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.