Free Wicked Steps by Cory Cyr

you were married, but tell him. Share everything. I know the man I love as a son is in there somewhere. You just need to exorcize him.”
    “He’s a young man. I’m thirty-five. He’s Wicked, one of the world’s most talented artists. He has women in droves. He probably has them on standby. What in the hell do I have to offer him? All of this is unsavory,” I said as my hands flailed around. “All of this is ridiculous. You’re asking me to whore myself out to my dead husband’s son.”
    “No, for God’s sake, that’s not what I meant. Maybe you could be a friend. A confidant.”
    I laughed. “Yeah right, he wants me as a buddy. Do you realize how ludicrous that sounds? That man has a different itinerary, and it doesn’t include a friendship.”
    “All right, I’m hoping you’re the one that can change his mind. I’ve tried. Just sit down with him,” Preston pleaded.
    In my mind, I kept thinking, I wish it were that simple . But I’d allowed him to access my vulnerability. I’d tasted his mouth and breathed in his scent, and no matter how wrong and ill-advised meeting with him was, he fascinated me. I hated myself for being weak and promiscuous. I’d always believed there would be retribution for allowing myself to be purchased. And now that reparation was going to be administered by someone I was attracted to—Hartman’s own son.
    I was indeed going to hell.

Eight
    Kieran
     
    “Motherfucker,” I murmured under my breath. How dare Preston treat me like that? Okay, I might have gotten overly cocky, but all bets were off after she walked in.
    Goddamn her for smelling like a mixture of flowers and sex. Even under florescent lighting, her face was perfection. Her skin looked creamy, with the slightest hint of color on her cheeks. Her tawny locks fell in disarray all about her shoulders as her eyes penetrated mine. Spheres of bright blue that appeared to have multicolored flecks of gold.
    The white tailored slacks she wore showed off more than she knew. My eyes immediately targeted her cleft, and I licked my lips in approval because I could see no signs of underwear. Her beige blouse dipped dangerously close enough to show me the lace edges of her bra. I was bordering on insanity. I deeply inhaled because her scent had been a combination of arousal, terror, and floral.
    Her body language stiffened in confusion. I witnessed embarrassment as her cheeks blushed deep with redness. No doubt acknowledging what had happened between us. Just mentally reminiscing about that night made my cock stand up and take notice. I exhaled. It pissed me off that I responded to this woman. The harlot. That fucking gold-digger. Maybe after I was balls deep inside her, or she was choking on my cock, there would be some satisfaction.
    My only quest had been to meet and decimate her world. I never expected Ellery. She didn’t come across as a money-hungry whore. But then again, she didn’t seem the type that would have been in my father’s bed. I’d never had any interest in pursuing older women. Sure, I’d enjoyed experience, but on a younger scale. Maybe that’s why I’d fingered her from behind. So I wouldn’t have to look at her. I wouldn’t be aware she was older, that she was my stepmother. It hadn’t mattered, because she appeared young at all other angles, but I spoiled the process by kissing her. I was rough, and it definitely wasn’t romantic or loving. But the feel of her on my mouth rushed blood to my already rock hard cock, and I knew at that moment I wanted her. And just the knowledge that I desired her made me hate her more.
    I had no doubt this was her technique, her M.O., the method she used to charm herself into my father’s bed. She used her intelligence as bait, but I was wiser. She was under my father’s rule for the last five years. If she thought he was intolerable, I’d been waiting, calculating, and practicing.
    The women I bedded in Paris were never happy when I left. Oh, they were