An unexpected shiver rolls down my spine, heat pooling low in my stomach.Fuck. I need to get a grip. This is completely inappropriate; he’s my stepbrother.
Still… this folder gives me the perfect excuse to break the silence he’s been hiding behind.
Before heading up, I pull up my calendar on the large monitor, to make sure nothing urgent is waiting… no client calls, no last-minute meetings that could pull me away. The screen fills with the familiar grid of color-coded blocks.
I scroll through the rest of the day, then pause; something looks off. These entries aren’t mine. Random notes about vendor meetings, tech briefings, and half a dozen “strategy syncs” I definitely didn’t schedule. I frown, clicking around. Maybe I accidentally opened Dad’s shared calendar again? He’s always forgetting to log out of the family account.
But then my eyes catch the small initials in the top right corner: RA. Rowan Adley.
What the fuck? I stare at the screen for a long second. Somehow, I’ve ended up logged into Rowan’s calendar instead of my own. The system must have kept his session active from some earlier shared document we worked on. I should close it immediately. Instead, my gaze drifts to Saturday; the morning he disappeared early.
There it is: ‘8:00 AM - Dr. Hart’
My frown deepens. I quickly exit the calendar, hoping the system doesn’t flag that someone else viewed it. Rowan’s paranoid enough about his privacy as it is.
Curiosity wins and I open a new browser tab and type “Dr. Hart” along with our location. In a place this big, the odds of anything useful coming up are slim… but the first result loads instantly.
‘Dr. Elias Hart – Renowned Specialist in Sexual Health and Intimacy Therapy. Expertise in arousal disorders, delayed orgasm, pleasure reconnection, and sexual wellness for individuals and couples.’
I read the description twice, my jaw tightening. The website lists him as a leading sex therapist with advanced training in helping clients overcome long-standing difficulties with climax,intimacy barriers, and reconnecting with their bodies in a shame-free way.
Why the hell would Rowan need to see someone like Dr. Hart? The question sits heavy in my chest. I log out of everything, close the browser, and push back from the desk, the folder now feeling heavier in my hand.
“Heading upstairs,” I tell Jenny, my assistant.
Two simple words are all it ever takes. She smiles brightly, eager as always. “Of course, sir. I’ll keep an eye on everything for you.”
I nod, pleased by her quick obedience, and head toward the elevators. A few curious gazes follow me across the floor, but I don’t acknowledge them.
Inside the elevator, I close the doors quickly, so the car is mine alone. I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall and run a hand through my dark hair, smoothing it back. Thirty-seven looks good on me… sharp jaw, authoritative stance, the kind of presence that makes people straighten up. A crooked grin tugs at my mouth as I punch in the private code for the top floor.
When the doors open, the top floor is hushed as always. Dad’s office sits at the far end, the large boardroom in the middle, and Rowan’s office is closer to this side. His assistant’s small, neatly organized desk sits empty in its little alcove; she must have stepped out.
I walk straight to Rowan’s door and open it quietly, careful not to interrupt if he’s on an important call.
I freeze in the doorway. Rowan’s assistant is on her knees between his legs, lips wrapped around his cock, bobbing with mechanical effort. But Rowan… Rowan looks bored out of hismind. He’s leaning against the edge of his desk, phone in hand, thumb scrolling across the screen like he’s answering emails while someone sucks him off. His face shows zero pleasure… no tension in his jaw, no flush, no hitch in his breathing.Nothing.
I lean against the doorframe, frowning deeply. What the fuck? My eyes drift down to the girl. Her cheeks are barely hollowing. She’s just… moving her back and forth with no rhythm, no suction, no enthusiasm. It’s painfully obvious she has no idea what she’s doing. Rowan’s still typing.
Then it clicks… Dr. Hart. The twenty-minute jerk-off session I overheard on Saturday. The way Rowan struggled even when he was alone. He can’t find real pleasure… it takes too long. And this woman is clearly doing nothing for him. Worse, I don’t like seeing her mouth on him,at all.
My voice comes out low and commanding, the tone I use when I expect immediate compliance. “Get out.”
I step fully into the room.
The assistant yelps, pulls off with a wet sound, and scrambles to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She doesn’t even look at me before hurrying out and closing the door behind her.
“Fucking hell, Cade…” Rowan starts, already yanking his pants back up.
I slam the folder onto his desk with a sharp thud and snatch the phone from his hand.
“What…” he begins.
I press my index finger firmly against his lips, silencing him. His eyes widen. I glance at the screen… boring work emails; exactly as I thought. I set the phone down on the desk.
A sharp, dark challenge rises in my chest. I wonder if anyone could resist me… even Rowan. More than that, Iwantto show him what real pleasure feels like. Iwantto be better than that pathetic attempt. I can’t imagine living without being able to fully enjoy sex, and something possessive curls in me at the thought of giving him what no one else has.
I grab both of Rowan’s shoulders firmly and guide him toward the couch along the far wall of his office.
