I can already tell it's a huge problem by the way my brand new boss Chelsea has treated me since I walked in the door this morning, her voice practically dripping with contempt when I introduced myself. Chelsea is Gaige's domestic account manager, and I instantly know she hates me.
When I hear the knock on the door, I groan inwardly, steeling myself for her. "Come in."
It's not Chelsea. It's Gaige.
Gaige walking through the door on my first day is fucking perfect. Especially after I just saw him last night, when he was pissed off and angry and...sexy, the way he pulled me close to him, his hand wrapped around my fingers, practically threatening to kiss me.
No. I refuse to even let my thoughts go there. The past is the past. When you're eighteen years old, on your way to finally throw caution to the wind and sleep with the guy you like more than anything else in the world and you're intercepted by a girl he may or may not be screwing, that makes you feel differently about him.
Of course, it was damn hard to ignore how I felt about him last night, the way my heart raced and my breath caught in my throat when he pulled me toward him. Gaige had the same effect on me back then. All along, I've discounted my memories of that summer, attributing my desire for Gaige to the fact that we were eighteen and our hormones were crazy, but here I am, standing in front of him again, and it’s like nothing has changed. He still irritates the shit out of me. And sends desire ricocheting through my body.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, crossing the room to shut the office door behind him. "It's my first day. I don't need any grief from you, Gaige."
"Come on, Delaney," he says. "Do you really think that poorly of me? I came bearing a first-day-at-the-office gift and coffee."
It's not even nine in the morning. I can't decide if I'm annoyed that he's in my office or pleased that he dragged himself out of bed to show up here. He's wearing a bright pink t-shirt that somehow has the opposite effect you'd expect from a pink shirt, making him look even more masculine than he did last night, which seems to be a ridiculously unfair trick the universe is playing. The soft cotton fabric grazes over his body, and I can see the outline of his chest muscles underneath. I have to force my eyes away, anywhere else but on his chest.
He has a box tucked under his arm, wrapped in royal blue paper and tied with a silver bow, and a coffee cup in each hand. He hands me one of the cups, and I take it apprehensively. "What's all this?" I ask.
"It's a peace offering," he says. "Three creams, two sugars."
Four years since I walked out of his life, and he remembers how I take my coffee? He's being way too nice this morning. I peel off the lid of the coffee and sniff it, then look up at him. "Should I question whether it's been poisoned?"
Gaige cocks his head to the side. "I'm horrified you even have to ask, darlin'," he says in that drawl of his, the one that practically drips with sex.
I can't help but laugh. "Sure, because you'd never spike my drink with anything."
"If you're referring to the moonshine incident, that happened four years ago, and I've matured since then," he says.
"You're claiming to have matured?" I ask. "Now I definitely don't trust you."
"You have to admit it was funny," he says. "And you were a lot more entertaining at my mother's event than you would have been otherwise."
"Oh my God, Gaige, it was a charity event," I say. "A bunch of socialites didn't need to see me trying to do karaoke at a party where there wasn't even a band." At least Gaige escorted me out of the room without causing an even bigger scene than I'd already made that night.
"I can hardly be faulted for what happened," he says. "If you recall correctly, I didn't exactly spike your drink. You stole mine, and it wasn't my fault it was leaded instead of unleaded fuel."
"What?" I shake my head. "You didn't stop me from taking it!"
Gaige shrugs, but his eyes are bright. "Caveat emptor," he says. "Let the buyer beware and all that. How would I know you had less than zero alcohol tolerance?"
"Because I was eighteen," I say.
Gaige laughs. "My tolerance was great, and I was eighteen."
"You were wild." I put the lid back on the cup and Gaige watches me, chuckling. "I was innocent."
A slow smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth, and my hand trembles just seeing that smirk. I have to steady it with my other hand. "Not that innocent," he says.
The words are heavy, dripping with desire. Or maybe that's just the way they sound to me. I clear my throat to cut the tension between us. "Thanks, anyway, but I'll pass."
"You really aren't going to drink it?" he asks. "You don't have room to complain, not after what you did later to get me back. I mean, you went the obvious route, so you got zero points for creativity, but whatever."
"Laxatives in the coffee might not be that original," I agree. "But it was effective. You were running to the bathroom every five minutes, and that was good enough for me."
Gaige sips from his cup. "I expected more from you, Delaney."
"Next time I'll try not to disappoint." When he brings his cup away from his mouth, I reach out and take it from his hand.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm swapping with you." I hand him my cup, and take a sip of his while he laughs.
"There is nothing in that," he says. "Cross my heart."
"Then you can go ahead and drink that one. But I'm glad you've turned over a new leaf," I say. "No more pranks."
"No more pranks," Gaige says. "Of course not. We've both grown up. And I've vowed to behave appropriately."
"I'm glad to hear it," I say. I don't believe a damn word that comes out of that boy's mouth. Behave appropriately, my ass. I'm just glad he hasn't seen fit to strip naked right here in the office just for shits and grins. Okay, whatever, maybe I'm a little disappointed he hasn't seen fit to strip naked.
"And as a token of goodwill, I brought you a gift." Gaige hands me the package.
A knock on the door interrupts us, and my bitchy boss storms in, her jet-black hair pulled tight into a ponytail that makes her high cheekbones look even sharper. She's the kind of long-legged porcelain skinned girl you'd see on a runway, not in an office, but her attitude makes her appearance even more severe. "Delaney, HR is just a complete clusterfuck with your file, and they're up my ass instead of yours like they should be. Just because your father is who he is doesn't mean you -- oh."
"Chelsea, this is Gaige – " I start, but she interrupts me with a look of scorn, immediately greeting Gaige with a kiss on the cheek, before thrusting the file into my hands.
"Obviously I know Gaige," she says, her hand tracing along his bicep, her fingers lingering just a little too long to be appropriate.
Irritation surges through me as I watch Chelsea touch him. "Of course," I say. "I didn't realize."
"Gaige is a dear friend," Chelsea says, and the way Gaige glances at me, I wonder if he's slept with her.
I struggle to maintain my composure, steeling my jaw. Of course Gaige is Chelsea's dear friend. I'm sure Gaige has a million other dear friends.
It's totally irrelevant who he's slept with. I have zero claim on him. We fooled around years ago. And he's my stepbrother. I had a stupid teenage crush, and that's it. I'm not jealous, I tell myself. I just don't like Chelsea. To be more accurate, I didn't like her before. But now I'm starting to really hate her.
The bitch's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Fix your PR paperwork, Delaney. If you can manage to fit that into your busy schedule," she says. "Gaige, we need to talk about this weekend."
This weekend? Gaige addresses Chelsea, irritation in his voice. "Chelsea, there's something I need to talk to De - "
"Vegas, Gaige," Chelsea says curtly. She turns to me for a brief moment before returning her attention to Gaige. "Your stepbrother and I are on a flight out to Vegas tonight, Delaney. Gaige, we need to go through the schedule."
"Chelsea, I was in the middle of a conversation with Delaney, one I plan to finish," Gaige starts.
His eyes meet mine, and I look away, ignoring him as Chelsea steers him out of the office.
I set the package down on the desk, intending to leave it there, unopened, for the rest of the day. In fact, I should toss it in the trash. Leave it to Gaige to have slept with my perfect-looking boss, the one who hates me enough as it is. And, what's worse, be going to Vegas with her.
I make it through the HR paperwork -- which takes all of thirty minutes -- and then sit there, staring at the gift box for another five minutes before I finally cave.
I lift the lid off the box gingerly, half-afraid of what's inside. Knowing Gaige, it could be anything. When nothing jumps out at me and the box doesn't explode, I pull the lid off and set it aside.
It's a cock. Gaige sent me a box with a freaking cock inside.
As a first day at the office gift.
I'm shaking my head and opening the note at the same time. I can't believe Gaige had the balls -- pun intended -- to send me a fucking dick, of all things.
Delamey,
Since you couldn't admit what you really wanted last night, I thought I'd remind you.
P.S. It's a dildo made from a mold of my cock. I know, it's awesome, right? If you're lucky, someday you might get to see the real thing.
P.P.S. The box is a TOOLbox. Get it?
I stare at it in disbelief. That fucker actually sent me a dildo made from a mold of his cock? I shove the lid back on the box like the entire thing is radioactive, and stare at it for a few minutes, before pulling it back off and looking at it again.
Holy crap. There's no way in hell that's Gaige's actual, no shit, real-life dick.
I put the lid back.
It cannot be made from his cock. He picked up the dildo at an adult store.
Oh my God, what if it really is his? Pulling the lid off the box again, I touch my fingertips to the surface of the shaft, then jump back, like it's going to explode.
Don't be ridiculous, I tell myself. Gaige did not have the time to make a mold of his cock.
There's only one way to find out. The thought jumps into my head. Now, that is an inappropriate thought. I slam the lid back on the box, and sit there, my palms flat on the top of it.
Five minutes later, I'm taking the lid off again and picking up the dildo. Just to see it. My hand can barely fit around the shaft. I tell myself I'm not doing anything wrong, that it's just a stupid joke, but there's definitely something dirty about picking up a dildo made from a mold of your stepbrother's penis.
What if it is his dick? Only Gaige would keep a fucking cock-making-kit somewhere for handy access.
The over-the-top ridiculousness of the gesture hits me and I can't stop giggling. When I finally compose myself, I close the lid and tuck the box into the bottom drawer of my desk. Out of sight, out of mind.
Except for the fact that all day long, my thoughts keep drifting to that bottom desk drawer and what's inside. I'm sure that's exactly what Gaige wanted -- to get me thinking about his tool.
***
Of course, that's the problem, isn't it? Once I start thinking about the gift he gave me, I can't stop. Gaige's cock keeps occupying my thoughts. By the time I get home, I'm practically running to my room.
Gotta run, super busy, nothing to see here.
I close my door and lean back against it, my heart racing.
Damn Gaige and his stupid tool.
I'm supposed to be going out to dinner with Daniel. Instead, I'm thinking about how Gaige's real-life tool would look better than the one he was kind enough to giftwrap and send to me.
I lock my door and speed-walk across my room to my bed.
With purpose.
Because I'm so damn horny right now that I can't think about anything except getting relief.
And I certainly can't run into Gaige again in my current state. He'd see the lust for him written all over my face, and that's the absolute last thing I want to happen.
It means nothing, I tell myself as I unbutton my blouse.
Scratch that.
I don't unbutton my blouse. I mean to unbutton my blouse, except I yank the fabric so hard that several buttons go flying across the room.
And I don't even care.
I yank my skirt up over my hips so that it's bunched around my waist, and pull my panties down to my knees, not even bothering to take them all the way off. They're damp, the way they've been since this morning when Gaige gave me his gift.
Bending over and supporting myself with one hand on the bed, I reach between my legs with the other hand, my fingers finding my clit immediately. The immediate sense of relief when I touch myself is palpable, and I hear a moan escape my lips, far too loud to be appropriate if anyone were nearby.
But I can't think about anything except the fact that that total manwhore is making me wet.
I should feel humiliated and disgusted because all I've been thinking about today is Gaige bending me over the desk in my office.
Gaige pulls my panties down roughly, his hand connecting with my ass cheek before I even realize what he's doing. The vibration from the blow reverberates through me, sending a tingle directly to my core. He slides his finger between my legs, growling when he reaches my entrance. "So wet for me," he says. "You think I don't know you've been fantasizing about me? Tell me what you've been thinking about."
"Your…cock," I gasp as he enters me with his fingers, immediately finding the sensitive spot inside me that makes my toes curl. I look over my shoulder at him, and the expression on his face – dark and lust-filled – makes me more turned on than ever.
I slide my fingers lower, until they're inside me, and with my palm pressed hard against my clit, I stroke myself.
While bent over the bed, imagining it's Gaige fucking me from behind.
Something is incredibly wrong with me.
He slides his fingers out of me, taking away his touch, and I whimper at the loss. "Not good enough, Delaney," he says, his voice low. I watch over my shoulder as he unbuckles his belt, pulling it slowly from his pants.
What is he going to do with it? My breath hitches in my throat, my heart racing with anticipation, but he drops it to the floor. The twinge of disappointment I feel only lasts for a moment before he unbuckles his pants and they fall to his knees. When he brings out his huge erect cock, I practically salivate.
"This is what you want?" he asks.
I swallow hard. "Yes. Your…cock inside me."
"What would you like me to do, Delaney?" he asks, stroking his length before guiding his cock to my pussy. When he touches the tip – just barely – to my entrance, I shudder. "Tell me what you've fantasized about. Have you thought about the way my cock would feel inside your tight pussy?"
"Yes." The word comes out like a breath.
"Say it," he orders.
"I've thought about you fucking me," I whisper. "I've thought about you bending me over and shoving your cock inside me and fucking me hard and rough and taking everything you want from me. I've touched myself thinking about –"
I don't get to finish. He thrusts his cock inside me in one movement, his hands gripping my hips as he pulls me against him. It's rough and deep and unexpected, and I let out a long moan.
Then he pauses. "Continue," he says, unmoving inside me. My pussy throbs around him, twitching, squeezing him, willing him to move
If he moves, I'll come so quickly.
"I've touched myself thinking about you coming inside me," I whisper, articulating my deepest fantasy. "I've touched myself thinking about your hot cum dripping from me."
He doesn't hold back, thrusting into me with abandon, rough and deep.
I fuck myself with my fingers, so close to coming at the thought of Gaige inside me.
I can barely hold back. I'm on the edge, so close, and when I bare myself fully to him, telling him my deepest fantasy, I come so hard that I swear I see stars: "I've come thi
nking about you filling me up, making me pregnant."
"Damn it, Delaney," Gaige says, his fingers gripping me tightly as he pumps into me and fills me with his hot seed. My pussy milks him for every last drop.
"Shit," I groan, as the image of Gaige coming inside me pushes me completely over the edge.
Afterward, I sink onto the bed, my skirt still around my waist, panties around my thighs.
What the hell just came over me?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gaige
"How was your day, darlin'?" I pause in her doorway, leaning against the door frame. My day consisted of the usual -- spending a few hours in the gym and then physical therapy -- but preceded by a visit to Delaney's office. Screwing around with Delaney isn't on my usual list of activities, so I had something extra to look forward to this morning. I woke with a spring in my step. As much as I could have a spring in my step with this boot on my damn foot, anyway.
My mood was great until Chelsea interrupted us. Chelsea and I went out once a few months ago -- a business dinner and that's it. She's aggressive as hell and I got the vibe that she wanted it to be more than a business dinner. I also got the vibe that she's wound tight as a spring, the kind of chick who might go all psycho, boil a bunny or some shit. And that's exactly the kind of girl I stay the hell away from. But she's good at what she does, so I haven't had a reason to ask Beau to reassign her. Yet.
The point is, I wanted to see Delaney's face when she opened the box. And Chelsea walked in and ruined the whole fucking thing.
Delaney is bent over, one hand on the white bedspread that covers her bed, the other on the zipper on the inside of her heeled boots. She positively oozes temptation, wearing a black pencil skirt, the fabric pulled tight over the contours of her ass, and matching "fuck me" boots. Her hair spills forward, partially obscuring her face, and she finishes zipping her boot before she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and stands up, glaring at me. "What are you doing here?" she asks. "Don't you have to be in Vegas or something? And don't call me darling."
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