I might be eating something else instead tonight. We'll see. The ball's in her court now. And you can tell just by sitting here that she's struggling with this concept.
Sure, she might've looked at me with lust and desire at the Yale Club when I crashed into her date. But looking and fantasizing are totally different from actually having.
And now she has the opportunity to actually have it. It's a bit disconcerting.
"All these years, Sloane," she tells me. "All these years and now you're finally telling me this. Is this because of me and Drake?"
Fuck that asshole cocksucker. This is about me and her. No one else.
"This is about you, babe," I tell her and reach over to take her hand. It's like an electric shock goes through her body when I make contact. She doesn't pull away, but she looks at me with wide fucking eyes. "You just being open to Drake made it all clear to me."
"Made what clear?" she asks.
"That I fucking want you, Natalie," I tell her, directly, straight up. "And I think you want me too. I think we both know that you're dying to have me just as much as I'm fucking dying to bang you."
"So romantic, Jesus," Natalie says, rolling her eyes and I smile. She's joking. Which is a good sign. "How do I know this isn't some alpha male bullshit just wanting what Drake has had?" she asks me.
"Oh it's totally wanting what Drake has had, don't doubt that for a second," I tell Natalie and her eyes go big and my admission. "Only, I've fucking wanted you since the first day I saw you and Linda and Drake introduced you. Every day since then I've wanted to rip those clothes off and devour you. Fucking make you cum and make you scream. With pleasure. That I know I can bring."
Natalie takes a deep breath. Her cheeks are flushed.
"But you were my stepsister," I say to her. "So I didn't do shit. I let it all go. And I imagined it instead when I was alone."
"You fantasized about me?" she asks, her eyes twinkling. "About having sex with me?"
I nod.
The time for hiding the truth is over. It's time to put it on the table.
Natalie finally pulls her hand away and leans back on the chair across from me. There's a long pause.
Finally, she looks at me.
"How far away is your apartment from here?" she asks me.
I smile.
"One57 is two blocks from here," I tell Natalie as I take a sip of my scotch. "Would you like to come over?"
I stand up and extend my arm to her.
She stands up and takes it.
"Yes, please," she tells me and smiles sweetly. "We have some lost time to make up for."
Natalie
I thought that my Fifth Avenue apartment was impressive, but it’s a dump compared to Sloane’s apartment. But what did I expect? He freaking lives at One57, the billionaire building. You simply can’t compete with that.
I mean, just look at the fancy decor. Minimalist and expensive, a black and white combination of good taste. Jesus, just hiring the decorator must've cost a fortune; although, no, Sloane probably hand picked every single piece of furniture and art inside of his apartment. Although he’d say he doesn’t give a fuck about decoration, he’s the kind of guy who loves to exert control—even if that means picking the rugs for his multimillion dollar apartment.
“You have nice taste,” I tell him, genuinely complimenting him. Of course, just like in court, everything I say can be used against me when I’m dealing with a man like him.
“Of course I have good taste,” he replies, closing the door to his apartment and closing the distance between us. He takes one hand to my hair and, tangling his fingers there, he yanks on it and forces me to throw my head back. I look into his eyes, surprised, but he just grins. “That’s why you’re here.”
I don’t even know what to say, but I guess it doesn’t even matter. We’ve said everything that needed to be said; the time for words is over. And I realize that when he takes his free hand and places it on my knee, sliding it under the hemline of my dress and flattening it against my thong.
I was already wet before he touched my pussy, but now I’m a complete mess.