“Oh, glorious is certainly a word for it, you naughty boy,” Patricia giggled, chewing nervously on her lip. “Never been with a man with his cock pierced like that… should be loads of fun.”
Her hand began to slowly work me from the tip all the way down to my base, her eyes locked on mine as she began to jack me off. I was surprised at how skilled she was, my cock hardening like a rock in her hand. But despite all of that I still didn’t feel right. Something was wrong.
Whenever I looked down at Patricia I wished that it was someone else—someone I had wanted ever since that night together in that pantry. When I looked into this woman’s eyes I kept trying to picture my Gwendolyn there between my legs, her eyes locked ravenously onto my throbbing member in preparation to slide it all the way back into her throat. But try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the fact that it wasn’t her. It wasn’t my Gwennie.
“I’m sorry,” I said, putting my hand over hers to halt her expert ministrations. “I don’t think that I can do this, Patricia.”
For a long while she stared at me, her mouth agape in what could either have been shock or preparation to suck me off. Either way she did not at all seem particularly thrilled that I’d just refused her attention.
“Are you really telling me no?” she asked, her eyebrows rising in a mixture of incredulity and annoyance. “How in the world does a bloke get his cock played with and then just up and tell a girl no right when she’d about to suck him dry?”
“I just don’t think that this is the right thing to do,” I tried to explain as she—thankfully—released my cock from her tight grip. “You seem like a wonderful woman, and I had a fantastic time at dinner. But I think this is moving a bit fast.”
“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes as she sat herself on the seat opposite mine. “Unbelievable.”
I almost felt bad that I’d refused her, either that or I was ashamed of how soft I’d become since I’d been away. I could hardly believe that I was refusing to get a blowjob just because of one girl. It was ridiculous. Unheard of! Tristan Wolfe hung up on some girl that he’d almost fucked?
But she wasn’t just “some girl.” She was Gwen, the one girl who’d told me no in my entire life. The one girl who wanted her time with me to be special, instead of all the other women who were in it for a good time—to say they’d been done by the son of a royal duke. Gwen valued what it would have been to have slept with me for more than just my name or who my father was. Gwen had wanted me. And I wanted her… at least I did now.
“I’d like to go home,” Patricia said, her tone icy. “I believe that’s more than enough reason to call it a night, I think.”
“Yes, you’re right,” I said, wishing I had less awkward way of saying I was sorry. Patricia could have been the perfect match for me that no longer existed, the Tristan that loved dirty sex with women I hardly knew. But that Tristan died back in Afghanistan. “I really do apologize.”
“Fuck off,” she spat as I rolled down the privacy screen to address the driver.
“Ms. Atmore would like to go home,” I said, heaving a sigh as I turned my gaze toward the window, letting my mind drift away with thoughts of my stepsister as Patricia fumed on the other side of the limo. I wasn’t sure how badly I had messed this up, but I knew more than anything else that by the time Gwen had heard about what had happened tonight she would be royally pissed.
Chapter 71
It was another late night for me, but not because of work. Ever since Tristan had come into my office, I was not in the best of moods, and since tonight was his first date with the lovely Patricia, I was sitting up fretting about just how much the two of them were going to kick it off. My continued correspondence with the young woman had me absolutely sure that the two of them were going to hit things off splendidly, which only made me feel worse.
I tried so hard not to think about what they might be doing there in that restaurant, or in the limo I’d arranged afterward. I wanted their first date to go perfectly. I wanted to make a solid impression for my stepbrother. Patricia was perfect for him, and I was determined to make sure the two of them ended up together. The faster that this was all over the better off I’d be in the long term, especially in terms of my own mental health. This entire business with Tristan was sure to drive me mad the longer it dragged on.
It’ll all be better once he’s married and you won’t have to worry about him inserting himself into your life.
But it wasn’t my life I wanted him inserting himself into.
I sighed heavily and took another long drink from my wine glass. I knew I’d been far too heavy on the drinking of late, but with everything that was going on I wasn’t sure I could handle it sober. There was too much for me to handle, too much that I had to juggle on an emotional level. Checking myself out for a while until it all blew over just seemed like the right thing to do. Once Tristan and Patricia were off on whatever exotic vacation he would most certainly plan once they’d decided to bed one another, I could take comfort in the fact that I would not be tempted again by my stepbrother’s sumptuous body again. Even I knew that once he was married my mind would never dare risk that. Even I had standards.
I closed my eyes, basking in the warmth that the wine brought to my body as I sank deeper into my comfortable couch as the soft sounds of one of the many renditions of Beethoven danced through the air of my apartment. It was nearly midnight, and I’d heard not one peep from either Tristan or Patricia on their date, something I was hoping was a positive omen. If they weren’t calling me then it meant that the two of them were hopefully enjoying one another's company—perhaps even intimately.
I hated that I was hoping for my stepbrother to bed another woman. It brought a sour taste to my mouth and I wanted to scream, but held in my distress like a lady should. I could weather this, just as I had weathered storms like it before. I knew that even though Tristan was what I desired, it was not what was best—we always want what we can never have.
It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve that I heard my phone begin to buzz, slowly moving itself across the black wooden surface of my coffee table. My stomach tightened as I recognized Patricia’s number emblazoned across my screen. Had something gone wrong? Was everything okay?
I felt as though I’d been frozen as I watched the cell phone buzz in its demand for my attention. I swallowed hard and reached out against the will of my fears and put the device to my ear, bracing myself for what might come from the other line. Despite my fears, I hoped that it was good news.
“Patricia, hello,” I said, my voice tense. “Is everything alright?”
“It very well is not,” she shrieked over the receiver. I jerked the phone away from my ear. “Do you know what that man did to me?”
My eyes widened. Oh, God…
“I—I have no idea, Patricia. Tell me, very calmly—”
“I won’t be calm about this!” she cried, her anger and her tone rising the more she spoke. “That bastard dumped me out of the damn limo on my doorstep! And right after I offered to nosh him off! You set me up with a right ungrateful prick, you did!”
I could feel heat blooming in my cheeks at the very thought of the two of them in the back of the limo, her lips wrapped around Tristan’s considerable member. I swallowed, trying to push the image out form the forefront of my mind as I focused on the present. Why in the world would he do something so stupid?
“I’m so sorry, Patricia,” I said, trying to compose myself the best I could, trying to push through the haze that the wine had thrown over my mind. “If there’s anything that I can do—”
“Just make sure the next bloke you throw at me appreciates when a woman gives his bell end a little attention, yeah?”
“I… of course. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind when I find you a new match.”
“Be damn sure you do,” she said. “And ‘ta very much for the shite evening.”
The phone beeped to indicate that the call was over, though it was more than a full min
ute before I took the phone away from my ear. I began to question the very fabric of existence as I wrapped my head around the fact that Tristan, my absolute sex-fiend of a stepbrother, had refused to allow a woman to go down on him. Something didn’t seem right, there was no way that he’d ever have passed up that kind of an opportunity to be serviced by a gorgeous woman he’d likely just spent the whole night flirting with over oysters and champagne.
I needed answers.
I furiously pressed my thumbs against the screen of my phone, tapping in my brother’s number before practically smashing the call button as hard as I could. I was enraged, utterly boiling that somehow Tristan had managed to cock up a perfectly simple first date. So what if he had his knob handled for a moment? Wasn’t that part of what he was looking for in a damn wife?
The phone began to ring as I sat up, unsure of what to do with myself as I waited for that bastard to answer. He must have known by now that Patricia had called me, had told me how he’d somehow screwed his chances with her. I was so angry that I could almost see the steam wafting from my ears. He only had one job, and that was to enjoy a beautiful woman’s company so that maybe they could stand one another for the rest of their bloody lives!
“Hello?” came Tristan’s lazy voice from over the phone. How could he sound so calm after what he’d just done?
“You stupid twat,” I snarled. “How in the world could you screw this up so damn quickly? She was a perfect match for you!”
“You’re mad at me,” he said, matter-of-factly. I wanted to scream over at him, I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs what a stupid mistake he’d made by messing up one of the simplest parts of my job.
“You’re damn right I am!” I said, standing up from the couch quickly as I began to pace around my living room. I felt like if I didn’t do something to burn off some energy I might explode. “She’s furious, Tristan! I thought you loved doing kinky shit with women in the backs of limos! At least that’s what the tabloids all said!”
“It just didn’t feel right, you know?” he said, and I could almost picture him giving me that non-committal shrug. I wanted to strangle him.