“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.
“It didn’t feel right? Since when the hell has that ever mattered to you?” I raged, throwing my free hand in the air in exasperation. “You’ve never been shy about who the hell played with your dick before now, so why start?”
“That’s not really fair, I think,” he said. “Don’t I get a say in who plays with my cock?”
“Not today, you don’t,” I yelled back. “You told me you wanted to find someone who was exciting and flirtatious, and instead of going for the perfect woman I set you up with, you drop her off on her damn doorstep?”
“That’s not the whole story, Gwen,” he said, his turn apparently to seem a little annoyed.
“Then do tell me all about what really happened, Tristan, because I’m sure that it will be a story for the ages.”
“I will, once I get to your apartment,” he said before I heard the beep of the line going dead.
I stared out onto my balcony through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, my phone clattering to the floor as those words echoed through my brain. He was coming here? Now?
This was bad, and it would only get worse when he walked through those doors. How was I supposed to control myself around him after I’d spent the last few hours downing a bottle of wine all by myself? I was done for! And God knew that he’d be just as horny after Patricia tried to get him off in the car—if unsuccessfully. I knew that this was a recipe for disaster, and the more I tried to push my lustful thoughts from my mind, the more effort I used the more of them came.
I pictured the way he’d look walking through the door, his cock still somewhat hard from Patricia’s eager attempt at fellatio. I pictured how he’d feel bending me over and hiking up my dress before he slid himself slowly into my drenched quim. I let out a gasp as I tried my hardest to quell my torrential desire, knowing full well that any effort I made now would all be undone by the time that my stepbrother arrived. I had to find a way to sober myself up before he walked through the door.
I ran—well, stumbled—to my kitchen, drinking down a glass of water as quickly as I could, hoping to at least begin the process of sobering myself up before my stepbrother arrived. My heart was pounding and I could feel the heat between my legs as it refused to abate. All I could think of was how much I wanted him, my own emotions betraying me as I half-panicked and half eagerly anticipated Tristan’s arrival.
This is going to be a disaster! I thought, downing another glass as I made my way to my bathroom to start running a cold shower to pull me out of my drunken haze. All that I could imagine as I thought of Tristan was how incredible he must have looked tonight for Patricia to so easily want to go down on his dick.
My breath caught as I stepped into the cold shower, letting out a loud gasp as I felt the exhilaration of the freezing chill wash over me like a floor. For a few moments I was finally free of the thoughts of my stepbrother’s member dancing through my mind as it slid into my imagined cunt. I felt like a slut, practically chomping at the bit at the idea of his dick pulsating inside of me.
After a few minutes beneath the chilly waters I stepped out, running to my bedroom for a hopefully appropriate outfit that would allow easy access to my more intimate areas. I didn’t want this to be easy for either of us. This couldn’t end the way that I was picturing. I refused to give in to the base desires that flooded my mind. I didn’t need the scandal any more than my family did.
Imagine the headlines: Matchmaker Beds Playboy Stepbrother.
It was not something I aimed to let slander my good name.
9
ROYAL PRICK
Chapter 8
I hardly had the chance to knock once before Gwendolyn grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pulled me inside with strength I’d never expected from her. She looked like she’s only just stepped out of the shower moments before, her hair wrapped up in a loose towel fashioned into a turban. How she’d managed to shower in the short time since I’d called boggled my mind, though the distinct scent of alcohol on her breath made me wonder as to why she’d felt the need for a shower so necessary.
“Are you feeling alright?” I asked, one eyebrow cocked.
“Am I feeling alright?” she asked, barely holding herself back from screaming at me from the top of her lungs. “You do realize that she was a client of mine, yes? Meaning that she holds me responsible for her date going so poorly?”
“It isn’t that big of a deal,” I said, trying to wave it off. “Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that, yes?”
“No! Tristan you can’t do this! You came to me so that I could help you get yourself married, and yet the first woman I set you up with you practically brush off when she offers to blow you? You of all people refused sex from a willing woman?”
“We’ve been over this, Gwennie. I just wasn’t feeling into it, that’s all,” I said, glaring at her as I sauntered over to her kitchen. “I have every right not to want to have sex with anyone I choose for any reason I choose.”
I couldn’t deny that Gwendolyn had done well for herself, her apartment was enormous, and impeccably decorated in a fashionable modern style. I’d hardly had the time to find myself a proper place to live that was truly my own, instead invading one of our family’s less used properties in London.
“You don’t get to make that excuse when you’re the one who wants to find himself a wife!” she said, raising her voice.
I could already feel myself stirring.
“You’re going to apologize to Patricia and hope to God she gives you a second chance,” Gwen said, her face red.
“I don’t think that I am,” I said, opening up her fridge to see what she might have that I could drink. After what I’d just gone through, I knew I needed something to dull my thoughts. Sadly, the wine bottle my stepsister had been happily drinking before my arrival was all but empty. “I didn’t fancy Patricia, and I don’t think that she’s what I want in a wife.”
“Oh? And what exactly are you looking for that Patricia doesn’t have?”
“She’s not you, for one,” I said as I shut the refrigerator door.
I shouldn’t have said it. It was a stupid, insensitive thing to say, not just because it was inflammatory, but because I hadn’t thought the consequences fully through. I hadn’t spared a moment to imagine what that confession might be like on Gwen’s ears, or on her heart. Sure, I’d known for a while now that I wanted my stepsister, that I craved her in ways that were entirely unsuitable, but she didn’t know that.
Or did she? She blinked at me, hard, clearly surprised. But not shocked. Not staggered. The look on her face almost seemed to say, “You too?”
We stood in silence for a few moments, one that was weightier than I could handle. I had to say something to break it. I was never one for emotionally charged moments, especially not where the promise of sex was concerned.
“Well, I suppose this puts us at an impasse,” I chuckled.
But Gwennie didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. In fact, she looked downright pissed at me, like sharing a joke with me was the last thing on her mind. Like wringing my neck was the first.
“Don’t even joke about that,” she hissed, stalking away from me, eyes wild. “Jesus, Tristan. If anyone were to hear you…”
I snorted. “What, is your flat bugged?”
“With you here, it might as well be,” she answered, casting a furtive glance out the windows. “No doubt a fair few paparazzi followed you here tonight. And you never know what lengths they’ll go to.”
“Oh, yes, what a scoop,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Duke’s Son Once Again Cocks Up a Date, Goes to His Sister’s to Have a Whinge. I’m sure it’ll sell out nationwide.”
“Stepsister,” she reminded me, and I narrowed my eyes.
“Who are you reminding here, Gwennie? You, or me?”
Gwendolyn didn’t answer that. She pursed her lips
and turned away from me. Thanks to the towel turban holding her hair back, I could see that the tips of her ears were turning red. Her chest was flushing the same color. I wondered where else the blood in her body was rushing. I knew my own pulse had culminated in some very intimate places.
“Look,” I said, trying to sound more gentle than I was feeling, “we need to talk about this. We never discussed—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Gwendolyn put in, but I went on.
“—what happened before I joined the Royal Army. What happened between us.”
I remembered it well. And no matter how much Gwennie tried to hand wave it away, I knew she remembered, too. The way her eyes glazed over when I brought it up made me certain of that fact.