my arms wide on the mattress.
She spreads my legs apart, stroking my inner thighs with the tip of her fingers; my breathing grows harsher as she starts sucking me, one of her hands cupping both my balls and playing around with them.
“Am I delicious?” she asks with a sweet smile.
“Fuck,” I groan.
“What did you call me, Daddy?” she asks sweetly. “Say it.”
I can’t believe this is fucking happening to me.
“Am I delicious, Daddy?” she asks.
“You’re fucking delicious,” I say and she keeps looking at me expectantly. “Baby girl.”
I’ve let go.
I’ve lost control.
For now.
I look up to the ceiling and sigh, my whole body shaking in pleasure as she goes up and down, up and down on my cock, her lips smacking against one another each time my cock springs out of her little mouth.
After a while, it’s just too much to fucking bear. And not just for me, but for her as well.
