God, that ass is just calling out to me.
It's thick. And juicy. I want to fucking grab it. Squeeze it in my hands.
Knead those cheeks like dough.
I can feel my cock. It's doing more than stirring at this point. It's twitching. It's fucking throbbing. Its got its own heartbeat.
In my head, everyone else in the Yale Club has disappeared. It's just my blonde haired goddess of a stepsister and me. She's looking at me and I can tell from her eyes that she's eyeballing my body as well. And why shouldn't she? I got a body that would make any woman wet. And once I use it, it'd make any woman moan.
Her entire body is moving as she turns in my direction. I can see the rippling muscles in her tight, oh-so-fuckable body.
"Sloane?" she asks, by way of greeting. No doubt she's surprised to see me.
"What are you doing here?" another voice asks.
And that's when I come crashing back down to reality. It's not just me and her at the bar now. No, next to her, turning around and squinting at me is none other than my fucking stepdad, Drake Carlton.
"What?" I ask, pointing my question at Drake. "I can't come to the Yale Club for a drink after racquetball?"
Yes, I made sure to play racquetball downstairs at the gym today. That way I'd have a valid excuse, and it wouldn't look like I just came all the way from work, or One57 to jump in on their little date.
"I didn't know you played racquetball, Sloane," Natalie says to me, her eyes widening and her voice barely above a throaty whisper.
She wants me. I can tell by the way she's looking at me. Her eyes are gleaming with desire.
But hold on there, darlin'. Before you go thinking there's any future or that we're close to some happily ever after, let me just tell you that its always been like this. Ever since Drake married Linda, we've looked at each other like this.
But she's my fucking stepsister. I knew I couldn't do anything. And I'm pretty sure she knew that too. Whatever we wanted to do to each other, however we wanted to defile each other's bodies, had to be put on ice. Because we were fucking family.
But somewhere along the line, I think Drake just decided to throw that message away. Because here he is, sitting there at the bar, one hand on Natalie's knee, looking at me.
"Are you here by yourself, Sloane?" Drake asks, and I can feel the snide tone seeping out of his fucking voice. He knows that I'm here to stop him from fucking Natalie. Whatever, I don't need to stop him. Natalie's free to do what she wants. Just because Drake is older—I think he's 35—doesn't make him wiser.
"Like I said," I say with a forced sigh. "I was playing some racquetball and thought I'd stop here for a drink."
Drake looks at me with a fucking smirk. Asshole. I'd like to wipe that smirk off his face.
"What are you guys up to?" I ask, trying to stay friendly.
"Drake is going over the alternatives for financing Dirty Lil' Angels," Natalie says quickly. I can see her eyes travel to Drake and meet me. She's trying to keep the peace.
That's fine. I'm not here to fight. Yet.
"I guess that makes two of us then that are interested in your company, Natalie," I say, taking a few steps toward her, completely ignoring Drake. He doesn't even exist in my world. "Looks like you might become the center of attention."
"I'm always the center of attention, silly," she says, sticking her tongue out at me. "People love me. They can't help it."
"Make sure you know who you're loving though, babe," I tell her, eyeing Drake. "Not everyone is as innocent as you."
"Oh?" Natalie asks with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not really that innocent, you know."
I smile at her and she smiles back. And then there's a cough.
Again, the world intrudes. In the form of fucking Drake Carlton.
"Well, Sloane, I hope you have a pleasant evening," Drake says to me. "As you can see, we've already begun ours."
I look over at Drake for the first time. He's staring at me. With his arm still on Natalie's knee. She doesn't remove it. But she's not encouraging it, either.