by Alexis Angel
"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.
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.
"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 Drake 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.
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."
"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 o
n 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.