Chapter 16

Mira

“Don’t do it!” I scream, even as Owen’s fist lands in Carl’s right eye socket.

His punch loosens the sweaty grip my disgusting stepfather has on my wrists and knocks me off balance.

Steadying myself on the wobbly card table I use for additional workspace, I turn back to the men just in time to see Carl stumble backward from another blow that would impress Mike Tyson. Owen might be slightly out of my age range, but he definitely dedicates plenty of time to his body.

And it’s only fair that I return the favor by dedicating my time to his body as well. As a thank you, of course, for beating the shit out of my mother’s creepy husband.

“How fucking deranged are you?” Owen yells, holding Carl’s off-the-rack collar in his hands inches from Carl’s face. “I should call your new wife right now and tell her how disgusting you are.”

Owen is using Carl as a rag doll just shaking him around the room. I dip out of the way just in time, saving myself from being caught under Carl as he goes crashing onto the card table for a moment, before finally coming to a stop on the ground.

Being my armed guard is starting to become Owen’s thing. Seeing how his muscles flex under that designer suit with each punch or jab he lands, I’m willing to offer him the job starting immediately. It comes with great benefits.

Okay, one benefit: my willingness to let him do whatever he wants to me whenever he wants.

“I was proving a point, you jackass,” Carl says, propping his elbow on his knee, my sketches and designs now scattered all over the floor.

He’s slumped over like he’s looking for his dignity down there. Talk about a fruitless search.

“Yeah, well, don’t be surprised if she proves a point by divorcing you and taking you for everything you own,” Owen says, extending a hand to help Carl up. “Unless you have a prenup.”

“Of course, I have a prenup,” Carl grimaces, limping back to rest against my desk. “You don’t marry a woman like Carol without protecting all your assets.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I ask, coming up to stand beside Owen, crossing my arms in defense.

Fuck. Even with my rage at this man—who has the nerve to lean on my desk like he’s in his office—I’m tempted to reach out and squeeze Owen's impossibly bulging arm.

I admit, I’m not the biggest fan of my mother. But I won’t let my step-father talk about her like that. And definitely not in my fucking office.

Carl snickers, and, with a derisive half-hearted smile, he points in my direction.

“Look at her daughter. If the saying’s true that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I’m going to have to keep a close eye on my wife.”

Owen glances my way, and, after a slight nod in his direction, he gut-punches Carl.

You’d think by now Carl would have his guard up a little, but no. He’s been transformed into Owen’s punching bag. I’m actually quite fond of this new version of him.

Standing back and watching Owen deliver a few more deserved punches, I can’t help but notice how much this scene is turning me on. I feel my cunt vibrate with every swing of Owen’s arm, with every moan and grunt he elicits from Carl.

It's like I’ve become a different person since this man came into my life. And I’m loving every naughty minute of it.

Carl is trying desperately to catch his breath—maybe Owen should give him some fitness tips—and holds his hand up in utter defeat. Owen steps back, allowing Carl a clear path to the door, which he takes, scurrying away like the little rat that he is.

I shake my head. What a wimp. It’s no wonder my mom married him for his money.

“You don’t look any worse for wear,” I say to Owen.

It’s true. He’s just spent the last twenty minutes beating up a man who easily weighs fifty pounds more than him, and he still looks fucking gorgeous.

“I’m not the one he attacked,” he says. “You okay?”

“I’m a big girl,” I smile. “It’ll take more than that little gnat to rattle me.”

I walk over to where Owen is standing and stop in front of him, straightening his tie; it’s the only hint besides his bloody knuckles that a fight just occurred here—well, a one-sided beat down.

“How can I possibly thank you?” I ask. “Tell me, whatever it is, and I’ll do it.”

I let my voice sound as breathless and seductive as possible, almost like Marilyn Monroe’s rendition of Happy Birthday. But I lay it on even thicker, trying to measure up to his thickness.

“Whatever?” Owen asks, his dark eyebrow raises in the most rakishly sexy way. “Don’t tempt me if you’re not willing to deliver.”

“Oh, make no mistake,” I say, placing my hands on his shoulders. “I have never been more willing.”

“You say that now,” Owen remarks, cupping my chin and rubbing his thumb along my cheekbone, sending shivers of desire to every molecule in my body. “But you’re about to be in over your head, little girl.”

The gauntlet’s thrown down. I have no choice but to reach a hand behind his head and bring him in for a kiss.

He lets me take the lead at first. But soon, it’s abundantly clear to both of us that he’s the one in charge.

Breaking our kiss, he looks deep into my eyes, like he’s trying to see how far he can push this little dance before I break.

“Still think I can’t handle you?” I ask.

A small smile emerges from his chiseled face.

“I guess I’m going to have to find out for myself,” he says, running his finger along my bottom lip.

Just when I think I’ve got this under control, he dips his finger into my mouth. While I wasn’t expecting this, I’m nothing if not a team player. I close my lips around his finger, sucking on it as I slowly draw it out of my mouth, returning his intense gaze the whole time.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I ask teasingly.

Owen’s smile disappears in an instant. And just as quickly, he pins me against the wall. His entire body presses against mine, and all my concentration lands on his dick pressed against my cunt, separated only by a few thin layers of fabric.

“You like to watch someone fight for you, don’t you?” Owen says as he frees one of his hands to trace my collarbone, keeping my arms pinned over my head with his other hand. “It gets your blood pumping?”

“Yes,” I say, suddenly realizing how hard I’m breathing.

“What about your cunt?” Owen asks, using the same hand to reach down under my skirt to trace the lace of my panties. “Oh, yeah, you’re wet. I should put your wet cunt to use.”

I’m torn between the desire I feel for Owen—a desire I’ve never felt before—and my fear of the unknown. I attempt to push him away, but Owen doesn’t budge. I silently thank him for making this decision easy.

“I’ve already been accused of fucking you, Mira,” Owen says, my name rolling out of his mouth like honey on a summer day. “I might as well enjoy the crime if I’m going to have to do the time. That’s only fair, right?”

My head is swirling from the earlier excitement—Owen’s massiveness pressed against me and the warmth I feel from his hand even through my panties.

Or maybe that heat is coming from me?

At this moment, I’m not sure where I end and he begins. It’s as inviting as it is terrifying.