Wicked Steps (8 page)

“Your pussy feels hot. It’s pulsating. I can feel the tempo under my fingers.”

Suddenly, he latched onto my one hand and forced it into his lap. God, he felt rock solid. I’d never in my life felt any man that stiff. He slid my hand over his erection, pressing my fingers into his cock. I closed my eyes as I felt wetness dampen my thong. I was shaking, but a natural instinct took over as I gently squeezed him.

“Jesus H. Christ, if you don’t stop, I’ll drag your ass into the ladies’ room and bend you over the marble sink and fuck you until sunrise.” He pushed my hand away. “You’re going to take very little effort. I was hoping for more opposition.”

I pulled myself mentally together and tossed my napkin onto my unfinished dinner. “Just because I cupped your dick in the heat of the moment doesn’t mean I’ll be easy.” I stood and grabbed my purse. “I’ll let you get the check since you’re holding my money for ransom.”

My legs could hardly support me as I turned to leave.

What the hell did I just do?
I just gave him license. He thinks I want him. And regardless of which parts of my body desire him, I cannot succumb. I have specific plans.
I had a set course. I knew what I wanted and where I was going. And I wasn’t about to let a twenty-four-year-old with a hard-on and daddy issues derail everything.

So he planned for us to cohabitate. A month, he said. I certainly could hold out for thirty days. I was a grown-ass woman. If I could tolerate marriage with Hartman for five years, I could survive a month with his son. Somehow, I’d come up with viable reason I wouldn’t be taking care of business for four weeks in case Kieran decided to chain me to a wall. I wouldn’t put it past him. He threatened me. He claimed to
know
me. He didn’t know shit. He was just a little brat pretending to be a man. He wanted everything his father had, all the fucking toys.

I had tolerated enough abuse—verbal, emotional, and physical—at the hands of a Wick. I was tired of cowering. We all had a past. Not everyone had a perfect life. We all had our crosses to bear. I had to live with the knowledge of what I allowed Hartman to do, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

I got home an hour later and undressed. I sat on my bed and grabbed my cell, leaving a message for Preston. I told him to write up some kind of agreement since he knew what Kieran wanted and have it sent to my home in the morning. I wanted to have our arrangement documented regardless of its unsavory nature.

I wondered why no one in Hartman’s circle of friends had ever brought up his son and obvious twenty-year marriage. It was frightening to realize I hadn’t been the only one held under his thumb.

What would happen if word got out that his son had returned and was living in the mansion with me? At this point, I wasn’t sure what was worse. Having it known that this young man was Kieran Wick or the artist Wicked? Both could equally destroy my reputation. We were years apart; people would talk. The rumors would find their way to Coco. I needed to confess before that happened.

I made a deal with myself that I would give this “situation” with him one week. Maybe he would change his mind. Maybe I could alter it. But deep inside, I knew he’d already had the mindset to judge me before we even met. He knew I wasn’t responsible for his pain, but he wanted me to pay anyway. Was he punishing me for being with his father? I could enlighten him about my own personal hell of the last five years. But I didn’t see that changing his mind. He would always think I deserved it—and maybe I did. He was uncompromising in anything or anyone that had to do with his father.

Preston had told me about his past, but there was much more to it. I knew now that tale was just the crux of those years. The actual story involved much more. I began to speculate whether I had the ability to make him see me as someone else, instead of his father’s whore, or if I would have to take it all the way.

He frightened me. He had the charm and ability to bring desires to the surface. But he also caused me alarm because I was scared my hunger for him would lead me down a path of pain rather than pleasure, both emotionally and physically.

Kieran

I woke with a smile on my face. It had been a long time since I’d felt any kind of anticipation. I whistled as I began to dress. I was moving in with my stepmother today. I laughed. Out loud.

Last night in the restaurant, I was so rigid it took the patience of Job to get me through the meal. She’d dressed in black pants and a blue shirt that made her eyes pop with the color of rich cerulean. She wore a jacket to keep her sophistication in check, but my stare went right to the parts that interested me most. Her pussy and tits.

It amused me that she thought I would succumb and change my mind. I’d waited years for that old man to die just so I could destroy everything he had. My thoughts twisted when I imagined her with him. Visions of her sucking his cock and him taking her pussy agitated me. Goddamn him. As if I didn’t curse him enough before, I wanted to devastate everything he ever owned and devour everything he’d touched. Starting with her.

In the beginning, all I wanted was payback, and now what I desired was fucking with her. I’d planned on this venture being arduous, but after last night, I knew she would be compliant. The moment I palmed her sex, any doubts I might have had were forgotten. So hot and throbbing with need—it made me question whether fucking Ellery was actually going to be revenge. When I forced her small hand on my cock, I began to fantasize. I’d wanted her before, but this was now something beyond. It pissed me off. Was this how she’d conned my father? Had she teased and tempted her way into his empire, into his bed? It wasn’t going to be that simple with me.

Every part of me wanted to be so deep inside her I’d touch every nerve. She already hungered for me. She could deny it, but her reactions to my touch said otherwise. When I had my fill, I’d discard her. Then I’d hand down my verdict about her treasured gallery. I was leaning toward no. Truthfully, nothing she could do or say would change my mind. Once my sexual needs were met, she would be disposable.

I truly was a despicable man; I personally didn’t mind the label. But what did kill me was the knowledge that my mother would be appalled at my behavior, and my old man, well, he would see potential and be proud.

Ellery

The prick’s luggage arrived before ten. Good God, he said a month. It looked as though his entire life were in suitcases. He had more belongings than I did. Smug, arrogant jerk. I watched as four large trunks and an assortment of bags were dropped off in my foyer. Then easels were brought in, three of them. Now that interested me. I wondered what “Wicked” would be painting. I trembled remembering his cock piece. My mind ran rampant contemplating the next subject matter.

Ugh! I really didn’t like that man. My body might have lusted after him, but personally, he came across as a tool. Much too cocky and sure of himself. I would have to bend to his will or figure out a way to make him flee from the house in terror.

I chuckled. None of this was funny, but I had to try to amuse myself. My livelihood depended upon it. I believed Kieran relished the fact that he had some kind of power over me. Even if it were true, I wasn’t sure I could relinquish that control and give in to him. He’d boasted how he wanted to fuck me in his father’s bed. Well, that would be interesting. I wondered if I should move his belongings into Hartman’s old room.

He’d spent the last year of his life in a downstairs guest room, using a hospital bed. He was still capable of making my life a living hell and demanding much from me. But he couldn’t make it up the stairs. It was my only escape—blissful solitude in what used to be our shared master bedroom. Once Hartman was in his own room downstairs, I refurbished the entire suite. I bought all new furniture and had decorators redo the wallpaper. What was once a dark and masculine area was now light, with a feminine floral motif.

I decided to have Kieran’s belongings moved to his father’s room. I tossed clean sheets on the bare carved walnut four-poster that replaced the hospital bed and put towels in the bathroom. My work was complete.

The room had an adjacent office, which he could use for a temporary studio. The optimum word being temporary.

After his possessions were dealt with, I went into the kitchen to make coffee. Hartman had gotten rid of all the help months ago. I since had rehired our old housekeeper Melga, having her come twice a week. The mansion was too spacious for me to maintain. If he wanted this house, he could take it. I planned to sell it anyway. One of my goals had been to purchase a smaller-sized loft in Soho, closer to Salacity.

Once the coffee finished brewing, I poured myself a jumbo mug. I had a feeling once the antichrist arrived, I’d need it.

And just like that, he was there, waltzing in as if he already owned the place. “Have some for me?”

My eyes observed him as I set down my mug. Snug jeans paired with loafers and a short-sleeved T-shirt. All his lavish tattoos splashed on both arms. The man’s hair was unkempt, as if he just rolled out of bed. He definitely appeared different from last night. Today, he was casual and relaxed. Every other time, I’d witnessed a rigid personality littered with constant sarcastic retorts.

His skin art interested me. I’d seen plenty of tattoos before, but these were unique. I wasn’t close enough to get a clear picture, but most of them seemed to be dark themed and none had color. I considered the possibility he might have more on other parts of his body.

My skin felt impossibly tight as I continued my surveillance. I was wearing spandex capris and a thin top, with only a sports bra underneath. I crossed my arms in front of my breasts to avert his eyes from noticing my erect nipples. His mocking gaze told me he already knew. I padded over to the thermostat and pretended to turn up the heat. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing everything about him screamed seduction.

“I suppose I’ll get it myself, then,” he said with a huff as he walked toward the coffeemaker.

“What, on top of everything, you expect me to serve you coffee, too? Will you be requesting an éclair with that, master?” I asked sarcastically.

He laughed. “Those never appealed to me, although I do enjoy crème filling.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“So I’ve been told. But at least tell the truth. Having me here excites you just a little bit. And while I don’t expect you to serve me, a better word would be service. I do expect that.” He took a sip of his coffee.

I felt my breath shudder as I took in his words. Every feature on this man was perfection. From his pristine pierced brow to that mouth. His lips were the kind women spent thousands to create with injections. Pouty and perfectly shaped, his mouth definitely made you consider carnal acts. He was sin waiting to happen. Unfortunately, that exquisite face and body were tarnished by the fact he wasn’t mute. He would undoubtedly be perfection if he never uttered a single word. Sinful and silent.

He unnerved me. Everything about him broadcasted,
Caution ahead!
And he was already beginning to unhinge me by encouraging sexual thoughts in my head. Maybe this didn’t have to be morally wrong. It was only sex. With my dead husband’s son. My stepson. Oh my God, the only valid reason I could come up with was the gallery. And regardless of that, it still made the entire ordeal unsavory. Even Coco would have issue with this. Not with me sleeping with Wicked the artist, per say, but Kieran my stepson. And doing it solely to save our business would horrify her. No matter how inhibited she was, she would find all of this reprehensible.

“So where am I sleeping?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.

“You made it clear you wanted to be in your father’s bed, so I put you in one of the downstairs guest rooms.” I choked back a snort. “Your father was too sick to climb the stairs, so he opted for his own room on the main floor. I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking. I had your easels and art supplies set up in the connected office. Enjoy. I’m off to Zumba class.”

I tossed my mug into the dishwasher and strolled toward the front door. “Please, rinse out your mug when you’re done and put it in the dishwasher. I’m not your maid,” I said as I grabbed my keys and purse. I could hear him cursing under his breath. It made me snicker quietly.

“Yes, Mom.”

Seriously, I cringed. I’d take the prick over my knee if I knew he wouldn’t get off on it. Vile asshole.