Eight
ESSIE
I just fucked Dalton.
I just fucked one of my best friends, a senior vice president at my internship, and my soon-to-be stepbrother.
And I fucked him in front of hundreds of people.
The man I thought was Alec forces off his mask and rolls off the bed. Sure enough, it’s Dalton Cavendish. Sweat dots his temples, pink covers his cheeks, and he’s panting from the heat of the mask or taking me from below (or maybe from sheer horror).
“Baby, what’s going on?” he asks, moving toward me with a concerned expression on his face.
Instinctually, I step back, staying out of arm’s reach. “What are you doing here?” I demand, grabbing my robe from the top of the dresser. “Where the hell is Alec?”
He freezes like I just told him it’s ridiculous he keeps the red notification bubbles on for all his apps and has eight thousand, six hundred and ninety-four unread emails. His lip curls at the same moment his jaw drops, and he gapes at me for a hot minute—for as long as it takes me to knot my robe and remove my own mask.
“You were going to fuck that guy,” he finally blurts out.
“Where is he?” I ask, avoiding Dalton’s question before I let out a sharp gasp. “Did you hurt him?”
“Since when do you have guys on your streams?” is his response since neither of us is answering questions tonight, apparently.
“This was my first time,” I reply, hoping an honest response could make things better.
It absolutely doesn’t. All it gets me is a relieved chuckle from Dalton.
“No,” I warn, pointing at him. “You don’t get to be happy about any part of this.” I start to pace, but come to an abrupt stop. “Why did you fuck me?”
His eyebrows rise. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just been head over heels obsessed with you for the last two years, and I thought you wanted me to fuck you when—you know—you took your tits out and asked me to .” He slides his hand through his sweat damp hair, pushing the light brown strands from his face before he grips it in a fist. “And him ?”
“He’s a professional camboy,” I shoot back. “Who else was I supposed to stream with?”
His expression constricts. “And you confused me with him. That beanpole…”
“Beanpole? He’s over six feet tall and weighs, like, two hundred pounds.”
“Yeah—like a little gremlin,” Dalton doubles down before he grabs his boxer briefs from the floor. “I can’t believe you were going to screw that dickpocket.”
“It was business,” I reply, letting my arms fall to my sides. “Transactional, even.”
“You let him come on you,” he mutters, not making eye contact with me as he steps into his boxer briefs and tugs them up, covering his absolutely enormous dick.
That dick.
Even when flaccid, his dick is the most special thing I’ve ever put into my body—and Cora and Valeria treated me to a ten-course sushi dinner at a Michelin starred restaurant for my birthday last year.
“Eyes up here,” Dalton comments, snapping his fingers and pointing to his face.
Blinking, I try to shake the memory of my best friend’s dick, but it’s futile. I can still feel the incomparable fullness.
I knew it would fit.
“I’m sorry about the stream,” is all I can say while my brain fixates on his muscled thighs and yes—that cock.
“I don’t care about the stream. Nobody is going to know it’s me.” He waves it off like the entire night can disappear in the wind. “And even if they did, I don’t give a shit. What—should I be embarrassed by my unfathomably nice body, my colossal dick, and the way I can pull women like you?”
Some men wear cockiness like a good suit, but Dalton Cavendish embodies it—and it’s dangerous. “You should go,” I recommend. I can’t think straight right now.
“I don’t want to.” He takes a step closer to me. “You asked me to fuck you. You practically begged me to. If you think you can pretend you had no idea it was me—”
“I was tipsy. I had no clue.”
He scoffs. “ Tipsy ? You drink now?” His eyebrow flickers. “What—you took a shot and couldn’t feel how indescribably good the chemistry was? So you had to force yourself to tell Alec to pull out? You wanted to let him come inside you?”
He’s right. I did want him to come in me. “We can’t have a productive conversation now,” I say instead. “The orgasm chemicals alone are going to wreck us. You should go.”
“Because you don’t want me?”
“Dalton—”
“I warned you this would happen,” he continues, moving closer—bringing those obscenely toned muscles within reach.
“You came over anyway.”
He lets out a slow exhalation, and his stare drags over me. “Fine. I’ll go,” he agrees, and the ache in his voice is real. I want to hold him. I want to tell him I’m sorry for this entire mishap. Before I can do anything, he grabs his mask from the floor. “Well, I loved banging you, babe. I would say we should do this again, but that would make things messy when we battle for Mom and Dad’s inheritance.”
“Dalton, I’m sorry.”
“Same, sweetheart,” he replies before he walks out of the bedroom and exits the condo.
Shit. Shit . That was a fiasco—and I may have just ruined one of the best friendships I’ve ever had.
Sighing, I open my laptop, hoping the post-stream numbers can take my mind off things—or at least numb the sting.
But when I look at my screen, nothing goes numb. In fact, my jaw drops.
…I wasn’t expecting that.