“Happy birthday, honey!” Alexander joins in, smiling wide and giving me a hearty wave for good measure. “Twenty five, eh? I remember when you were just eighteen, my little junebug! Where has the time gone?”
He looks so cheesy. His pastel golfing clothes and his expensive tan. And God, everything he says is cheesy too. I mean, junebug? Really? He can be such a cheeseball sometimes. But then I look at the two of them together on my computer screen, his arm holding her protectively. He steals little glances at her, like he still can’t quite believe his luck, even after all these years. I can see how much he loves her, and I guess really, that’s all you need.
‘Thanks so much, you guys,” I reply, trying my hardest to keep the fake grin fixed firmly on my face, all the while hoping that my own laptop’s webcam doesn’t show too much of my crappy, messy little shoebox of an apartment. There are no balloons and streamers here, and I just know how much fuel it would give Mom, if she caught a glimpse of the peeling paintwork, the damp patches in the plaster, not to mention the many takeout containers and other trash littered about the place.
It’s basically the typical depressing single girl studio apartment.
“So, what are you doing later, Sweetie?” Mom asks in a tone that’s half friendly but also obviously trying to sniff out more clues about my social life in this city. I don’t blame her. No wonder she’s curious; I try to tell her as little as possible about my life these days. “Seeing some friends? Going out to a few bars?”
“Yeah, yeah, something like that,” I mumble, my fake smile faltering for just a half second before I quickly remember to reattach it to my face.
But the truth is, I don’t really have any friends in this city – the third one I’ve lived in in the same number of years, after I graduated History from Penn State. And it turns out that, hey, guess what – nobody in this country is looking to hire a History major! The only jobs I could find were all part-time, and nothing in the slightest related to my field of study – I’ve taken everything from receptionist, to assistant in a daycare, to my latest job: waitressing in a diner.
I have to admit, it’s not exactly what I dreamed of when I signed up for college.
“So, did you receive our birthday card?” Mom asks, with a strange excited tone to her voice. “I hope you haven’t opened it already, now. We were hoping to watch as you open it ...”
“Sure, sure, I have it right here,” I reply, holding up the plain envelope with my Mom’s familiar handwriting scrawled across the front – the one she made me expressly promise I wouldn’t open until the morning of my birthday. And now she’s actually insisting on watching me open it right here on Skype, too?
Something makes me feel uneasy about this all of a sudden.
Why don’t I have a good feeling about whatever this envelope contains?
“Well, go on then, honey!” Alexander laughs from the screen of my laptop, obviously noticing my slight hesitation as I clutch the plain brown envelope in both hands, staring down at it. “Tear it open!”
So I begin to tear open the envelope, very slowly and deliberately, at first just uncovering a cute baby blue birthday card inside, with a cartoon kitten on the front and the words To A Very Special Daughter! embossed in a curly silver font across the front.
But then, a moment later, when I slip the card from the envelope and open it hesitantly, well that’s the moment I realize that this is more than just a regular birthday card. Because inside it is something else, too ...
A ticket.
A plane ticket.
A plane ticket to London ...
“Wait a moment,” I say, the smile falling from my face faster than you can say WTF and the card falling from my fingers in shock, the ticket fluttering down onto the unswept dirty floor of my apartment. “What the hell is this?”
But I don’t even need to ask the question, do I?
Nope.
I’m pretty sure I know exactly what this ticket to London means ...
This ticket to London is nothing more than a one-way ticket to Colt.
§
It might sound mean, but I guess I was surprised that my mom and Alexander managed to stay together all these years. Don’t get me wrong. I’m totally made up for them and everything. But it’s just that they’re just so ... well ...different. And when they first got together, I really didn’t think it would last.
Alexander is what you might call ‘refined’ – always wanting only the very best fine wines and food, always dressed in expensive, tailored suits, while Mom is more of what you might call a party girl. More of the beer n’ burger scene than fine dining. That said, she works hard, even now, though she doesn’t really have to anymore – she says she enjoys keeping busy – and she’s still looking pretty good for her age.
I guess in a strange way, the differences between them remind me of Colt and me, too.
We’ve led such different lives, ever since our folks got married. Since Colt went away to Europe to study Business that fall, I’ve hardly seen him, save from the odd flying visits here and there at family holidays. But even at those, I’ve tried to avoid him as much as possible.
It would be an understatement to say that Colt screwed with my head. When I think back now about that weird thing that happened – that crazy afternoon when I hid in his closet – I feel like I can trace all my hang-ups and insecurities and, well, almost everything right back to that one intense moment.
Since Colt went away, I’ve had my share of boyfriends, sure. But they were always such nice boys, too – the kinds of boys who’ll offer to carry your books and constantly be asking you if you’re okay. And whenever I think rationally about things, I know that I should like boys like that – boys who respect me, boys who treat me kindly and sensitively. But deep down? Deep down, what I want is for someone to grab my fucking hair and push me to my knees and call me a dirty little slut, then ask me – no tell me – to suck their fucking cock ...
God, I’m totally messed up in the head, aren’t I?
Well, I needn’t worry. I mean, it’s not like I’m about to tell anyone these dirty secret fantasies of mine out-loud any time soon, now is it? Nope. I’m way too shy for that. I guess I’ll just keep up my Miss-Prim-and-Proper act and try to ignore all the icky dirty things that really turn me on. God. I’m like a total ball of contradictions. And I blame it all on that asshole Colt.
So that’s why, as far as I can, I’ve tried to avoid him like the plague since he went away to study. I’ve just about managed to arrange my visits home to fall just outside of his, meaning in the last seven years, I’d guess we’ve seen each other for maybe six days, total. And the last of those was ... what? Two years ago? Three, maybe.
And all the while Colt was in London, calling on all his daddy’s business connections to get ahead in the corporate world of whatever-the-hell-it-is-he’s-doing-now ... Me? Well, if I’m totally honest, I just seemed to be stumbling from one total disaster to another – from failed job to crappy apartment, from city to city, never really feeling settled or satisfied – and all the while refusing any financial help from Mom and Alexander, even though they offered, again and again and again. I guess I just felt like I had to try and do this on my own. And the only way I could find to get my mom off my back and let me make my own mistake was to make her a promise.
A promise that brings us right back around to this stupid plane ticket to London ...
§
“You swore to me, Stacey, remember?” Mom admonishes, wagging her finger sternly from my computer screen for good measure, snapping my thoughts back to the present moment again in the process.
I just nod. I know there’s no point in trying to fight it now.
“I gave you until your twenty fifth birthday to live your own life as you put it, young lady,” she continues, going into another one of her rants. “But I’ll be damned if I waste any more time watching my daughter working as some crummy waitress in a diner of all places. I raised you better than that ...”
“Mom!” I begin. “You were a waitress yourself ...”
But she holds up her hand and cuts me off.
“Exactly. And I didn’t work three jobs at a time just so you could make the same mistake and waste your life hustling for tips. You’re a smart girl, Stacey, and besides, we had a promise. Your stepfather and I agreed to give you a little space and time to let you try and work out what you wanted to do with your life, on your own, just like you wanted. I think we can all agree on that.But if you didn’t have things sorted by the time you were twenty five, then you also agreed that we could step in and give you some help. You’ve been so proud, up until now. Too proud, if you ask me. And now, I’m afraid it’s time for you to finally let us help you. Agreed?”
“But why London, Mom?” I sigh. “I don’t understand.”
“Because you’ll be working at your brother’s company of course,” she smiles back, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.
I feel my stomach sink even further. This was exactly what I was dreading.
“For a start, he’s my stepbrother,” I remind her, the word flashing from my lips, filled with unexpected venom. “And secondly ...”
But again, she holds up her hand, once more signaling me to be silent.
“Your stepbrother Colt has kindly offered to give you some business training, Stacey,” Mom persists. “And both Alexander and I think it’s an absolutely excellent idea. There are opportunities for intelligent girls like you, with excellent research skills that you picked up in college. But you need to learn something about the real world, too, about how to make money. I mean, you have to agree – Colt has made rather a success of himself, hasn’t he? And we simply think he could certainly teach you a think or two. So? What do you say? Are you finally going to let us help you a little?”
As I think it over, I glance around me at my god-awful, beat-up apartment – the very same apartment that’s costing me a fortune, and way more than I can even afford to pay on rent next month, unless some miracle falls into my lap.
I sigh, blowing a plume of air towards my messy, half-grown-out bangs.
I know there’s no use in arguing with her now. And while a trip to London, to work for Colt no less, is certainly a hell of a long way from a miracle, it’s also pretty much my only remaining option right now. Mom’s right. I want to do more than just make ends meet, struggling from paycheck to paycheck for the rest of my life. I want to become somebody.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful!” Mom laughs. “Just wonderful!”
And as she and Alexander start talking excitedly amongst themselves, I’m left wondering just what the hell I’ve let myself in for ...
I ease back happily in my top of the range Aeron chair, up here on the twenty-fifth floor, in the private office of my very own company, Get There Now – Europe’s premier online travel agency, not to mention “one of the hottest start-ups of the last five years,” according to Tech Insider magazine. Just outside the impressive floor-to-ceiling tinted windows, past the black leather tips of my black Gucci loafers, I can see from St James’s park right the way to Buckingham Palace. The view is absolutely breathtaking, but even so I pull my eyes away from it to shoot a necessary glance at the screen of my computer, checking the time on the display of my iMac.
It’s 2pm, here in London, which means that Stacey will definitely have received that plane ticket by now.
Dad called, asking for a favor. No big deal, just to give someone an internship. It’s the kind of thing I’ve done before. But then he told me who it was for. Not just anyone. Stacey. My stepsister.
I haven’t thought about her in so long. I guess I’ve kind of spent the last ten years trying my hardest not to think about her, and what’s more I’ve barely seen her, either – maybe she’s been avoiding me over the years just as much as I’ve been avoiding her.
Even so, I’m not blind. It hasn’t escaped my notice that she’s developed into a beautiful woman, but I’ve stayed strong and tried not to think about her in that way. But damn, there’s just something about her that distracts me; and not just in the way that beautiful women usually distract me. There’s just something different about Stacey, and I know I need to remain focused.
But come on, Colt. It was so long ago. Don’t make such a big deal out of this, I tell myself. You’re a different person now.
I mean, a part of me is wary. This whole thing could be a total disaster. Back when we were kids, she always seemed to be trying to find some fresh way to rat me out to my dad – to prove to him that I wasn’t quite the family golden boy he always thought I was. There was that time she found the bottle of whiskey I’d stashed for a camping trip and took it straight to my dad’s study to report me. And then of course there was the time she ended up hiding in my closet, that afternoon ...
Have I made a big mistake?
Is she just going to cramp my style all over again?
I mean, the last thing in the world that I need right now is my dad finding out about the reality of my life here in London – all the parties, all the women, all the not-so-squeaky-clean fun I’m having. Because I know that more than anything, what Dad wants is to see me settle down, to become a little more sensible, like him, to finally start growing up, and I’d hate it if Stacey snitched on me, reporting back to him how I really spent my time out here. Dad doesn’t need to know any more than he already does about my personal life ...
But then again, I can’t help but grin, as I think about all the fun I can have with her, too. Because there’s nothing I like more than teasing her ...
When she was young, oh man! She would get so mad her eyes would flash black with anger and her lip would curl in a snarl and she’d ...
But just then, my thoughts are interrupted by the insistent buzzing of my intercom.
“Yes?” I say, pushing the button and speaking into it, slightly annoyed.
“It’s just me, Mr Grayson,” comes the familiar voice of my PA, Angela, in reply. “I was hoping to run the travel arrangements for your guest past you if you had a moment ...”
“Come in,” I say with a sigh, pulling my feet off the desk and swinging around in my seat, just as Angela comes strutting into the office, closing the heavy double doors behind us, once again sealing us in total silence from the busy hum of the office just a few feet away.
I can tell she’s got a thing for me – always has, ever since her first day here, three years ago. The way those pretty blue eyes of hers dilate whenever they catch mine, the way the vein on her neck throbs ever so slightly, giving away the nervous drum of her heart, not to mention the points of her nipples, which always seem to be poking through her silk blouse whenever I’m in a five meter radius of her. Sure, she keeps things businesslike – a quality I expect from allmy employees – but even so. I just know she wants me.
“I’ve booked Miss Richardson into the penthouse suite, just as you asked, and I’ve made sure to have a car and driver waiting for her at Heathrow ...” Angela informs me.
It’s at times like these when I feel glad that Stacey never took my dad’s surname. After all, I wouldn’t want to be accused of nepotism, now, would I?
“Very good, Angela,” I say with a slight nod, taking in her slim, toned figure, her perky breasts, her full glossy lips; feeling something begin to stir between my legs, too: that familiar ache, that familiar rush of blood, as my cock starts to swell and engorge, pressing almost painfully against the unforgivingly tight confines of my immaculately tailored suit pants.
“Will that be all, Mr Grayson?”
Ah, what the hell, I think with a wry smile. Damn. Thinking about Stacey has got me all fired up, and I need some release.
“Actually Angela?” I say, keeping my tone deadly serious, “there is one more thing you could take care of ...”
In one smooth motion, I push myself away from the desk, my legs spread wide apart, the clear bulge of my cock totally fucking visible now, straining against
the inside leg of my pants like it’s about to tear the fabric at the seam. And as if there’s any doubt remaining about what I’m asking her to do, I reach down and ease my zipper open, slow and steady, uncovering the bulging white fabric of my underwear beneath.
I’m watching her face all the while I’m doing this: watching her eyes widening even further, watching her mouth falling open, watching the way she subtly moistens her lower lip with her tongue, unable to control the waves of lust that are playing across her features now, unable to control her nipples, which have stiffened into two pronounced points beneath the pale pink silk of her blouse, seemingly as rock hard as my cock.
Finally I ease myself free of my underwear, the flaming heat of my skin meeting the coolness of this air-conditioned office, the hard pulse of blood throbbing in my shaft as I stroke myself slowly, just once, from head to base, using my own generous precum as a lube.
She’s too overcome with desire to even speak.
She just lets out a breathy whimper as she falls to her knees, right there before me, her eyes fixed on my dick as if it were some kind of magnet, her hands reaching out to touch it almost beyond her own control.
I rock back in my chair, folding my hands behind my head, smiling as I let her do all the work.
I’ve not met a girl yet who could resist touching my cock the moment she set her eyes on it, not to mention the temptation to see if she could even fit it in her mouth. And what a surprise, Angela is no different ...
I let out a groan of pleasure as she wraps her glossy lips around the head of my cock, both her hands doing their best to stroke my mighty shaft at the same time.
I can hear her groaning too, softly, as she tries to fit even more of me in her pretty little mouth, her tongue coquettishly teasing the underside of my bulging head as one of her hands moves to my large, swollen balls, kneading them gently in her fingers as if they were some kind of executive stress toy, while she continues to suck me, desperate for my cum.
Colt Page 3