Chapter Six
Cade
The social department is buzzing this morning… phones ringing, assistants hurrying between desks, the low murmur of deal-making and client schmoozing filling the open-plan office.
I sit in the large corner office that everyone already treats as mine, even if my father hasn’t officially handed over the title of Head of Social Affairs yet.
He’s making me earn it, and honestly, I don’t mind.
I like the grind. The power of it. The way people watch me when I walk through the floor, knowing I’m the one who decides which events get funded, which clients get the personal touch, and which partnerships get the charm offensive.
I lean back in the leather chair, reviewing the latest sponsorship proposal on my screen, when the door opens.
Dad steps in, already shrugging into his coat, looking far too pleased with himself for a Monday morning. “Cade, I’m heading out early. Your stepmother’s waiting downstairs, we’re spending the afternoon together.”
I nod, not surprised. He and Ann have always been glued at the hip since.
“I don’t want to run all the way up to the top floor right now,” he continues, holding out a thick manila folder. “This needs Rowan’s signatures on the new police contract addendum. Can you take it up to him for me?”
I accept the folder without hesitation and flash him an easy smile. “Sure.”
Dad claps me on the shoulder once, already turning toward the door. “Thanks, son. See you tomorrow.”
The moment he’s gone, the smile on my face shifts into something sharper, more private.
Truth is, I haven’t spoken a single word to Rowan since Saturday night. He’s been avoiding me like I’m contagious… ducking into his room when I come home, leaving before I wake up, barely grunting in response when we pass each other in the kitchen. All because of that stupid pizza moment.
But every time I think about it, a slow grin creeps across my face anyway.
The way he stared at me, wide-eyed and flushed.
The way his lips wrapped around the slice when I held it to his mouth, sauce glistening on his lower lip, teeth grazing the crust while his gaze stayed locked on mine.
The quiet obedience when I told him to bite.
The way he leaned back afterward, chewing slowly like he was still tasting more than just the pizza.
An unexpected shiver rolls down my spine, heat pooling low in my stomach. Fuck. I need to get a grip. This is completely inappropriate; he’s my stepbrother.
Still… this folder gives me the perfect excuse to break the silence he’s been hiding behind.
Before heading up, I pull up my calendar on the large monitor, to make sure nothing urgent is waiting… no client calls, no last-minute meetings that could pull me away. The screen fills with the familiar grid of color-coded blocks.
I scroll through the rest of the day, then pause; something looks off.
These entries aren’t mine. Random notes about vendor meetings, tech briefings, and half a dozen “strategy syncs” I definitely didn’t schedule.
I frown, clicking around. Maybe I accidentally opened Dad’s shared calendar again?
He’s always forgetting to log out of the family account.
But then my eyes catch the small initials in the top right corner: RA. Rowan Adley.
What the fuck? I stare at the screen for a long second.
Somehow, I’ve ended up logged into Rowan’s calendar instead of my own.
The system must have kept his session active from some earlier shared document we worked on.
I should close it immediately. Instead, my gaze drifts to Saturday; the morning he disappeared early.
There it is: ‘8:00 AM - Dr. Hart’
My frown deepens. I quickly exit the calendar, hoping the system doesn’t flag that someone else viewed it. Rowan’s paranoid enough about his privacy as it is.
Curiosity wins and I open a new browser tab and type “Dr. Hart” along with our location. In a place this big, the odds of anything useful coming up are slim… but the first result loads instantly.
‘Dr. Elias Hart – Renowned Specialist in Sexual Health and Intimacy Therapy. Expertise in arousal disorders, delayed orgasm, pleasure reconnection, and sexual wellness for individuals and couples.’
I read the description twice, my jaw tightening. The website lists him as a leading sex therapist with advanced training in helping clients overcome long-standing difficulties with climax, intimacy barriers, and reconnecting with their bodies in a shame-free way.
Why the hell would Rowan need to see someone like Dr. Hart? The question sits heavy in my chest. I log out of everything, close the browser, and push back from the desk, the folder now feeling heavier in my hand.
“Heading upstairs,” I tell Jenny, my assistant.
Two simple words are all it ever takes. She smiles brightly, eager as always. “Of course, sir. I’ll keep an eye on everything for you.”
I nod, pleased by her quick obedience, and head toward the elevators. A few curious gazes follow me across the floor, but I don’t acknowledge them.
Inside the elevator, I close the doors quickly, so the car is mine alone.
I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall and run a hand through my dark hair, smoothing it back.
Thirty-seven looks good on me… sharp jaw, authoritative stance, the kind of presence that makes people straighten up.
A crooked grin tugs at my mouth as I punch in the private code for the top floor.
When the doors open, the top floor is hushed as always. Dad’s office sits at the far end, the large boardroom in the middle, and Rowan’s office is closer to this side. His assistant’s small, neatly organized desk sits empty in its little alcove; she must have stepped out.
I walk straight to Rowan’s door and open it quietly, careful not to interrupt if he’s on an important call.
I freeze in the doorway. Rowan’s assistant is on her knees between his legs, lips wrapped around his cock, bobbing with mechanical effort.
But Rowan… Rowan looks bored out of his mind.
He’s leaning against the edge of his desk, phone in hand, thumb scrolling across the screen like he’s answering emails while someone sucks him off.
His face shows zero pleasure… no tension in his jaw, no flush, no hitch in his breathing. Nothing.
I lean against the doorframe, frowning deeply. What the fuck? My eyes drift down to the girl. Her cheeks are barely hollowing. She’s just… moving her back and forth with no rhythm, no suction, no enthusiasm. It’s painfully obvious she has no idea what she’s doing. Rowan’s still typing.
Then it clicks… Dr. Hart. The twenty-minute jerk-off session I overheard on Saturday. The way Rowan struggled even when he was alone. He can’t find real pleasure… it takes too long. And this woman is clearly doing nothing for him. Worse, I don’t like seeing her mouth on him, at all.
My voice comes out low and commanding, the tone I use when I expect immediate compliance. “Get out.”
I step fully into the room.
The assistant yelps, pulls off with a wet sound, and scrambles to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She doesn’t even look at me before hurrying out and closing the door behind her.
“Fucking hell, Cade…” Rowan starts, already yanking his pants back up.
I slam the folder onto his desk with a sharp thud and snatch the phone from his hand.
“What…” he begins.
I press my index finger firmly against his lips, silencing him. His eyes widen. I glance at the screen… boring work emails; exactly as I thought. I set the phone down on the desk.
A sharp, dark challenge rises in my chest. I wonder if anyone could resist me…
even Rowan. More than that, I want to show him what real pleasure feels like.
I want to be better than that pathetic attempt.
I can’t imagine living without being able to fully enjoy sex, and something possessive curls in me at the thought of giving him what no one else has.
I grab both of Rowan’s shoulders firmly and guide him toward the couch along the far wall of his office.
He tries to shrug me off. “What are you doing?”
When he manages to twist free for a second, I catch his wrist in a strong grip. “Trust me.”
I guide him backward until the backs of his knees hit the couch, then push him down with controlled pressure. He lands with a soft, surprised huff against the cushions. Without hesitation, I drop to my knees between his spread legs, the thick, expensive rug cushioning my weight as I settle in.
Rowan’s hands immediately fly to cover the obvious bulge in his open pants, but he’s already hard. At least his body can get there… it’s everything after that he struggles with.
I grab both his wrists and shove them behind his back, pinning them there. “Don’t move.”
He swallows hard, a deep blush crawling up his neck and into his cheeks.
“Dr. Hart, huh?” My voice comes out low, almost a murmur.
Rowan’s eyes widen instantly, the flush on his cheeks deepening. “How did you…?”
I don’t let him finish. “Be quiet.”
His mouth snaps shut, lips pressing into a thin line. The obedience is instant, and it sends a dark thrill through me.
I let the silence stretch for a beat, watching the way his chest rises and falls faster. Then I smile, satisfied. “Good boy.”
A visible shiver rolls through his entire body. His eyes flutter shut tight, and his breathing turns shaky and uneven, like he’s already struggling to stay in control.
I use the waistband of his boxers to wipe away the leftover saliva from that woman, then tug his boxers and pants down just enough to free his cock completely.
Rowan makes a quiet, embarrassed noise but keeps his hands obediently behind his back.
The sight of him, still in his sharp suit, normally so authoritative to everyone else…
now flushed and compliant under my hands sends a hot thrill straight through me. I like this. A lot.