Yeah, one’s my stepdad and the other’s my stepbrother. I read the memo, hun, I’m aware of all that. It’s taboo; it’s sinful, blah, blah, blah. Do you need me to say it again? It’s not like I want it to happen. It’s just fun to think about. And a little fun never hurt anyone, right?
I look at my work table, grab one of the prototype vibrator bullets, and then sink into the couch. What? As far as I know, daydreaming isn’t a sin.
Sloane
Honestly, the spy that I have in Drake’s administrative assistant pool has paid for herself so many times over; it's insane. I mean, I’m smart about it. Don’t get me wrong. I usually only contact her a few times a month. Tell her what I’m interested in, or what I’m looking for.
Really, the spy is more of a way of making sure Drake doesn’t do anything crazy trying to get back at me or bring me into the fold.
You want to know who she is don't you?
I mean, it doesn't matter so I guess I can tell you. Her name is CJ and she works for Drake Carlton. O
n the side, she spies for me. I pay pretty handsomely.
It’s my early warning system of keeping track of him.
So I never figured that I’d use her to find out where Drake was taking Natalie. But it was useful.
What? Don’t look at me like that.
I had to find out where he was taking her. You think if I just called up my stepdad and asked him, he’d tell me? Fat fucking chance.
Besides, I should've figured out that he was bringing her here to the Yale Club.
The elevator door opens up and I step out into the formal dining room of the Yale Club.
If you haven’t been here to this bastion of fucking privilege on Vanderbilt Avenue next to Grand Central, let me just tell you that the dining room is gigantic, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Midtown Manhattan. There’s a terrace that you can walk out to, if you want to stare down at the people who aren’t able to get into this exclusive little club.
And, of course, there’s a fucking bar that travels the entire length of the wall of the dining room. Stocked with liquor from seriously all over the world.
It’s a place that you would bring a girl to when you’re looking to fucking impress her.
When you’re looking to fuck her.
That’s exactly why I had to come over the moment I heard Yale Club.
This isn’t some stepdad expressing some paternal interest in his stepdaughter’s company.
No. Drake Carlton is going to fuck Natalie Vanderhill. He’s going to fuck his stepdaughter. Then he’s going to buy her company under the guise of a private equity investment.
She has no idea what’s about to hit her. She won’t be able to survive The Shark of Wall Street. No fucking way.
I know I’m late. I didn’t want to be early and have to wait for them. That would just make me look like a fucking loser.
That’s why I’m completely on guard the moment I walk out of the elevator.
I take a few steps toward the bar, and all of a sudden there she is.
Natalie Vanderhill.
She’s wearing black. Tight wraparound dress. Fuck, it’s hugging her curves like nothing else.
My eyes are just traveling every inch of that gorgeous body. Those juicy, plump tits. God, how much I’ve just wanted to squeeze them and suck on them ever since I saw them.
Yeah, yeah, she was my stepsister. That’s why I never fucking did anything except jerk off to those tits. And boy, did I spew gallons of cum just imagining those titties in my face. Thinking of them, I wanted to run my cock between them, and fuck those tits till I came all over that cute-as-a-button face.
God, my eyes are moving past those tits somehow to that long and slender body. I swear it's curvy in just the right places. Like that flat, taut, tummy, and that tapered waist and that ass.