Hung: A Badboy Romance (4 page)

I ease back happily in my top of the range Aeron chair, up here on the twenty-fifth floor, in the private office of my very own company,
 
Get There Now
 
– Europe’s
 
premier
 
online travel agency, not to mention “one of the hottest start-ups of the last five years,” according to
 
Tech Insider
 
magazine. Just outside the impressive floor-to-ceiling tinted windows, past the black leather tips of my black Gucci loafers, I can see from St James’s park right the way to Buckingham Palace. The view is absolutely breathtaking, but even so I pull my eyes away from it to shoot a necessary glance at the screen of my computer, checking the time on the display of my iMac.

It’s 2pm, here in London, which means that Stacey will
 
definitely
 
have received that plane ticket by now.

Dad called, asking for a favor. No big deal, just to give someone an internship. It’s the kind of thing I’ve done before. But then he told me
 
who
 
it was for. Not just anyone. Stacey. My stepsister.

I haven’t thought about her in so long. I guess I’ve kind of spent the last ten years trying my hardest not to think about her, and what’s more I’ve barely seen her, either – maybe she’s been avoiding
 
me
 
over the years just as much as I’ve been avoiding her.

Even so, I’m not blind. It hasn’t escaped my notice that she’s developed into a beautiful woman, but I’ve stayed strong and tried not to think about her in that way. But damn, there’s just something about her that distracts me; and not just in the way that beautiful women usually distract me. There’s just something different about Stacey, and I know I need to remain focused.

But come on, Colt. It was so long ago. Don’t make such a big deal out of this
, I tell myself.
 
You’re a different person now
.

I mean, a part of me is wary. This whole thing could be a total disaster. Back when we were kids, she always seemed to be trying to find some fresh way to rat me out to my dad – to prove to him that I wasn’t quite the family golden boy he always thought I was. There was that time she found the bottle of whiskey I’d stashed for a camping trip and took it straight to my dad’s study to report me. And then of course there was the time she ended up hiding in my closet, that afternoon ...

Have I made a big mistake?

Is she just going to cramp my style all over again?

I mean, the last thing in the world that I need right now is my dad finding out about the reality of my life here in London – all the parties, all the women, all the not-so-squeaky-clean
 
fun
 
I’m having. Because I know that more than anything, what Dad wants is to see me settle down, to become a little more sensible, like him, to finally start growing up, and I’d hate it if Stacey snitched on me, reporting back to him how I really spent my time out here. Dad doesn’t need to know any more than he already does about my personal life ...

But then again, I can’t help but grin, as I think about all the
 
fun
 
I can have with her, too. Because there’s nothing I like more than teasing her ...

When she was young, oh man! She would get so mad her eyes would flash black with anger and her lip would curl in a snarl and she’d ...

But just then, my thoughts are interrupted by the insistent buzzing of my intercom.

“Yes?” I say, pushing the button and speaking into it, slightly annoyed.

“It’s just me, Mr Grayson,” comes the familiar voice of my PA, Angela, in reply. “I was hoping to run the travel arrangements for your guest past you if you had a moment ...”

“Come in,” I say with a sigh, pulling my feet off the desk and swinging around in my seat, just as Angela comes strutting into the office, closing the heavy double doors behind us, once again sealing us in total silence from the busy hum of the office just a few feet away.

I can tell she’s got a thing for me – always has, ever since her first day here, three years ago. The way those pretty blue eyes of hers dilate whenever they catch mine, the way the vein on her neck throbs ever so slightly, giving away the nervous drum of her heart, not to mention the points of her nipples, which always seem to be poking through her silk blouse whenever I’m in a five meter radius of her. Sure, she keeps things businesslike – a quality I expect from
 
all
my employees – but even so. I just
 
know
 
she wants me.

“I’ve booked Miss Richardson into the penthouse suite, just as you asked, and I’ve made sure to have a car and driver waiting for her at Heathrow ...” Angela informs me.

It’s at times like these when I feel glad that Stacey never took my dad’s surname. After all, I wouldn’t want to be accused of nepotism, now, would I?

“Very good, Angela,” I say with a slight nod, taking in her slim, toned figure, her perky breasts, her full glossy lips; feeling something begin to stir between my legs, too: that familiar ache, that familiar rush of blood, as my cock starts to swell and engorge, pressing almost painfully against the unforgivingly tight confines of my immaculately tailored suit pants.

“Will that be all, Mr Grayson?”

Ah, what the hell
, I think with a wry smile. Damn. Thinking about Stacey has got me all fired up, and I need some
 
release.

“Actually Angela?” I say, keeping my tone deadly serious, “there is
 
one more thing
 
you could take care of ...”

In one smooth motion, I push myself away from the desk, my legs spread wide apart, the clear bulge of my cock totally fucking visible now, straining against the inside leg of my pants like it’s about to tear the fabric at the seam. And as if there’s any doubt remaining about what I’m asking her to do, I reach down and ease my zipper open, slow and steady, uncovering the bulging white fabric of my underwear beneath.

I’m watching her face all the while I’m doing this: watching her eyes widening even further, watching her mouth falling open, watching the way she subtly moistens her lower lip with her tongue, unable to control the waves of lust that are playing across her features now, unable to control her nipples, which have stiffened into two pronounced points beneath the pale pink silk of her blouse, seemingly as rock hard as my cock.

Finally I ease myself free of my underwear, the flaming heat of my skin meeting the coolness of this air-conditioned office, the hard pulse of blood throbbing in my shaft as I stroke myself slowly, just once, from head to base, using my own generous precum as a lube.

She’s too overcome with desire to even speak.

She just lets out a breathy whimper as she falls to her knees, right there before me, her eyes fixed on my dick as if it were some kind of magnet, her hands reaching out to touch it almost beyond her own control.

I rock back in my chair, folding my hands behind my head, smiling as I let her do all the work.

I’ve not met a girl
 
yet
 
who could resist touching my cock the moment she set her eyes on it, not to mention the temptation to see if she could even fit it in her mouth. And what a surprise, Angela is no different ...

I let out a groan of pleasure as she wraps her glossy lips around the head of my cock, both her hands doing their best to stroke my mighty shaft at the same time.

I can hear her groaning too, softly, as she tries to fit even more of me in her pretty little mouth, her tongue coquettishly teasing the underside of my bulging head as one of her hands moves to my large, swollen balls, kneading them gently in her fingers as if they were some kind of executive stress toy, while she continues to suck me, desperate for my cum.

And who am I to deny the young lady what she wants?

Now don’t misunderstand me; I could hold off
 
all week
 
if I wanted to, but right now, all I want is a quick release.

I reach down, wrapping her thick blonde hair in a tight fist, winding it roughly around my fingers until I have her head gripped firm and tight between my spread legs. Then, with a shudder and a grunt, I let myself unload into her mouth. From the way her eyes widen, I can tell this load must be
 
way
 
bigger than whatever she’s used to. But like a good little slut, she gulps it all back.

Finally I push her off me, zipping myself back into my pants while she stands and rearranges her skirt, which has ridden up around her thighs, giving me a flash of her bright pink panties which are no doubt soaking wet.

She dabs her mouth with the back of her hand, then turns to look at me once more, her face flushed, her hair messy, her eyes still glazed with lust.

“Will
 
that
 
be all, Mr Grayson?” she says, her voice trembling a little, her lips still glistening with my come.

“There’s one more thing,” I reply coldly. “You’re fired.”

It’s like a fairytale. I wake up and for a moment this just doesn’t feel like
 
my
life. It’s as if I switched places in the night with a movie star, or a model, or at the very least someone insanely rich. Because right now I’m lying here in
 
the
biggest most comfortable bed in the whole world, wrapped in the softest Egyptian cotton sheets imaginable, in the hugest, most tastefully designed penthouse suite, right in the middle of London – a million miles away from my old life, my crappy job, and my even more crappy apartment back home.

Maybe Mom was right after all
, I think as I stretch out and sigh a happy contented sigh.
 
Maybe this isn’t as bad as I was imagining ...

But just then the antique phone on the bedside table chirps into life with a shrill deafening ring, only feet from my head, shattering the blissful mid-morning silence.

“Hello?” I mumble into the receiver, still kind of blurry eyed and half-asleep. I don’t
 
remember
 
asking reception for a wakeup call when I got here late last night, but I guess I was still a little groggy and jet-lagged ...

But this isn’t reception calling.

“Where the hell
 
are
 
you, Stacey?” growls a familiar voice.

Colt.

“And good morning to you, too,” I shoot back. “Since you’re asking, yes, I had a
 
wonderful
 
flight, thank you very much.”

“What time is it?” he interrupts.

I roll over onto my side, in order to catch a glimpse of the antique alarm clock on the polished mahogany night table near my head.

“Uh ... quarter after nine?” I mumble, as my fuzzy eyes adjust to the clock’s ornate display.

“Which means that you were meant to be at the office fifteen minutes ago, Stacey. It’s all in the information pack that I
 
know
 
you received. Now get dressed and get your ass over here,
 
pronto
.”

I’m about to tell him to go to hell, but before I even utter another word, I hear the phone slam down on the other end of the line.

I stretch out beneath the sheets, trying not to let him get to me, the way he always managed to do, back when we were teenagers.

But it’s been years since then.

Things are different now.

We’re both grown ups ...

And maybe he’s right. It
 
is
 
a little unprofessional of me to be late on my first day. With a final sigh, I push myself up from my lovely warm bed, and make my way to the shower.

§

Holeee shit
, I think, as I look up at the building.
 
Colt’s business must be doing seriously well
. I mean, I knew from the reports I always heard from Mom and Alexander that he was making a name for himself, but this is
 
way
 
beyond what I was expecting. Is he a
 
billionaire
 
or something?! I grew up poor, at least until Mom met Alexander. And the kind of money that he had was incredible to me. I guess it still kind of is. But it’s obviously nothing to the kind of money his son must be making.

Why didn’t they warn me that he was so goddamn rich? So powerful?

I guess they didn’t want me to feel any more inadequate than I already do.

His company’s offices are situated right in the middle of Mayfair, just a five-minute dash from my penthouse suite, and even
 
I
 
know that premises in this location must cost some serious cash. And we’re talking one
 
huge
 
building too: jutting proudly upwards, the exterior all tinted glass, with thick ridges of concrete running down its sides, the top floor slightly larger than the rest, kind of creating a bulge like shape, almost like a ...

No way
, I think incredulously.
 
Don’t tell me this whole goddamn building has been designed to resemble his ...

“Can I help you, madam?” the doorman says in a voice straight out of Downton Abbey, breaking me out of my thoughts. And to be honest, I’m glad for the distraction.

“Um, I’m here to see Mr
 
Grayson
?” I venture.

It feels super weird to say Colt’s full name like that, but I’ve already been warned explicitly that I’m in no way to let on that we know each other (God knows why).

At the mention of Colt’s name, the doorman’s eyes light up like a pinball machine and he actually
 
bows
 
before saying, “Of course, Madam, right this way,” as he quickly ushers me inside to the elevator over by the reception desk.

“I’ll take you up to Mr Grayson’s office myself ...” he adds, nervously punching in the number 25 on the dial and then waiting, twiddling his thumbs, for the doors to open.

I wonder what’s suddenly got him so nervous. It’s like he’s actually
 
scared
of Colt or something, and it makes me wonder how much Colt has really changed from the smug, arrogant but essentially
 
harmless
 
boy I knew all those years ago ... 

The doors to the elevator ping open and we both step inside. As we whoosh upwards, I hardly have time to check out my reflection in the polished chrome of the walls –
 
maybe I should have taken Mom’s advice after all and picked up out some brand new clothes, instead of this thrown-together-at-the-last-minute thrift store outfit –
 
before the doors slide open again and we’re stepping out into a large, bustling open plan office, utterly modern and from the looks of it extremely
 
busy
.

“You must be ... Stacey?” another English accent, this time a female one, says from somewhere to my left.

I turn around to face a tall brunette, pretty, with flawless golden skin, maybe a year or two older than me. She’s smiling down at me kindly and man, is she
tall
. That’s when I notice. She’s wearing heels; killer six-inch heels. And as I scan the office, it slowly dawns on me that
 
everyone
 
– or at least every female employee – is wearing heels. Everyone except
 
me
.

I glance down embarrassedly at my own scuffed leather loafers and just hope to God that nobody notices.

“That’s me,” I grin back sheepishly.

“I’m Elizabeth. Mr Grayson is expecting you,” she says. “Come on, it’s this way ...”

As she leads me across the office in the direction of a set of imposing looking dark wood doors at the far side of the room, striding quickly and confidently on those gigantic stilettos, I get the feeling that everyone’s stopped what they’re doing to watch me. And sure enough, each time I venture a timid glance over at one of my new work colleagues, I’m met by eyes staring straight back at me.

As we walk, Elizabeth points out some things that I’ll need to know – like where the restrooms are, and the coffee machine. She’s warm and chatty, and it feels a little like talking to an old friend. But then, just as we reach the doors, she stops and turns to me.

“Now, Stacey, I can tell I’m going to like you,” Elizabeth whispers under her breath, looking me up and down, “but more importantly, I don’t want to lose the office sweepstake. So please be a darling and try not to fuck him in your first week here, okay?”

I feel myself blush hard.

Did she really just say that?

But before I can even think of a reply, she’s turned and buzzed an intercom on the empty desk that sits outside what I’m guessing is Colt’s private office.

“Mr Grayson? Miss Richardson is here to see you.”

I hear a crackle and then that familiar coldness of his voice in reply. “Send her in.”

“Remember what I said,” Elizabeth whispers with a wink, before turning to stride back into the busy office.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” I mumble, but she’s already well out of earshot.

I turn back to those imposing doors, take a deep breath, then push them open ...