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Chapter Two
Bennet
Screeching - Rhylie I would bet - distracts me from my thoughts and my hardening cock, drawing my attention to my brother’s office door. I knock, don’t bother to wait for a reply, and stride in. At this point, there’s nothing to be done about the boner I failed to control.
Something hard and sharp - but lightweight - glances off my left temple, stinging like a bitch. Followed by several other objects hitting various parts of me. They bounce off me easily, but the ones that catch my face sting.
“What the…”
Before I can finish, another two, three, four missiles collide with various parts of my body. A heavy metal object slams into my junk, causing me to hiss out the end of my statement through gritted teeth, “Fuck?!”
I hear a low chuckle - Cole - but before I can focus on him, more objects are launched at me.
“Stop! Stop!” I yell at the onslaught, but it all keeps coming. “Cole? Cole! A little help?”
My brother is absolutely pissing his pants from behind the safety of his desk, and my eyes finally rest on my attacker; Rhylie. She’s standing to the side of Cole’s desk, one hand on her hip, the other raised and poised ready to throw whatever the fuck it is she’s been launching at me.
“Stop, Rhylie! Jesus. Peace!” I cry as a flurry of rulers are fired at me in quick succession.
I have to hand it to her; she’s gone for a real selection of them to pelt me with: an array of plastic ones; old school wooden ones; and even sleek modern metal ones. The one thing they all have in common, though, is that they’re twelve inches. I bite back a smirk and swallow down the cheeky comment on the tip of my tongue about that.
Only, I’m not the one smiling anymore, when an office stapler makes contact with the Crown Jewels. Somehow, I manage to stay on my feet. I guess I’m made of stronger stuff, even if my eyes are watering from the pain.
Shit, that’s two nut shots she’s got me with now. The woman’s a demon with the office supplies. I can literally feel my chances of ever being a father dwindling away. Any more hits to that area and my soldier might be out of action entirely for a while.
Cole just laughs.
The bastard.
When Rhylie reaches for Cole’s heavy brass antique desk lamp - a family heirloom belonging to our great grandfather - Cole finally steps in.
“Enough Rhylie,” he tells her in a firm voice. “Leave the lamp alone.”
The fucking minx pouts - actually pouts! - and bats her eyelashes at him.
“Awww, Cole…” she wheedles.
“No,” he emphatically replies. “Staplers and rulers are one thing, but I draw the line at having to clean up broken glass.”
He shakes his head, but the look he gives Rhylie is more indulgent than reprimanding. Amusement is etched all over his face.
“What the fuck?” I ask. “Why the hell has she got so much shit to throw at me?”
I spin around and quickly count two staplers - the nut shots - and a dozen or so plastic, wooden, and metal rulers littering the floor around me.
“Why the hell do you have so many rulers, Cole?”
“I don’t! She brought all that shit in here with her!” he insists.
“Ha!” Rhylie cries in jubilation. “I raided the stationery cupboard on my way in. Count yourself lucky I didn’t use pencils. Those things are fucking sharp. I could puncture a testicle with one!”
Before either of us can reply, she reaches down into a brown box on the seat next to her - why didn’t I notice that before? - and continues to pelt me with more office supplies. Erasers bounce off my forehead. I have to admit, she’s got a mean aim. I throw my brother a panicked look and mouth the word “help” at him.
He, of course, ignores me again, until she reaches for the glass paperweights etched with the company logo.
