PLAYED - A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE (61 page)

STEPBROTHER
FIXATION

A BAD BOY STEPBROTHER
ROMANCE

“I can’t do this,” I told her. “I
can’t pretend like last night never happened. I need you, Madison, and not in
the way that a brother needs his stepsister.”

 
I began lifting up the hem, revealing the
creamy white tops of her thighs inch by inch until finally, I caught a glimpse
of her underwear. I pulled my cock out and nestled it against her crotch. I
felt my balls seize and I snarled in her ear. “I could blow my load right here,
Maddy. I could soak these panties before dinner, and your mother and my father
wouldn’t know a thing. You’d spend the whole night with my cum staining your
panties... That’s what you do to me. You make me want to do the nastiest
fucking things to you.”

Maddy shivered and looked up at
me with hooded eyes. “Preston… Jesus, we can’t. What we did last night was
wrong. I wanted it… We wanted it… But you know it can’t happen again.”

I pulled her
panties open, letting the tip of my dick violate the space between them and her
sweet, soaking wet lips. I thrust, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so
near to her, of feeling my bulging head slip around in her honeyed nectar. “It
has to,” I whispered. “Every time I look at you, all I want to do is get inside
you again.”

I was so
close. But Madison gently, yet firmly took me by the wrist. I could see lust in
her eyes, but there was something else too. Maybe it was self-restraint…

“We can’t,”
she repeated, and this time there was no “maybe” in her tone. I withdrew and
she let her fingers brush mine. “I’m sorry, Preston, but think of what could
happen if we got caught…”

I nodded. As
frustrated as I was, she made sense. But dammit, I didn’t want her to make
sense! All I wanted was to throw caution to the wind and bury myself in my
darling little stepsister.

She fixed
her skirt and helped tuck my cock back inside my pants, her hand lingering on
its straining girth longer than she needed to.

“Let’s hope
there’s wine tonight,” I said as her fingertips left me, her graceful body
moving around the car and sliding into the passenger seat.

“I think I’m
going to need it,” Maddy replied, trying to avoid my gaze as I sat down beside
her. We didn’t say another word as her hand found its way to my thigh, giving
me a reassuring squeeze.

A drink was
definitely going to be required. Maybe a little buzz would help me forget, but
as we drove, all I could do was try to ignore the heat radiating from her
fingertips. My mind drifted, traveling back to the day she ran into me on the
street with those big beautiful tears in her eyes… So perfect… So broken…

One month earlier…

“Madison
, lunch was
over two minutes ago.”

I
looked up from microwavable meal. It was a small plastic bowl of steamed rice
and veggies, but the shitty microwave in the break room had only heated things
up on one side, leaving me with broccoli stalks with freezer burn still
clinging to them.

My
gaze fixed on Miguel Herrera, the general manager of the small rental company I
worked for. He reminded me of a man who had once done greater things, but had
since been exiled to the dredges of monotony that corporate life entailed.
Maybe he’d been military, or maybe he’d once been a little higher up the food
chain where commands weren’t questioned and his iron fist ruled all. Either
way, it was painfully clear that a man like Miguel was never meant for a
company like ExecuSpace.

ExecuSpace
itself was an interesting animal. Instead of renting tangible things like cars,
homes, or office buildings, they rented out
virtual
office space. I sat behind a desk answering a multi-line phone system where
each line represented a different suite supposedly housed in the six-story
building I worked in. A prompt would pop up on my computer with each call,
reminding me to answer for “Lindsey’s Lawn Service” or “Jack Vogler, Esquire.”
Then I’d place the caller on hold and transfer them to the client’s voice
mailbox, their cell phone, or even their home phone where they
really
worked.

Basically,
ExecuSpace rented nothing at all—nothing but the illusion that their clients
were more important than they really were. It was brilliantly deceptive, and it
worked like a charm.

That
meant the phones were busy. That meant that sometimes I didn’t get to take a
lunch break, and when I did, running sixty seconds past the mark would earn me
a visit from Miguel’s dark, scowling face.

“You
left your desk at half past noon, didn’t you?” he asked, raising one of his
charcoal eyebrows. I shuffled the food in her bowl and nodded, taking another
bite.

“I
did, but I got stopped in the hall by Mr. Franklin, who wanted me to run back
to my desk and put a parcel into the outgoing mail. Then when I got back there,
Lacy got a phone call from her ex and ran outside to take it, so I had to wait
for her to get back before I could leave again. After that, Ms. Harris asked
for a physical list of the calls she’d received today, even though they’re all
logged on her voicemail, and ten minutes later I finally got to heat up my
lunch and sit down here.

“So,”
I continued, glancing up at the clock over my shoulder, “I’m not two minutes
late. I’m actually just sitting down to eat, so I’ve got about twenty-five
minutes left.”

Normally
I wouldn’t have spoken to Miguel—or anyone at ExecuSpace—that way. That was
because I desperately needed this job, or I’d be completely screwed in the way
of keeping a roof over my head. That meant putting up with grueling twelve- to
fourteen-hour shifts, even if I had to clock out at five p.m. like everybody
else, enduring the abuse of my colleagues and the incompetence of my supposed
assistant, and above all else, not stepping away from my desk unless I needed
to use the restroom or had some other emergency.

But
today was different. Today, after four long, arduous years without so much as a
pay bump or a pat on the back, I was not in the mood.

I
had bills to pay, and they were mounting quickly. I’d been hired in at a measly
ten dollars an hour and that hadn’t changed, even though my responsibilities
had. I was no longer the receptionist answering the phones, opening mail, and
sending off a few e-mails every day—not that my job had ever
only
entailed that, despite what they’d
told me during my interview. I was the personal assistant to pretty much
everyone on the floor, as well as the office manager for when nobody else
wanted to deal with the bullshit that sauntered up to the front desk every day.
I could—and had—run the entire operation by myself on many occasions. So why
was I still being treated and paid like Lacy, the girl with no education, no
computer skills, no ambition, and no desire to be here?

Lacy
also happened to be my “assistant,” but she was an awful lot like my burden.
She rarely lifted a finger to answer a call before I got to it and yet she
still had her job and half the office tripping over themselves to take care of
things for her. That usually involved passing her work off to me while she
skipped out on some obscure “errand” or spent an hour in Miguel’s office with
the door shut. She was young and pretty and she knew it, and I supposed that
was what got a woman ahead in this place more than anything else.

Miguel
appraised me, putting his hands on his waist in a way that spread apart his
blazer to reveal his paunchy belly. I made sure to tightly cinch my legs
together under the table, though the violet pencil skirt I was wearing hugged
my thighs enough that I was sure he could use his imagination as to what was
between them. I didn’t want him to do that, of course, but there was no
stopping Miguel Herrera when he decided he wanted something.

When
his gaze finally dragged back up to meet mine, I realized what he wanted was
for me to toss away my lunch and go back to my desk. I held his stare, trying
not to let my mouth twitch or my knee shake, trying not even to blink. I didn’t
want to make any move that might be perceived as a sign of weakness, because
today, after a shitty annual review and yet another thirteen-hour shift the day
before, I was taking my goddamn lunch break.

Eight hours. That’s what I get
paid for,
I reminded myself, a low heat rising in the pit of my empty stomach.
Lunch is supposed to be an hour. Lacy gets
an hour. So do Ross and Ben. Miguel himself takes as long as he likes. I’m
entitled to sit and eat once a day, thank you.

“Okay.
You just sit there, then, while there’s a crisis up front,” Miguel growled,
waving a hand dismissively in my direction. He looked utterly disgusted with
me. “I’m sure the rest of us can manage your job for you.”

I
ignored his tantrum. It wasn’t easy—I could feel my cheeks beginning to scald
and my throat tighten. “What sort of crisis?” I managed as I took in another
deliberate mouthful of rice. I tried not to wince as my tooth sunk into a shard
of carrot.

“One
of last month’s interviewees showed up,” he answered, and I could tell by the
tone in his voice exactly which one it was. “Again.”

I
finally looked away, heaving a sigh through my nose. Last month, Miguel had
wanted to hire a few more salespeople and had put out an open call on
Craigslist. We’d received hundreds of applications, and he and Ross, our
staffing manager, had decided on group interviews being the most efficient way
to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Unfortunately in their
enthusiasm, they’d made promises they couldn’t keep, and some of the
prospective hires had to be told they either weren’t good fits (mostly due to
some background check revelations) or that there simply wasn’t enough room for
them on the team.

Except
that Ross refused to tell them that. He just dodged their calls, allowing each
and every one to go to his voicemail and directing me to say he wasn’t in the
office. Miguel had declared the matter was “beneath him” and that Ross would
just have to deal with it.

But
when Ross didn’t deal with it, it suddenly became my problem. Suddenly I had to
let someone down regarding a decision I hadn’t even been a part of. Suddenly I
had to bear the brunt of their anger and frustration. Me, the woman who was
constantly reminded that she was “only” an administrative assistant and
not
a manager.

“Isn’t
Ross around?” I asked, though I was sure I already knew the answer.

“He’s
at lunch. And you
are
our front desk
girl, so this seems like it falls under your purview.”

I
narrowed my eyes. “You know what he’s here about, don’t you? It’s been a month,
and Ross hasn’t returned his calls. He’s probably furious.”

Miguel
shrugged. “Part of your job, Madison, is to handle customer service issues. If
you can’t hack it, well, then…”

He
trailed off as he always did. He never actually said he’d fired me or that I
should look for some other job, but the threat was always there hanging in the
silence. He knew it. I knew it. But he didn’t have the guts to utter the words
out loud. He was
that
type of
asshole, the one who did everything in his power not to do his own dirty work,
not to seem like the dick that he really was. If I went to HR to complain now
and said, “He made me feel as though my job was in jeopardy,” Miguel could come
right back and say, “I never said that.” And it would be true. The bastard sure
knew how to wiggle.

“I’m
entitled to a lunch break,” I reminded him, but I knew I was losing the fight.
There was no point, really. We both knew he wasn’t going to make Lacy take care
of it. When it came to reminding people about the nature of their job, I was
the sole target.

“Like
I said, you’re two minutes over.” Miguel’s gaze flicked to the clock. “Five,
now. You’d better get back to your desk and take care of this before it becomes
a payroll issue.”

I
slammed my plastic fork down onto my tray and stood, making sure to scrape my
chair all the way back across the floor. I tossed the tray hard into the
garbage can, maybe too hard, because as I passed Miguel he stepped directly in
my way.

“And
stow the attitude,” he said, a smugness lifting the corners of his lips.

I
stared at him for a moment, and in that time, something just… snapped. I was
sure this was a bad idea. I was almost certain I would lose my job. But in that
one exhausted, frustrated, hungry moment, I lost my temper and brushed past
him, thumping my shoulder into his as I careened down the main hall.

“Hey!”
he called after me. I could hear and feel his footsteps pounding the carpet
behind me. “Madison! Don’t you
dare
walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

I
ignored him, continuing on my path. As I passed Ross’ office, I could hear the
soft sound of his Pandora station and see a light on from under the door. I
tried the handle. It was locked.

“Ross!”
I said, banging hard enough for one of our clients to poke his head out further
down the hall. “Ross, you have Mr. Davies here to see you!”

“I’m
not in,” he said. I could practically taste the cowardice in his tone.

“You’re
a manager,” I said, for once reminding my so-called betters of their positions
rather than the other way around. “And you’ve been ignoring his calls for a
month. Just come out and tell him he hasn’t been hired. It’s not that big a
deal!”

Ross
didn’t answer, and by now, Miguel was catching up. I shook my head, snorted,
and strode toward the front desk again. Even in heels, I was quicker than
Miguel’s fat ass.

“Maddy,”
Lacy said as I came into view around the corner. She was texting while Mr.
Davies sat in one of the reception area chairs. She brushed a dark lock of hair
from her face and tried to pretend like I hadn’t just caught her slacking off
once again at work. “Mr. Davies is here for…”

“For
Mr. Culling,” I finished, smiling at Mr. Davies. That smile felt wrong and
wild, but the momentum of my anger was thrusting me forward now. I couldn’t
stop. “I’m Madison Hearst. We’ve spoken on the phone.” I extended my hand for
his.

Mr.
Davies stood up and hesitated a moment. My eyes fell to his left hand, the one
that was shriveled and tucked against his side. Some kind of accident, I’d been
told. But I didn’t need that one. I only needed his right.