Addicted To My Stepbrother

Working in his office

The dining room was filled with the smell of rosted chicken, butter, and warm bread. The room echoed with the sound of clinking glasses. I nibbled at my food, not really tasting any of it.

Across from me, Julian looked as if he just walked out of a boardroom meeting. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms and his tie was loosened, responding to Andrew's questions in a deep voice that had my p***y clenched.

"So," Andrew asked Julian, "how's Meridian?"

"Busy. We're expanding, planning on hiring a few new people within the next couple of weeks."

My heart skipped a beat. I looked down at my food, trying to hide my sudden interest, before looking back up at Julian and clearing my throat.

"I've actually been thinking about looking for a new job."

There was an awkward silence as the whole table turned their attention to me. Andrew raised a curious brow.

"Oh?" he said.

I gave a small nod. "I was wondering if there were any openings at Meridian."

A long, tense pause hung between us as his gaze locked onto mine, studying me. When he finally broke the silence, his voice was quiet. "You want to work at Meridian?"

"Yes," I said, shrugging slightly. "I just heard that you all were expanding, and figured that it would be a good opportunity to learn."

Learn. Right. Learn how to get Julian to take me in his office and make me feel like the little w***e i was becoming.

He studied me for a long moment before letting out a slow breath. "We don't give jobs out just because you're family."

"I never asked for special treatment," I said.

Another pause, this time he sounded almost pained when he answered, "Then apply. Like everyone else."

I blinked in surprise. That was it?

So I would have to actually apply. See him every day, working in the office.

I looked down at my plate and bit my lip, trying to stifle grin as I listened at the

conversation resumed.

I walked through the glass doors of Meridian Technologies with a visitor's badge clipped to my blouse and my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The lobby smelled like money, fresh leather, expensive coffee, and the faint metallic tang of air conditioning running too cold. My heels clicked across the floor veined with gold.

You planned this, I told myself. You found the job listing. You tailored your resume. You sat through four rounds of interviews while imagining his c**k in your mouth. You did this on purpose.

And now I was here.

"Ms. Verma?" The secretary was blonde, polished, probably fresh out of a sorority. "Mr. Cross is expecting you. Follow me, please."

Mr. Cross. Julian Cross. My stepbrother.

The man who had no idea I'd manipulated my way into his company.

Derek's voice still lived in my head, even now.

"Jesus, Tamara, again?" He'd roll away from me, reaching for his phone, his back already a wall. "We just did it yesterday. What's wrong with you?"

Nothing was wrong with me. Derek just made me feel like there was. Like my cunt was some kind of malfunction, always wet, always hungry, always too much. He'd climb on top of me, pump four times, five if I was lucky and then collapse with a grunt, leaving me staring at the ceiling, my n*****s still hard, my hips still rocking against nothing.

"Did you..." I'd start.

"Babe, I'm tired. You know I'm tired."

And then the worst part, the part that burrowed into my brain and made a nest there:

"Maybe if you weren't such a…"

He'd stop himself, but the word hung there anyway. Slut. The thing I was for wanting more than four thrusts and a damp spot on the sheets.

So I learned to hide it. To rub myself in the bathroom after he fell asleep. To bite my pillow and muffle the sounds. To pretend I didn't need what I needed.

Julian, though… Julian didn't make me pretend anything.

The elevator opened onto the executive floor, and the air felt different. Quieter. Heavier. The carpet was so plush my heels sank into it, and every surface gleamed… glass partitions, chrome fixtures, and a conference room with a table big enough to seat thirty.

The secretary chattered about benefits, parking, and the coffee machine in the break room, but I barely heard a word. My pulse was too loud in my ears.

"This is going to be your workspace," she said, stopping in front of a frosted-glass door. "Mr. Cross had it set up especially for you.”

The door swung open.

Floor-to-ceiling smart glass surrounded the room on three sides, with my desk positioned dead center like a display case. The fourth wall was solid, paneled in dark wood, with a door marked PRIVATE.

"The glass is privacy-controlled," the secretary explained, gesturing to a small digital panel on my desk. "Right now it's opaque because, well, you know, first day. But you can adjust the transparency with this switch. Gives you a view of the floor.”

"Right," I managed. "The floor."

She left me there with a smile that knew exactly nothing.

I set my bag down. Walked to the glass wall in front of my desk. Touched it. Cold. Smooth.

My reflection stared back at me dusky lips parted, a flush creeping up my throat that had nothing to do with the temperature.

He's on the other side.

The thought hit me like a slap. My p***y clenched. Wet. Instantly, embarrassingly wet, the kind of wet that soaked through panties and left a slick trail down my inner thighs.

Because the truth was, the glass wasn't privacy-controlled on my side at all. It was two-way. Smart glass, but the kind where he controlled the transparency.

From his side, it was crystal clear.

From my side, I was staring at my own reflection while Julian Cross sat in his executive suite and watched.

I couldn't see him. But I knew with every nerve in my body, every drop of wetness gathering between my thighs, that he was there. Probably sitting in a leather chair. Probably wearing that smirk I'd seen in my dream, the one that said, I see you, little randi, and I'm going to take what I want.

The flush spread from my throat to my chest. My skin prickled. My n*****s tightened so hard they hurt, visible through the silk, and I didn't cover them. Why would I? He'd already seen everything. In my dream, in the desperate way I'd plan this entire situation so I could be exactly where I was right now.

Trapped. Under his gaze.

Unable to see him, unable to know when he was watching or what he was doing while he watched.

"f**k," I whispered. My breath fogged the glass.

My p***y was pulsing now. That deep, rhythmic throb that started at my c**t and radiated outward, making my thighs tremble. I pressed my legs together, but the pressure only made it worse.

The digital panel on my desk blinked. A small green light. READY.

One switch. That's what the secretary said. You can adjust the transparency.

But she was wrong. The switch wouldn't do a thing. Julian had the real control. He decided when the glass turned clear and when it stayed a mirror. He decided when I got to see him and when he got to watch me without me ever knowing.

A door clicked behind the wood-paneled wall. The PRIVATE door. Not opening. Just… settling. As if someone had leaned against it from the other side.

My breath caught. He's right there.

My hand moved before I could stop it, dropping to my skirt and pressing against the front of it, right over my cunt. The pressure shot through me. I bit my lip. Hard. The sting was the only thing keeping me from moaning out loud.

"Uhhhhh, f**k… I breathed, the word barely more than a whisper.

This was what Derek never understood. This. The way my body responded to wanting to be wanted back. Derek made me feel like my desire was a problem to solve, a fire to smother. Julian made me feel like the fire itself was the point.

I pulled my hand away from my skirt. Forced myself to walk to the desk. Sat down in the expensive leather chair that probably cost more than my last apartment's rent.

The reflection in the glass showed a woman who'd lost the fight before it started. Flushed cheeks. Glassy eyes. Lips wet from where I'd bitten them. My blouse had gone slightly sheer where sweat gathered at my collarbone. I looked exactly like what Derek said I was.

Except Derek was wrong.

I wasn't a slut because I wanted s*x. I was a woman who'd spent two years starving herself on purpose, and now there was a feast on the other side of the glass.

I leaned back in the chair and let my knees fall open just slightly.

"You wanted me here," I whispered to my reflection. "I'm here."

The green light on my desk blinked twice.

Then it went dark.

A sharp electronic buzz cut through the silence.

The glass wall in front of me didn't clear.

A heartbeat later, a heavy hand slammed against the other side, right where my reflection's throat was.

I froze.