Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I had to stop it before things got carried away.
I never would have known how strongly the urge would be to sneak around and find her in a compromising situation again, or simply to turn on the camera feed and wait for her skirt to hike up or her shirt to open.
I wouldn't have ever said I was into voyeurism.
But there was no denying I'd been into watching Wynn.
I damn sure had never been into exhibitionism before.
But I had stroked my cock while she'd watched.
I didn't know what the fuck was going on with me, if it was the merger, or the lack of sex, or what, but I needed to get a fucking grip.
Which was why I was working late at the office. To avoid running into her at home.
It was also why I was just barely resisting the urge to check my camera feed.
The goddamn things were put up for reasons that had nothing to do with my never-ending string of house managers. And that reason meant I was supposed to be checking them. But I didn't want to risk catching sight of Wynn's bare ass as she bent over to fetch something off the floor, or her tits bursting out of her top, filling my mind with ideas of taking her from behind, of wrapping that long, silky blonde hair of hers around my fist as I did so, of her pert breasts bouncing around as I fucked her harder and harder as she cried out, begging for release.
"Fuck," I hissed, feeling myself harden even with the passing thought.
It had been weeks.
Weeks.
And I still couldn't get her out of my mind.
"What's with the mood?" my brother asked, running his fingers over the spines of the books in my study. Why, I had no idea, since Blake had never willingly picked up a book. Hell, I was pretty sure he never unwillingly did so either. It was a well-known fact that he'd out-sourced all of his assignments in high school and college. And when that wasn't enough, that our father had paid off the teachers and professors to just keep moving along.
It wasn't that Blake was dumb. He was just a different kind of smart. Cunning and clever were words that came to mind. He had a lot of potential if he only tried to apply himself.
Maybe someday.
I couldn't expect him to bust his ass to prove himself like I had done my whole life. He didn't need to like I had. He was never going to take over the company after our father passed. That was always going to come to me. Which was why I'd worked so hard to prove myself worthy of that responsibility.
A part of me was hard on Blake because there was a little bit of envy on both our sides. Him, my wealth. Me, how carefree his life had been, the ability he had to really wild out and enjoy his youth. It was time I'd never get back, time I spent in boardrooms and flying back and forth across the country, trying to schmooze new clients, time I'd spent read-read-reading endless books on business and leadership. Time well spent? Objectively, likely yes. But also time I didn't get to spend enjoying my life.
And there was no denying that Blake enjoyed the fuck out of his life. There was hardly a weekend that didn't involve some sort of over-the-top party in the guest house where he lived, one that inevitably ended up spilling into the main house, no matter how many times I told him it was off-limits.
"Work," I told him. "You know, where you put in labor of some form in exchange for money in your bank account," I said, watching him shoot me a smirk because we both knew he hadn't exactly earned his paycheck in a couple of weeks.
He should have been fired, nepotism be damned.
But I'd promised my father on his deathbed that I'd take care of Blake, even when he didn't deserve it.
"Ah, yes, labor. It seems I'm allergic to it," he declared, dropping down in the chair in front of my desk, kicking up his feet on the edge simply because he knew it pissed me off.
Brothers.
It didn't seem to matter how old they got, certain aspects of that relationship would never seem to mature. Pushing buttons was a seminal favorite activity.
"That's the story now," I mumbled, closing the top of my laptop. "So to what do I owe the pleasure? I paid your liquor delivery bill last night, by the way."
"Gee, he must have come to your door by mistake," Blake said, lips twitching.
"Yeah, that must be it," I agreed, snorting.
"I wanted to tell you that some of the furniture in the pool room needs to be replaced. Must have been cheap shit," he added.
More like he allowed guests to stand on it.