Falling for my Dirty Uncle: A Virgin and Billionaire Romance

by Alexis Angel

  Why not add another jab in there while I can? He fucking deserves it.

  Carl walks towards to Mira and stands over her, intentionally trying to intimidate her.

  “You know, I expect this kind of whorish behavior from my galvanizing half-brother, but not from my step-daughter,” he says, breathing in her face. “You’re a smart, accomplished young woman who I thought would be an asset to my family. Not some fucking slut.”

  I see red. Watching and hearing him talk to her like that enrages me, and I can’t hold it in any longer.

  I run up and shove Carl away. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you,” Carl snarls at me like some fucking predator. “You’re just a dirty fucking uncle who can’t keep his dick in his pants and fucks his niece in desperation.”

  “Stop.” I clench my jaw, and my muscles tense; he isn’t worth it. “I don’t care what you call me or accuse me of but leave Mira out of this.”

  “Why? She’s the dumb slut who’s willing to throw her whole life away and ruin the reputation of her company just because she wanted to fuck her uncle.”

  “Stop, please!” Mira cries. “Nothing happened!”

  “It’s okay,” I say, trying to reassure her, even though I’m not sure if it is. I turn to Carl. “Okay, first of all, I’m her step-uncle—big distinction there.”

  “Who cares!” Carl explodes, waving his arms frantically. “Family is family!”

  Mira and I both slink back, not knowing what to say. I guess I just really felt like fucking her and She’s really fucking hot wouldn’t be considered good enough excuses.

  “But hey, if we’re all just fucking each other,” Carl grabs Mira’s wrists suddenly and pulls her into him. “Why not fuck your new daddy, too? Isn’t that what you like, you little slut?”

  Mira grimaces as she tries to pull away from him. I see his hand move down toward her breasts, and I fucking lose it.

  I run up to him and grab him by his shoulders. I lift him up off the ground, and his disgusting face contorts in fear and anger.

  I hear Mira scream, “No, don’t do it!”

  But it’s too late for that.

  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 o
f 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.

  Chapter 17

  Owen

  “I did say I’d do whatever you wanted to thank you,” Mira purrs, her pouty lips inches from my own. “What kind of girl would I be if I backed out now?”

  Any other woman would already be feeling all twelve inches of my hard dick as I plunge it into her wet cunt, especially if she talked the way this slut does.

  “You’re talking a big game,” I say, reluctantly removing my hand from her cunt so I can grab one of her luscious tits. “But is it all talk? Or are you ready to see what comes after all of this teasing?”

  “Show me,” she says as if she’s offering herself up as unmolded clay, and I’m the sculptor that’s going to transform her into a sexual work of art. Luckily, she’s giving me plenty of raw talent to work with.

  I’ve fucked my share of women. Hell, I’ve fucked Wilt Chamberlain’s share of women. But never have I felt this unhinged, this out of control over a piece of ass.

  For my own sanity, I need to get her out of my system. Masturbating did nothing to help do that, so this must be the cure.

  And what better way to do that than fucking her on her own desk? I unbutton her top, ripping it apart and expose her tits. The buttons scatter across the floor, and I stare back at her tits, which are glaring straight at me, thanks to a black lace push-up bra.

  A low growl ripples through me as I savor in this vision. Her tits are so inviting and ready to play.

  Mira arches her back, pushing them even more in my face. Whether she knows the power she possesses or not, the result is the same—I’m about to lose every last bit of restraint I have.

  I cover her greedy and filthy mouth with mine, crushing my lips into hers. I reach up to capture a pert nipple between my fingers, tweaking them until she moans into my mouth.

  Wrapping my arms around her waist, I lift her off the floor and swing her around, placing her on the cheap wooden desk.

  “I think we’ve come to the thanking portion of the evening,” Mira teases as she starts to unbuckle my belt.

  I can’t deny that the thought of her with a mouthful of my cock doesn’t excite me. But I have other plans for her…and my dick.

  “Not tonight,” I say as I grudgingly move her hands away from my throbbing shaft. “Tonight, I’m putting you and your smart mouth in your place.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she says, her lips forming into playful grin. It’s like she read a handbook of what horny guys like to hear.

  Sliding her back a little on her desk, some of the many papers littering the surface fall to the floor. Bending to pick one of them up, I notice that it’s a lingerie sketch—and that it’s good.

  “You need to model this for me when you make it,” I say, showing Mira which sketch it is. “And only this. But right now, I’d rather see you with nothing.”

  Mira bites her upper lip at my promise, and I dive headfirst into her tits, sucking on those perky, full mounds like a horny nineteen-year-old.

  “Tell me you like that,” I whisper into Mira’s ear as I pinch her nipple.

  “Oh, yes, I like that,” Mira says breathlessly, writhing as I work her over. “Mmm…do it again.”

  I hover my hand over her nipple again as she inhales in anticipation. I throw her a smirk as I hike up her skirt.

  “You want me to touch you here, don’t you?” I ask, already knowing her answer. Her sweet juices darken her cream panties, making her desire visible. My mouth immediately salivates.

  She nods yes, her eyes wide with want.

  “Say it,” I command, taking care to withhold my touch until she voices what she wants—and what I want to do to her. “Say how much you want me to touch your cunt.”

  “God, I want it,” she moans. “Touch me. Touch all of me.”

  Satisfied for now, I start kissing her golden skin, starting at her breasts and making my way down to her waist. I look up to see her stretched out on her desk, open to me, her arms spread over her head and hanging off the edge.

  I pause over her cunt and continue to kiss along her inner thighs before coming back to rest my mouth inches from her moist lips.

  “Tell me what you want me to do,” I demand, letting my breath heat up her cunt even more.

  “Whatever you want…j-just make me cum,” she says.

  “Oh, honey,” I chuckle, “that’s a given. You’re going to cum multiple times.”

  I gently bite her inner thigh as I run my fingers up and down her slit, eliciting a moan from her in the process. I can feel her juices through the fabric, and it takes all my restraint to not tear that delicate lace apart and dive head-first into that delectable meal.

  “Tell me how I make you feel,” I command. “Like a slut?”

  “Yes,” she cries with pleasure as she writhes against the wood.

  “You like that, don’t you?” I ask, continuing to stroke her lacy slit. “You like feeling out of control. How does it make you feel?”

  “Mmm…primal,” she says, “and more alive than I’ve ever felt.”

  “Good girl,” I coo, removing her panties soaked with her own juices. I hold them up to her so she can breathe in her own musky scent. “Tell me more.”

  “I want you,” she pants. “I want you like I’ve never wanted any man before.”

  Kneeling between her legs, I run my hands up and down them and spread them wide so I can get a good look at her pretty little cunt. It’s possibly the most inviting cunt I’ve ever seen. It’s practically begging me to sink my cock into it.

  While I usually aim to please, that’s going to have to wait a little while because what I want to do first is achieve a blue ribbon in cunt eating.

  “I can see,” I tell her. “Your cunt is practically gushing with juice.”

  She clenches her ass cheeks, pushing her cunt higher towards me, silently begging me to fondle it. I take my fingers and start slowly tracing the outline of her lips, dipping my finger inside the warm, wet slit. Moving in and out, she reacts with unbridled abandon, as only someone not scarred by experience can react.

  Every nerve ending of hers is uncharted territory. And I’m the Magellan that’s going to discover and record every tremor, every quiver along the way.

  I dip another finger into her tunnel that is achingly tight. I almost cum right then and there, imagining how exquisite my cock will feel as its wrapped tightly in that warmth.

  “Fuck, you feel so good,” I say as I slowly fuck her cunt with my finge
rs.

  “Mmm,” she groans.

  I can’t hold back any longer. I have to discover what she tastes like. I dip down, and with my head in her lap, I lightly lick her clit. She’s an intoxicating mixture of honey, jasmine, and salt.

  And much like any guilty pleasure, I can’t have just one taste. I go back for more, using my tongue as my guide. I wrap my arms around her thighs, using them as leverage so I can excavate even deeper, plunging my tongue in and out in quick movements.

  “Don’t stop,” she begs. “Don’t ever stop doing that.”

  I stop for just a moment and lift my head to meet her cloudy gaze. I can feel her juices all over my mouth and chin, just like any competitor in a pie eating contest.

  “Oh, we’re just getting started,” I say as I bury myself once again into the sweetest pie I’ve ever tasted.

  Chapter 18

  Mira

  No one ever told me that it would feel like this. I mean, I know how to please myself, but having someone eat you out is kind of like fixing a car—you need someone else to do it for you.

  Owen has already inspected me from head to toe, and a few strategically placed kisses are all I need to know that I’m ready to let him under my hood and get the job done.

  “You taste so fucking good,” he says, coming up for air.

  When he puts it that way, how do I deny him? If he’s willing to do the service, I’ll supply the parts.

  In one sweep, I clear the rest of the papers and pens off my desk, sending them crashing to the floor.

  “We’re not sitting in a church pew. Open up, sweetheart.”

  I look down at myself and laugh. Without even realizing it, I’ve been slowly closing my legs, trapping Owen in a headlock. It’s just so hard to let myself go, to let my inhibitions run free.

  But Owen is impossible to resist, and I’ve been imagining this moment over and over in my head since I last saw him. It’s about damn time I get the real thing.

  I gasp when Owen grabs my knees and spreads my legs apart. I kick off my shoes and rest my bare feet on the top of the desk. Like the Grand Canyon, I am deep and wide and open for visitors. My head falls back, hanging off the side of the desk and I let the waves of pleasure cascade through me.