Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(18)

     



 



"What the hell do you think you're doing, you prick?" I try and yank my  hand out of his grip, "And just where do you think you're taking me?"



"Peace offering," he says over his shoulder, towing me down the street as he raises a hand for a taxi.



"Oliver! Where are you taking-"



"The best shitty curry house in London, luv, that's where."



*****



"Okay-" I'm nodding, and trying to stop myself from grinning as the  flavors start to melt over my tongue, "Okay, I get it." I lose the  battle as the kind of smile that can only come from eating something  absolutely delicious spreads across my face. I'm nodding, and Oliver is  grinning, and so is Rajeev, the curry house guy.



"MY curry house guy," Oliver had said as we strolled in, "I mean shit,  you eat a man's food four times a week, you start to get to know each  other, yeah?"



I'm still pissed at him, and I'm still absolutely mortified that I let  things- well, never mind. But ridiculously good coconut curry and a cold  beer is certainly helping things.



A little.



"Okay, yeah, this is fantastic."



Rajeev shrugs, "I know." He winks at me and passes us two more beers  before he heads back down the counter to check on something burbling on a  stovetop.



Okay, so, this is not me. And not just because I've never had late night  curry on Brick Lane in London before, but because I'm fairly certain  I'm on a date right now.



A date that comes after I let the man I'm on the date with tear my  panties off in a divey pub bathroom and finger me almost to the point of  orgasm.



But without question, a date nevertheless.



A date with Oliver fucking Beckett; man-whore, my boss … .



My stepbrother.



Chloe Caulfield, what has gotten into you?



And then of course I blush furiously as I choke on my sip of beer, thinking about exactly what just "got into me."



"So," I say, trying to force those thoughts from my head as I arch an  eyebrow at Oliver, "Do you bring all your girls to this curry house?"



He snorts out a laugh as he forks a bite of spiced lamb into his mouth and rolls his eyes, "My girls?"



I give him a look, "You know."



"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."



"Oh please! ‘London's hottest young chef'? Didn't that food blogger call you the ‘Hugh Hefner of modern English cooking'?"



Oliver roars out a laugh, choking on his lamb. "Oh, yeah, shit; they did  call me that." He shrugs, "Right, well, buggered there I guess."



I crack up, almost spitting beer out through my nose, and he frowns at me, "What?"



"Did you seriously just say ‘buggered'?"



He cracks a grin at me. "What? Buggered, fucked, screwed." He arches a  brow at me and I can feel my cheeks go quite red all over again.



"No, Chloe," he says with a casual shrug, "I don't bring anyone here."



I give him my closest approximation to the puppy-dog look he got from  Delia at the pub and clasp my hands over my heart dramatically. "Oh,  Ollie! Do you mean...you mean only I get to come to your late-night  curry house?"



"Oh shut up."



I snort out a laugh before I hide my smile in the last of my beer.



Honestly though, what the heck is wrong with me? I'm sitting -  pantyless, I might add - in a curry house with London's biggest  man-whore, still mad at him, and still totally and utterly turned on and  on-edge from his fingers, and still absolutely confused as to what the  heck I'm doing here with all of that.



And of course on top of that, I might just be having the time of my life.



If nothing else, this is the best date I've ever been on. Except, it  can't be a date. You're not supposed to go on dates with someone like  him, and you're certainly not supposed to go on dates with your boss.



Or your damned stepbrother.



Well you're probably not supposed to let him tear your panties off and  have you on the verge of coming like a bomb going off either, for that  matter.



Oliver, seemingly oblivious to the rush of conflicted thoughts in my  head, downs the last of his beer and gives a wave to Rajeev at the other  end of the counter before he turns to me, "You ready?"



"For?"



He smirks at me; "Didn't you want to see where I take all ‘my girls'?"



I roll my eyes, "Oh, absolutely. So what's next on Oliver's grungy skank  tour of the East End? A terrible club? An alleyway? Your favorite  public restroom?"



"Itching to see more bathrooms, are we?"



My face goes bright red and I trip over the rest of my words as he grins at me.



"C'mon, Caulfield, let's go paint the town red, shall we?"



*****



We hit two more bars on the way home, to the point where it's getting  light out and we're stumbling a little as we tumble through the front  door of the townhouse.



"Shh!" I press a finger to my own lips, giggling and feeling the heat  and the booze roaring though my face as I grin at Oliver. "Our parents  are asleep!"



He rolls his eyes and snorts, "What are we, twelve?"



"I'm just saying-"



"Yeah?" He grins and spanks my ass as I step towards the staircase, making me giggle as I scamper up to our floor.



I feel free, and wild, and unhinged after our night on the town; ready for anything.



But I also know when it's time to call it. I know when things are dangerously close to going further than they should.



At the top of the stairs, I step into the bathroom and start to close  the door, when suddenly Oliver's foot is in the way. I look up quickly,  "What are you doing?"



He only grins, arching his eyebrows at me.



"Um, Oliver, I need to shower."



"Hey, interesting, me too," He says with a smirk, sliding into the  bathroom with me and closing the door behind him. He winks at me before  he starts to strip his shirt off. I bite my lip, seeing that chest  carved out of fucking marble, those tattoos inked across his chest and  shoulders.



I know when it's dangerously close to going further than it should.



A shirtless Oliver, in an enclosed space, when it's late and I'm  slightly drunk, and still way more than slightly turned on from earlier?



Yeah, that would be the definition of that aforementioned "dangerously close to going further than it should" scenario.



"What do you think you're doing?" I breathe, swallowing heavily and quickly forcing my eyes up to his face.



"I told you, showering." He shrugs, as if this is totally normal as he  brushes past me to crank the water on. He turns and when his eyes meet  mine, I can feel my pulse jump, "You joining or not?"



"With you?"



He winks, "It's just a shower, luv."



I swear, that's what he says; like either of us remotely believes this  is just something innocent as the steam starts to swirl around us.



"Well?" He grins at me.



"Well what?"



"Do you plan on showering dressed?"



I shoot him a look, "Oliver-"



"Yes?"



"Our parents? Right downstairs?"



He looks at me with mock indignation and shock, "Why, Chloe! I don't  know what you're implying!" He winks at me as he turns to check the  water temperature.



I bite my lip. I should go; I should definitely, definitely go.



So why am I still standing here when he unhooks his belt and drops his  pants? And why am I still not leaving when he steps close to me, and  brings his hand up to my blouse.



I take a shaky breath, looking up at him, "And just who do you think I am, one of your girls?"



I say it with sass, like it's meant to be a barb or something. But  really, that's the opposite of how I feel. Because tonight, I want to be  one of "his girls". I want to feel what he makes them feel, and after  the taste from earlier and now with the beer and the desire coursing  through me, I want more. I know his reputation, and I know every reason  why this is so wrong.



But as the steam swirls around us and I let my eyes trace down every  chiseled line of his body down to the thick bulge in his shorts …



I just don't care.



I don't care, and I want it all.



I don't say a thing, but it's as if he knows I'm saying yes just by the  way my face flushes, or by the way my chest rises with my breath. He  doesn't say a thing either as he starts to pull at my blouse, undoing  one button at a time.



And I let him.



"Take that off," he says quietly, nodding at my bra as he turns to adjust the water temperature one last time.



I roll my eyes at him; "I've told you you're bossy, righ-"



"Shh, gotta be quiet, Chloe," he says, grinning wolfishly at me as he points a finger downstairs.



I let my bra fall to the floor, biting my lip and watching him intently as I feel his eyes slide over my breasts.



"Do you always shower in a skirt?"