Wicked Steps

by CORY CYR

  I pulled away from him as I heard him chuckle deeply and watched him go back to his chair. “What do you want? Wick—Kieran.”

  “Mmm… I love the way my name falls off your lips. Gets me hard. Does it make you wet?” he inquired as he grabbed his crotch.

  “Enough.” Preston chastised him with an uncomfortable glare. “Just have a conversation with her, Kieran. Don’t be an ass.”

  I shifted in my seat as I watched him pause and contemplate.

  “Should I call you Ellery or is stepmother more fitting?” he mused.

  My face heated as I stood. I held on to my purse straps with a death grip. “I’ll tell you what. When you’re finished playing games and attempting to rattle my cage, let me know. Both of you,” I paused, then directed my anger toward Preston. “I would expect it from him, considering his youth, but you? Let’s just say I’m extremely disappointed. I thought we were friends. I considered you a professional. You set me up. You had knowledge and never said a damn word,” I hissed.

  “Stop, please, Ellery. If I knew this,” he said as his eyes darted between Kieran and me, “was going to be the outcome, I would have had second thoughts. And I couldn’t tell you. Everything your husband ever said was in confidence and protected by attorney-client privilege. Hartman knew how to cover his ass. Truth be told, I always thought he would confess it to you, especially toward the end.”

  Tears welled in my eyes as I fought to keep my composure. Everything I’d gone through in the past five years had been for nothing. Hartman had a family. He wasn’t only a monster, but a liar and a deadbeat father. How could he deny his son? Was this what I deserved? Had I been so greedy in my desire for the gallery that this was my ultimate punishment? Had the things I endured with Hartman not been enough? Did karma want more pain and anguish?

  I spun around and faced Kieran. “What do you want?” I asked, slightly cringing at the harshness of my tone. It felt a lot like begging, but I had absolutely no intention of allowing my livelihood to be mandated by a man-child. I had earned this.

  “What did you give my father? I mean in return for you being his dutiful wife. He obviously didn’t fuck you enough. I mean, seriously, you appeared sexually ravenous the other night.”

  Preston’s jaw began furiously ticking as I flinched. “ENOUGH,” he roared as his fist slammed down on the desk. “You.” He pointed at Kieran. “Goddammit, boy. Get the hell out of my office. I’d tell you to come back when you learn some decorum, but I fear I may be dead by the time that happens.”

  “You can’t throw me out. I own this fucking place, and I’m pretty sure I own you now, too,” Kieran shouted back.

  “Go now or I’ll call security. And you don’t own jack shit, you ungrateful little twit. Not until the papers are signed.”

  Kieran turned so quickly to leave one of the chairs crashed to the floor. “Fine. We’ll just see. I’m sure I can find another attorney to handle this. You fucking lawyers are a dime a dozen.”

  “Good luck with that, since there are few that would take me on. And no one will want to touch Hartman Wick’s estranged son. So bring it on. Now get the hell out of here. I’ve had enough of you today.”

  I watched as Kieran stalked toward the doors. He smiled coldly at me. It was an expression of assessment, and it was seething with malice. His superior demeanor made a shiver go down my spine.

  The door closed before Preston spoke. “An apology would never be enough. That boy is consumed with so much anger he can’t see straight. I don’t know where to start, Ellery.”

  I pressed my lips together briefly. “It’s always best to start at the beginning. Tell me everything. Tell me about Wicked—Kieran.”

  For the next three hours, I listened in awe, dismay, and disbelief. Several times, he had to hand me a box of tissues. The tears I tried so hard to suppress finally overcame me as a story unfolded, one that answered many questions. I’d been right. Hartman had always been a tyrant. He tossed aside his wife and son like garbage. No wonder Kieran hated me. True, all of this had happened years before I showed up, but he was so angry and bent on revenge, he needed somebody, anybody to pay. Just as I had been his father’s proxy wife, he’d decided I was to be the proxy recipient of his vendetta.

  My worst thoughts materialized as I listened. Finally, he told me candidly who Hartman Wick had been, not the man he masqueraded as when we first met, but the factual truth. I’d wanted so badly to believe his cruelties were a symptom of the illness, but that had been my own deception to pacify my nightmare. Preston went on to tell me about Kieran’s childhood and about his mother, Darcea. It was painfully evident he had cared for her deeply. I also became aware of the bond between him and Hartman’s son.

  However, from what I was hearing, Kieran had never suffered any physical abuse, while Darcea had sustained it often. The trauma of uprooting his entire life at fourteen and having his father abandon him had caused him despair. Add the loss of his mother at seventeen on top of that had left deep psychological scars, which fueled his thirst for vengeance. Now at twenty-four, regardless of how he came across, he was nothing more than a tormented little boy in a man’s body.

  “So where does that leave me?” I asked.

  Preston shook his head. “Any other time, the spouse would automatically get everything, but because of how Hartman had me set up the will originally, this is all on me. I never changed it. I always thought I’d have more time with that boy. I wanted him to leave all that revenge baggage behind. Then after getting to know you, I thought maybe you two could help each other. I’m an old fool who should have known better. I’m sorry, but Kieran will most likely succeed in procuring all the assets.”

  I wanted to cry. My entire life would be in shambles. I’d stayed with that man for five years with the promise of the gallery and securing a new life for myself. He’d sworn. It had already been proven that Hartman was a man of great deception, so all of this was moot.

  “What did Kieran want? I gathered we could negotiate. Jesus, Preston, all I want is the gallery and enough to keep it afloat until it truly takes off. We’ve only been up and running for a few years now. I need another two before it will become a stable business. Is there any way you could mediate some kind of deal with that juvenile delinquent?”

  “If only I could. I would do anything for you, Ellery. You’re just an innocent bystander who ended up caught in the crossfire of Hartman’s life. Kieran made it quite clear to me. He only wants one thing.” Preston paused and then cleared his throat. “You, he wants you.”

  “What the hell does that mean? He wants me for what?” I questioned, then paused as I gulped, because I already knew the answer. “He wants me sexually?” I questioned, whispering. “I’m not a prostitute, Preston.”

  I began to sob. I watched him stand and walk over to me with another box of fresh tissues. “Ellery, I would never believe the kid I knew would follow through on such a request. I don’t mean to embarrass you and mean no disrespect, but why in God’s name did you let it go so far the other night?”

  “Oh God, please, I am so humiliated. It’s bad enough he’s years younger, but to find out he’s the son of my dead husband.” Fuck me. I could make some extra money here and buy the gallery myself. I think the Jerry Springer show is across town. “I don’t know why. I felt lonely. I needed to validate that someone still found me desirable.”

  “I think he has crossed the line from desire to obsession. You need to talk to him. Plead your case.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Ellery, you have to. It’s out of my hands. He’s made me so angry all I want to do is throttle him right now. It has to be you and only you.” Preston stopped and then walked over to the bar. I stared as he made two drinks, handing one to me. The brandy tasted bitter.

  “You have him, you know. I know it appears as though he’s holding all the cards, but in reality, you’re the dealer. I don’t want to know what happened while you were married, but tell him. Share everything. I know the man I l
ove as a son is in there somewhere. You just need to exorcize him.”

  “He’s a young man. I’m thirty-five. He’s Wicked, one of the world’s most talented artists. He has women in droves. He probably has them on standby. What in the hell do I have to offer him? All of this is unsavory,” I said as my hands flailed around. “All of this is ridiculous. You’re asking me to whore myself out to my dead husband’s son.”

  “No, for God’s sake, that’s not what I meant. Maybe you could be a friend. A confidant.”

  I laughed. “Yeah right, he wants me as a buddy. Do you realize how ludicrous that sounds? That man has a different itinerary, and it doesn’t include a friendship.”

  “All right, I’m hoping you’re the one that can change his mind. I’ve tried. Just sit down with him,” Preston pleaded.

  In my mind, I kept thinking, I wish it were that simple. But I’d allowed him to access my vulnerability. I’d tasted his mouth and breathed in his scent, and no matter how wrong and ill-advised meeting with him was, he fascinated me. I hated myself for being weak and promiscuous. I’d always believed there would be retribution for allowing myself to be purchased. And now that reparation was going to be administered by someone I was attracted to—Hartman’s own son.

  I was indeed going to hell.

  Eight

  Kieran

  “Motherfucker,” I murmured under my breath. How dare Preston treat me like that? Okay, I might have gotten overly cocky, but all bets were off after she walked in.

  Goddamn her for smelling like a mixture of flowers and sex. Even under florescent lighting, her face was perfection. Her skin looked creamy, with the slightest hint of color on her cheeks. Her tawny locks fell in disarray all about her shoulders as her eyes penetrated mine. Spheres of bright blue that appeared to have multicolored flecks of gold.

  The white tailored slacks she wore showed off more than she knew. My eyes immediately targeted her cleft, and I licked my lips in approval because I could see no signs of underwear. Her beige blouse dipped dangerously close enough to show me the lace edges of her bra. I was bordering on insanity. I deeply inhaled because her scent had been a combination of arousal, terror, and floral.

  Her body language stiffened in confusion. I witnessed embarrassment as her cheeks blushed deep with redness. No doubt acknowledging what had happened between us. Just mentally reminiscing about that night made my cock stand up and take notice. I exhaled. It pissed me off that I responded to this woman. The harlot. That fucking gold-digger. Maybe after I was balls deep inside her, or she was choking on my cock, there would be some satisfaction.

  My only quest had been to meet and decimate her world. I never expected Ellery. She didn’t come across as a money-hungry whore. But then again, she didn’t seem the type that would have been in my father’s bed. I’d never had any interest in pursuing older women. Sure, I’d enjoyed experience, but on a younger scale. Maybe that’s why I’d fingered her from behind. So I wouldn’t have to look at her. I wouldn’t be aware she was older, that she was my stepmother. It hadn’t mattered, because she appeared young at all other angles, but I spoiled the process by kissing her. I was rough, and it definitely wasn’t romantic or loving. But the feel of her on my mouth rushed blood to my already rock hard cock, and I knew at that moment I wanted her. And just the knowledge that I desired her made me hate her more.

  I had no doubt this was her technique, her M.O., the method she used to charm herself into my father’s bed. She used her intelligence as bait, but I was wiser. She was under my father’s rule for the last five years. If she thought he was intolerable, I’d been waiting, calculating, and practicing.

  The women I bedded in Paris were never happy when I left. Oh, they were extremely satisfied sexually, but they always wanted more. It never mattered to me, because we rarely exchanged personal information, and if that became a necessity, I used a fictitious name to keep my identity under wraps. I didn’t owe them anything except an orgasm. Yes, many women would love nothing more than to see me strung up by my platinum-ringed nut sack.

  I stalked over to the mini fridge in my room and snatched a water bottle. I felt the need for an alcoholic beverage, but it was too early.

  As I lay across the bed, I reached for my sketchpad. Grabbing a pencil, I began to outline Ellery’s facial features. I couldn’t fathom why I was torturing myself over her. I’d come to America for satisfaction, and I planned to get it. Another man might have just taken the money. Because in retrospect, it was a shitload. I could live like a king for ten lifetimes. I didn’t need the wealth. I was rich, and the stupid money wasn’t the issue. It was the principle. Why should she get it just because she coaxed her way into his bed? Her pussy must be solid gold if it was worth millions.

  I chuckled to myself.

  “What do you want, Preston?” I asked gruffly as I picked up my beeping cell and put it on speaker. I was still feeling the sting of his betrayal.

  “Ellery will meet you at Titan tonight for dinner. I made the reservation for seven. Stop. Don’t say a word. I can hear your gray matter churning. Just talk to her. Hash out your grievances and quit blaming her for what a bastard your father was. Kieran, you do not have to walk in his footsteps. Don’t be him. Be better.”

  He disconnected. The asshole actually had the audacity to hang up on me.

  Why in the hell would I want to have dinner with her? What could we possibly have to discuss? Other than her pussy was a warm and wet place and definitely a spot I’d like to revisit. I wanted to taste her. Have my tongue investigate every sensual nook she had to offer. God, I was torturing myself. I’d come twice in the shower this weekend and once while I slept. It had been years since I’d had a wet dream. A dream divided between pleasure and pain. I wanted to hurt her so bad.

  How could this woman make my skin crawl and my cock hard at the same time? I wanted her, yet I loathed her. I quickly undressed and stepped under the spray of my cold shower. Fuck this bitch for forcing me into self-gratification, which wasn’t helping. There was no relief, and I had the sense that until she was under me, there wouldn’t be.

  I stroked myself as I thought about tonight. She no doubt was still living in the Scarsdale mansion. That would definitely have to be amended. I knew she would fight me on everything. But if she wanted Salacity—and it was truly her life—she would bend to my will.

  To be honest, I had no idea how much time it would take to satisfy my need for revenge. To me, it was relative, and I didn’t have any place to be for over a month, so I needed something to occupy my time. And how better to spend this time than toying with Mrs. Wick? As much as she stirred me down below, her time was limited. Once she served her purpose, I would cut her loose. If she pleased me, I would contemplate giving her the gallery. Otherwise, I would bulldoze that building brick by brick.

  I quickly finished and padded to the closet to pick out clothes for tonight. I called down to the front desk and let them know I would be checking out first thing in the morning. I wanted my things sent to the Scarsdale address. I wasn’t concerned on how to make this arrangement more agreeable. I enjoyed pushing her buttons. I hadn’t realized on the flight over here how much gratification I would get by fucking with her.

  She was going to be outraged when she found out we would be sharing the house. Of course, it was up to her. She could concede to my demands or stay with a friend. But owning her precious gallery would never happen until she surrendered.

  Nine

  Ellery

  “What the hell is going on, Elle? You’ve been on edge since you got back from meeting with Preston at Wick Enterprises. I assume it went off without a hitch. Tell me everything went as planned and Hartman didn’t renege on the gallery.”

  I shot a glance toward Coco as I sat behind my office desk. I reached inside a drawer and pulled out aspirin. I had developed a headache, and his name was Kieran Wick, aka Wicked.

  Fuck. What an idiot I am.

  It was bad enough I let some stranger in my pants, but n
o, it ended up being my stepson. Exactly how was I going to confess this to my best friend? Even she had some kind of code, and I was sure there was something in there that specified, Thou shalt not be fondled by your dead husband’s son. I groaned internally.

  Preston said the little shit wanted me. Why in the hell would someone like him want someone like me? He had plans to barter with me. Like fucking me would be payback for his daddy issues. He had no idea what I went through and how hard I’d worked to get Salacity. I certainly wasn’t going to let some punk-ass kid, boo-hooing about his awful childhood, manhandle me. I’d endured plenty. And if Kieran were like his father, so be it. I outlasted Hartman, so I was certain I could weather the thunderous storm known as Wicked.

  I could chastise myself all I wanted. I could mentally kick my ass, but dammit, he transfixed me. He didn’t wear his sensuality willfully, at least not as Kieran Wick. The prick didn’t even have to try; he kept his looks subdued along with his tattoos. With the exception of the facial piercing, he appeared as just another attractive man. But his façade was deceiving. Everything about him was a mask, because underneath, he was nothing but sex on two extremely long legs. His voice, the way he smelled and moved. That night at the gallery, I’d been prey, and he had stalked me.

  I had to make him understand Salacity was all I wanted. In fact, he could keep everything else. I would take out a loan to supplement the gallery’s maintenance costs. I needed distance from anything Wick. I planned to go to the DMV next week and change my name back. I didn’t want any reminder of the last five years. Now I had to contend with a man who planned to blackmail me by offering me my life’s dream if I slept with him. I sighed. Another time and place, I might have done it freely.

  “Did you hear what I just asked? Where did you just go? Jesus, Elle, you’re scaring me. What happened?”