by Alexis Angel
“Aaaaaah!” she cries out.
Her body thrashes beneath mine so hard, I can physically see the reaction of her every nerve ending as her entire system lights up with pleasure.
I don’t let up in the least. If anything, I stroke her harder, even faster than before, until I feel the tension in her body dissolve into pure fucking bliss.
“Oh,” she pants against my lips, struggling to catch her breath. “Oh…wow. God. Oh.”
She smiles a satisfied little smile and steals another kiss; her eyelids heavy and hooded, her breath shallow and slowing.
“Thank you,” she breathes.
“Don’t thank me, Mira,” I warn her. I rise, ripping off my shirt so hard that the buttons pop off and rain down into the bathwater. “I’m not fucking done with you yet.”
Chapter 28
Mira
I’ve admired men before. I’ve watched the way their well-muscled bodies moved beneath their tailored Armanis. I know what I find handsome in a man: a strong jawline, a crooked smile, pale eyes and, okay, yeah, maybe a little bit older than me (or a lot).
But a million lifetimes of imagining what men look like out of their business wear could never have prepared me for this.
Owen’s body is hard, powerful, and thickly muscled. He strips the last piece of clothing from his skin, leaving him bare—and leaving me breathless.
Maybe it’s the heat of the bath or wear of the day, or maybe I’m finally realizing why Victorian women were always fainting.
Owen undressed—nude and bare and so fucking hard for me I can hardly stand it—is making me so lightheaded I think I might need some smelling salts myself.
They don’t make men like this anymore.
So when he moves toward me, I spread my legs for him.
There will never be another Owen Westbrook.
Not for me.
Not for anyone.
So tonight, whatever happens…
I have to make him mine.
“Do you want this?” he rasps.
His voice is scratchy and rough. It sounds like he’s fighting back something—something dangerous just beneath his surface that’s threatening to break free.
I can see it in his every movement. His every step as he approaches the tub. I can see it in the careful way he lowers himself into the water between my legs and in the way he hesitates before pressing his body to mine.
He’s holding himself back. Even now. Even when the only thing I’ve wanted to scream from that very first moment was, ‘YES! YES! FUCK ME, OWEN WESTBROOK! YES!’
“I want this,” I tell him instead, nodding my head and easing my ankles behind his thighs. Then, because I mean it, I add, “Please.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Mira.”
“You don’t have to hurt me,” I whisper back.
It’s not the truth.
I kind of want him to hurt me.
I want him to spit in my mouth and gag me with my panties, fill each of my holes up with his cum and get me pregnant with like, a billion gorgeous billionaire babies.
But I also want him to hold me against his chest. To be soft. Sweet. To move inside me in ways I’ve only imagined during the steamiest scenes of R-rated movies.
I want him to wreck me. To ruin me.
And I want him to take me in his arms and make me whole.
“It might hurt no matter what,” he warns. “You’re a virgin, Mira. And I’m…well.”
Well is right. He lowers his body until it’s flush with mine. My breasts are crushed delectably against his chest, and his cock…
God. His fucking cock. It slips against my pussy under the water, so hard and thick and stiff and—fuck.
Long. You know what a ruler looks like. You can estimate twelve inches in your head. But until you’ve had one pressed against you, settled between your soft, sensitive pussy lips and rubbing against your virgin cunt…
Owen is big. Impossibly big.
He might not want to hurt me, but be might not have a choice.
“Owen…I don’t know if you’ll fit,” I whimper with need.
He pauses for a moment as he grinds his massive, iron-hard man meat against my tight little slit.
“I’ll make it fit,” he says—and then he takes me.
It hurts. It does. But only for a fraction of a moment.
Then blissful pleasure blooms between my legs like I was made for taking his cock. Made to order for spreading my knees for a man like Owen…but there are no men like Owen.
There’s only him.
So maybe I was just made for him.
He goes slow, inch by fucking inch.
With every breath draw in, I count another inch deeper.
Every time I breathe out, he gives me a moment to realize how full having his cock inside my pussy makes me feel.
All it takes is that singular moment to make me want more.
“Owen,” I gasp as I feel something new building inside me. It’s like a drumroll played on a timpani, growing and growing to a crescendo that I’ve never experienced before.
He takes me in his arms like he’s shielding me from an explosion—but the explosion is happening within me.
“Aaah!” I cry out, digging my fingernails into his shoulder blades.
“That’s it, Mira. Come for me! Fucking give it to me. Give me everything, baby. I want it all.”
“More,” I manage to gasp. “F-fuck me harder, Owen.”
I sink my teeth into his shoulder blade and relish the way it makes him snarl and growl.
“More,” I say into his shoulder. “More!”
“You’re fucking insatiable, Mira.”
Owen slams the rest of his cock into my pussy, and I roll my head back like the holy spirit itself is entering my body. When I close my eyes, I can see fireworks behind my eyelids.
“You want more?”
“Yes!” I cry out, thrusting my hips up to meet his. “God, yes! Yes, Owen! YES!”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Owen fucks me like some kind of bastard between a man and a machine. I wanted him to hurt me—and he does. In the most perfect of ways. He pulls my hair back, bites my neck, sucks each of my nipples into his mouth until I whimper, and squeezes my ass so hard I think I’ll be able to see marks of his fingertips bloom into little purple bruises.
He’s violent. He’s brutal. He’s forceful, and I’m lost in everything that he is.
But I wanted him to make love to me, too—and he gives me that as well. He gives it to me in soft little encouragements…
“That’s it, baby. Take my cock. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come like that—so fucking beautiful—”
And he makes love to me in his kisses, his sighs. Those little moans that men never make, not even in the movies—the kind that promise whatever pleasure I’m feeling, he’s feeling it too.
We’re so much more than just two people fucking. So much more than whatever labels people might apply to us, or however perverse Carl and his fucking pearl-clutching want to make us sound.
This is just the two of us. Together. It’s lust and it’s fucking and it’s love and it’s passion, pure and raw, the kind that some people never get to experience in their entire lifetimes.
If we don’t make the most of this tonight, I know that I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
So I take him. I have him. Every inch, every orgasm, every intense, gasping moment.
“Mira,” Owen rasps. “I’m so fucking close.”
“Please,” I breathe.
I don’t know how to ask him for what I so desperately want—what I have wanted from the first fucking moment I saw him going down on that bridesmaid smeared with my mother’s wedding cake.
I can only hope that whatever it is I’m yearning for…
That he wants it too.
“Mira!” he roars. “Mira—god! Take my fucking cum! Take it all!”
“Give it to me!” I whine, holding onto him for dear life.
“Give it to me, Owen! Yes! YES!”
We come together, both of us at once. I can feel every ounce of his hot, sticky seed pumping into my pussy, filling me up fuller than I’ve ever been.
I wrap my legs around him and keep him inside me, even long after he’s done. The thought of being separated from him is unbearable—especially after all this.
Instead, I find his lips, and I keep mine there. As long as he’ll let me. For as long as we can.
Chapter 29
Owen
And then we’re both exhausted. Mira is lying on my chest, basking in the afterglow.
She’s slippery, hot, and naked. Blonde hair all wet and slicked back. Blue eyes half-shut.
Her cute little lips are open and happy. She’s smiling like the Cheshire fucking Cat. Almost purring, too.
She’s so fucking hot like this. So hot I can feel myself getting hard again almost instantly.
Absent-mindedly, I rub my hand along her back and squeeze that sexy little ass of hers. She moans in pleasure and smiles up at me. And suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with self-loathing.
What the fuck have I done?
She’s so fucking young. Am I really so incapable of controlling myself?
I guess the answer is yes.
I fucked my step-niece, and I didn’t even wear a condom. She could have gotten pregnant—she could be pregnant right now.
It was good, though. Really fucking good. One for the books.
Images of her seconds earlier moaning my name flash through my head.
Okay, I really am hard again now.
She sees and looks up at me, batting those long, dark eyelashes of hers.
“I know what we could do with that,” she says, gesturing with her chin at my now-enormous hard-on.
“Mira…fuck. I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? That was everything I’ve been fantasizing about since the wedding. Or, well, since forever, really. In like, a non-specific way, y’know? It was amazing.”
“Mira, we can’t be together. I took your virginity. This could totally ruin your company and your life.”
Her sleepy blue eyes grow fierce for a second. “No, look. Fuck Carl. This was a great thing, and we won’t let it ruin anything. No regrets.”
She’s using her finger to run circles around my chest now. It feels so fucking good.
“Mira,” I remind her, trying to be the voice of reason. “You could get pregnant.”
“Worse things have happened.”
She then drags her fingernails across my chest.
She’s so young. I want to explain it to her—tell her how much of a terrible idea this was and get her to see that I’ve been completely irresponsible.
But for once, this isn’t about my ego. This is about her. She needs to be cared for, and she needs me to be there for her.
Do with your self-loathing what you should have done with your dick: keep it to yourself, Owen.
“So, you’re happy? With this?”
She runs a finger behind my ear and then softly breathes into it.
I’ve never been harder in my entire fucking life.
“I am so, so happy,” she whispers.
And then I know what I have to do. Best leave it there, with Mira feeling happy and me not losing my senses twice in one night.
I think she’s finally ready to sleep, too. So I stand, picking her up in my arms as I do so.
I know why I found her so extremely sexy when I first met her; it’s frankly amazing that anything so tiny can be so powerful. She’s so petite, but you can tell that she’s a force of nature.
I gently place both of us on the tiled floor and reach for the bathrobes folded by the sink.
I’m not an angel, though. I get one final glimpse of that glistening, steaming body before I wrap her robe around her.
Those full tits, dripping with water…those open little lips…
She sees me watching hungrily.
“Are you checking me out, Uncle Owen?”
Christ. She’s a naughty little flirt, even when she’s exhausted beyond belief and also stifling a yawn.
I want to kiss her, but I exercise some goddamn self-control for once.
I wrap my towel around myself, too. We can’t have any more shenanigans, so best cover myself up completely.
As if that would stop us.
Then, I pick her up in my arms again—marveling at how she weighs next to nothing—and carry her to bed.
Pajamas. Shit. That’s the one thing I overlooked.
There are no pajamas, dammit.
I undress her again to stop her from getting her wet robe in the bed, then fold down the covers and then tuck her in.
There’s a nice chaise lounge in the corner over there that I know I’ll sleep on myself while I try to work out how the hell to make this right.
Normally, Mira is hot-as-fuck. But when she’s lying in bed, drowsy as a kitten, she’s something else—still as beautiful, just as stunning, but softer.
She stifles a yawn and looks up at me expectantly.
“It’s generally considered good manners,” she murmurs up at me, “to kiss a lady goodnight after you’ve fucked her senseless.”
Fuck. Why is everything she says so hot?
Obviously, it’s almost as bad a move to kiss her goodnight as it was to fuck her. But she’s looking up at me all soft and warm and expectant and gorgeous.
And wet.
As if she hadn’t already melted my playboy heart.
So, I lean over, and I do it. I claim her lips. I make them mine.
The kiss is good; no, not just good. It’s fucking mind-blowing. Her tongue slides over mine. I can feel her teeth grazing against my lips.
And as for the little moans she makes…
I realize with surprise that the little moans are coming from my mouth as well.
She places her hands behind my head and pulls me in closer. This is too much. Way too fucking much.
And at the same time…this is just right.
We’re both smiling now, our faces close. But there is a twinge of worry and regret behind my smile.
“Do you need anything else?” I whisper in her ear.
She smiles and rolls her body to the side, so it’s pressed against me as I sit on the bed.
“I need you, Owen.”
I stroke my hand across her pink cheek. “You’ve already had me, honey. I meant something like a glass of water?”
“No. I just want you.”
“We just did that, Mira. It was a terrible idea. Mind-blowing, but fucking terrible. Remember?”
“No, not more sex. Although I do want more of that later…” She looks pointedly at the treacherous bulge in my robe. “I need you to sleep next to me. I’m exhausted. You calm me down enough to sleep. And I want to feel your skin on mine.”
She runs her hand along my neck, undoing me.
How can I resist that? Fuck, I have to resist it. But can I?
I’m tired, too, I reason. I may as well sleep somewhere more revitalizing than a chaise.
And she needs me right now.
We’ll just sleep.
We won’t do anything naughty or dirty. Nothing unwholesome. Just an uncle—a half-step-uncle—and his half-step-niece, sleeping side by side.
We’re both already tired out enough as it is.
“Come on.” She rubs her hands down my robed back.
She smells like soap and heat and well-fucked cunt. She smells fucking delicious.
“Come on, keep me company. Help me sleep.”
She starts to pull the robe off my shoulders. I can see how this woman founded a company. She just won’t listen to the word “no.”
And I don’t want to say it to her, anyway. I want to wake up next to those bright blue eyes, that perfect body…
I sigh. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”
I dump the robe on the floor and climb in next to her.
Her skin is wonderful to be wrapped around. So
soft. So smooth.
After a few moments, we settle for the classic post-coital position. Me on my back, her arms across my chest.
It’s a cliché position, but with her, everything feels just right.
She runs her fingers through my hair and looks into my eyes one more time. And I feel two more stabs: one of regret and one of desire.
Then she puts her head on my chest, mumbles something about being satisfied, and falls asleep almost instantly. I wish I could say the same for me.
I lie awake for what feels like hours—staring at the glittering cityscape outside the penthouse windows.
Wondering and worrying—they’re not feelings I’ve felt in a long time. Normally, I’m more the doing and making-happen kind of guy.
Normally, I don’t become sexually infatuated, and—let’s face it—romantically invested, especially not with my step-niece.
Normally, it’s me and my high-rolling and my money and my fun.
Me. Alone.
Actually, come to think of it, this is the first time I’ve actually slept next to a woman in a very long time. Usually, I kick them out of the fucking door before they can get the feeling that I might let them stay.
But this…it’s excellent. Completely worth it.
Her quiet breathing, her soft little whines…it’s the quietest and most content I’ve ever seen her.
I want it to stay this way.
I wish it could.
Chapter 30
Mira
Everything is perfect.
Sunlight falls through the curtains, slowly rousing me from sleep.
Did last night really happen? Or did I just dream it?
I feel Owen shift, and I can hear his heart beating under my ears, so, no, I wasn’t dreaming. I’m not dreaming.
This is all real.
I fucked Owen Westbrook.
But it’s more than that. As hot as Owen is—and he’s super fucking hot—he could so easily be using me for my body.
But I don’t think that’s the case.
He cares about me. I’m not just some bridesmaid sitting on the wedding cake that he’s going to send away once he’s finished with me.
I’m the girl he took home with him, and now I’m the girl who gets to wake up beside him.
He cares about me.
In his sleep, Owen pulls me closer to him. Pressing my body against him—not in a sexual way, but in a way that makes me feel safe. Nothing can touch me while I’m in Owen’s arms. Nothing and no one.