Colt

by Carolyn Cruise

I take a moment to look again around the cool darkness of the luxury penthouse suite. I’m still feeling kind of groggy and jetlagged, not to mention frustrated by Colt, my head feeling crammed to bursting with all the various ins and outs of my duties as his PA – all the things that Elizabeth showed me. So I decide to run myself a nice long leisurely bath in the huge roll-top tub, followed by a long sleep in that big comfy bed. But I guess I should take a quick peek at the kind of clothes Colt has picked out for me – the clothes he obviously thinks are more suitable attire than what I’m currently wearing.

  So I head over to the bed, approaching the shopping bags, and with a reluctant sigh pull out the first item. It’s a seventies style cream silk blouse. Okay, I think to myself. That’s actually kind of tasteful. But then the next thing I pull out is an absolutely tiny black leather mini-skirt. I roll my eyes. This thing is hardly bigger than a belt. Next, my eye is drawn to a shoebox. No way, I think, when I see Louboutin written on the side. I lift the lid hesitantly, and laying inside a nest of pink tissue are the huge pair of glossy black stiletto heels I’ve ever seen. I feel dizzy just looking at them. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever be able to stay upright on something like that.

  But that’s not all.

  There’s another bag waiting on the bed, too, with another familiar name emblazoned on the side: Agent Provocateur.

  I pull it open and reach in, my fingers brushing the soft wisps of material it contains. I roll my eyes again as I pull out the skimpiest white satin g-string and matching white bra.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  My mind flashes back to when he guessed my bra size – he got it right, but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction so I lied and said I was a 34B.

  I check the label in the bra, my eyes flashing wide with surprise: 32C.

  There’s a plain cream colored envelope lying on the bed too. I tear it open, and inside there’s a platinum American Express card and a small handwritten note, just one single line:

  I forgot to mention: I don’t ever want to see you in the same thing twice.

  I wonder if I perhaps went a little too far yesterday. I mean, she does need to dress a little smarter – something a little more flattering than those rags she had on yesterday – but even so, perhaps the panties were crossing the line. Not to mention that note ...

  Maybe I need to cool it. After all, I don’t want to scare her off entirely in her first week. But damn, she’s such a prude. Who could resist having a little fun with her?

  I turn my attention back to the screen of my computer, glancing at the little clock in the top right corner. She’s got two minutes and counting to report to my office before she’s officially late for the second day in a row.

  As I’m waiting, I open my emails, scanning through for a certain reply in particular.

  I pump my fist when I see the exact email I’ve been hoping for. Then an mischievous idea springs into my head.

  Oh yes, I think. I’m gonna have a little fun with this one ...

  Just then the doors to my office slam open, and there’s a woman standing there – a woman who, for a half second, I don’t even recognize – before I realize that wow, it’s Stacey, and she’s actually dressed in the clothes I picked out, right down to those sexy-as-hell Louboutin heels.

  I can’t help but smile.

  And holy shit, she actually looks pretty damn good ...

  “Nice outfit,” I say. I can’t help myself.

  “Whatever,” she murmurs, before strutting into the office. I watch her closely, and sure enough, there’s a half-second when it looks like she’s gonna stumble. I just knew a girl like Stacey wasn’t used to shoes that tall. But for the most part she actually manages to keep upright. I’m begrudgingly impressed.

  “I have a job for you,” I say, once she’s sat down opposite me. “This is top priority, ahead of whatever tasks Elizabeth has set out for you today.”

  I leave a little pause, just long enough to keep her hanging. Then I say it.

  “Have you heard of Magdalena Cortez?”

  She shakes her head and raises an eyebrow.

  “Should I?”

  Her ignorance doesn’t surprise me. After all, Stacey’s never exactly been the fashion type, has she?

  “Magdalena Cortez,” I inform her, “is only one of the world’s hottest models right now ... In fact ...”

  I slide open my desk drawer and remove the latest issue of GQ, on the cover of which advertises a feature about The Top 100 Hottest Women in the World. I let the magazine fall open, right there on number nine. I tap on her picture – a picture of Magdalena Cortez lying on the beach, her golden skin flecked with sand, her cotton dress soaked right through, showing off her perfectly proportioned body – before sliding the magazine across the desk so Stacey can get an even better look.

  “That’s her,” I say. “And she’s just this moment emailed to let me know that she’s in London tonight and has agreed to have dinner with me.”

  “Congratulations,” Stacey says, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, like she doesn’t car in the slightest about my date with Magdalena. But the way she shifts slightly in her seat tells me a very different story.

  “As my PA, its your job to get me table at the Ivy and a suite at the Dorchester. For tonight.”

  “Yes, boss,” she drawls, and for a moment I think about giving her another talking to; telling her that if she’s working for me, she needs to behave a little more professionally. But instead, I decide to let it go. For now.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” I say. “Get on with it.”

  As she pushes herself to her feet and makes to leave, I can’t help but check out her ass, shown off so perfectly by that criminally short, figure-hugging leather mini skirt. The words leap from my lips before I’ve even had a chance to realize what I’m saying: “So ... Are you wearing everything I picked out for you?”

  “I beg your pardon?” she gasps, turning back to face me, eyes flashing with anger in that way I always enjoy.

  “You heard me loud and clear,” I say in the same slow, deliberate tone as before. “Are you wearing everything I chose for you?”

  She locks eyes with me. Something changes in her face. I can tell from her breathing and from the slight flush rising up from beneath her silk blouse, and from the prominent points of her nipples that she’s getting turned on.

  “That’s none of your goddamn business,” she says, her voice shaking a little now, and despite what she’s saying, it’s totally obvious that my dominance is getting her hot.

  We stay like that for just a moment, the silence pulsing between us, eyes locked, stalemate.

  Then she quickly turns and almost runs out of my office, the heavy wooden doors slamming closed behind her.

  Once I’m all alone in my office, I ease back in my chair as a wicked grin spreads across my lips.

  I think I’m going to enjoy this ...

  I rush out of the meeting on shaky legs. They feel like they’re gonna buckle underneath me, and it’s not just from these stupidly high Louboutin heels, either. Its from the way he just spoke to me. That commanding tone in his voice. That power. That dominance. Fuck. I can’t help it. It turns me on, despite myself. Always has. Ever since that afternoon, back when we were teenagers, back when I heard him speaking that way with Kelly Rogers ...

  And right now I can hardly even think straight anymore. My heart’s still pounding, my nipples are so fucking hard they hurt and I can feel the insistent throb of my clit, too. No, I can’t take this. I need to get him out of my goddamn head – right fucking now.

  I quickly scan the large open plan office, before registering the sign for the bathrooms. As calmly and collectedly as I can, I head towards it, feeling so damn exposed in this tiny little outfit, even if I do fit in much more with all the other girls in the office now.

  Finally I reach the door to the bathrooms and quickly step inside, glad to find that I’m alone in this large wood-paneled room, a row of faucets and
mirrors along one wall, toilet stalls on the other.

  I quickly lock myself in the very farthest stall, and then, as soon as I’m safely on my own, I pull my mini skirt up around my waist with trembling fingers. The moment I slip my hand into my panties – the skimpy white panties that he chose for me – I feel the sticky heat of my own wetness, not to mention the sheer swollen hardness of my clit too. I let out a soft whimper as my fingertips brush across it, my eyes closing, my mind filling with images of him: of what I imagine his body would be like these days, no doubt even more toned, more muscular than I remember it ...

  And I imagine that it’s his hand between my legs, working me now in fast, insistent circles, the electricity in my tummy building and building as I imagine kneeling before him in that office of his, unzipping his fly, unleashing his thick hard cock, taking him in my hands, my mouth, my pussy, my ass ...

  I move my other hand to my mouth, sucking on my fingers to muffle the cry I make as I come, my bare buttocks pressing back against the cool wood of the bathroom stall, my fingers plunging deep into my clenching pussy.

  God damn you, Colt, I think as I return to my senses afterwards, my whole body still trembling from the sheer force of my orgasm.

  I fucking hate you.

  §

  “So, how’s everything?” Mom asks excitedly. “I hope Colt’s being a friend as well as a boss? I told him to look after my little girl ...”

  Even though it’s only been a few days since I last saw her, it feels so good to hear Mom’s voice again. I lie back on the big bed, surrounded by pillows, wishing she was here in this room with me to give me one of her famous hugs. And this phone call, while squeezing one of the nearby pillows, is about the best I’m going to get. But how the hell do I respond to her question? I can’t tell her how I really feel about Colt. I barely know myself. I just know that the whirl of emotions that dance through my head every time I see him makes me giddy ...

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say friend,” I sigh. “He’s very professional. But remember, Mom. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to sort my life out. So I guess you could say he’s whipping me into shape ...”

  Goddamn it. Why did I say that?!

  Because the image of Colt whipping me is all I can think of right now.

  I’m so frustrated. I just wishing I could tell Mom the truth. That I have a major crush on him.

  But as always, I know that there’s nobody I can talk to about this stupid fucking thing I’ve had for my stepbrother, ever since I first laid eyes on him.

  So, as always, I just tell my mom a bunch of lies, making out that everything is going great.

  But deep down, I’m worried. Worried that I don’t have enough strength to resist him for too much longer. Worried because things are different now; now that we’re both adults. Its way more intense – and way more dangerous. It’s like he has this crazy power over me; a power that I’m struggling to resist.

  When I was just his kid stepsister, I was out of bounds. But the way he’s behaving, like buying me that lingerie, makes me think he’s redrawing the boundaries.

  I don’t know what kind of fucking game he’s playing. I just know that I’m not in control.

  I hate you so much, Colt Grayson, I think. Almost as much as I want you.

  “Oh baby,” Magdalena purrs in that sexy Spanish accent of hers, “that was incrrrredible ...”

  I glance over at her, lying there next to me, her smooth golden skin bathed in sweat, the early morning sunlight flooding the room and shining in the sumptuous curls of her hair. I’ve just fucked the most beautiful woman in the world. I should be happy right now. I should be over the fucking moon. So why do I still feel so ... empty?

  “I just can’t seem to get enough of you ... Enough of this. It’s just so huuuuge ...” she murmurs huskily, as her hand once more disappears beneath the sheets, sliding over my abs, straight towards my cock. But as she begins to slowly stroke me, working me up to full hardness for the third time this morning, I stop her, reaching down and grabbing her wrist.

  “That’s enough,” I say, gently pulling her hand away. “You’ve had your fun. It’s almost eight. I’m gonna be late for work.”

  “Call in sick,” she whispers in my ear, nestling up close to me, her hand once more slipping between my legs. “Stay here with me today. We’ll call room service. Champagne and oysters. We don’t need to leave this bed all day baby ... ”

  But I shake my head, sitting up in bed, pushing the sheets off me as I look around at this hotel room – the hotel room that Stacey booked.

  And if I’m honest, this isn’t the only time that Stacey’s entered my head in the last twenty four hours. Who am I trying to kid? Even as I was fucking Magdalena, I found myself thinking about her. It’s like she’s infected me. And sure, while it was fun last night, right now I need to get out of here. I need to get to the office. Do my job. Take control again. And most of all I need Magdalena to leave me the fuck alone.

  “Come back here,” she purrs from behind me, her hands slipping beneath my arms and exploring my chest, as she tries to urge me back down into bed with her.

  “Fun’s over,” I say coldly, pulling away, standing now, catching a glimpse of my sculpted naked body in the nearby mirror, the patchwork of tattoos snaking from my upper arms, over my shoulders and down onto my abs.

  “Please baby?” she coos. “I just can’t seem to get enough of you ...”

  I turn back around to face her, looking down at her, sprawled on the bed, totally naked, every man’s fantasy, right? But in that moment, I realize I feel absolutely nothing for her. And right now, I think I need to be cruel to be kind ...

  I woken by an unfamiliar noise. For a moment I think it’s an alarm clock and I’m late again but no – this strange sound is coming from beneath my pillow. What the hell?! Still half asleep, I slip my hand under my head and fumble the noisy, unfamiliar object out into the light, realizing it’s the Blackberry that Colt gave me yesterday morning. I force myself to sit up in bed then squint down at the display, which announces that I have one new text message. It’s from Colt, of course:

  Stacey, I need you to come to the Dorchester NOW. I’m running late so our first meeting will be here instead of the office. You’ve got fifteen minutes.

  §

  And fifteen minutes later, there I am, standing breathlessly outside the door of the hotel room I booked for him just yesterday, about to knock on the door when all of a sudden it comes flying open and out rushes a woman who must be Magdalena Cortez.

  She looks a little different to the photos – her hair is messy and unkempt, her eye makeup is totally running in streaks down her cheeks, and her dress is rumpled and hanging open at the back.

  In fact, she’s in such a hurry to leave that she hardly even notices me, just pushing right past me, her heels clutched in her hand as she rushes off in the direction of the elevators.

  I turn back to the open door to Colt’s room, reaching out and giving it a tentative knock. No answer. So I decide to venture inside.

  The first thing I hear is the hiss of the shower, coming from the en-suite bathroom. Great. I sit down awkwardly on the edge of the bed for a moment, before standing up again, wondering just what the hell to do.

  “Hello?” I call. “Colt?”

  But he obviously can’t hear me over the noise of the shower.

  I decide to wait back out in the lobby until he’s got dressed.

  He’s such a bastard. Why the hell did he demand I get here in fifteen minutes, if knew he wasn’t even gonna be ready? He just wants to show me he’s the boss. As if I didn’t already know ...

  But just as I’m turning to leave, I hear the shower shut off, and then a moment later the door to the bathroom opening. I turn back around and what I see knocks the air from my lungs.

  Because there’s Colt. Naked. Well, almost, save for a towel which he’s holding down there, only just about covering his modesty.

  The first thing I notice
are the tattoos.

  “Holy shit. Since when did you get so inked?” I blurt out, my eyes almost popping out of my head as I take in his tanned, sculpted muscular torso, beaded with droplets of water, and totally covered with big lines and patterns of swirling, pitch-black ink, not to mention the piercing gleaming from his right nipple. “Does Alexander know?” I add.

  He shrugs. “I started getting tattooed around college, if you must know. Pretty much as soon as I left for Europe. And no, he doesn’t.”

  I realize I’m just openly staring at his chest now, which is even more toned and buff than I was imagining. And I have to admit, although I don’t normally go in for that kind of thing, the tattoos are actually pretty damn hot, too.

  I tear my eyes away from his body and back upwards to meet his gaze which as usual is cold, hard, and piercing.

  And damn, if it isn’t suddenly like the whole room is charged with this intense electricity. I can feel it pulsing around us, like he’s some magnet, drawing me towards him. I fight off the sensation as best I can.

  “So, uh, anyway,” I say, trying my hardest to sound as professional as I can despite the jello-legged feeling I’m getting from standing so close to him, that flimsy towel threatening to drop from his waist at any moment, “what about this meeting? Were you thinking of doing it here?”

  I nod towards the seats and table behind us, as far away from the bed as possible.

  “Or, um, we could get breakfast? Or just grab a coffee in the lobby ...”

  I can feel my mouth running away with me.

  Shut up, Stacey. Before you say something really stupid.

  “Woah, Stacey, slow down,” he says, not taking his burning, blazing eyes off me for a second. “The meeting can wait. You see, I don’t feel like getting dressed just yet.”

  “What do you mean,” I croak, hearing my voice trembling now despite myself.

  I want him so bad ... But I need to stay strong.