Cindersmellya

She said it loud enough, and let me tell you, it turned some fucking heads at the bank.

Now here I am, looking at this new woman standing in front of me. I'm eyeing her up and down. She's young. I'm guessing early 20s. Her face has delicate features … wait, this can't be. "Natalie?"

"Bingo."

"What brings you here?"

Now my head's really fucking spinning. I haven't seen her since ...

"I heard about your new acquisition, and wanted to say congratulations. It's all over the news."

"You came all the way over here just to say that? Isn't it easier to send an email?" I grin.

Not that I'm complaining that she's here, but it's a legitimate question.

"Email is so … yesterday," she smiles. Seems like she's full of secrets too. God, she looks just like her mother. "Besides, it's been a few years," she continues.

That's a conservative estimate. It feels like a lifetime ago. Almost another life completely.

"How have you been, and your stepbrother, Sloane?"

"You can drop the forced niceties. You and Sloane were never close … none of us were. Even Mom divorced you quicker than any of us predicted. We were never much of a family."

"That's harsh."

"It's the truth and you know it. But if you must know, Sloane hasn't changed, scandalous as always."

I laugh and ask, "How old are you now … 24?" I can't help but notice how much more mature she looks now. She's not the kid—braces and unruly hair—that I remember. She's a woman, a young, beautiful

woman. Holy fuck.

"Close," she replies. "25. A stepdad should know these things."

"You look good," I say, ignoring the dig.

"Not as good as Ms. Legs over there, right?" she laughs, changing the subject and pointing back to Eric and the girl he's trying fuck tonight.

I start to shake my head, but she continues, "Oh come on. Don't be shy. I saw you staring."

"I'm many things, but shy isn't one of them," I say, for what I realize is the second time tonight. I bring my drink to my lips and take a sip, letting the warmth simmer in my throat. My eyes lock on hers.

She holds my gaze, changing the atmosphere around us. "Is that so?" she asks.

Her words are posed as a question, but they tumble from her lips like a dare. I'm instantly made aware of the shape of her slender neck, and her pulse fluttering there. I'm aware of her intoxicating smell—like a ripe garden on the edge of a salty ocean. I'm aware of her lips, plump and moist, and slightly parted.

I clear my throat.

"Ms. Legs has nothing on you," I say, daring her back, my eyes traveling from her bare shoulders down to the mounds of her tits, and I think about sliding my cock between that dark and secret crevice of hers. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this, but I can't help it. There's electricity in the air—something that makes me feel protective and possessive at the same time. My cock is throbbing. It has its own fucking pulse at this point.

Can she guess what I'm thinking? She takes a step closer, an instant magnetism drawing us together. I try to change the subject. She's my fucking stepdaughter, I try to reason with myself.

"So, what do you do these days?" I ask.

"I make sex toys."

I nearly choke on my drink. What did she just say? So much for changing the subject.

"Don't look so surprised," she coos. "I've always liked … sex," she says this with a slow emphasis, staring directly into my eyes, "and these toys take it to a whole new level."