Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Boss Read online

  Lord, how I loved it. Inhaling Grayson’s musk, feeling my jaws stretch. Reveling in the pounding Trace was giving me. No mercy shown.

  When my belly and thighs tightened, I braced, feeling the rapture beginning to sweep over me—

  Trace withdrew. Grayson pulled free. The straps around my ankles gave way. My wrists were freed. The blindfold was pushed up and I blinked open my eyes. Both men lay on their sides, watching me.

  I glanced from one dear face to the dark-eyed gaze of my latest obsession. “Not nice,” I whispered.

  Trace rimmed my nipple with a fingertip. “I wanted you to see me this time. So you’d know who fucked you.”

  “That matters?”

  “It shouldn’t.” His gaze lifted from me and went to Grayson. “I’d like to spend more time with you. Both of you. Beyond this weekend. I’m due vacation, and I thought… Would you come with me?”

  I shot Grayson a glance. His gaze was steady on Trace. “My project.”

  “You have Ted. He can take over until you’re back. You’ll still have your spot. No worries there.”

  Grayson glanced down at me. “What do you think, Bunny?”

  I felt my mouth stretch as I gave him a blinding smile. “Time away from real life? Two guys to satisfy? Won’t be much of a rest for me, but it does sound like fun.” I turned to Trace. “So where are we going?”

  “I have a boat. A crew. I thought we could leave tomorrow. Sail to Hawaii, then Bali or Fiji—wherever you want.”

  “Tomorrow? But I have to shop.”

  “No, you don’t. We’ll buy whatever you need along the way.”

  “But I have to pack.”

  He shook his head. “My crew won’t bat an eye if you walk around naked the whole cruise.”

  “They won’t?” I gave him a sexy smile. “Any of them cute?”

  He laughed. “Should we be jealous?”

  “Never. I just want to know whether letting them watch will turn me on.”

  He shook his head and looked at Grayson. “We’ll have to keep her on a leash.”

  “She’ll like that.”

  Trace rolled to his back. “Come here, Zoe,” he said, holding his cock upright.

  I straddled his hips and waited as he centered himself between my folds. Then I slid slowly down his long, thick cock. Once seated, I rocked forward and back, grinding because just a little friction would do it for me.

  A hand landed between my shoulders and pushed me against Trace’s chest. I locked my elbows to keep a little distance and let my breasts rub on Trace’s chest. Grayson moved behind me and fingered my small rear opening. My eyelids fluttered downward with the sheer pleasure.

  Trace palmed both breasts, then tilted one tip toward his mouth and latched onto the tip. He sucked it hard then pushed the other tit toward my mouth. I grinned and angled my head to stroke the nipple with my tongue.

  Another finger entered my ass, and I locked gazes with Trace. He popped off my nipple. “Take your pleasure, sweetheart. Don’t hold back.”

  “Gray, no more teasing!”

  He removed his fingers. Cool gel was rubbed around my opening, and a moment later, his thick cockhead entered me.

  Trace pulled on a nipple, then turned his head and sucked the other into his mouth. Alternating, he drove me crazy as Grayson worked his way inside me until I was filled, pussy and ass.

  “I like this,” I whispered to Trace as Grayson began to move with more force, forward and back, moving me on Trace’s cock, grinding my clit against his pubic hair.

  “Fuck us both,” Trace said, his gaze going beyond my shoulder.

  Grayson bent over us, warming my back as he stroked faster and faster, moving me against Trace.

  The friction grew hotter and I began to pump shallowly, meeting his strokes and squeezing myself around Trace and Grayson’s cocks. “I’m so fucking hot,” I said, throwing back my head. Then I was there, pleasure radiating outward from my clit, trembling through my body. More liquid gushed, wetting Trace’s cock, and he shouted beneath me, his hand slipping around my back, one going to scratch at Grayson’s groin and the other squeezing my ass.

  We were so close, so embedded with each other, our orgasms shuddered through us. When Grayson slowed his movements, we were all breathless, all sweating. I lowered to Trace’s chest, and cuddled against his shoulder.

  Grayson withdrew and went to Trace’s side. He reached for my cheek and laid his palm against it. “Fucking best fuck ever.”

  I grinned tiredly, and stretched my legs downward to rest alongside Trace’s.

  My boss cradled the back of my head. “I don’t suppose this would be the best time to mention I need a new secretary.”

  “Executive assistant,” I bit out.

  “Whatever. Will you take the job?”

  I winked at Grayson. “Huh. Are the benefits any good?”

  His mouth stretched. “I hear the boss is a big dick.”

  “As long as he has a big dick…” I lowered my head and kissed him. And when he pulled me closer, I reached out my arm to draw Grayson into the kiss. As we shared lips and tongues, I couldn’t stop smiling even though I was pretty sure my free-styling days were numbered…

  About Delilah Devlin

  Delilah Devlin is a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of erotica and erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. She has published over a hundred fifty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she is published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Kindle, Kindle Worlds, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

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  Excerpt from Through Her Eyes…

  Chapter One

  Wolf hated the wait. Especially in the white-hot heat. Even at this elevation, the sun was merciless. Hot wind gusting through the pass provided no relief.

  Sweat dripped from his hair down the side of his cheek, but he ignored it. His muscles cramped. His eyes grew dry. And still he kept staring through the scope of his Macmillan Tac-50, watching the long line of insurgents trudge along the goat trail of a road below his position. Waiting for them to get close enough…

  “A thousand yards. They’re coming within range,” came the voice of the mission commander through the COMM in his ear.

  Wolf reached for his box magazine, sitting on a rock beside him. He’d been heating the rounds in the sun to increase their range, but now, the time had come to lock and load.

  Below were a couple dozen of the enemy, seemingly unaware of the weapons trained on them from above. All fresh from a battle in Ghazni. Intel said his target, Khalil Alam, would be among the group. So far, he’d searched every face but hadn’t found one that perfectly matched the grainy photo lying beside his mat.

  The soldiers were all dark-haired. All wore beards or had the lower halves of their faces covered by cloths. His mark should be a little taller and gaunt. He’d spent months hiding in the mountains, orchestrating attacks from afar—a high-ranking Taliban commander who’d stepped out of the shadows to lead their latest attack, which left half a dozen Marines dead and fifteen more wounded, some maimed for life.

  Again, the silence was broken. “Crosswind from the east.”

  Wolf didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the wind to die down. He might have only one shot. One kill. If he was lucky.

  Beside him, his spotter shifted, crunching the sand. “I see him,” he whispered into his mike, although they were nearly a mile away from the rag-tag army ambling through the mountain pass. “He’ll be coming over the hill, facing you. Best time to clip him. Nine hund
red twenty yards.”

  Quickly, Wolf rechecked the data he’d entered in his scope. He’d maxed out the windage. Maxed out the elevation drum. He’d need a one mil lead—aiming just ahead of the target for the four seconds the .50 Cal round took to travel.

  Five seconds later, a tall angular figure climbed the trail. A weapon was slung over his bony shoulders. His robe billowed outward, caught by a sudden breeze.

  Wolf kept his sight trained on the enemy’s center of mass—he’d aim for his heart. The distance was too far to even attempt a head shot. But he wasn’t the only sniper on this mission, although his was the most important target.

  “Snipers, everyone found their mark?” their commander’s voice sounded. “Chime in when you have your target.”

  In quick succession, the snipers called out.

  “Sniper One, ready.”

  “Sniper Two, ready.”

  Wolf squinted down his scope at the tall Afghan he was about to take out. “Sniper Three, ready.”

  He kept his breathing even, readying for the command to kill. All shots had to break at the same time, or the group below would scramble for cover and the opportunity would be lost.

  “This is Foxtrot One. I have control. Shoot on my command.”

  Wolf expelled a quick breath then drew in a long one and held it.

  “Three…two…one…execute.”

  He pulled the trigger and stared down his scope.

  Beside him, his spotter cursed. He’d followed the vapor trail of the round Wolf fired and watched it splash in the dirt. He called out adjustments, which Wolf made in a second.

  Still staring down the scope, he watched as everyone around Khalil Alam dove for cover. Not his target. The Afghan insurgent stood still, his head raised, his gaze narrowing as though he could see Wolf where he lay with his rifle, hidden in the shadows of a large rock. And then he did a strange thing.

  Khalil Alam raised his arms out to his sides and bared his teeth.

  Again, Wolf took aim and fired.

  This time, his target dropped.

  But so did the much-smaller figure behind him. One with a beardless, bloodied face…

  Wyatt “Wolf” Kinkaid awoke and threw off the covers tangled around his legs. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he set his elbows on his knees as he drew in deep, cleansing breaths.

  He didn’t know why that particular kill haunted him. He’d killed kids before. Some intentionally. But that one…

  Maybe because of the shock frozen in the young boy’s eyes. Khalil Alam’s son, he’d been told later. No blame, no censure came from his team. The boy was a terrorist in the making, following in his father’s footsteps. A “preemptory kill” someone who’d been trying to be helpful said. And yet, the memory still sickened him.

  He wiped a hand over his face. Sleep-time was over. Daylight was burning. Not that he was on any kind of schedule. The sound of surf washing against sand in the distance reminded him he was as far from Afghanistan as a man could be. Rising, he strode to the window overlooking the beach. The large sea-side villa hadn’t impressed him nearly as much as the sight of the strip of pristine white sand. By the placement of the sun, he’d guess the time was around nine AM. He’d slept a full nine hours. And he wasn’t dead.

  The peaceful view didn’t do a thing to slow his heart rate. To shake off the last sticky spider webs of his nightmare, he turned, rifled through the duffel sitting on the floor beside him, and pulled out his spotting scope. Cupping the compact Hensoldt in his hand, he stared through the lens.

  If he’d needed confirmation before, he knew he was losing it when a few adjustments brought the surf closer, and, at last, he stopped hearing his pulse pound against his temples. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be up close and personal with anything. Ever.

  The name he’d been given by the Team—Lone Wolf—which had been shortened over time, had never felt more true.

  He drew a deep breath, and then held it. Then drew another as calm settled inside him. His gaze snagged on a figure running beside the waves. The woman was dressed in dark, thigh-hugging Lycra shorts and a bright pink sports bra. The bra’s engineering was certainly being tested because the redhead was built. She was slim with long legs, but as nice as her length was, her large breasts drew his attention.

  And just like that, he’d become a creepy stalker. Wolf blew out a breath, ready to set aside the scope, but she turned from her parallel path beside the waves and headed toward his villa. No, toward the one next door.

  Wolf held still behind the curtain, adjusting the spotter to sharpen the view and bring her features into better focus. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail and was a mixture of brown and sparkling copper strands. A light tan colored her skin. Her jaw was a little square, hinting at a stubborn nature. Large black sunglasses hid her eyes. But from everything he could see, she was stunning.

  And completely out of his league.

  He liked her looks, but he liked even better the way she moved—her long stride being economical, rather than sensual. No fuss. No extra sway. The angle of her chin reflected an inner confidence he found oddly endearing. When she unlocked her front door and left his view, he felt loss. Maybe he was just lonely and horny. Maybe she wasn’t any of the things he imagined—quick witted, quick to smile, someone a guy didn’t have to entertain, but who could take long silences without wondering if he wasn’t that into her.

  A knock sounded on his bedroom door. “Hey, you up?”

  Wolf tensed and whipped his gaze to the door. Three weeks since he’d been wheels up at Bagram Airfield wasn’t long enough to throw off old habits. When he’d come in from a lonely mission in the field, he’d worn noise-suppressing headphones to keep from reacting to every sound the men surrounding him made. Always a loner, working as a sniper had suited him just fine.

  After his last deployment, he’d realized he had to make some changes—and soon—or he might never assimilate back into society. His social skills sucked. His senses were constantly over-stimulated in the company of other people. Fellow SEAL team members knew him well enough to give him space when he came out of the field. But how the hell would he ever function in the real world when his instincts kept him edgy, and he was constantly searching rooftops, alleys, and doorways for threats?

  Could he ever form deep and lasting friendships? Sure, his team respected his skill with a rifle. He’d saved their asses often enough, but he could hardly call any of them close friends. Although they did try to include him in their off-base activities. How many times had he refused invitations to parties or trips to the beach when the Team was back in Little Creek?

  Rather than stay in quarters on base, he’d elected to rent an apartment, far enough away no one would just drop in. Not that he’d made any effort to make the place homey. Four bare walls, a kitchen, and bathroom. Heavy curtains to reduce the light coming in or to reveal any light inside. He might as well have chosen a cave.

  “Deke’s got breakfast ready, Wolf. Come on down when you’re ready.”

  He could hear the question in Jax’s voice. He supposed Jackson Keller was as close to a friend as he had. He’d arranged the little meet ‘n’ greet in Texas. As soon as he’d heard through the grapevine Wolf had submitted his separation papers, he’d called, wondering if he was interested in putting his skills to good use for much better pay.

  Not that Jax’s invitation to come meet the folks at Charter Group in their Dallas headquarters was his only option. GAPS was wooing him, too. But the Guardian Angels Protection Services hadn’t offered him the use of a house on a Cancun beach. Charter had even thrown in the flight on one of the company’s private jets.

  Wolf returned the scope to his duffel and pulled out a pair of swimming trunks and a plain navy tee. After he ate, he’d swim. And then maybe he could get his head around the choice he had to make.

  He found Deke and Jax in the kitchen. Suri, Jax’s girlfriend, was behind the kitchen island, flipping pancakes.

  She looked up and
gave him a brilliant smile when he entered the room. “Mornin’, sleepyhead.”

  He gave her a faint smile, but she didn’t expect him to say more. She’d already figured out he was a “man of few words” or so she’d told him last night over dinner, chiding Jax when he kept peppering him with questions about his last tour in the desert.

  Wolf couldn’t help letting his gaze slide over Suri’s lush curves. How Jax had landed a bombshell like that… He shook his head. Jax had met her on his first mission with the Charter Group. He’d rescued her from a drug lord’s compound. A school teacher, she’d been reluctant to set foot in Mexico again, but Jax had been persuasive, waving the carrot of this prime piece of real estate to tempt her back south of the border, if only just long enough to settle his pal Wolf into the beach house.

  Besides, the drug lord who’d threatened her was dead. His son was in protective custody, having turned snitch to save his own hide from a long prison sentence. He’d revealed enough about his father’s organization that the DEA, with contracted help from the Charter Group, had managed to dismantle his organization piece by piece. Now that the job was nearly complete, Jax and Suri were planning to marry in Austin in the fall.

  Wolf watched as Jax moved toward her, sliding an arm low on her back as he bent to kiss her cheek. He envied the other man’s ease with the woman. Envied the fact he had someone. While Wolf had never had much trouble finding partners for one-night-stands, he’d never made a real connection with a woman.

  Suri pointed her spatula toward the kitchen table. “Help yourself. Eat as much as you want. Charter keeps the kitchen well-stocked.”

  Wolf gave her another faint smile, filled a plate, and joined Deke at the table.

  “You have a chance to look over the packet?” Deke asked as he crunched on a piece of bacon.

  “Read it before I went to bed. Benefits look good.” He looked up to meet Deke’s gaze. “Just as good as what GAPS is offering.”