by Abby Angel
She prods me further before I have a chance to speak. "You don't recognize me, do you?" A smile spreads across her lips, and I can tell she's having some fun with this.
How do I know her?
There's something vaguely familiar about her face. I'm searching my brain and hoping this isn't going to be a repeat of the incident at the bank. Yesterday, I went in to make a withdraw and a woman says the same fucking thing, that I don't recognize her, but of course she poses it as a question, and when I shake my head no she says, "You should, because you fucked me."
She said it loud enough, and let me tell you, it turned some fucking heads at the bank.
Now here I am, looking at this new woman standing in front of me. I'm eyeing her up and down. She's young. I'm guessing early 20s. Her face has delicate features … wait, this can't be. "Natalie?"
"Bingo."
"What brings you here?"
Now my head's really fucking spinning. I haven't seen her since ...
"I heard about your new acquisition, and wanted to say congratulations. It's all over the news."
"You came all the way over here just to say that? Isn't it easier to send an email?" I grin.
Not that I'm complaining that she's here, but it's a legitimate question.
"Email is so … yesterday," she smiles. Seems like she's full of secrets too. God, she looks just like her mother. "Besides, it's been a few years," she continues.
That's a conservative estimate. It feels like a lifetime ago. Almost another life completely.
"How have you been, and your stepbrother, Sloane?"
"You can drop the forced niceties. You and Sloane were never close … none of us were. Even Mom divorced you quicker than any of us predicted. We were never much of a family."
"That's harsh."
"It's the truth and you know it. But if you must know, Sloane hasn't changed, scandalous as always."
I laugh and ask, "How old are you now … 24?" I can't help but notice how much more mature she looks now. She's not the kid—braces and unruly hair—that I remember. She's a woman, a young, beautiful woman. Holy fuck.
"Close," she replies. "25. A stepdad should know these things."
"You look good," I say, ignoring the dig.
"Not as good as Ms. Legs over there, right?" she laughs, changing the subject and pointing back to Eric and the girl he's trying fuck tonight.
I start to shake my head, but she continues, "Oh come on. Don't be shy. I saw you staring."
"I'm many things, but shy isn't one of them," I say, for what I realize is the second time tonight. I bring my drink to my lips and take a sip, letting the warmth simmer in my throat. My eyes lock on hers.
She holds my gaze, changing the atmosphere around us. "Is that so?" she asks.
Her words are posed as a question, but they tumble from her lips like a dare. I'm instantly made aware of the shape of her slender neck, and her pulse fluttering there. I'm aware of her intoxicating smell—like a ripe garden on the edge of a salty ocean. I'm aware of her lips, plump and moist, and slightly parted.
I clear my throat.
"Ms. Legs has nothing on you," I say, daring her back, my eyes traveling from her bare shoulders down to the mounds of her tits, and I think about sliding my cock between that dark and secret crevice of hers. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this, but I can't help it. There's electricity in the air—something that makes me feel protective and possessive at the same time. My cock is throbbing. It has its own fucking pulse at this point.
Can she guess what I'm thinking? She takes a step closer, an instant magnetism drawing us together. I try to change the subject. She's my fucking stepdaughter, I try to reason with myself.
"So, what do you do these days?" I ask.
"I make sex toys."
I nearly choke on my drink. What did she just say? So much for changing the subject.
"Don't look so surprised," she coos. "I've always liked … sex," she says this with a slow emphasis, staring directly into my eyes, "and these toys take it to a whole new level."
"And what level is that?" I ask. Her eyes are like the deepest part of the ocean, and I feel myself sinking into them.
She smiles. "Let's just say that by embracing technology, no woman is walking away … dry."
Now she really has my undivided attention, and she knows it. She steps closer, placing her delicate hand on my arm and she leans into my ear.
She parts her lips and whispers, "It simulates like no other," and when she drags the 's' out of the word 'simulates' an electric current travels down my fucking spine.
"That sounds … interesting." My eyes flash at hers.
"It's even more interesting in action," she smiles, dragging one finger across one of my legs. My cock pulses at the thrill of her closeness.
"How much more?" I ask, a grin forming on my lips.
"Would you like to find out?"
As she asks this, I picture her hips in my hands, and my mouth on her neck. I picture a nipple pinched between my teeth. I have an entire movie scene playing out in my head … one directed by my throbbing fucking cock.
"I'd like to learn more about your … business," I say. "Let's meet for dinner tomorrow. I'll have a driver pick you up."
"I'm sure you will."
"What does that mean?"
She steps closer again and delicately hooks one finger in the pocket of my pants. She asks, "Is he going to …" and then she pauses, looking down at my belt buckle, "GPS me … right here?"
I know exactly where her eyes land.
4
Natalie
Drake 'The Shark’ Carlton—now there’s a man I haven't thought about in a long time. It’s not every day you get to meet your stepdad, after all. And what a good turn of events that was … He looks better in person than in all the pictures I've seen of him.
Despite being ten years older than me, there’s still a rugged youthfulness to him, and his frame makes him look like he belongs on a football field instead of in a boardroom. He’s much taller than me—taller than I expected—and I had to do a double take before I realized exactly who he was.
It was supposed to be a regular night out—dinner at the 21 Club, and then drinks somewhere else, when he showed up in his tailored suit, looking like he stepped out from a Hollywood set. I had heard about his latest acquisition, and I decided to approach him. His eyes roamed over my body eagerly, and I could tell there and then that he wanted me. I know, I know… he’s my stepdad, and so that’s supposed to be weird; but, hell, I wanted him at least as much as he wanted me. I’m not saying that I want this fantasy to turn into reality, but when you have a man like that in front of you it’s not like you can think rationally, right?
I can’t tell if he was more interested in me or in my company, though, if I’m being perfectly honest. But whatever it was, I agreed to have dinner with him. No, don’t look at me like that; nothing is going to happen between us. I mean, he’s my stepdad, for God’s sake!
I’m still thinking of him when the elevator stops on my floor, and the doors slide open with that old ding. I go for my door, but I have to use both hands to slide the key inside its slit; I guess I’ve had a few too many drinks at 21, and I’m still feeling a bit tipsy.
I’ve just stepped foot inside my apartment, purse slung over one shoulder, when my cell phone starts to ring. I take it out of my back pocket and raise one eyebrow as I see Sloane’s photo and name splashed on the screen.
What the hell’s going on? Seems like today’s Family Day. First I run face to face with stepdad, and now my stepbrother’s calling me? It almost seems like we all get along all of a sudden. Yeah, right.
“And how’s my favorite sister?” Sloane says the moment I pick up his call. I haven’t heard his voice in a while, and I had almost forgot how sexy he sounds when he’s not being an asshole, which is pretty much all the time.
“What do you want, Sloane?” I ask him, throwing my purse on the couch and sitting down by its side.<
br />
“That hurts, ‘sis. Can’t a guy call his sister just to see how she’s doing?” he starts, but I can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn’t care if I see right through his nice guy facade.
“I know you, Sloane. You’re not the kind of guy to make small talk, so let’s have it. Why are you calling me?” I ask him again, but my sixth sense tells me that it has something to do with my company. I guess my success did more than impress the whole world; it impressed my family. And you don’t impress my family easily, that much I can tell you.
“I want us to have lunch,” he says, his voice changing to an all-business, no-bullshit, tone. “I want to discuss your company. Dirty ‘Lil Demons, right?”
“Dirty ‘Lil Angels,” I correct him. “But speak of the Devil,” I chuckle, distractedly playing with one stray lock of blonde hair. “I just ran into Drake, and he wanted to talk about my company as well.”
“Fucking Drake,” Sloane hisses, more to himself than to me. There’s no love lost between these two, that’s for sure. I never really got Sloane’s hateful attitude toward our stepdad, but whatever; it’s not like our family is a close-knit one. After my mom and Sloane divorced, I guess that whatever bond existed between all of us kinda vanished.
“What did he want?” Sloane asks me, and I know he won’t like my reply one bit.
“Well, I actually agreed to have dinner with him to talk about my company, so there’s that.”
“Just tell him to fuck off, will ya? And have lunch with me. I can promise you that having dinner with him won’t be half as interesting as having lunch with me, ‘sis. You can take that to the fucking bank.”
Oh, I seriously doubt that, sweet brother, I think to myself, replaying in my head the way Drake’s eyes seemed to devour my body.
“That’s not really fair, is it? I have to meet Drake; I told him I’d do it. But we can agree on having dinner the next night, what do you think?”
“Fine,” he grunts, still not happy about the fact that I’m having dinner with our stepdad. According to my mom, these two always butted heads for everything, and now I guess they’re butting heads over me. Men, right? “Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there,” he finishes off, and then ends the call without waiting for my reply. I guess some things never change—an asshole once, an asshole always.
That feeling that things are about to change for good creeps in again, and now I become positive about it. Running into Drake, and now Sloane’s call… Something’s definitely afoot, and I’m pretty sure that both my fate and my company’s is intertwined with what's looming on the horizon. Maybe they’re looking to invest, and if that’s the case… Well, with a few million in my pocket it’d be a matter of months until I dominated the whole sex toys industry. Maybe weeks.
But I simply can’t focus on business right now. Although I’m good at crunching numbers, it’s no use if I don’t know what their intentions are. But let’s be real for a second; the real reason I can’t focus on business is because my mind is busy with other things. Other dirty things.
Yeah, one’s my stepdad and the other’s my stepbrother. I read the memo, hun, I’m aware of all that. It’s taboo; it’s sinful, blah, blah, blah. Do you need me to say it again? It’s not like I want it to happen. It’s just fun to think about. And a little fun never hurt anyone, right?
I look at my work table, grab one of the prototype vibrator bullets, and then sink into the couch. What? As far as I know, daydreaming isn’t a sin.
5
Sloane
Honestly, the spy that I have in Drake’s administrative assistant pool has paid for herself so many times over; it's insane. I mean, I’m smart about it. Don’t get me wrong. I usually only contact her a few times a month. Tell her what I’m interested in, or what I’m looking for.
Really, the spy is more of a way of making sure Drake doesn’t do anything crazy trying to get back at me or bring me into the fold.
You want to know who she is don't you?
I mean, it doesn't matter so I guess I can tell you. Her name is CJ and she works for Drake Carlton. On the side, she spies for me. I pay pretty handsomely.
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."
