Cindersmellya: A Dark Comedy Fairytale Romance

by Alexis Angel

  It’s my early warning system of keeping track of him.

  So I never figured that I’d use her to find out where Drake was taking Natalie. But it was useful.

  What? Don’t look at me like that.

  I had to find out where he was taking her. You think if I just called up my stepdad and asked him, he’d tell me? Fat fucking chance.

  Besides, I should've figured out that he was bringing her here to the Yale Club.

  The elevator door opens up and I step out into the formal dining room of the Yale Club.

  If you haven’t been here to this bastion of fucking privilege on Vanderbilt Avenue next to Grand Central, let me just tell you that the dining room is gigantic, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Midtown Manhattan. There’s a terrace that you can walk out to, if you want to stare down at the people who aren’t able to get into this exclusive little club.

  And, of course, there’s a fucking bar that travels the entire length of the wall of the dining room. Stocked with liquor from seriously all over the world.

  It’s a place that you would bring a girl to when you’re looking to fucking impress her.

  When you’re looking to fuck her.

  That’s exactly why I had to come over the moment I heard Yale Club.

  This isn’t some stepdad expressing some paternal interest in his stepdaughter’s company.

  No. Drake Carlton is going to fuck Natalie Vanderhill. He’s going to fuck his stepdaughter. Then he’s going to buy her company under the guise of a private equity investment.

  She has no idea what’s about to hit her. She won’t be able to survive The Shark of Wall Street. No fucking way.

  I know I’m late. I didn’t want to be early and have to wait for them. That would just make me look like a fucking loser.

  That’s why I’m completely on guard the moment I walk out of the elevator.

  I take a few steps toward the bar, and all of a sudden there she is.

  Natalie Vanderhill.

  She’s wearing black. Tight wraparound dress. Fuck, it’s hugging her curves like nothing else.

  My eyes are just traveling every inch of that gorgeous body. Those juicy, plump tits. God, how much I’ve just wanted to squeeze them and suck on them ever since I saw them.

  Yeah, yeah, she was my stepsister. That’s why I never fucking did anything except jerk off to those tits. And boy, did I spew gallons of cum just imagining those titties in my face. Thinking of them, I wanted to run my cock between them, and fuck those tits till I came all over that cute-as-a-button face.

  God, my eyes are moving past those tits somehow to that long and slender body. I swear it's curvy in just the right places. Like that flat, taut, tummy, and that tapered waist and that ass.

  God, that ass is just calling out to me.

  It's thick. And juicy. I want to fucking grab it. Squeeze it in my hands.

  Knead those cheeks like dough.

  I can feel my cock. It's doing more than stirring at this point. It's twitching. It's fucking throbbing. Its got its own heartbeat.

  In my head, everyone else in the Yale Club has disappeared. It's just my blonde haired goddess of a stepsister and me. She's looking at me and I can tell from her eyes that she's eyeballing my body as well. And why shouldn't she? I got a body that would make any woman wet. And once I use it, it'd make any woman moan.

  Her entire body is moving as she turns in my direction. I can see the rippling muscles in her tight, oh-so-fuckable body.

  "Sloane?" she asks, by way of greeting. No doubt she's surprised to see me.

  "What are you doing here?" another voice asks.

  And that's when I come crashing back down to reality. It's not just me and her at the bar now. No, next to her, turning around and squinting at me is none other than my fucking stepdad, Drake Carlton.

  "What?" I ask, pointing my question at Drake. "I can't come to the Yale Club for a drink after racquetball?"

  Yes, I made sure to play racquetball downstairs at the gym today. That way I'd have a valid excuse, and it wouldn't look like I just came all the way from work, or One57 to jump in on their little date.

  "I didn't know you played racquetball, Sloane," Natalie says to me, her eyes widening and her voice barely above a throaty whisper.

  She wants me. I can tell by the way she's looking at me. Her eyes are gleaming with desire.

  But hold on there, darlin'. Before you go thinking there's any future or that we're close to some happily ever after, let me just tell you that its always been like this. Ever since Drake married Linda, we've looked at each other like this.

  But she's my fucking stepsister. I knew I couldn't do anything. And I'm pretty sure she knew that too. Whatever we wanted to do to each other, however we wanted to defile each other's bodies, had to be put on ice. Because we were fucking family.

  But somewhere along the line, I think Drake just decided to throw that message away. Because here he is, sitting there at the bar, one hand on Natalie's knee, looking at me.

  "Are you here by yourself, Sloane?" Drake asks, and I can feel the snide tone seeping out of his fucking voice. He knows that I'm here to stop him from fucking Natalie. Whatever, I don't need to stop him. Natalie's free to do what she wants. Just because Drake is older—I think he's 35—doesn't make him wiser.

  "Like I said," I say with a forced sigh. "I was playing some racquetball and thought I'd stop here for a drink."

  Drake looks at me with a fucking smirk. Asshole. I'd like to wipe that smirk off his face.

  "What are you guys up to?" I ask, trying to stay friendly.

  "Drake is going over the alternatives for financing Dirty Lil' Angels," Natalie says quickly. I can see her eyes travel to Drake and meet me. She's trying to keep the peace.

  That's fine. I'm not here to fight. Yet.

  "I guess that makes two of us then that are interested in your company, Natalie," I say, taking a few steps toward her, completely ignoring Drake. He doesn't even exist in my world. "Looks like you might become the center of attention."

  "I'm always the center of attention, silly," she says, sticking her tongue out at me. "People love me. They can't help it."

  "Make sure you know who you're loving though, babe," I tell her, eyeing Drake. "Not everyone is as innocent as you."

  "Oh?" Natalie asks with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not really that innocent, you know."

  I smile at her and she smiles back. And then there's a cough.

  Again, the world intrudes. In the form of fucking Drake Carlton.

  "Well, Sloane, I hope you have a pleasant evening," Drake says to me. "As you can see, we've already begun ours."

  I look over at Drake for the first time. He's staring at me. With his arm still on Natalie's knee. She doesn't remove it. But she's not encouraging it, either.

  She's waiting to see who's gonna win her.

  "Are you leaving soon?" Drake asks again. I can tell he's starting to get exasperated with my presence.

  Good.

  "Oh, I just got here, Dad," I say with a fucking smarmy ass smile. "I'm not leaving here for a good, long time."

  "Well, good," Drake says, his eyes becoming steely. Fuck this man if he thinks I'm just going to fucking leave and let him proceed uninterrupted.

  "I'll be next to the terrace windows," I say to them both. "Catching up on some emails."

  Then I look to Natalie.

  "Can't wait to catch up with you tomorrow, sis," I say. I can see her cheeks flush. She's thinking of what's going to happen.

  Whatever happens here tonight, tomorrow will hang over her head.

  Make her wonder what else is coming.

  Fuck Drake if he thinks he got to her first.

  This game has just but fucking begun.

  Drake

  "Can't wait to catch up with you tomorrow, sis," Sloane yells out, and I can't help but smile as I watch him retreat with his tail between his legs.

  What was he thinking, coming here unannounced? Racquetball my fucking
ass.

  I don't know who he thought he was kidding.

  He's outmatched. It's almost too easy. He's a naïve kid trying to maneuver in a grown man's game. The sooner he realizes this, the better off he'll be.

  He'll quickly see that he's playing a losing strategy.

  My hand is still resting on Natalie's leg, and I move it to her hair, brushing a few blonde strands behind her ear. "Where were we?" I ask, smiling.

  "We were talking about something … Dirty," she smiles back.

  "Of course, Dirty Lil' Angels."

  I watch as she takes a careful sip of her wine, but before we can talk business, our waiter approaches, placing a half dozen chilled, raw oysters in front of us.

  "Can I tell you a secret?" she asks.

  "I like secrets."

  "I've never eaten a raw oyster before."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "It's true. I'm a little … nervous," she laughs. There's an innocence hidden in her laugh and it makes my heart kick in my chest. I want to pull her close to me and allow myself to get drunk on her smell alone.

  "You know what they say about oysters …" I smile, and she nods. I squeeze a wedge of lemon on them and watch their flesh ripple from the acidity. I reach for Natalie's hand. It's delicate, smaller than I remember, and the realization of it makes my cock twitch. "Here, take this fork."

  She grabs it tenderly and follows my lead.

  "Move it around like this, in its own juice," I say, her hand still in mind, and together we give the oyster a gentle swirl. "So that it's not still attached to the shell."

  "It looks so weird," she says, scrunching her nose. For a split second, I see her as a child again.

  "Trust me," I reply, locking my eyes on hers. "Tasting this is an experience you won't soon forget."

  I take the fork from her hand and replace it with the shell of the oyster.

  "Here, hold it." I watch as she grabs it with the tips of her perfectly manicured fingers, the scarlet polish on her nails flashing against the cold grey of the shell. I lean in close, speaking just above a whisper, making sure my breath brushes against her neck.

  I know, from some corner of this building, that Sloane is watching, and for a reason that I can't exactly explain, the thought of that makes me fucking hard.

  "Go ahead. Slurp it down."

  She begins to part her lips, bringing it to her mouth, but I stop her. "Not that end," I say. "Turn it around. That way, it slides right in."

  "Do I chew it?"

  "Just once. But you really just want to take it down your throat," I say, a grin forming across my lips.

  She returns the smile, and raises it back to her lips. I watch as her pink, moist lips part again, and she places the edge of the shell to her mouth. She tilts her head back, exposing her slender throat to me, and for a second, I imagine dragging my tongue across its soft surface, and resting it against her pulse. I wonder how fast her heart is beating, and what she tastes like.

  Fuck, I really hope Sloane is watching.

  Just as I instructed her to, she slides the oyster into her mouth and gives it one quick chew. I watch as her throat undulates.

  "So?" I ask, as soon as she finishes.

  She smiles. "That tasted like I got slapped by the ocean."

  "Is that a good thing?"

  "A very good thing," she purrs.

  "I'm glad because there's more where that came from," I say, looking down at the chilled platter.

  She reaches for another, repeating the process. As she does it, my eyes travel down the length of her body, savoring every inch of it. What's her motive for meeting me tonight? Something tells me that she has a hidden agenda, but I don't know what.

  "You're awfully quiet," she says, turning her attention back to me. "Is that why they call you The Shark? Are you a silent sort of predator?"

  I don't answer her right away, but instead I smile. Finally, I say, "Just admiring … that's all. I could certainly eat you for dessert."

  "Still hungry?"

  "Starving. You have no idea."

  "I like a man with a big … appetite," she coos.

  As if my cock wasn't hard enough already, now it's as stiff as stone. And as much as I want to bend her over this bar, I know we should talk business.

  "About your company," I say, "I'm interested in investing."

  "I appreciate that, but how can I trust you? You're the Shark of Wall Street. You eat companies for breakfast."

  I place my hand on top of hers. "You can trust me, Natalie. I want to help. Tell me about your toys."

  She smiles. "They're more than just toys, and there's nothing else like them on the market."

  "So you've said. But what do they really do?"

  "Well," she says, inching her body closer to mine. "They can do a lot of things that a cock can't."

  "Is that so?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  "One can connect wirelessly to a Kindle, and runs on AI."

  "You're losing me—AI?"

  "Yeah, you know … artificial intelligence. So it knows when a woman is reading a sex scene because it'll begin to stimulate her at just the right times."

  "Interesting, but how is that better than a real live cock?"

  "I never pegged you as a man who'd get defensive over a toy," she laughs.

  "I'm not defensive, just wondering."

  "I didn't say it was better; I said it could do things that a cock couldn't," she smiles.

  "Like what?"

  "Well, for starters, it can fit discretely in a purse and last for hours."

  "Who says I can't last for hours?" I smile.

  "Can you?"

  "There's only one way to find out."

  She momentarily ignores the innuendo. "The way these toys move is also … unique."

  "You know what I think?" I ask, but don't wait for an answer. "I think we should try these toys out … tonight … take one for a test drive."

  She takes another slow sip of wine and carefully places the glass down. There's a slight imprint of her lips left on the rim of her glass from her lipstick. She's growing increasingly intoxicated—maybe from a mixture of the wine, the thought of toys greater than cocks, and oysters sliding down her throat—but even her legs are loose and she parts them slightly. She grabs my hand and brings it to the top of her warm, soft, thigh.

  "You know what I think … daddy?"

  I shake my head, not knowing what's going to come next. The word hangs in the air, thick and full of promise.

  She shoves my hand up her leg a little further and purrs, "I think you're right."

  Natalie

  “You should definitely rent a warehouse,” Drake says, waving at the dozens of boxes piled up in my living room. “What’s this?” he asks me, walking over to the long worktable I’ve set up in one of the corners. A few of my prototypes are lined up on the table, ready for the testing phase. That’s convenient, I think, looking at Drake.

  “These are my babies,” I tell him with a teasing smile; I pick up a pair of nipple clamps and dangle them in front of his face. “My breadwinners. Or, well, my future breadwinners anyway.”

  “How do you test them?”

  “How do you think?” I shoot back, placing the clamps back on the table and grabbing him by his shirt. I pull him into me, never taking my eyes off of his, and wait for him to close the distance between our mouths.

  “This is insane,” he whispers, looking back at me. The corners of his mouth curl upward into a slight smile, and I realize that it’s exactly the insanity in what we’re doing that he enjoys.

  “It is… daddy,” I purr at him, fully knowing the effect that word has on him. He leans into me right away, and my eyelids droop as his lips lock on mine. He takes his long fingers to my waist, feeling the curves of my body, and then slides them over to my ass. Cupping both my ass cheeks, he squeezes them lightly; guided by instinct, I take one hand to his crotch and flatten it there, my heart skipping a beat as I feel the shape of his hard cock str
aining against his pants.

  He’s huge. No, let me say that again; he’s freakishly huge. He has to be at least twelve inches long, and his length… Christ, his pants must be made of Kevlar; I have no idea how his cock hasn’t ripped its way out of his pants.

  “Now this is surprising,” I whisper, pulling back from his kiss and squeezing his cock. He just grins, narrowing his eyes into slits and pushing me back until I’m pinned between the wall and his body.

  “It shouldn’t be,” he replies. “You’ve eyed me before, don’t deny it.” It’s true; when I still lived with him and my mother, sometimes I noticed an enormous shape under his pants. Back then, I just told myself that it was his cell phone, but that was just a blatant excuse for me to keep looking at his cock. What can I say? I knew he was my stepdad, but I’m too wicked to resist a man like him; it’s in my DNA.

  “Maybe I have,” I confess, “maybe I haven’t.”

  “You’re a little brat, aren’t you?” he breathes out, tangling his fingers in my hair and yanking on it. I throw my head back, but my eyes never leave his.

  “I am… But what’s daddy going to do about it? Punish me?” I tease him, tightening my grip on his cock. There’s a vicious flicker of hunger in his eyes, and then he lets go of me and takes one step back.

  “I’m not going to punish you … But my cock will,” he tells me, his words making my heart beat so fast inside my chest that I feel lightheaded for a second. “On your knees,” he says, his tone of voice so commanding that my reaction is a simple one; I do what he tells me, lowering myself until my knees are on the floor.

  “Let’s see what you can do,” he says, unbuckling his belt. Before he can take care of his zipper, I reach for him and do it myself, his cock straining against his boxer briefs as the zipper goes down.

  “You’ll be surprised with what I can do,” I say, running my index finger up his shaft, measuring it. When I get to the tip of his cock, I place all my fingers on the smooth fabric of his boxers and, hooking them there, I tug both his pants and underwear down. I push his clothing down to his ankles and he does the rest, kicking off his shoes and stepping out of his pants.