Colt

by Carolyn Cruise

  “You know exactly what I mean,” he replies, cool and confident. “I’m here, you’re here. I’ve got this suite booked for the rest of the day. It’d be a shame not to make the most of it.”

  “Isn’t that a little, uh, unprofessional?” I stammer, my heart pounding, my scalp tingling, my clit beginning to throb.

  “I’m the boss, Stacey,” he growls, in that commanding tone that gets me instantly wet. “I get to say what’s unprofessional and what isn’t.”

  Stay strong, I repeat to myself, feeling my heart booming in my chest and my nipples beginning to stiffen despite my best efforts to keep calm.

  And from the corner of my eye, I realize that sure enough he’s rubbing himself with the towel before finally letting it just drop to the floor between his spread legs.

  Oh my god. Here he is: the man I’ve been yearning for, my whole fucking adult life, standing naked before me, practically begging me to sleep with him. And every atom in my body is screaming at me to just give in and go for it, despite how fucking wrong it might be – despite the consequences.

  But still I somehow hold back.

  In fact, I don’t even tear my eyes away from his face to sneak a quick peek at his cock, despite the fact that I’m desperate to finally see it.

  “Go to hell,” I spit, before turning and leaving him standing there in the middle of the hotel room, confused and naked.

  It’s late morning by the time I reach the office – and I’m never this sloppy. Damn. This girl is fucking with my head. And now it’s even affecting my performance at work. This has to stop. As I ride up to the twenty-fifth floor in the elevator, I wince again, remembering what happened in my hotel room just a few hours ago. I really fucked up again, didn’t I? But there’s just something about her – something that seems to compel me to do things almost outside of my own control. I don’t even know what came over me when I said that corny stuff about the hotel room. Or when I sent her that baloney text message about the ‘meeting’. She must think I’m a total creep now.

  You want to know the thing that I find hottest? The thing that turns me on the most? It’s that whenever she gets angry, she looks at me with this fire in her eyes. A fire she doesn’t even know she has. And goddamn if it’s not the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Fuck. She’s just the same as she was at fifteen – she doesn’t even know how beautiful she is.

  And on top of that, and this is a new one for me, my pride is hurt. I can’t remember the last time anyone turned me down. In fact, I don’t think anyone has turned me down before.

  Fuck.

  It’s like she’s got this hold over me. And the only way I can seem to get her attention is if I act like a spoilt brat teenager, just like I did back then.

  She must remember that electricity between us, all those years ago. I wonder if she can still feel it? I really don’t know. And sometimes, when she looks at me, it seems like the only thing she’s feeling is pure unadulterated hate.

  Fuck. What are these feelings?

  Is this what I think it is?

  No, it couldn’t possibly be ...

  Just then my thoughts are interrupted by the crisp metallic ping of the elevator as it reaches the floor to my office, the doors gliding open. I take a deep breath then step out into the busy, bustling room, striding past the many desks towards the sanctuary of my office. But before I can reach it, I’ve got to pass one more desk, haven’t I?

  Stacey’s desk ...

  “Good morning, Mr Grayson,” she says as I approach, playing the role of a highly professional team player to perfection.

  “Listen, Stacey,” I murmur under my breath, pausing by her desk and leaning in towards her, so that nobody else can hear what I’m saying, “about this morning ...”

  But if she acts as if she hasn’t even heard me.

  “You’ve got a one o’ clock lunch meeting with Atlantic Airlines,” she interrupts, her eyes fixed on her computer screen. “And this afternoon you’re scheduled in for a photo shoot with Cosmopolitan at four. Would you like me to give you another reminder about that later on?”

  I look down at her, trying to catch her eye, trying to will her to look back up at me, but she keeps her gaze trained coldly ahead on her laptop screen.

  “Thanks, that would be, uh, great, yeah,” I mumble, before turning and heading to my office.

  I push open the heavy wooden doors, letting them swing closed behind me, feeling both angry and also amazed that she’s managed to find her way so fucking deep inside my head like this.

  I’m not used to this, not at all.

  I’m used to being the one in charge.

  But somehow, in just a few days, she’s managed to mess me up.

  I can’t believe that if she hadn’t interrupted me like that, I was actually going to apologize to her!

  What a joke.

  No apologies, I think, sinking down into my chair and resting my feet on my desk. From now on, I’m taking control again ...

  Damn him. Every single fucking time he walks into a room its like I can’t breathe; like someone’s punching me square in the gut, knocking the air right out of me, asphyxiating me. He’s just so fucking gorgeous. He fills the room with this magnetic kind of electricity. And I know I’m not the only one who feels it. Whenever I watch him from my desk, interacting with everyone else in the office it’s so obvious that he charms everyone he meets: men and women. He’s just got that dangerous-as-hell cocktail of looks and personality, which so far has let lets him get away with whatever he likes.

  But not with me.

  I can’t believe I actually managed to stand up to him like that, but I’m so glad I did. Because I’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s got to me. But even so, it was close. It took all the strength I possessed to talk to him as if he hadn’t hit on me in that hotel room just a few hours ago.

  I hate him. I fucking hate him.

  Why am I so angry? If I really think about it, I’m angry because I want this. I want him, so, so bad. And it’s driving me crazy. Because I just know it would be wrong. So instead I’m just gonna act super professional – like nothing ever happened – and hope that somehow these feeling go away, ASAP.

  I decide to keep myself busy all morning by really working hard on a long report on market trends, trying to keep my mind off him. But even so, despite my best efforts, every now and again, I feel my thoughts straying back to him again – back to what happened in that hotel room this morning. Back to his perfect body. Back to those tattoos. Back to his words ...

  I’m the boss, Stacey.

  God, I’m getting wet again despite myself, just thinking about it. Something about the dominance in his voice, the sheer power and control, just gets me hot as hell ...

  Does he treat everyone else the same way as me?

  Then I remember Elizabeth, that leggy brunette I met on my first day here; how she told me not to fuck him in my first week or she’d lose the office sweepstake.

  Well, I suppose that pretty much answers my question, doesn’t it?

  §

  Before I know it, it’s lunchtime, and I’m glad when Colt comes striding out of his office, on his way to his lunch meeting with Atlantic Airlines – glad to think that for the next hour at least he won’t be in the same damn building as me.

  “Oh, Stacey,” he says, turning to face me like he’s forgotten something important. “I want you to make me a dinner reservation tonight for two at Sexy Fish. Eight pm.”

  “Sexy what?!” I laugh, unable to help myself.

  This has got to be some kind of joke.

  “You heard,” he growls coldly, before turning on his heel and striding off towards the elevators, giving me one final tantalizing glimpse of his broad muscular frame, so perfectly shown off by his immaculately tailored midnight blue suit.

  To my surprise, when I type ‘Sexy Fish’ into my search engine it turns out it actually is a real place – an exclusive, Asian-themed seafood restaurant in
Mayfair. The list of celebrities who’ve eaten there in the past week alone is enough to keep a gossip columnist busy for a whole month.

  I wonder which lucky lady he’s taking out tonight, I think as I dial the number. I know one thing, though. It sure as hell ain’t Magdalena Cortez ...

  §

  After his lunch meeting, Colt returns to the office, striding straight past me, this time not even stopping to ask whether or not I’d been successful in booking him a table (I have), and so I just dive right back into that report, wanting to prove to him once and for all that I can actually do this job.

  Then, at just before four, I buzz through to his office.

  “Mr Grayson, It’s almost time for your photo shoot,” I say.

  A part of me suspects that perhaps this ‘shoot’ isn’t real, that it’s just as phony as that crap about needing a business meeting at his hotel room – I mean, come on? Do Cosmo really want to profile some businessman, even if he is young, handsome and successful? But I guess it’s not my job to question the appointments in his diary, just to make sure he’s reminded of them.

  “Thanks for the heads up, Miss Richardson,” he replies.

  A moment later, the doors to his office burst open and Colt emerges, a leather hold-all now slung over one broad shoulder, his thick hair swept back in a glossy tumble. As he passes my desk, he stops, forcing me to look up at him.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” he says, that familiar know-it-all grin playing on his full lips, one eyebrow raised in a quizzical smirk.

  “Huh?” I reply, totally confused.

  “You’re my PA, remember?” he snarls. “You’re coming with me ...”

  §

  “That’s great, just great!” Claudia, the photographer calls out, as Colt poses in the studio, playfully tugging at his tie, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, a cocky, arrogant expression lighting up his face as the camera flashes, again and again and again.

  I sigh, wishing I could pull my eyes away, not wanting to give him the damn satisfaction. But the truth is, he looks hot and I can totally see now why he’s been chosen for this shoot. In a different life, he could easily have made a career as a model, and he seems so relaxed and playful in front of the camera, not an ounce of self-consciousness.

  So yeah, it turns out this photo shoot is real after all – although a part of me still suspects that the only reason Colt has dragged me along is just to rub my face in it. To prove that at least some women find him hot.

  Oh, if only he knew ...

  “Can you undo a few more buttons?” Claudia calls.

  And when he does, willingly, uncovering a little more of his golden skin and the dark latticework of tattoo ink, it seems to throw the photographer over the edge.

  “Holy shit! You never mentioned you had tattoos?!” she gasps. “Our readers are gonna love this. Okay, I’m afraid that whole shirt is coming straight off, mister!”

  Colt laughs, lapping up the attention, eagerly unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his broad, sculpted shoulders, every inch of his perfectly proportioned torso now on show, lit by the blazing lights of Claudia’s studio and the insistent flash of her camera as she circles him, taking shot after shot, all the while calling out a stream of encouragement and compliments.

  “Oh, that’s gorgeous. Give me some more of those abs, baby! Think you could pop the first button of your pants, too? Make it like you’re about to take them off?”

  I can’t help it. Despite myself, I’m feeling jealous, as this sexy, sassy photographer drools all over him. She must be in her late thirties, with a slim figure and thick bouncy golden curls of hair and a dirty, MILF-y vibe. And maybe it’s just me, but it seems like Colt’s flirting right back at her, too.

  “So, Claudia,” he grins as he starts to tease the camera by making like he’s about to pull his pants off too, “you think your readers are gonna want to fuck me after they see these pics?”

  Again, I roll my eyes, but even so, I cant tear them away from him. And as he starts to actually slide his pants down, uncovering the golden skin of his thick muscular thighs beneath – not to mention the freaking huge bulge in his tight white underwear – well, I feel an embarrassing flush of heat between my own legs, too.

  “Oh, you bet,” Claudia laughs back. “You’re looking smoking hot ... Come on, off with those pants altogether.”

  Again Colt laughs, unselfconsciously stepping out of his tailored suit pants, the tight white fabric of his underwear all that’s left to protect his modesty now, and a part of me suspects that the way this shoot is going, that won’t be on his body for too much longer either.

  Sure enough, I hear Claudia say, “If you’re feeing brave, we could do a couple of fully nude ones, too?”

  I feel my heart begin to boom in my ears and a blush rising to my cheeks, even though nobody even remembers I’m here, nestled away right at the very back of the studio, watching this crazy scene unfold.

  “Sure. Why not,” Colt grins, and at that exact moment, his gaze reaches out, past the studio lights, right to this far corner where I’m standing in the shadows, watching on.

  “And what about you, Stacey?” he says, as his eyes lock with mine. “Do you want to fuck me too?”

  I can’t speak. I’m fixed on the spot, unable to look away as he confidently slides his underwear down his thighs and steps out of it, leaving him fully naked.

  Oh my god, I think as my eyes are finally drawn downwards, right between his legs. He’s even bigger than I’d imagined ...

  “Holy shit!” Claudia laughs, obviously just as surprised by the size of his package as I am. “I was going to ask you to cover yourself with one hand, Mister, but with that monster, I think you’re gonna need to use both!”

  In the car afterwards, she’s silent, doing everything she can to avoid looking at me. She keeps her eyes trained firmly on her Blackberry. I know the photo shoot made her uncomfortable, but I wonder if it turned her on, too? Probably. There’s no way she’s ever seen a dick this big before. I’m glad the Cosmopolitan shoot finally gave me a chance to show it to her. And before I know it, again, just like always, I just can’t seem to stop myself from messing with her ...

  “So?” I ask. “How do you think that went? Did you think I looked good?”

  I glance over at her. Is that a blush? She shifts nervously in her seat, her gaze fixed on the screen of her phone, like she’s too embarrassed to meet my eye.

  “I’m sure your little Playgirl shoot is gonna scare the hell out of your business rivals,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, but I can hear there’s a faint tremor in it too; she’s not quite as cool about this as she’s pretending.

  I decide not to push things any further. Despite her little outburst, she doesn’t realize that I’ve only agreed to publication of the fully-clothed shots. Those nudes? They were just for the benefit of that foxy little photographer, and Stacey, of course. But she doesn’t know that, and I think I’m gonna keep it that way for now ...

  “By the way,” she adds, “you’re going to be late. For your dinner reservation. Sexy Fish, remember? It’s almost seven now.”

  “No I’m not,” I shoot back, trying my hardest to keep the grin off my face. “We’re on our way there now. By my estimation, we should be exactly on time.”

  “But ...” she stammers, confused, finally turning to look at me.

  “I take it you haven’t eaten?” I ask.

  “You know I haven’t,” she murmurs. “I’ve been with you all afternoon at the shoot ... But, your date?”

  “You really don’t get it, do you?” I grin. “You’re my date, Stacey. So? What do you say? Are you going to join me for dinner or what?”

  “Fine,” she replies, obviously struggling to hide her awkwardness and embarrassment, “but this is strictly professional. Okay?”

  “Of course,” I laugh. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  But from the subtle blush that’s risen to her face, I can tell th
at she’s way more excited than she’s letting on ...

  I don’t get it. Why is he suddenly fucking with my head like this? I mean, he could take anyone to dinner with him. Literally. He could call up a supermodel as easily as if he was ordering Chinese takeout. I saw him do it, just the other day. So why does he want to take me? And while we’re on the subject, why won’t he just leave me the fuck alone? This internship is torture enough already. If I hadn’t promised my mom I’d do this, I’d be on the first plane out of here. But instead of just being left alone to do a normal job, here I am about to go to dinner, with my stepbrother, the image of his totally naked, smoking-hot body forever burnt into my brain.

  FML.

  I can feel him looking at me, his eyes burning into me, as the car drives us towards the restaurant, and I keep myself as composed as I can, giving away nothing of the fact that my heart is pounding and my clit is throbbing so hard I’m having to cross and recross my legs, just to release some of the tension. And as I shift in my seat, I keep my eyes fixed firmly out of the window, watching the buildings flash by, trying to ignore the animal heat and intensity that seems to be just pouring off him – fogging my head to the point of dizziness.

  Don’t fuck him, Stacey, I tell myself. Whatever you do, don’t fuck him.

  But even as I’m telling myself that, the word fuck is causing me to picture the exact opposite, imagining him pinning me down powerfully beneath him, driving himself hard and deep into me, taking my trembling body, fucking me ...

  Just then, the car pulls to a stop and I quickly fumble the door open, my fingers shaking, my whole body trembling.

  Don’t fuck him, Stacey ...

  Whatever you do, don’t fuck him ...

  §

  Okay, so I have to admit, this place is kind of amazing. It’s like something from a movie set – the beautiful décor, the lit up ceiling, the whole place sparkling and shining in stunning shades of gold and red, and of course to complete the picture, here’s a man as stunning as any movie star sitting opposite me, smiling confidently, my ‘date’ for the evening ... Colt.