Chapter 14

Mira

I shut my front door, and my whole body slumps against it, letting out a loud exhale when I do.

I’m so…tired? No, I’m pissed. I’m tired and pissed.

Of course I am. The one person that I actually want—or have ever wanted—I can’t have because of my damn mother.

She really knows how to mess my life up, all in expense to her own. I hope she’s fucking happy, though a part of me thoroughly enjoyed Owen’s ability to make her cower like she did. But I bet it was just an act; she’s always been so good at playing the damsel in distress.

It’s amazing what one night can do to your life. Everything appears to be going smoothly, my business on track and all, and then in a blink of an eye—well, a few blinks—my world turns upside down.

All because my mom married the brother of the man who’s awakened parts of me I never knew existed.

I know I can’t just let that go. I have to have him.

Whatever I said back at his penthouse are just words. Actions speak so much louder, and his—our—bodily reaction towards each other speaks volumes. So, I promise to break my original promise—with or without the permission of my dearest step-father—and I will fuck Owen.

I tug at his shirt collar I’m wearing and smell him—again—to reassure myself. When the taste of him spreads a sharp tingle underneath my skin, I know what needs to be done. And that’s me by Owen’s cock.

But for now, I’ll have to find an alternative.

I toss my phone on the grey marble kitchen counter and head towards my master bathroom.

I’ve only just moved in, but one of the first things I arranged was to have furniture. And I made sure it fit my new CEO lifestyle—bold and luxurious.

This is where I take after my mother, in some respects. Really, I just like to have nice things.

I don’t think that’s a bad trait to take on, though, considering I could’ve inherited a few others of hers that I still cringe at.

The sun shines through the floor-to-ceiling windows in my living room, and I pivot my direction so that I can move the velvet cream curtains to either side to make room for more light. I love when the light hits the gold and crystal chandelier; it makes it sparkle, and the reflections on the wall shine like diamonds.

I stare at the twinkling crystals, almost amazed and ridiculously amused by the reflection. It’s amazing what can happen when you open yourself up to a world of new possibilities.

Wow, Mira. Calm down. Apparently, I can now relate to a damn chandelier. Hah. But I guess there are worse things to relate to.

I continue my path to my bedroom while running my hand over one of the white plush couches. I revel in the feel of it against my sensitive skin.

My nerves are so tightly wound, as they have been since the moment I laid eyes on my now step-uncle, who I saw devour that woman in the cake room.

God. I need a release before I combust from too much pressure.

I quicken my pace down the hall to my bathroom, passing the new collection of artwork I purchased from an up and coming artist. I don’t usually buy art, but I was engrossed by the way this artist captured their subjects. Or, rather, pieces of their subjects.

They’re all snapshots of a human’s body, focusing in on a person’s hand, the crevice of their upper thigh, the curve of their collar bone.

The sensuality of it all moved me when I first saw them, and now it’s more fitting than ever as I walk pass them feeling my desire for Owen burn through me.

I don’t even care that he’s technically my step-uncle. Like I’ve said before, we’re barely related. If we were royalty, no one would even bat an eye at our relationship.

So why not pretend that I am? For the time being at least…

Stepping into my Elizabethan-style bathroom—see, I told you I can play royal—I undress, folding his shirt neatly, not wanting to let the smell of him on it escape.

I get a whiff of my perfume from the night before. Ugh. It’s clinging onto me.

But now, it’s mixed with a sour-y sweetness. And a hint of his musk. I want him to stay on me, in the most primal sense, but I follow my better judgement and shower.

I turn on the waterfall shower head and wait for the water to warm. I look at myself in the mirror and see something different in my reflection.

Maybe it’s him, and this new part of me that I can’t get enough of. This ravenous, sexual being who wants nothing more than to be fucked by a man I can’t have.

I enter the enormous shower and let the water cascade down my body, warming and wetting me. I lather my vanilla and cherry-scented body wash over my skin, and I close my eyes. Visions of Owen’s body come to me, and I imagine that it’s his hands touching me, moving the soap across every inch of my body.

My hands slide over my breasts, tugging at my nipples. In my mind, it’s his mouth that sucks them in, teasing them with his tongue, nipping each one with his teeth.

I moan softly, feeling my ache for him intensify.

I imagine his hands move down my back and grab my ass, just like on the dance floor—but rougher—and he pushes my cunt into his mouth.

My fingers graze over my clit, teasing it at first, and then gradually adding pressure. Thinking Owen’s tongue likes to tease.

He’d rub my sensitive nub and fill me with his fingers. They’d stroke me, gliding against my aching walls. And his tongue would lick and suck my clit.

My fingers move in and out of my wetness, and my thumb moves to my clit, mirroring his technique. My other hand holds me up, occasionally pulling at my breasts when the pressure becomes too much.

I envision him fucking me with his tongue until I burst, and as I come, his cock thrusts into me, my cunt greedily taking all twelve inches of him.

That’s right, my dirty little slut. Take my dick, I hear him grunting out inside my head. I hate that word, but I love when he says it…like that. Aggressive and rough, wanting more of me.

My body jerks when my fingers hit my spot.

“Ah, Owen!” I cry out.

He flips me over and takes me from behind, hitting that delicious spot I found with every thrust.

I imagine hearing the muffled sounds he makes. He says my name, repeatedly, and it sends me over the edge.

I reach in front of me to turn the lower shower head on and put it on full blast. It hits my clit, touching the nerves my thumb can’t reach. It’s his hands who massages those nerves, winding and building me up to the point of eruption.

I see my breasts and raw nipples smash against his soft, red covers, tickling my heated skin.

“Ah!” My body tenses as the water thrashes against me and trickles down my body. My hands mimic how I imagine his hands would rub my clit and how his cock would fuck my cunt.

I rub my clit, harder and faster, and my body stills. My hips move against my hand, and my orgasm ignites every nerve of my body.

As the water hits me, I visualize Owen filling me with his cum. I continue to massage myself, prolonging my orgasms, and I place my hands against the wall in front of me.

“Fuck me!” I scream, frustration getting the best of me.

That was…amazing.

My breathing steadies as my reality comes to focus.

I need to fuck him.

I finish showering, hating the fact that my fantasies can’t come true. Or at least, he won’t let them…yet.

When I get out, the coldness of the air sends shivers down my spine, and I slide my silk robe on. It slithers over my hard goosebumps, and the coolness steadies my rising temperature.

I try to shake him off, but when I go back to the kitchen and get my phone, my fucking step-uncle won’t leave my thoughts. I open my email, trying to distract myself with work. Or anything unrelated to Owen.

But I instinctively think…what would he do right now with me bending over the counter, with nothing on underneath this clingy robe?

I shake my cunt in the air like some dog in heat, and the robe brushes against me.

And again, with him in mind, my imagination gets the best of me, and my hand drops my phone and slides between my legs.

I’m sure Mr. Step-Uncle has more than enough stamina for round two…