12 Days: A Dark Reverse Harem Christmas Romance

by Dark Angel

  I mean, yesterday the Daily Journal said something like, "Magnus Davion: Should He Be Allowed To Live Near Schools?"

  Can you believe that shit?

  The reasoning?

  Apparently because I had known Penny when she was 18 years old I must've had something for her. Like I planned this whole thing. Like I built a multi-billion dollar real estate empire that culminated in the purchase of the New York Nailers that led me to cum on that one cheerleader's face. Apparently that was all a plan to get the attention of the Page Eight Gossip Column for the New York Daily Journal and that somehow led me to my ex-stepdaughter who I then proceeded to fuck.

  Right.

  But you haven't heard the best one yet.

  Apparently, I'm a spy sent over from the fucking Russians. That's right. So I guess I work for the Russians now and my job is to corrupt American values. Apparently I'm doing that by having hot fucking sex with my stepdaughter and flaunting it everywhere. Somewhere along the line, my goal was apparently to build the Equinox Towers and then flaunt my lack of morals from there. I have no idea how they drew that leap but it's clear that whoever was writing that piece was writing something they didn't really believe and were doing halfheartedly.

  It doesn't take a genius to guess who is pushing the buttons at the New York Daily Journal.

  I mean, come on. Anyone else in the city you know that can arrange that many media elites together and herd them in the same direction?

  It's like the New York Daily Journal comes up with a story and then the other newspapers run it. And shortly after the newspaper comes up with the story and the other newspapers copy it, the cable news channels and local news pick it up and run with it and before you know it the whole fucking thing is a story by itself.

  What else is there? Aside from being a Russian spy with a tendency to fuck stepdaughters, I've apparently been cheating my business associates. I've been stealing from my company and shortchanging my fucking employees.

  I've also been allegedly constructing buildings with cheap and shoddy materials. That's a new one. So the fact that they withstood earthquakes while everything around them collapsed is just too much of a coincidence, huh?

  Don't worry; I'm not angry at you. I'm just pissed the fuck off at the situation.

  If it were just me, I would tell the fucking press to go fuck themselves. I could care less and I'd just weather it by pulling out my cock and taking a piss on their fucking shoes.

  That's what I do. That's how I roll.

  But I can't do that.

  Because for the first time, I care about someone more than I care about myself.

  I have to worry about Penny.

  I have to worry how this shit is going to affect her.

  So I can't just beat the shit out of the people who are hissing at me on the street. I can't just ignore what people say, and do more of it to piss them off even more. I have to figure out a way through this.

  "Morning," I tell Joyce as I get to my office. "Just how bad is the shit storm that's going on?" I ask.

  Joyce looks at me and she purses her lips.

  Fuck.

  I can already tell it's going to be pretty fucking terrible.

  "You're going to need to make some decisions quick," she says after a pause.

  "What kind of decisions?" I ask.

  "Whether you want to retain me as counsel in the event you get indicted on felony charges," Joyce replies back to me without even batting an eye.

  Holy fucking shit.

  "What are you fucking talking about, Joyce?" I ask her and sit down. I don't know how much more I can take of this.

  Joyce throws a newspaper on my desk.

  It's a picture of Penny and I. We're walking down Fifth Avenue. She's looking into a window and I'm holding her from the back.

  We look very much in love, which we fucking are.

  The headline above it reads, "Just How Much Did The Father Pay To Have Sex With His Daughter?"

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  This shit ends here.

  Don't worry. You don't gotta shake your head at me like I'm a pussy. It's time to man up and fight back. It's obvious just turning the other cheek and letting the newspapers gorge for a few days before moving on isn't going to work. Not this time. They're not going to stop until I'm dead or they're broken.

  And I sure as fuck am not dying anytime soon.

  But I gotta do this smart.

  "The article goes on to insinuate you pimped Penny as well as used her for sex yourself," Joyce says and I roll my eyes. "If nothing else, the District Attorney could make trouble for you just for the hell of it."

  No. The DA isn't going to do shit to me.

  Because I'm going to put a stop to it.

  I stand up. "This fucking ends now," I tell Joyce. She looks at me for a long second. I think she sees the resolve in my eyes or something because all she does is nod.

  "Okay, boss, sure thing," she says with a bit of smile. Is it one of relief? Reassurance? "What do we do then?"

  I pause for a second. That's a pretty fucking good question.

  "Call a press conference," I tell Joyce. "Make sure the New York Daily Journal has as many seats for as many reporters as they want. I want them front and fucking center."

  Joyce nods to me. "Okay," she says as she takes notes. "What should I tell them the conference is about?"

  I smile.

  Now I can see exactly how I'm going to fucking beat them.

  I'm going to wear them the fuck down. Take their questions and throw them right back at them until they realize just how stupid and nonsensical they are.

  "Tell them," I say and think for a moment before it comes to me. "Tell them it's about my feelings for my stepdaughter, Penny."

  Joyce looks at me with a flash of concern.

  I nod to her to tell her that she heard correctly.

  She shakes her head as she walks away to go make the arrangements.

  She probably thinks I've gone insane.

  Maybe I have. Maybe I'm going to fucking explode.

  But before I do, I swear to fucking God I'm grabbing some of those motherfuckers and taking them down with me.

  Penny

  God. If I had to describe the last three days without Magnus, I'd probably have to use the word...anguished.

  Have you ever loved someone so much that every minute that you're not with them feels like a moment where you'd rather be dead than separated from them?

  Where you just want to know where they are in the world so at least knowing makes you feel calmer and safer.

  Where you feel happy knowing that they're out there in the world with you?

  I think I once read somewhere on Facebook or wherever that love is actually an emotion that arose as an evolutionary step in humans. That we experience love so that we can form family groups and protect each other. So that we can care for our young when they're vulnerable. So we don't run around having sex and then forgetting who we had it with and never taking care of our babies.

  I don't know honestly what the answer is. I don't know if I believe in evolution or what.

  But I do know that if there is a God on this planet, that he must have created love for just me and Magnus.

  That's right, babe. I know you have your significant other. I know that the world doesn't revolve around Magnus and me.

  But that's what it feels like. That's what every moment I think of Magnus Davion feels like. That the world was made for me and him. That every touch, every taste, every feeling and every breath were made for each other. That the vast entirety of this world - that all of history - was designed solely so the two of us could enjoy it.

  There is no way I will ever leave this man. There is no way I will ever betray him. Every fiber of my body, every atom of my existence, cries out to be next to him.

  And you know what?

  I know he feels the same way about me.

  I know, in my heart of hearts, that this man has reoriented his life to have i
t revolve around me. I am the sun to his existence.

  He doesn't need to tell me.

  I don't need to be near him to be able to understand.

  I don't need to see him do or say anything.

  It's almost as if...as if...

  As if it's faith.

  You either have it or you don't.

  And I have faith in Magnus Davion.

  That's why I'm standing outside the Davion Development building in Midtown East this morning as I watch him, dressed in a smart charcoal black Tom Ford suit, walk to the podium and speak into the microphone.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," he says and he scans the crowd. I don't know why I inadvertently shrink back.

  I didn't tell him that I was going to be here today. In fact I haven't talked to him for the last three days.

  I don't know why.

  A part of me realized that maybe I should reach out to him. I wanted to.

  But he seemed so busy fighting everyone back.

  The world is after him. They're not after me.

  I know what it is, actually. I think I felt that if I stayed away from him, then this whole thing would blow over.

  Don't look at me like that.

  It's not guilt that brought me here. I'd be here whether I wanted to or not. Knowing he was going to be putting himself out there in the public for me - for us - there is no way I'd not be here.

  And I think that goes for the entire borough of Manhattan too. It seems the steps to Davion Development are just packed with New Yorkers who have decided that they want to see what this press conference is going to bring.

  There's a large contingent of reporters here at the press conference. By far the largest contingent is from the New York Daily Journal.

  I can't tell from where I'm standing but it looks like Magnus gave them seats all the way at the front.

  I mean, I guess that's one way to go about handling them. After the way they've been treating him and the things that they've been saying, if I were him I wouldn't have even allowed them here in the first place.

  That's the thing. He thinks I don't know all the things that are being said about us. He thinks he's protecting me.

  I figure, let him think that if it makes him feel better. At least he'll stay strong that way. And that's why I stayed away too, you know? That's why I didn't call him or text him even when I saw he wasn't texting me.

  Because I figured that not seeing me would help him be stronger.

  Even though just seeing him from a distance right now fills me with hope.

  I wonder, did I make a mistake?

  "I'll have a prepared statement and then I'll take your questions," Magnus says and looks at the audience. He's not using a TelePrompTer. Oh God. "The experience of the last ten days have been something that I wouldn't wish on my greatest enemy. But it's time that I set matters to rest."

  Magnus looks out into the audience as if daring anyone to challenge him. All he gets back are some photographers who take some pictures of him.

  "I want to clear the record here. I married Rhoda Wright several years ago. We were married for 263 days. That's less than a year. When I met her, she was a widow with a daughter from a prior marriage. Her name was Penny and she was eighteen years old," Magnus pauses and looks out into the audience again. My heart catches.

  You think he's looking for me?

  You think he knows that I'm here?

  I wouldn't put it past him to be able to sense it.

  "At the time, I was focused on trying to save the marriage I had to Rhoda but it became clear to us that we were incompatible and we parted in what I believed at the time were amicable circumstances," Magnus says and I roll my eyes. If the people of this city only knew what Mom had told me. How she used him for his connections.

  But they won't be able to know, because I was an idiot and lost the only proof that I had. I let Mom play me.

  I should have gone to the house. Not met her at her office.

  "At the time I had no designs on Penny. But several years later, when I met her again, she had blossomed into a gorgeous young woman. When I met her I had no idea as to her employment with the New York City Daily Journal. This became apparent to me at the end. But whether I had known at the beginning or at all, it wouldn't have colored my impressions of her," Magnus says and my breath catches in my throat. "I love Penny Wright and I say it proudly."

  That's it.

  I can't sit here and let him stand alone.

  For better or for worse, I need to be with him.

  I start to move, making my way to the edge of the crowd slowly but I can hear him continue.

  "I'll take your questions now," he says and I pause.

  It's either going to be finished because he won them over or it's going to be a bloodbath.

  For long minutes there's silence and I wonder if Magnus truly could have won everyone over. I mean, I wouldn't put it past him.

  But then, the first question comes.

  From a reporter I remember from the Daily Journal.

  Someone new. Someone Mom hired.

  "Mr. Davion, how do you respond to allegations that you coerced your daughter into having sexual relations with you?" he asks.

  Magnus bristles. "She's my stepdaughter. And there was no coercion. End of story," he says.

  I start walking to the podium. He may have brushed it off but the crudeness of the question is going to stay for a long time unless its squashed.

  "Mr. Davion, what proof do you have to substantiate that you did not coerce Penny Wright into a sexual relationship?" another reporter asks. This one is from the Daily Journal as well,.

  "I have my word," Magnus says tacitly. "That's going to have to do."

  "Mr. Davion, do you believe that in light of these allegations you should still have a place as a builder for the City of New York?" another Daily Journal reporter asks. "Hasn't your image been tarnished enough?"

  I can see Magnus stiffen. "I have done nothing wrong," he repeats. "Let me be clear. These are allegations only.

  "Are you saying there's a plot out to destroy you?" another reporter asks.

  "Isn't that a bit too far-fetched?" yet another Daily Journal reporter piles on. "That the media are trying to tear you down?"

  But the ironic thing is, that it's true you know?

  You've been here from the start. You know what Mom and Laurel Trask wanted to do. You know what I did for them. I'm close to the podium now. I can see Magnus.

  And that's when I realize that this whole thing can be solved in a heartbeat.

  I have the power.

  I can't believe I forgot all about it.

  It just means that I have to step up.

  Put my money where my mouth is when I say I love Magnus Davion.

  And not a moment too soon.

  Magnus is looking defeated there.

  "How can we be sure that you did not in fact coerce your stepdaughter when it's just your word against her mothers?" the first reporter is asking again.

  But I don't let Magnus answer.

  Instead I speak up.

  "I can answer that," I say boldly and hopefully loud enough.

  It is loud enough it turns out because Magnus turns around in an instant. He looks at me.

  His eyes go wide.

  I walk up to the podium that he's standing at and smile at him.

  "Hey babe," I whisper to him. The photographers are going crazy trying to snap as many pictures as they can. Good thing yesterday was an ass day at the gym, as I turn around to put my purse down.

  "Babe, what are you doing here?" Magnus whispers. "Are you okay?"

  I smile. How sweet. We really are meant for one another.

  "I'm here to close this chapter, hon," I tell him.

  And then I turn to the masses.

  They want a scandal?

  Then it's time for a real story.

  Magnus

  I look out at the sea of faces and then look back to Penny. She's standing there like a champion.
/>
  God, she looks so fucking beautiful.

  Can you fucking believe that even in this mess, my cock is twitching as I see her standing there in that tight skirt and suit jacket.

  I mean that skirt is hugging her ass so tightly, I can fucking see the outline of her thong if I squint hard enough.

  I know they say thongs take out the visible panty line, but to my eye, I can spot just about everything. That little triangle of fabric—I totally zero in on that, and then the rest of the cheeks are opened wide up, baby.

  That's how fucking turned on I am by Penny Wright.

  She's grown so much as a person. She's become so strong.

  It's so amazing.

  I don't think I had anything to do with it. I mean you can sit there and say that it was her experiences with me that made her tougher. But I don't know. I think she grew on her own. I was just the sunlight that allowed her to flourish like a germinating plant.

  And now here she is, standing in front of half of New York City if you count all the people watching through the cameras and who'll be reading the news once it goes online and gets printed.

  I'm ready to step in at a moment's notice now and shut this shit down if I see it going south.

  But let's let this girl see what she's got, shall we?

  She's already starting to speak.

  "My name is Penny Wright, and it seems that over the last several days, a lot of stuff has been said about me," she says out loud and with clear and strong conviction. "A lot of it is complete and utter garbage."

  And the photographers go wild.

  They can sense a fucking story is coming.

  Not for nothing, those motherfuckers from the Daily fucking Journal look like they're about to throw up they've gone so fucking green.

  Good.

  "Until recently, I was a reporter who worked on the Page Eight desk, also known as Gossip Central," Penny says. "They employed a few of us, about five or six and our job was to troll through things happening in the city that were scandalous and salacious and blow them up in the pages of the Daily Journal."

  People are nodding along.

  "What can I say?" she asks the crowd. "It was a fun job."

  Penny makes a face and I can tell the crowd's warming up to her. They laugh at her line and all of a sudden I'm thinking that I'm not really going to be needed to step in and protect her.