Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
What is it?
The thought of not just having Natalie, but having Drake as well.
That's right.
I want to fuck my stepsister. And my stepdad. At the same fucking time.
It's sick.
It's fucking wrong.
It's forbidden on so many levels.
This is the kind of shit the Romans used to do. That had priests and scholars fear that the sun was going to fall out of the sky.
It's like the demon of lust has nested in my soul. Corrupted me with wicked fucking thoughts.
Don't roll your eyes at me, okay? That's entirely what it feels like.
"I have Drake Carlton here to see you, Sloane," Cheryl's voice comes out across the intercom.
What the fuck? Speak of the fucking devil.
"Excuse me?" I answer back, my voice barely a croak.
I can hear her pick up the phone at her desk as well.
"Drake is waiting at reception. I just got the call," she says to me over the phone. "What should I do?"
I pause for a long moment.
Two weeks ago, I would've told Cheryl to send him the fuck back. I would have nothing to fucking say to that man.
But that was then.
Things are a lot different now.
"Send him in," I say into the intercom and then hang up.
What could Drake want? It must be something important. Important enough for him to come up to Midtown all the way from Wall Street.
The door to my office opens and Drake Carlton walks in.
He looks at me, as if he's walking into the lair of an enemy.
But that look fades just as quickly as I see it. And come on, I think I need to cut him some slack on that one. What happened between us two days ago has probably changed things for him too.
"I've never seen your new office," Drake says, by way of greeting. "The view is definitely nicer than what I have downtown," he finishes.
Drake walks to the window and looks out.
I know he didn't come here to look at the view, but I'm also not a fucking caveman, okay? I have some tact.
No, instead of saying anything as fucking trite as 'Well, you came all this way for the view' or some bullshit like that, I stay silent.
Instead, as a sign of giving him a chance, I get up from my chair and walk around my desk.
There. We're on a bit more even footing now.
I head next to Drake and stand next to him at the window.
We're just looking down on the streets of Midtown, right? So why the fuck is my cock twitching?
Do I want to fuck Drake right here?
I mean don't get me wrong. I'm not gay. I think I proved that to you pretty conclusively the other day with Natalie.
But just because I'm not gay doesn't mean that I can't appreciate man meat.
And if I have to be honest, I'll be the first to admit to you that Drake Carlton is a remarkable specimen of man. He has a great fucking body. He's got the confidence of--
"I want to talk to you about two days ago," Drake says, turning to me and not wasting any more words. "You know I didn't come all the way up here to look down at the view with you. But I appreciate that you didn't rush me, Sloane," Drake says.
I decide to just stare at him and let him continue.
"We've had our differences, you and I," Drake says. "But what happened the other day has taken this to a whole different level."
Well, that's the understatement of the fucking century.
I sigh, and gesture toward the sofa next to the window. Drake nods and sits down. I sit on the leather chair across from the sofa.
"We've been at each other's throats for a long time, Drake," I say to him, and he nods. "I think I'm a fucking venture capitalist because I hated you."
"There's a lot of anger to go around, Sloane," Drake says to me. "I made my share of mistakes."
And that's when it fucking hits me.
You know how sometimes you're just sitting there or talking to someone and they say or do something and it's a stupid insignificant thing, but it sort of puts everything into fucking perspective?
Scientists and behavioral psychologists call it an epiphany.
I call it an 'oh shit' moment.
And that's just what Drake has done to me right now.
See, he made mistakes. He just admitted he made mistakes.
"Drake," I say slowly. He looks at me. "You made a lot of mistakes."
Drake nods his head. He doesn't grimace, but he's quiet.
"I want you to know, I loved Meredith," he says to me. "I loved your mother with all my fucking heart."
I don't say anything.
"After she died, I don't know what happened, but I should've never married Linda," he says to me. "I know you didn't approve, but I didn't care."
It's not that I didn't approve.
Fuck.
Could it be that I didn't want to share?