by Dark Angel
This is not the same man who crashed his car into the side of St. Patrick's Cathedral because he was too busy having fellatio performed on him by two women. Not just one, but two.
This is not the same man who left Academy Award Winning Best Actress Michele Roberts VonCannon using her Oscar acceptance speech to make a heartfelt plea to return her phone calls.
No. The Magnus Davion that New Yorkers see actually waits till the sign changes to cross the street. He stops at red lights when he's driving. He doesn't get inappropriately drunk at the worst moments. He's not causing mayhem and destruction.
Which leaves millions of New Yorkers wondering, "What gives?"
Well, my fellow citizens, if you'll permit me a moment to put on my tinfoil hat, I'll give you what I think is going on here.
Two words. Equinox Towers.
You see, my theory is that ever since Mr. Davion's little spectacle at Nailers Arena, he's come into some scrutiny by the city and state. You'll remember that this column even suggested that the city stop doing business with him entirely.
Well, guess what building is coming up for final decision on choosing the developer that will build it?
That's right. Equinox Towers.
And it makes perfect sense that this man—who is not unintelligent or slow in the slightest—will be staying on his best behavior to not piss anyone else off.
What happens though when Equinox Towers is his?
Does the old Magnus come out?
Or can we keep this one?
It's an interesting question. I much prefer the current version of the man, but who knows what will happen. Or, if he'll even get the contract at all.
I'll let you know as soon as I find out.
Until then, keep your ears to the ground, New York. I'll be listening!
Magnus
I can’t get a fucking break.
There was one good article about me, and now it’s back to the old burn-the-bastard-at-the-stake routine. Whoever’s writing this garbage must be having a lot of fun, because these kinds of articles have been coming for a very long time.
Seriously, whoever runs the New York Daily Journal must have a fucking grudge against me, because I have no other explanation for this. Sure, I know I’m not exactly one of those cookie-cutter role models, but is this kind of bullshit really needed? It’s not like I eat fucking children for breakfast.
I decided to hop out of my limo a few blocks away from my office tower, thinking that it’d be a good idea to stretch my legs. I didn’t need to walk long to find one of these newspaper stands that seem to be one of the New York staples. Curiosity got the best of me and I grabbed a Daily Journal copy, flipping it straight to the Gossip Central column. After giving me some good press, I thought that whoever’s behind these things had given up on trashing my name. I was wrong, of course.
I grab one of the newspapers from the newspaper stand in front of me, pay the old guy in the booth, and tuck it under my arm. I stroll down the sidewalk, taking my cellphone out of my pocket, and scroll down the contacts list. I press my thumb over Joyce’s name and hold the phone to my ear. Just like always, she picks up after just one tone.
“8 am. Congratulations. I don’t think I even remember you being up this early,” Joyce chirps, but I don’t even indulge her small talk. I go straight for the kill, my mind strictly focused on business. It’s high time this bullshit stops.
“Have you read the newspaper?” I ask her, hoping to get some answers. If there’s anyone who knows what’s going on, it must be Joyce. She always knows what’s up, God bless her.
“I have. Are you surprised?” she replies flatly, and I can tell she’s not exactly happy. Not that I'm surprised—ever since I told her I was seeing Penny, Joyce’s been in a foul mood. I can’t really blame her, though: I know that fucking my own stepdaughter isn’t exactly the smartest decision I could be making right now, especially now that the Equinox deal is on our plate.
Yeah, in case you’re wondering, I told Joyce all about Penny and I. I might not be the brightest guy when it comes to choosing the women I fuck, but I’m still aware I’m in charge of a multi-million dollar company. And if there’s the slightest chance my relationship with Penny is going to cause some ripples, Joyce should know about that. Besides, I had to fucking tell someone about it. Secrets are fine, but there’s a time when they just start eating you up from the inside out.
“Of course I’m fucking surprised, Joyce. Don’t you think this bullshit with the NY Daily Journal has already gone too far? I know they have to sell their newspapers and shit, but seriously… What have I ever done to them?”
I hear her sigh from the other side of the line and, even though I can’t see her, I know she’s rubbing her temples in frustration.
“Seriously? Have you forgot about who’s running the show at the Daily Journal?” she asks me, and I stop for a few seconds, trying to think of an answer.
“I have no fucking idea. Is this something I’m supposed to know?” There’s just silence from the other side of the line, and I realize that the answer to my question is a simple yes.
“How could you forget about something like this, Magnus? Rhoda’s the Editor in Chief at the Daily Journal, for God’s sake. Your ex-wife!” she tells me, and I stop walking and just freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, the New Yorker’s around me rushing as they try not to be late to work.
Rhoda! Fuck, now everything makes sense. No wonder the Daily Journal has been jabbing at me for so fucking long. Rhoda hates my fucking guts with a passion.
“Well, that explains a lot, but --”
“Magnus, you really are one of a kind… I can’t believe you’re this blind to what’s happening,” she cuts me short, and I can already tell that Rhoda’s not my only problem.
“What is it? Lay it on me.”
“Magnus… have you even asked Penny about where she works?” she asks, her words feeling as heavy as lead. I think back to the first time I dined with Penny, remembering how she told me about her graduation from Yale, and about how happy she was to be working as a journalist … I didn’t connect the dots back then, and it seems that these fucking dots have grown sharp teeth and claws.
“Fuck,” I whisper into the phone, my fingers curled so tight around the fucking thing I might just shatter it into a million plastic pieces.
“Yeah, that’s right, Magnus. Your stepdaughter is trouble, I remember telling you that much. She works at the New York Daily Journal, and I’d wager her fingers are all over these columns.”
I remain in silence, still frozen in place, my heart thumping fast inside my chest. Can it be? Is there a connection between Penny and these fucking gossip columns? No, I don’t fucking buy it. Penny wouldn’t do this to me.
But then again, I once thought the same about her mother, and look where that road led me.
Suddenly, my phone beeps against my ear and I leave Joyce hanging as I read the text message I just received. Are you awake? it reads, Penny’s name in bold letters before the message itself.
Now that’s some timing.
“I’m on it,” I tell Joyce flatly and, without even waiting for her reply, I end her call and scroll down the contacts list once more. My office buildings are just a block away but, instead of heading down the street toward it, I turn on my heels and start walking on the opposite direction.
“Bring the car around,” I tell my driver through the phone, “I need to go back to One57.”
I need some fucking answers.
Right now.
Penny
Click, click, click.
The sound of my high heels clicking across the pavement feel like a ticking bomb, one about to go off any minute now. And that’s about right; I’m on my way to Magnus’ apartment at One57, hoping to catch him before he heads out to work, and the conversation I want to have with him isn’t going to be a good one.
I’ve reached a decision. I’m not a good liar and, in fact, I don’t even want to be one. I’ve decided t
o tell Magnus the whole truth. Yeah, it’s not going to be pretty, I know. But what can I do? Keep on lying and playing my part as a pawn on Laurel Trask’s game? That’s not me. Even though Laurel and my mom have been pressuring me hard to finish Magnus off, I just can’t bring myself to do it. Especially when he seems to be a different man from what I expected him to be.
Are you awake? I text him, my thumb flying over my cellphone’s screen. It’s still early, and I expect him to be asleep. His answer comes fast, though.
I’m awake. Meet me at home, he replies, and I throw my phone inside my purse and start hurrying down the street, the rising silhouette of One57 cutting across the morning sky. It towers over the city like some temple of opulence, its enormous steel and glass frame reminding everyone that One57 is a fortress for some of the wealthiest people in the world.
Even though I’m determined to go through with this, each step I take makes the knot inside my stomach grow. There’s a coldness under my skin, and even my mouth seems to have grown dry. I have no idea how he’s going to react to the truth, but I’m pretty sure that he won’t like it. How could he?
Adding to my anxiety, New York itself seems to be in a pretty agitated state as well. Even though I’ve always lived here, I never really got acclimated to the strong sense of urgency that seems to fill everything and everyone. Besides, it’s 8 am sharp, which means everyone is scurrying around and trying not to be late for work.
Oh, fuck, I think to myself as I close in on the entrance to One57. Magnus is already there, hands in his pockets, and he doesn’t smile as he sees me walking toward him. Not a good omen, not at all.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask him, trying to feign a good mood. I try to tell myself that he’s waiting for his car, but that can’t be; the dark limo is making its way down the street, moving away from us. Without saying a word, he just shoves the newspaper in his hand toward me. My heart sinks as I realize it’s a copy from the New York Daily Journal.
I wanted to come clean, but I guess it’s already too late for that. What did I expect, anyway? It’s not like you need Sherlock Holmes to figure out that I’m working at the Daily Journal.
“Care to explain why you didn’t tell me you were working for the Daily Journal?” he asks straight away, not bothering with beating around the bush. I take the newspaper from his hands, but I don’t even look down at it; I already know exactly what’s in there.
“Can we go… somewhere private?” I say, not wanting to open up to him in a crowded street. This isn’t going to be easy, especially now that he wised up to what’s going on, and the last thing I need is an audience. Without bothering to reply, he turns on his heels and heads inside One57. I follow after him, getting inside one of the elevators, and I realize that my mouth’s so dry my tongue feels like a jagged piece of charcoal.
He leads the way toward his apartment and, once we’re inside, the door locks behind us, and he turns to me and folds his arms. His smart eyes are locked on mine, and I know there’s no getting away from this without telling him the whole truth. Which is exactly what I wanted to do in the first place, except now he must think he’s forcing my hand.
“Believe it or not,” I start, swallowing down all fear and hesitancy, “I came here today because I wanted to come clean about this.” I look into his eyes, waiting for him to say something, but he just stares back at me in silence. Alright, fair enough. “I work for the New York Daily Journal, Magnus.”
“I figured out that much. But I’m going to need more than that. I want the whole truth,” he says, his words coming out of his mouth like ice. “Gossip Central—do you have anything to do with it?”
My lips break into a sorrowful smile.
“I’m the person behind Gossip Central. Vicky Durner? She doesn’t exist, Magnus. There’s no Vicky Durner. There’s just me, Penny Wright.” My throat feels like it has been laced with thorns and nails but, in a way, it feels good to hear the truth coming out from my mouth. The truth might hurt, but it also sets you free. At least, that’s what these inspiring Facebook images seem to say; nothing beats the wisdom of social networks, huh?
“You wrote those articles,” he whispers, and I notice that he isn’t asking me a question. He’s simply stating the facts, allowing it all to sink in.
“I did,” I admit, biting down on my lower lip and, somehow, forcing myself to return his gaze.
“Why?” he simply asks, and I feel my heart shrivel up inside my chest, and that's because there’s no anger in his voice.
Only sadness. Disappointment.
“My mother, she… she’s working with Laurel Trask.”
“The mayor?”
“The mayor. They told me to go after you, and do my best to bring you down… But I just can’t do it anymore, Magnus. Because they’re wrong about you. I know that now, whether you believe it or not.”
“I assume you’ve told them everything…?”
“No… Not everything. They have no idea we’re sleeping together. I… I just couldn’t tell them. They’d use that against you, and I simply couldn’t let that happen,” I say, lowering my voice and meaning each one of my words.
“Why? Why didn’t you tell them?” he asks me, narrowing his eyes. Now, instead of sadness, all I see is his curiosity flickering there. He’s trying to understand.
“Because… Because what we’re doing is wrong, Magnus. You’re older than me, you’re my stepfather! And I want you; I need you… And that isn’t supposed to happen, is it?”
“No, it isn’t supposed to happen,” he whispers, but he takes one step toward me all the same, his eyes locked on mine.
“It’s wrong…” I whisper, and he rests the palm of his hand on my face, brushing away one stray lock of hair. I feel the whole world fading around us, the universe turning into a stage… One where a single spotlight beats away the shadows and leaves only what’s real—Magnus and I.
His body and mine.
“Very wrong,” he repeats after me, slowly leaning in. Reacting by instinct, I let my eyelids droop and surrender to his kiss.
But it feels so right, I think to myself.
Penny
Coming clean to Magnus has lifted a huge weight from my shoulders, and now I can't stop kissing him. I was so worried that he'd never want to see me again.
"I have a surprise," he says, and when he returns, he has a blindfold. He places it on me, and the silky closure of the blindfold over my hair and in front of my eyes is a whisper of a promise of what Magnus has in store for me. He fucks like a damned animal; he fucks me like a man possessed.
“Does daddy’s naughty little girl want her daddy to fuck her any way he wants, blindfolded, when she can’t even see how her daddy is going to fuck her?” Magnus says, his voice throaty with his arousal.
My pussy folds are already slick, I feel how much I want him to say these deranged things. I find my voice to answer. “Yes, daddy. Your daughter wants you to fuck her holes exactly how you want them. I’m yours, daddy. I want to be good for you.”
“Yes,” Magnus says, stroking his fingers over my shoulders, then brushing them through my hair. I can practically hear the smile on his face. He’s painfully, sensually gorgeous when he smiles. I burn just thinking about what he’s smiling about. Daddy is smiling about fucking his daughter. “If you are good for me, little one, I’ll let you cum. I’ll let you taste my cum and yours, just like I know you like and I’ll share that with you. Do you like taking naughty communion like a good little cum slut?” Magnus catches the back of my throat in his hand and squeezes there from the nape of my neck and around, making me gasp.
My voice is whiny, “Yes,” I moan out, needing him to fuck me. The blindfold and the anticipation — after how he fucked me last and how stressed I was to tell him the truth — I need the release and I ache for him to let me cum more than I ever have. I ache for his touch so much it's almost not bearable. But that sweet suffering will make the reward of his claiming touch all that much better when he grants
me the gift. “Yes, daddy, I want to be good and I want to cum for you, taste our cum together. I love sharing our orgasms on our tongues, daddy.” It's downright filthy. So naughty. So taboo. But that just makes it even hotter. My body heats up like I’m a furnace. That’s how hot it makes me.
Naked and blindfolded before him, I’m anxious to know what he’s doing. I can’t hear Magnus move right now so it is up to my imagination to attempt to fill in the blanks. Right now, I’m sitting on my bent legs, nude, on top of his bed.
I showed up at his apartment and he was waiting for me. After we talked…he got me into this position quickly. Of course I agreed to be blindfolded. The sexual thrills with my stepfather were endless. It felt like a thousand days were behind us when I was trying to seduce him in his limousine. Then, he’d turned the tables and fucked me so completely he’d whet an appetite for a dark, claiming fuck I didn’t know could grow within me. Then, he’d shown up at my apartment, and when I opened that door, he nearly fucked me to death right on it before he dragged me off. Magnus is an unpredictable, incredible lover. One thing is certain. I know that he's going to fuck me so completely I’ll nearly black out as I cum, and he’ll send me far into the heavens.
My hands are behind my back, wrists together as if they might be bound. I’m not going to move them until I know what Magnus is doing. I’m pressing them into my back as a way to relieve some of the tension. I don’t know what to do with myself. Every second I wait is a second I forget how to breathe, or my heart skips a beat and I’m trying to regain my senses. I need him so much that I’m about to start begging.
That’s when finally I feel his hand sweep down my throat, and then to my breasts. The full largeness of his palm grazing over me almost lazily is more than I can tolerate. He’s touching me with fervor, but not urgency. Magnus says with his touch that I can wait. The torment is far from over. I sigh, bending my face down to rub against his arm. Feeling his skin on mine sets my soul ablaze, and builds the heated need within me. I need him more than I need the air filling my lungs. His cock filling my pussy matters so much more to me. In this moment, his fingers circling over my nipples, I cannot be convinced that air in my lungs is more vital to my life than his cock in my pussy. I whimper with need despite myself. It isn’t logic or reason that rule my actions; it's my desperate need for Magnus to fuck me, to thrust his massive cock inside me, that makes me cry out now with my need. I could die like this; waiting to be fucked when his touch and the mystery of what he’ll do to me is looming over my head. The blackness in my vision is nothing compared to the questions in my soul of when my daddy is going to let me feel his love fill me up, inch by inch. Thrust by thrust.
