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Her words are posed as a question, but they tumble from her lips like a dare. I'm instantly made aware of the shape of her slender neck, and her pulse fluttering there. I'm aware of her intoxicating smell—like a ripe garden on the edge of a salty ocean. I'm aware of her lips, plump and moist, and slightly parted.
/> I clear my throat.
"Ms. Legs has nothing on you," I say, daring her back, my eyes traveling from her bare shoulders down to the mounds of her tits, and I think about sliding my cock between that dark and secret crevice of hers. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this, but I can't help it. There's electricity in the air—something that makes me feel protective and possessive at the same time. My cock is throbbing. It has its own fucking pulse at this point.
Can she guess what I'm thinking? She takes a step closer, an instant magnetism drawing us together. I try to change the subject. She's my fucking stepdaughter, I try to reason with myself.
"So, what do you do these days?" I ask.
"I make sex toys."
I nearly choke on my drink. What did she just say? So much for changing the subject.
"Don't look so surprised," she coos. "I've always liked … sex," she says this with a slow emphasis, staring directly into my eyes, "and these toys take it to a whole new level."
"And what level is that?" I ask. Her eyes are like the deepest part of the ocean, and I feel myself sinking into them.
She smiles. "Let's just say that by embracing technology, no woman is walking away … dry."
Now she really has my undivided attention, and she knows it. She steps closer, placing her delicate hand on my arm and she leans into my ear.
She parts her lips and whispers, "It simulates like no other," and when she drags the 's' out of the word 'simulates' an electric current travels down my fucking spine.
"That sounds … interesting." My eyes flash at hers.
"It's even more interesting in action," she smiles, dragging one finger across one of my legs. My cock pulses at the thrill of her closeness.
"How much more?" I ask, a grin forming on my lips.
"Would you like to find out?"
As she asks this, I picture her hips in my hands, and my mouth on her neck. I picture a nipple pinched between my teeth. I have an entire movie scene playing out in my head … one directed by my throbbing fucking cock.
"I'd like to learn more about your … business," I say. "Let's meet for dinner tomorrow. I'll have a driver pick you up."
"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.
