RICHARD (A BAD BOY ROMANCE) (56 page)

Once we were hidden from our
drivers’ prying eyes, Ms. Atmore undid her seatbelt and got down onto her knees
in front of me, her eyes cast up through those long lashes as her hands began
to rove over my thighs, her nails raking over my slacks.

“You haven’t been quite the man they
told me you were,” she said, her hand sliding along my inner thigh and up to
the bulge of my cock. “You’re so distant… almost like I haven’t been forward
enough to keep you entertained.”

Her fingers tugged at my zipper,
biting on her lip as she waited to see if I would resist. As much as I wanted
to tell her no, I also knew that I had to try and make this date work. If we
had a little more adult
fun
then perhaps I’d be a
little less stressed about what my stepsister was doing at that moment.

Patricia slowly pulled my zipper all
the way down until my fly fell open, revealing my silk boxer shorts underneath.
Once again her hands greedily explored this newly revealed territory, eager to
discover if the rumors that had undoubtedly surfaced about me had all been
true.

“Good lord,” she gasped as I felt
her slide my cock from the confines of my underwear, her hand wrapped around
its lengthening shaft as she marveled at the cold steel piercing its head. “I
didn’t think you actually had it.”

“There it is,” I said, trying to
sound at least somewhat flirtatious as she ogled my dick. “In all its glory.”

“Oh, glorious is certainly a word
for it,
you
naughty boy,” Patricia giggled, chewing
nervously on her lip. “Never been with a man with his cock pierced like that…
should be loads of fun.”

Her hand began to slowly work me
from the tip all the way down to my base, her eyes locked on mine as she began
to jack me off. I was surprised at how skilled she was, my cock hardening like
a rock in her hand. But despite all of that I still didn’t feel right.
Something was wrong.

Whenever I looked down at Patricia I
wished that it was someone else—someone I had wanted ever since that night
together in that pantry. When I looked into this woman’s eyes I kept trying to
picture my Gwendolyn there between my legs, her eyes locked ravenously onto my
throbbing member in preparation to slide it all the way back into her throat.
But try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the fact that it wasn’t her. It wasn’t my
Gwennie
.

“I’m sorry,” I said, putting my hand
over hers to halt her expert ministrations. “I don’t think that I can do this,
Patricia.”

For a long while she stared at me,
her mouth agape in what could either have been shock or preparation to suck me
off. Either way she did not at all seem particularly thrilled that I’d just
refused her attention.

“Are you really telling me no?” she
asked, her eyebrows rising in a mixture of incredulity and annoyance. “How in
the world does a bloke get his cock played with and then just up and tell a
girl no right when she’d about to suck him dry?”

“I just don’t think that this is the
right thing to do,” I tried to explain as she—thankfully—released my cock from
her tight grip. “You seem like a wonderful woman, and I had a fantastic time at
dinner. But I think this is moving a bit fast.”

“Right,” she said, rolling her eyes
as she sat herself on the seat opposite mine. “Unbelievable.”

I almost felt bad that I’d refused
her, either that or I was ashamed of how soft I’d become since I’d been away. I
could hardly believe that I was refusing to get a blowjob just because of
one
girl. It was ridiculous. Unheard of!
Tristan Wolfe hung up on some girl that he’d
almost
fucked?

But she wasn’t just “some girl.” She
was Gwen, the one girl who’d told me no in my entire life. The one girl who
wanted her time with me to be special, instead of all the other women who were
in it for a good time—to say they’d been done by the son of a royal duke. Gwen
valued what it would have been to have slept with me for more than just my name
or who my father was. Gwen had wanted
me
.
And I wanted her… at least I did now.

“I’d like to go home,” Patricia
said, her tone icy. “I believe that’s more than enough reason to call it a
night, I think.”

“Yes, you’re right,” I said, wishing
I had less awkward way of saying I was sorry. Patricia could have been the
perfect match for me that no longer existed, the Tristan that loved dirty sex
with women I hardly knew. But that Tristan died back in Afghanistan. “I really
do apologize.”

“Fuck off,” she spat as I rolled
down the privacy screen to address the driver.

“Ms. Atmore would like to go home,”
I said, heaving a sigh as I turned my gaze toward the window, letting my mind
drift away with thoughts of my stepsister as Patricia fumed on the other side
of the limo. I wasn’t sure how badly I had messed this up, but I knew more than
anything else that by the time Gwen had heard about what had happened tonight
she would be
royally
pissed.

Chapter 7

It was another late night for me,
but not because of work. Ever since Tristan had come into my office, I was not
in the best of moods, and since tonight was his first date with the lovely
Patricia, I was sitting up fretting about just how much the two of them were
going to kick it off. My continued correspondence with the young woman had me
absolutely sure that the two of them were going to hit things off splendidly,
which only made me feel worse.

I tried so hard not to think about
what they might be doing there in that restaurant, or in the limo I’d arranged
afterward. I wanted their first date to go perfectly. I wanted to make a solid
impression for my stepbrother. Patricia was perfect for him, and I was
determined to make sure the two of them ended up together. The faster that this
was all over the better off I’d be in the long term, especially in terms of my
own mental health. This entire business with Tristan was sure to drive me mad
the longer it dragged on.

It’ll
all be better once he’s married and you won’t have to worry about him inserting
himself into your life.

But it wasn’t my
life
I wanted him inserting himself
into.

I sighed heavily and took another
long drink from my wine glass. I knew I’d been far too heavy on the drinking of
late, but with everything that was going on I wasn’t sure I could handle it
sober. There was too much for me to handle, too much that I had to juggle on an
emotional level. Checking myself out for a while until it all blew over just
seemed like the right thing to do. Once Tristan and Patricia were off on
whatever exotic vacation he would most certainly plan once they’d decided to
bed one another, I could take comfort in the fact that I would not be tempted
again by my stepbrother’s sumptuous body again. Even I knew that once he was
married my mind would never dare risk that. Even I had standards.

I closed my eyes, basking in the
warmth that the wine brought to my body as I sank deeper into my comfortable
couch as the soft sounds of one of the many renditions of Beethoven danced
through the air of my apartment. It was nearly midnight, and I’d heard not one
peep from either Tristan or Patricia on their date, something I was hoping was
a positive omen. If they weren’t calling me then it meant that the two of them
were hopefully enjoying one another's company—perhaps even intimately.

I hated that I was hoping for my
stepbrother to bed another woman. It brought a sour taste to my mouth and I
wanted to scream, but held in my distress like a lady should. I could weather
this, just as I had weathered storms like it before. I knew that even though
Tristan was what I desired, it was not what was best—we always want what we can
never have.

It wasn’t until the clock struck
twelve that I heard my phone begin to buzz, slowly moving itself across the
black wooden surface of my coffee table. My stomach tightened as I recognized
Patricia’s number emblazoned across my screen. Had something gone wrong? Was
everything okay?

I felt as though I’d been frozen as
I watched the cell phone buzz in its demand for my attention. I swallowed hard
and reached out against the will of my fears and put the device to my ear,
bracing myself for what might come from the other line. Despite my fears, I
hoped that it was good news.

“Patricia, hello,” I said, my voice
tense. “Is everything alright?”

“It very well is not,” she shrieked
over the receiver. I jerked the phone away from my ear. “Do you know what that
man did to me?”

My eyes widened.
Oh, God…

“I—I have no idea, Patricia. Tell
me, very calmly—”

“I won’t be calm about this!” she
cried, her anger and her tone rising the more she spoke. “That
bastard
dumped me out of the damn limo
on my doorstep! And right after I offered to nosh him off! You set me up with a
right ungrateful prick, you did!”

I could feel heat blooming in my
cheeks at the very thought of the two of them in the back of the limo, her lips
wrapped around Tristan’s considerable member. I swallowed, trying to push the
image out form the forefront of my mind as I focused on the present. Why in the
world would he do something so
stupid?

“I’m
so
sorry, Patricia,” I said, trying to compose myself the best I
could, trying to push through the haze that the wine had thrown over my mind.
“If there’s anything that I can do—”

“Just make sure the next bloke you
throw at me appreciates when a woman gives his bell end a little attention,
yeah?”

“I… of course. I’ll make sure to
keep that in mind when I find you a new match.”

“Be damn sure you do,” she said.
“And ‘ta
very
much for the shite
evening.”

The phone beeped to indicate that
the call was over, though it was more than a full minute before I took the
phone away from my ear. I began to question the very fabric of existence as I
wrapped my head around the fact that Tristan, my absolute sex-fiend of a
stepbrother, had refused to allow a woman to go down on him. Something didn’t
seem right, there was no way that he’d ever have passed up that kind of an
opportunity to be serviced by a gorgeous woman he’d likely just spent the whole
night flirting with over oysters and champagne.

I needed answers.

I furiously pressed my thumbs
against the screen of my phone, tapping in my brother’s number before
practically smashing the call button as hard as I could. I was enraged, utterly
boiling that somehow Tristan had managed to cock up a perfectly simple first
date. So what if he had his knob handled for a moment? Wasn’t that part of what
he was looking for in a damn wife?

The phone began to ring as I sat up,
unsure of what to do with myself as I waited for that bastard to answer. He
must have known by now that Patricia had called me, had told me how he’d
somehow screwed his chances with her. I was so angry that I could almost see
the steam wafting from my ears. He only had
one
job, and that was to enjoy a beautiful woman’s company so that
maybe
they could stand one another for
the rest of their bloody lives!

“Hello?” came Tristan’s lazy voice
from over the phone. How could he sound so calm after what he’d just done?

“
You
stupid
twat,” I snarled. “How in the world could you screw this up so damn quickly?
She was a perfect match for you!”

“You’re mad at me,” he said,
matter-of-factly. I wanted to scream over at him, I wanted to yell at the top
of my lungs what a stupid mistake he’d made by messing up one of the simplest
parts of my job.

“You’re damn right I am!” I said,
standing up from the couch quickly as I began to pace around my living room. I
felt like if I didn’t do something to burn off some energy I might explode.
“She’s furious, Tristan! I thought you
loved
doing kinky shit with women in the backs of limos! At least that’s what the
tabloids all said!”

“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.