by Nikki Wild
“I just don’t think that this is the right thing to do,” I tried to explain as she—thankfully—released my cock from her tight grip. “You seem like a wonderful woman, and I had a fantastic time at dinner. But I think this is moving a bit fast.”
“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes as she sat herself on the seat opposite mine. “Unbelievable.”
I almost felt bad that I’d refused her, either that or I was ashamed of how soft I’d become since I’d been away. I could hardly believe that I was refusing to get a blowjob just because of one girl. It was ridiculous. Unheard of! Tristan Wolfe hung up on some girl that he’d almost fucked?
But she wasn’t just “some girl.” She was Gwen, the one girl who’d told me no in my entire life. The one girl who wanted her time with me to be special, instead of all the other women who were in it for a good time—to say they’d been done by the son of a royal duke. Gwen valued what it would have been to have slept with me for more than just my name or who my father was. Gwen had wanted me. And I wanted her… at least I did now.
“I’d like to go home,” Patricia said, her tone icy. “I believe that’s more than enough reason to call it a night, I think.”
“Yes, you’re right,” I said, wishing I had less awkward way of saying I was sorry. Patricia could have been the perfect match for me that no longer existed, the Tristan that loved dirty sex with women I hardly knew. But that Tristan died back in Afghanistan. “I really do apologize.”
“Fuck off,” she spat as I rolled down the privacy screen to address the driver.
“Ms. Atmore would like to go home,” I said, heaving a sigh as I turned my gaze toward the window, letting my mind drift away with thoughts of my stepsister as Patricia fumed on the other side of the limo. I wasn’t sure how badly I had messed this up, but I knew more than anything else that by the time Gwen had heard about what had happened tonight she would be royally pissed.
7
It was another late night for me, but not because of work. Ever since Tristan had come into my office, I was not in the best of moods, and since tonight was his first date with the lovely Patricia, I was sitting up fretting about just how much the two of them were going to kick it off. My continued correspondence with the young woman had me absolutely sure that the two of them were going to hit things off splendidly, which only made me feel worse.
I tried so hard not to think about what they might be doing there in that restaurant, or in the limo I’d arranged afterward. I wanted their first date to go perfectly. I wanted to make a solid impression for my stepbrother. Patricia was perfect for him, and I was determined to make sure the two of them ended up together. The faster that this was all over the better off I’d be in the long term, especially in terms of my own mental health. This entire business with Tristan was sure to drive me mad the longer it dragged on.
It’ll all be better once he’s married and you won’t have to worry about him inserting himself into your life.
But it wasn’t my life I wanted him inserting himself into.
I sighed heavily and took another long drink from my wine glass. I knew I’d been far too heavy on the drinking of late, but with everything that was going on I wasn’t sure I could handle it sober. There was too much for me to handle, too much that I had to juggle on an emotional level. Checking myself out for a while until it all blew over just seemed like the right thing to do. Once Tristan and Patricia were off on whatever exotic vacation he would most certainly plan once they’d decided to bed one another, I could take comfort in the fact that I would not be tempted again by my stepbrother’s sumptuous body again. Even I knew that once he was married my mind would never dare risk that. Even I had standards.
I closed my eyes, basking in the warmth that the wine brought to my body as I sank deeper into my comfortable couch as the soft sounds of one of the many renditions of Beethoven danced through the air of my apartment. It was nearly midnight, and I’d heard not one peep from either Tristan or Patricia on their date, something I was hoping was a positive omen. If they weren’t calling me then it meant that the two of them were hopefully enjoying one another's company—perhaps even intimately.
I hated that I was hoping for my stepbrother to bed another woman. It brought a sour taste to my mouth and I wanted to scream, but held in my distress like a lady should. I could weather this, just as I had weathered storms like it before. I knew that even though Tristan was what I desired, it was not what was best—we always want what we can never have.
It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve that I heard my phone begin to buzz, slowly moving itself across the black wooden surface of my coffee table. My stomach tightened as I recognized Patricia’s number emblazoned across my screen. Had something gone wrong? Was everything okay?
I felt as though I’d been frozen as I watched the cell phone buzz in its demand for my attention. I swallowed hard and reached out against the will of my fears and put the device to my ear, bracing myself for what might come from the other line. Despite my fears, I hoped that it was good news.
“Patricia, hello,” I said, my voice tense. “Is everything alright?”
“It very well is not,” she shrieked over the receiver. I jerked the phone away from my ear. “Do you know what that man did to me?”
My eyes widened. Oh, God…
“I—I have no idea, Patricia. Tell me, very calmly—”
“I won’t be calm about this!” she cried, her anger and her tone rising the more she spoke. “That bastard dumped me out of the damn limo on my doorstep! And right after I offered to nosh him off! You set me up with a right ungrateful prick, you did!”
I could feel heat blooming in my cheeks at the very thought of the two of them in the back of the limo, her lips wrapped around Tristan’s considerable member. I swallowed, trying to push the image out form the forefront of my mind as I focused on the present. Why in the world would he do something so stupid?
“I’m so sorry, Patricia,” I said, trying to compose myself the best I could, trying to push through the haze that the wine had thrown over my mind. “If there’s anything that I can do—”
“Just make sure the next bloke you throw at me appreciates when a woman gives his bell end a little attention, yeah?”
“I… of course. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind when I find you a new match.”
“Be damn sure you do,” she said. “And ‘ta very much for the shite evening.”
The phone beeped to indicate that the call was over, though it was more than a full minute before I took the phone away from my ear. I began to question the very fabric of existence as I wrapped my head around the fact that Tristan, my absolute sex-fiend of a stepbrother, had refused to allow a woman to go down on him. Something didn’t seem right, there was no way that he’d ever have passed up that kind of an opportunity to be serviced by a gorgeous woman he’d likely just spent the whole night flirting with over oysters and champagne.
I needed answers.
I furiously pressed my thumbs against the screen of my phone, tapping in my brother’s number before practically smashing the call button as hard as I could. I was enraged, utterly boiling that somehow Tristan had managed to cock up a perfectly simple first date. So what if he had his knob handled for a moment? Wasn’t that part of what he was looking for in a damn wife?
The phone began to ring as I sat up, unsure of what to do with myself as I waited for that bastard to answer. He must have known by now that Patricia had called me, had told me how he’d somehow screwed his chances with her. I was so angry that I could almost see the steam wafting from my ears. He only had one job, and that was to enjoy a beautiful woman’s company so that maybe they could stand one another for the rest of their bloody lives!
“Hello?” came Tristan’s lazy voice from over the phone. How could he sound so calm after what he’d just done?
“You stupid twat,” I snarled. “How in the world could you screw this up so damn quickly? She was a perfect match for you!”
> “You’re mad at me,” he said, matter-of-factly. I wanted to scream over at him, I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs what a stupid mistake he’d made by messing up one of the simplest parts of my job.
“You’re damn right I am!” I said, standing up from the couch quickly as I began to pace around my living room. I felt like if I didn’t do something to burn off some energy I might explode. “She’s furious, Tristan! I thought you loved doing kinky shit with women in the backs of limos! At least that’s what the tabloids all said!”
“It just didn’t feel right, you know?” he said, and I could almost picture him giving me that non-committal shrug. I wanted to strangle him.
“It didn’t feel right? Since when the hell has that ever mattered to you?” I raged, throwing my free hand in the air in exasperation. “You’ve never been shy about who the hell played with your dick before now, so why start?”
“That’s not really fair, I think,” he said. “Don’t I get a say in who plays with my cock?”
“Not today, you don’t,” I yelled back. “You told me you wanted to find someone who was exciting and flirtatious, and instead of going for the perfect woman I set you up with, you drop her off on her damn doorstep?”
“That’s not the whole story, Gwen,” he said, his turn apparently to seem a little annoyed.
“Then do tell me all about what really happened, Tristan, because I’m sure that it will be a story for the ages.”
“I will, once I get to your apartment,” he said before I heard the beep of the line going dead.
I stared out onto my balcony through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, my phone clattering to the floor as those words echoed through my brain. He was coming here? Now?
This was bad, and it would only get worse when he walked through those doors. How was I supposed to control myself around him after I’d spent the last few hours downing a bottle of wine all by myself? I was done for! And God knew that he’d be just as horny after Patricia tried to get him off in the car—if unsuccessfully. I knew that this was a recipe for disaster, and the more I tried to push my lustful thoughts from my mind, the more effort I used the more of them came.
I pictured the way he’d look walking through the door, his cock still somewhat hard from Patricia’s eager attempt at fellatio. I pictured how he’d feel bending me over and hiking up my dress before he slid himself slowly into my drenched quim. I let out a gasp as I tried my hardest to quell my torrential desire, knowing full well that any effort I made now would all be undone by the time that my stepbrother arrived. I had to find a way to sober myself up before he walked through the door.
I ran—well, stumbled—to my kitchen, drinking down a glass of water as quickly as I could, hoping to at least begin the process of sobering myself up before my stepbrother arrived. My heart was pounding and I could feel the heat between my legs as it refused to abate. All I could think of was how much I wanted him, my own emotions betraying me as I half-panicked and half eagerly anticipated Tristan’s arrival.
This is going to be a disaster! I thought, downing another glass as I made my way to my bathroom to start running a cold shower to pull me out of my drunken haze. All that I could imagine as I thought of Tristan was how incredible he must have looked tonight for Patricia to so easily want to go down on his dick.
My breath caught as I stepped into the cold shower, letting out a loud gasp as I felt the exhilaration of the freezing chill wash over me like a floor. For a few moments I was finally free of the thoughts of my stepbrother’s member dancing through my mind as it slid into my imagined cunt. I felt like a slut, practically chomping at the bit at the idea of his dick pulsating inside of me.
After a few minutes beneath the chilly waters I stepped out, running to my bedroom for a hopefully appropriate outfit that would allow easy access to my more intimate areas. I didn’t want this to be easy for either of us. This couldn’t end the way that I was picturing. I refused to give in to the base desires that flooded my mind. I didn’t need the scandal any more than my family did.
Imagine the headlines: Matchmaker Beds Playboy Stepbrother.
It was not something I aimed to let slander my good name.
8
I hardly had the chance to knock once before Gwendolyn grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me inside with strength I’d never expected from her. She looked like she’s only just stepped out of the shower moments before, her hair wrapped up in a loose towel fashioned into a turban. How she’d managed to shower in the short time since I’d called boggled my mind, though the distinct scent of alcohol on her breath made me wonder as to why she’d felt the need for a shower so necessary.
“Are you feeling alright?” I asked, one eyebrow cocked.
“Am I feeling alright?” she asked, barely holding herself back from screaming at me from the top of her lungs. “You do realize that she was a client of mine, yes? Meaning that she holds me responsible for her date going so poorly?”
“It isn’t that big of a deal,” I said, trying to wave it off. “Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that, yes?”
“No! Tristan you can’t do this! You came to me so that I could help you get yourself married, and yet the first woman I set you up with you practically brush off when she offers to blow you? You of all people refused sex from a willing woman?”
“We’ve been over this, Gwennie. I just wasn’t feeling into it, that’s all,” I said, glaring at her as I sauntered over to her kitchen. “I have every right not to want to have sex with anyone I choose for any reason I choose.”
I couldn’t deny that Gwendolyn had done well for herself, her apartment was enormous, and impeccably decorated in a fashionable modern style. I’d hardly had the time to find myself a proper place to live that was truly my own, instead invading one of our family’s less used properties in London.
“You don’t get to make that excuse when you’re the one who wants to find himself a wife!” she said, raising her voice.
I could already feel myself stirring.
“You’re going to apologize to Patricia and hope to God she gives you a second chance,” Gwen said, her face red.
“I don’t think that I am,” I said, opening up her fridge to see what she might have that I could drink. After what I’d just gone through, I knew I needed something to dull my thoughts. Sadly, the wine bottle my stepsister had been happily drinking before my arrival was all but empty. “I didn’t fancy Patricia, and I don’t think that she’s what I want in a wife.”
“Oh? And what exactly are you looking for that Patricia doesn’t have?”
“She’s not you, for one,” I said as I shut the refrigerator door.
I shouldn’t have said it. It was a stupid, insensitive thing to say, not just because it was inflammatory, but because I hadn’t thought the consequences fully through. I hadn’t spared a moment to imagine what that confession might be like on Gwen’s ears, or on her heart. Sure, I’d known for a while now that I wanted my stepsister, that I craved her in ways that were entirely unsuitable, but she didn’t know that.
Or did she? She blinked at me, hard, clearly surprised. But not shocked. Not staggered. The look on her face almost seemed to say, “You too?”
We stood in silence for a few moments, one that was weightier than I could handle. I had to say something to break it. I was never one for emotionally charged moments, especially not where the promise of sex was concerned.
“Well, I suppose this puts us at an impasse,” I chuckled.
But Gwennie didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. In fact, she looked downright pissed at me, like sharing a joke with me was the last thing on her mind. Like wringing my neck was the first.
“Don’t even joke about that,” she hissed, stalking away from me, eyes wild. “Jesus, Tristan. If anyone were to hear you…”
I snorted. “What, is your flat bugged?”
“With you here, it might as well be,” she answered, casting a furtive glance out the windows. “No doubt a
fair few paparazzi followed you here tonight. And you never know what lengths they’ll go to.”
“Oh, yes, what a scoop,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Duke’s Son Once Again Cocks Up a Date, Goes to His Sister’s to Have a Whinge. I’m sure it’ll sell out nationwide.”
“Stepsister,” she reminded me, and I narrowed my eyes.
“Who are you reminding here, Gwennie? You, or me?”
Gwendolyn didn’t answer that. She pursed her lips and turned away from me. Thanks to the towel turban holding her hair back, I could see that the tips of her ears were turning red. Her chest was flushing the same color. I wondered where else the blood in her body was rushing. I knew my own pulse had culminated in some very intimate places.
“Look,” I said, trying to sound more gentle than I was feeling, “we need to talk about this. We never discussed—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Gwendolyn put in, but I went on.
“—what happened before I joined the Royal Army. What happened between us.”
I remembered it well. And no matter how much Gwennie tried to hand wave it away, I knew she remembered, too. The way her eyes glazed over when I brought it up made me certain of that fact.
Absently, she touched her lips, as if she could still feel the way my breath had been upon them in that cramped, hot pantry. Dear Lord, I’d wanted to devour her in there, hold up her tiny body against the shelves and just dive face-first into her virgin cunt. Maybe if we’d had a few moments more, that’s exactly what I would have done. I’d been a stupid boy back then, though, and I’d strutted out of there before she could give in, certain she’d follow me. I’d underestimated how stubborn my Gwennie could be. It seemed she’d only grown more obstinate with age.
My Gwennie. Shit, did I really think of her that way? Or could I chalk it up to an errant imagining, one I wasn’t totally responsible for? I knew which one I’d like to do, but what would be the truth? It’s easier to lie to yourself if you can at least suss that out.
