by Alexis Angel
Natalie, my gorgeous stepsister, is lying in bed next to me. Naked.
Her blonde hair is splayed across the pillow and her face is peaceful in its slumber.
She's sleeping so soundly. No wonder. She must've been exhausted after the night that we had. I mean, I even slept like a fucking baby.
God, that was some sex, huh? I've never had anything like that. I don't know how it got to be so hot. I mean, she's my stepsister. That taboo vibe by itself carries enough to get my cock twitchy. But the sounds that were coming from her mouth, the filthy words, the faces she was making, God, it's enough to get me hard again.
I'm going to fuck her again.
I don't care who or what tries to stop me. Drake wants to get in my way; I'm going to mow that old man down. He's ancient at 35. I'll fucking cut him if he tries to keep me from this woman.
Thinking about Natalie pilots my body to pivot on its side so that I'm facing her. She's on her stomach, still sleeping soundly.
My hands reach over and graze the skin on her back. Her skin is so soft and smooth. My hand makes its way down to the rising swell of her ass. I rest my hand on her ass cheek.
God, Natalie's ass is so perfect. I can't get enough of it. I'm squeezing it now. Repeatedly. Taking greedy fucking handfuls.
What about this woman's ass turns me on so fucking much? It's like just by squeezing it I'm getting fucking horny. All I want to do is fucking growl and get on her. Mount her and take her like an animal. Snarl at anyone or anything that keeps me from defiling this beautiful, innocent looking woman who has sex like a whore.
You're probably not surprised if I tell you that I'm fucking hard as a brick right now. Precum is leaking from my cock and I mash my cock against Natalie's thigh.
She's still sleeping soundly but I can see a few of the signs that she's coming up from whatever dreamland she was in.
God, she's going to wake up to me, pawing at her like this? What the fuck am I doing?
Taking deep breaths so she doesn't wake up to a beast, I tame my actions.
Natalie opens her eyes and looks at me. She's a lot more awake than I would've expected.
"Don't stop on my account," she says, with a mischievous smile.
Has she been awake?
"I'm so fucking wet, Sloane," she says with a pout. "You make me so horny. Even after you fucked me so hard last night."
God, this woman has the mouth of a fucking sailor when she wants. It fucking turns me on that she's so sweet out in public but once the doors to the bedroom are closed she's as wanton and dirty minded as me.
"I'm not used to waking up next to something so fucking beautiful," I tell her.
What? Don't look at me like that. It's the fucking truth.
"You mean you're not used to waking up next to women, are you?" she asks me, turning to her side. "You usually send them on their way by now, huh?"
I look at Natalie for a long moment. She's sort of got me pegged.
But you know what the strange thing is, here?
I can't imagine sending Natalie away last night. I can't imagine after we both came doing anything but collapsing on the bed and having her cuddle up next to me.
I can't imagine not waking up next to her.
I can't imagine not lying next to her.
Holding her in my arms.
Looking her in the eyes.
Feeling her naked body press against mine.
Skin upon skin.
Flesh upon flesh.
Fuck. I just slept with her. That's fucking it. What the fuck is happening to me here?
This doesn't happen to Sloane Hardman. This isn't supposed to happen to someone like me.
"Why did we ever wait so long?" Natalie asks, scooting closer to me. I can feel the tip of my cock bush against her skin and electricity goes through me. "We could've been doing this so much earlier."
"I've wanted to fuck you for so long," I say to her, kissing her neck. My arms encircle her, and she's pulls closer to me.
"I wanted you ever since I met you with Mom," Natalie replies back. "You were so cocky, confident, and hot."
Hearing her say that makes my blood boil.
"I used to masturbate thinking about you cumming on my tits," she whispers into my ear. "Thinking about that long, hard, cock and how you'd use it to fuck me."
Fuck. Who put this mouth on this woman? If I don't fuck her soon, my dick is gonna fucking break in half.
I growl. It's deep and low in my fucking chest.
Natalie's eyes are lit with fire as well.
"I'm going to show you what I mean by fucking, babe," I say to her, nipping her on the neck. "It'll make you forget those sex toys you make ever existed."
She smiles at me. I can sense the wickedness behind her eyes. The licentiousness. She's nasty. She's dirty. And she's all mine.
"Once I get investments from you or Drake, then I'll make a sex toy and name it the Sloane," she whispers to me.
Whoa.
It's like she threw some cold water on me.
Back the fuck up.
"Drake?" I ask her. "I thought I was going to invest in your company?" I ask.
She looks at me. Curious.
"Did we talk about that?" she asks. "Did we finalize that it's just you?" she asks.
Well, no, we didn't.
"No," I reply to her and she looks at me. The lust is fogging my brain but I need to figure this out. "I just assumed that when she spent the night with me that..."
Natalie doesn't let me finish.
"You thought because I slept with you I made a decision as to which way to go for financing?" she asks me, arching her eyebrows and pulling back a bit. "That I was mixing business and pleasure."
"Drake told you not to come over to see me last night, Natalie," I tell her. "You disobeyed him. You came to see me. Because you wanted me."
"And I still do, Sloane," Natalie tells me and I'm about to make my point but she keeps going on. "But it doesn't mean that I've made my decision on capital financing because I liked spending time with your cock."
What exactly is this woman telling me?
Because if what I'm hearing is right, then I'm still back at square fucking one.
"Are you telling me that you still might accept investment in Dirty Lil' Angels from Drake Carlton?" I ask her, my voice rising slightly. "That you might still fuck that monster?"
Natalie is silent as she looks at me.
"My company financing is going to be done based on what's best for my company, Sloane," she tells me quietly. "Not what services my pussy the best."
I'm silent.
"And what I do with Drake right now, and who I fuck," she says, putting emphasis on the word 'fuck'. "Is none of your business if I don't want to tell you. Not when we just met."
"You can't fuck him," I tell her, my eyes steely.
"You don't own me, Sloane," she says to me.
She's pulled back. Other side of the bed. I'm still holding her, but we're not about to fuck like we were before.
"No one owns me," she says with finality.
And that's it. I can see it in her eyes.
When Drake told her she couldn't come see me, what did she do? She fucking came to see me.
If I press this too far with her, I'm just going to drive her back to him.
I need to play my cards right.
Because something is up with this girl. I never thought I'd get hung up on a girl, until I met this one.
And I can't let her slip away. Not just yet.
"Babe, I'll never tell you what you can or can't do," I tell Natalie. Her face, filled with steely resolve and independence, starts to unfreeze.
She looks at me as I run my hands over her back, running it up and down her spine.
It takes a few minutes, but her expression starts to soften.
"I will never try to own you," I tell her. She looks at me. "Unless we're fucking. Because then, that ass is fucking mine."
Two seconds. Then a smile.
&
nbsp; How can you resist a face like mine in the morning?
You can't.
Five more seconds, and Natalie's gorgeous fucking body is pressed against mine. I never want to let go of her naked form as it entwines in mine.
As I fucking kiss her on the neck.
And begin to take her.
Fuck, I'll do anything this woman wants.
All she has to do is ask.
Drake
I look down at my watch and draw my coat tighter against the wind. The weather is unseasonably cold and it makes me clench my jaw. Natalie should be here right now, and she isn't. I've waited long enough. Time is money and I can't sit around here any longer.
I take the elevator down to the lobby, and walk back out to the street. The sound of the city's traffic whizzes past me.
Just as I step foot onto the sidewalk, I see her—she nearly bumps into me. Her blonde hair is being blown by the wind and she's tucking it behind one ear.
She looks up and seems surprised to see me. "Oh, wh—what are you doing here?"
I feel my brow furrow, but I try to smile. I don't want her to see me like this—flustered, pathetic—so I swallow my irritation.
"I'm here because I thought you'd be here too," I say, in all seriousness. "You were supposed to be home. I've been waiting for almost an hour. Where have you been?"
"Where have I been?" she laughs, but it's clear she doesn't find this funny.
Her eyes are flashing like shards of broken glass. Despite my best effort to hide it, she can sense my irritation. "I'm not supposed to be anywhere. I can be wherever I want to be, Drake. Do I ask where you are every day?"
"Listen to me," I say. "I'm making it my business. I care, Natalie. I need to know where you were."
She shakes her head, unwilling to give me what I want. "It's none of your fucking business."
"I'm not here to fight."
"Look, I may like playing the little girl, but that's not me all the time. I have a life, outside of …" she thinks for a moment, searching for the right words, "us … this … whatever you want to call it."
The way she can compartmentalize her life, and go from hot to cold is confusing. And why is she acting as if she has something to hide? She's hedging, I know it. It must be Sloane. He must be getting to her.
"If you want my money for Dirty Lil' Angels," I say, "You need to change your tone."
"Change my tone?" she mocks, in a high-pitched laugh. "Didn't you just hear a word of what I said? You can drop the daddy act right now."
Fuck, she's sexy when she's mad. The way her chest heaves, and she crosses her arms, pushing the tops of her breasts closer to me. The way she purses her moist lips.
"Think about your company," I say. "Dirty Lil' Angels could use this funding; it will take you to the next level, but I'm not prepared to hand over that kind of investment capital when I can't trust you."
She looks at me for a moment without speaking, and the word trust hangs in the space between us like a dare.
"I have … alternate sources … of funding," she says, slowly, knowing that if she isn't careful, her words can change the course of everything.
Alternate sources. I roll those words around my mind for a second. I wasn't fucking born yesterday. I know what that means. That's the real reason she wasn't home.
Sloane.
"Would you trust the future of company on that alternate source?" I ask.
"Stop, I know what you're doing."
But the truth is, I can't stop. There's no way I'm allowing Sloane to have the upper hand in this. So I continue, "And is that alternate source of funding prepared to give you what I can?"
She looks up at me. "You know what you're problem is?"
"Enlighten me," I say, trying not to roll my fucking eyes.
"You think you can have anything you want."
I laugh. "Think? I know. I do get what I want, and I wouldn't be standing here in front of you if that wasn't true."
"Arrogant," she murmurs, almost under her breath. I barely catch the word before it's carried off in the wind.
"When you're older, you'll realize …" I begin to say, and then realize that I didn't mean to use that tone; I didn't mean to make it sound like she was a little girl, so I correct myself. "By that I mean, when you've been in business for as long as I have, you'll see that it's not arrogance; it's confidence. There's a difference. When you want something in business … in life … if you don't go out there and get it, you'll never have it."
Natalie stares at me, her blue eyes brewing a storm. She's refusing to hear a fucking word I say.
"I think you should be ready to not get everything you want," she says with finality, and without allowing me to get another word in, I watch as she turns on her heels, and walks away. I stand on the sidewalk, watching her hair dance in the tendrils of the wind, giving me a mocking wave.
Fuck.
I look out across the sidewalk, at the throngs of people shuffling across the intersection, and I decide to go back to my apartment. There's no fucking sense chasing after her right now. Right now, I need to decide what to do about Sloane.
I dig into my pocket and take out my cell phone. I text my driver, and he immediately responds, letting me know he's on his way and will be here in a few minutes.
Just as I'm about to shove my phone back into my suit pocket, I see a new text, and this time it's not from my driver. It's from a name that puts my mind into overdrive.
Linda.
What does my ex want?
I click the message, and realize it's a group text. I begin to read it.
"We all need 2 have dinner tomorrow nite. 6pm. The Oak Room. I've made reservations."
Great, I think sarcastically. Fucking wonderful.
Natalie
I look at my smartphone as I climb out of the taxi, realizing that I’m already half an hour late. Crap! I bet they’re already at the restaurant, and I really didn’t want to be the last one in today. Oh well, there’s nothing I can do now.
I stroll inside of The Oak Room with my head held high, ready to face the scrutiny of my oh-so-friendly family. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought this dress, low cut and tight fitting, but I couldn’t help myself. Sloane and Drake are going to be here, and I have to dress to impress. Besides, my mother hardly approves of anything I do, so why bother?
The three of them are sitting at a table on the far end of the room, and that’s where I head to. "Sorry I’m late, the traffic was --"
"Of course you’re late," my mother tells me, turning her bright eyes toward me. Her lips are pursed, and there’s a frown on her face; she hates people who are late with a passion, and I guess that hate extends to her own daughter.
"Well, you know me," I shrug, taking my place at the table without looking at either Drake or Sloane. I don’t want them to think I’m playing favorites.
"I do know you, Natalie," she says with a faux sigh, and I almost expect to add an ‘unfortunately’ at the end of her sentence. That’s my mother, always eager to praise her daughter. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my mother; it’s just that she’s hard to love.
God, I need a drink.
I reach for the bottle of red wine sitting on the table and fill my glass. I take a gulp out of the wine, it’s oaky flavor coating my tongue, and take a deep breath. Let’s see what this is all about.
"So, why are we here, mom? Did I forget your birthday or something?" I ask her, already aware that whatever’s coming has to be important. After all, why would she even want her stepson and ex-husband here? Mom has never been the kind of woman to cherish her loved ones, and besides, I don’t think there’s any love lost between her and Drake anyway.
"Don’t be silly, Natalie," she says in that scolding tone of hers, the way my name rolls out of her lips making me feel like a child again. Not a good feeling. "I wanted you all here because I have an important announcement to make. Since you’re family, I thought you should be the first ones to know."
Yeah,
right, I think to myself. My mother would've never called us here if she didn’t want something out of us. Perhaps she wants a piece of my company as well? No, it can’t be that; she’s Lady Decency through and through (or at least that’s what she wants everyone to think), and she’d never go near something as racy as my company. Her loss, really. I think that if she bought a few of my toys she’d stop being so uptight. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this about my own mother.
"So?" Drake asks from the other end of the table, he has his elbows there, and his fingers are laced in a patient posture; still, everything in him tells me that he’d rather be anywhere but here with his ex-wife. "Out with it, Linda."
I look from him to my mother, and I swear I can almost see the hint of a grin creeping up on her lips. Instead, she just flashes him a humble smile and looks around the table, her gaze going from Drake to Sloane, and then from Sloane to me. I can tell she’s taking her time, allowing the tension to rise before she finally makes her dramatic revelation. She always had a flair for drama.
"I’m going to run for mayor," she finally says, the words hanging in the air like grey clouds.
"Mayor? But Michael Anders has been your friend for --"
"This isn’t about Mayor Anders or about me. This is about New York and what’s best for the city," she cuts me off, her explanation so cold I can almost feel the temperature in the room dropping.
Michael Anders has been the mayor for as long as I remember, and my mother always loved to brag about her friendship with the ‘humble and devoted mayor’, as she liked to call him whenever we had guests at our house. I guess that friendship’s over then.
"Yeah, and what the fuck does that have to do with me?" Sloane suddenly chimes in, reaching for the glass of whisky in front of him and downing the whole thing at once. "Did you just call us here to wish you good luck?"
"No, not at all," my mom replies, and this time there’s a smile on her face. She looks almost ten years younger now, and I have a glimpse of what she looked like when she was my age. Blonde and fair-skinned, she was part of the New York elite, dazzling the whole city with how beautiful she was.
She still looks good for her age, but there are a few wrinkles showing up on her face now. The lines are barely perceptible, though, but I can tell that not one of them is the result of excessive smiling. To my mother, a smile and a laugh were merely tools to get whatever she wanted. And, oh boy, did she know how to laugh and smile; I guess she just never did it enough for it to show on her face.
