RICHARD (A BAD BOY ROMANCE) (57 page)

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.”

“
Step
sister,”
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.

Absently, she touched her lips, as
if she could still feel the way my breath had been upon them in that cramped,
hot pantry. Dear Lord, I’d wanted to devour her in there, hold up her tiny body
against the shelves and just dive face-first into her virgin cunt. Maybe if
we’d had a few moments more, that’s exactly what I would have done. I’d been a
stupid boy back then, though, and I’d strutted out of there before she could
give in, certain she’d follow me. I’d underestimated how stubborn my
Gwennie
could be. It seemed she’d only grown more obstinate
with age.

My
Gwennie
.
Shit, did I really think of her that way? Or could I chalk it up to an errant
imagining, one I wasn’t totally responsible for? I knew which one I’d like to
do, but what would be the truth? It’s easier to lie to yourself if you can at
least
suss
that out.

“That was a long time ago,” she
said, though the way she stared at me I could have sworn we were right back
there, the both of us so ready to take one another that we could taste it. I
could still recall the way she felt against my lips, how her skin had turned to
goose flesh beneath my soft and caressing touches. “We were still kids.”

“Like hell we were,” I said, shaking
my head as I recalled just how
adult
the two of us had felt back in that pantry. I could tell by the way
Gwennie’s
body fit against me that we had been by no means
children. “We were most certain not behaving like any children I’d ever met…
though I always did love playing doctor.”

“You’re such a bastard,” Gwendolyn
spat, though the look on her face told me that she immediately regretted it. It
was cute how much she cared for my feelings, cared about how I felt about my
place in the world. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—”

“I know what I am, Gwen,” I said,
leaning against the door of her refrigerator. “I’m not ashamed it, not like my
father is. I’ve been told so many times that the word has lost all meaning to
me.”

“Still, I was insensitive,” she
tried to reason. “I shouldn’t have called you that.”

“And just how do you plan to make it
up to me?” I asked, smiling down at her as I took a step closer. Our young
bodies pressed together. I summoned the memory of her hand down my pants,
holding on to my pierced cock. I could almost feel the sensation—her firm, but
timid grip.

“You always know how to turn
something innocent into some disgusting innuendo,” she said, shaking her head,
though I spotted her lips turning up at the corners and knew that she was
enjoying herself.

“It’s a special talent of mine,
actually,” I laughed, drawing nearer to her once again. “One of many that I’ve
already offered to show you.”

Her face flushed with color, turning
it away to hide what I knew was a smile from me. Though as I pressed my body
against hers, it was a gasp that escaped her lips, short and high-pitched like
a mouse. I adored that gasp more than she could understand. It brought back all
the memories I had of my playful, lusty games that all led up to that night.

“That offer’s still open,” I
whispered into her ear. “The one I made to you all those years ago. All you
have to do is take it.”

“We can’t,” she whimpered. God, we
really were replaying that night, weren’t we?

Only this time, I wasn’t going to
make the same mistake. I wasn’t going to let her use our reputations as an
excuse. I wasn’t going to take “we can’t” for an answer—not when everything she
did, from the way she looked at me to the way her body sang in my arms, told me
she wanted to. That we
could.

Hell, that we
ought to.

“Come on,
Gwennie
.
We’re alone. No one’s going to see. Your mum isn’t going to walk in at any
moment and ruin the fun, and she never has to know. Nor does my father. We’re
not teenagers anymore.”

“I thought you said we were adults
back then, Tristan,” Gwendolyn murmured, squirming as I slid my prick up
against her, forcing her to understand the weight of what she did to me. Her
body grinding against it, however involuntarily, wrested a low groan from my
throat.

“We were. Just inexperienced ones.
Even me.” I chuckled, thinking of how I’d been convinced I was some kind of Don
Juan who knew everything there was to know about sex and women. Growing up a
bit had taught me I was wrong, that I had so much to learn. And I’d been a good
student. Now it was time for me to ace the ultimate test: bedding my stepsister
once and for all.

“Are you still a virgin?” I asked
her.

Gwendolyn flushed so red I was sure
she’d say yes. But she surprised me. “N-not exactly…”

I grinned. “No need to be
embarrassed, love. That just means I don’t have to take it slow.”

I reached over, giving her plenty of
time to stop me. But she didn’t, and so I pulled away the neckline of her robe,
exposing the tops of her incredible tits.

She sucked in a breath, making them
jump. “Tristan… what are you doing?”

I pushed the fabric down over her
shoulders. Still, she didn’t stop me. Her breasts shuddered. Her flesh pricked
with
goosebumps
. “Tristan, I… We’ve been over this
before… What if someone hears? Or sees?”

It was an excuse. A stupid, flimsy
excuse. She didn’t mean it. I could tell.

I undid the belt on her robe. Then I
pushed it away, down onto the floor. Gwendolyn was naked in front of me except
for that silly towel turban in her hair, and I yanked it away, letting her red
locks spill over her neck and shoulders.

Before she could say my name again I
kissed her, covering her mouth with mine, engulfing it, consuming it. I drew
her against me, against the hardness straining against my slacks. When she
moaned, I knew what I had to do.