by Alexis Angel
He wouldn’t let them.
At first, what I felt for Owen was primal—I wanted to explore a previously hidden side of me that his twelve-inch dick had managed to bring out. I wanted to use his body and for him to use me.
And he did that. My pussy is already soaked again from the memories of last night—and, for a second, I’m tempted to wake Owen up with a little bit of morning head…but I decide against it.
My feelings for Owen aren’t just primal anymore. I know that his aren’t, either—they can’t be; not from the way he collected me from my office or took care of me when I was too tired to be coherent.
For the first time in my life, I feel safe with a man. Finally, someone who’s not going to let me down or walk away. I want to stay in this moment forever.
It only makes sense that it could never last.
My phone begins to ring. I can hear it vibrating from inside my purse in the other room.
Internally, I groan…but my company is going public today. I can’t be ignoring calls on one of the most important days of my life.
Carefully, I slip out of Owen’s arms, leaving him asleep in the bed looking like a Renaissance angel, with tousled hair and the sheets just gently revealing those hard, rippled abs.
The morning air hits my body as I climb out of bed. The sudden chill makes my nipples perk up. I almost forgot that I’m naked—but I guess it wasn’t as though Owen had a chance to pack pajamas when he swept me away from my office last night.
I pull on a robe and find my phone in my purse.
I see the name on the caller ID, and my stomach drops.
Oh, shit.
It’s Mom.
I take a deep breath and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Mom—”
“I can’t believe you, Mira.”
The sudden ice and steel in her tone catches me off-guard, and for a minute, I feel like I’ve been slapped across the face.
“Mom, what are you talking about?”
“Whips and chains? Sexual hypnotism!” she screeches into the phone, and I take a few steps backwards. The couch brushes against the back of my legs, and I collapse backwards into it.
“Mom, seriously, what the fuck? What’re you talking about? I haven’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Mira! Carl warned me that nasty half-brother of his was sniffing around you, but I thought you at least had the good sense not to let him take whatever he wanted without so much as a thought about the consequences!”
“I’m not lying! I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom. What’s sexual hypnotism? You’re not making any sense.”
“You know what it is, Mira. My poor baby girl, publicly shamed like this…”
I run my hand through my hair as I stare blankly across the room. How could my mom know that I slept with Owen? It only happened a few hours ago, and we’ve been so careful to not let nobody see us. And what’s she saying about BDSM?
“Oh, cat got your tongue, has it?” Mom’s voice echoes through the phone, cutting through my stunned silence. “Or is Owen’s dick just keeping your mouth too busy to talk to me?”
White-hot rage flashes in my chest.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.”
“Or what? Or what, Mira? I’m your mother. I can speak to you however I please.”
“If you were a good mother, you wouldn’t be so ready to join the opposition against me. I haven’t been frequenting any sex dungeons, Mom, especially not with… sexual hypnotism, or whatever the fuck you’re on about. Where are you even getting this information?”
“You mean, where have I—and the whole world—found out the truth? Well, you should be reading the Chronicle. Lis Langley has managed to reveal everything about the two of you.”
“There’s nothing to reveal!” I protest, but I can feel my voice growing weaker. Mom isn’t going to believe me—and neither is the rest of the world.
I pull my legs up to my chest and grasp at the blanket covering the back of the sofa that I’m sitting on. I cover myself with it, suddenly chilled.
“I just can’t believe that you’d do this, Mira. Not just to Carl and me—and he’s furious, by the way—but I can’t believe you’d do this to yourself. I can’t believe you’d cheapen yourself to the point of sleeping with Owen Westbrook—it’s not like you’ve joined an exclusive club.”
I feel the back of my eyes begin to sting and a lump begin to form in my throat. I don’t want mom to know that I’m crying, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hide it.
“And your company,” she continues, either oblivious or ignoring how her words cut like a knife. “I can’t believe you’d do this to your company. On the day that you go public, no less. Mira, I really am astounded at you.”
“My company has nothing to do with this,” I protest. “And even if I had been fucking strange billionaires in random sex dungeons, that’s my business—not anyone else’s.”
“Well, you can lie all you want. The whole world knows the truth now, and as a key investor, Carl and the board have decided that power is going to be taken from you and placed solely in the hands of the board.”
Despite myself, I let out a strangled gasp, and I feel tears pricking at my eyelids.
“They can’t do that,” I say softly. Even though I know they can.
“If you’re going to act like a child, then you’ll be treated like one. Carl and your investors have put too much money into your little lingerie project to see this scandal ruin it.”
I open my mouth to speak, but as always, Mom doesn’t let me continue.
“I hope you’re happy, Mira.” I shrink further beneath the blanket, trying to hide from the ice in her voice. “I hope fucking Owen has been worth it, because after this, I doubt anyone on the East Coast would be willing to touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
Then she hangs up. I listen to the silence for a couple of seconds until the phone slips out of my numb fingers and falls into the couch cushions.
I fucked up.
I fucked up so bad.
This is all my fault.
I wrap the blankets tighter around myself and stand on shaky legs. For a moment, I think I might fall again, but I hold onto the arm of the sofa, and I move myself around the room—pushing through the strange numbness that’s encasing my entire body.
I look for my tablet, pulling it from my purse, and I quickly open the Chronicle. Lis Langley’s latest article—the article about us—is on the front page and…trending.
Reading through it, everything my mom said begins to make sense. I can’t hold back the tears any longer, and my sniffles and soft sobs wake Owen in the other room.
“Mira?” he calls from the bedroom, and I flinch away from it for a moment.
If I wasn’t naked and if the paparazzi wouldn’t think I was doing the walk of shame, I’d be almost tempted to run from the hotel right now. To try and do damage control before this article ruins my life any further.
“Owen…” I begin.
I try, and fail, to hide the tears in my voice as I trudge back into the bedroom and hand him the tablet so that he can read the article.
“What is it, Mira?” He seems genuinely concerned, but it’s a small consolation. At least I’m right; what Owen feels about me is real.
“It’s Lis Langley…she’s found out about us. Or, at least, she thinks she has.”
I dissolve into unintelligible tears as Owen begins to read through the article for himself. His hands are shaking, and I can see the anger setting in his jaw.
Does he regret being with me now?
Oh, God, what have I done?
THE CAPITALIST CHRONICLE
Oh, Baby, Say Uncle: Bad boy billionaire takes nepotism to a whole new level
By Lis Langley
New York—That’s right, dear readers. It seems that Owen Westbrook has decided to push the envelope once again. But this time, it’s a matter of avuncular love and affection.
You guessed it�
�the mystery woman he just can’t seem to get enough of is none other than his step-niece, Mira Wilder, daughter/step-daughter of Carol Westbrook née Wilder and Carl Westbrook. It seems the Wilders and the Westbrooks really like to keep it all in the family, if you know what I mean.
Let that sink in a moment. It’s okay, I’ll wait.
But folks, the fun doesn’t stop there. Hold on to your hats and get ready to clutch those pearls, because yours truly did a bit of digging, and what I unearthed will have you reaching for the smelling salts.
According to a source close to the couple, it seems that the pair likes a little fetish in their foreplay. So, when pseudo-incest isn’t enough, the duo enjoys hitting up underground sex dungeons where they can smack and subdue to their hearts content.
There are even whispers that sexual hypnotism may have even been involved. I wonder if they offer a friend and family discount?
Be careful, Mr. Grey; it seems Mr. Westbrook will give you a run for your money.
However, with all this dirt, I’m left with quite a few questions. Mainly, does this mean Miss Wilder will be expanding her lingerie line to kinky couture? How are Mr. Westbrook’s flogging skills? Chains or cuffs?
And, most importantly, does he ask her to call him Daddy…or Uncle?
So, please, Mr. Westbrook and Miss Wilder, if you’d like to come clean, let me know; we here at the Capitalist Chronicle are ready to be your sounding board. The truth may even set you fifty shades freed. After all, what’s a little sex amongst step-family?
Chapter 31
Owen
When I look up from Lis Langley’s latest bullshit article, there’s a rainstorm of tears brewing in Mira’s gorgeous blue eyes.
“Fuck this,” I growl, tossing my phone on the bed and finding my suit pants.
I pull them on quickly, but even as I zip them up over my thick, twelve-inch cock, my hands are shaking with rage.
I need to fucking hit something. Hard. Playboy billionaire I might be, but these hands weren’t made for crunching numbers—they were made for making fists.
If I’m going to be crunching anything right now, it should be the skull of whoever the fuck had the audacity to leak that sensationalist garbage to the Chronicle.
There are few things in this world that would ever make me truly lose my fucking temper, but among them, apparently, is anything that makes pretty little Mira Wilder cry.
“Owen…I’m so sorry,” I hear Mira whimper from the bed.
She’s got her lower lip pushed out ever so slightly—Mira Wilder could start a fucking war with that pout of hers. But it’s trembling in a way that tells me this isn’t just about the article or her reputation.
No. Mira might give a shit about what this means for her company and all those employees, but this isn’t about stock prices and boards of directors.
This is about me.
She can see how fucking pissed I am about this—and from the look on her face, she’s somehow decided that it’s all her fault.
Shit.
“Baby, no.” I look over at her solemnly, shaking my head. “This isn’t on you. It never was. You have to understand that.”
Even though I don’t want to, I try to relax my shoulders and unclench my jaw. There are all these little things that men do unknowingly in anger, and they make women feel naturally uneasy.
I would never hurt Mira. She might not know it yet…but she’s my fucking world.
But being around Carl—being around shitty, aggressive men who don’t know how to fucking handle themselves or their tempers for her whole life, probably—have undoubtedly established a baseline of experience for Mira that I’m not about to validate or justify.
“It’s all my fault, Owen.” Mira’s voice sounds mournful and distant, like she’s fading away right before my eyes. “You warned me that throwing myself at you would have consequences, and now—”
“That was never your choice to make, angel. I fucking wanted you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, you were mine.”
“No, Owen! I threw myself at you, I—”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Mira,” I say, buttoning my slacks and moving to her. My tall, muscular frame dwarfs her as I stand over her tiny, trembling body. “I wanted you—I want you still—more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire goddamn life. And when I want something, neither heaven nor hell can stop me from taking it.”
“But I—”
“You just helped things along, angel,” I reassure her, taking her sweet little chin in my hand. She tries to turn her eyes downward to look away from me, but I turn her face up and force her to meet my gaze. “Whatever it is that we have between us—there was no stopping it. No matter how this played out, you were always going to end up naked in my bed with your legs wrapped around my waist, moaning my fucking name.”
For a second, I see the storm in Mira’s eyes break.
“You haven’t fucked me in your bed yet, Owen,” she says, the ghost of a smile playing on her pretty lips.
It’s fucking infectious. I can’t help it—I run my thumb along her lower lip and smile back.
“Let’s fix that, then. Later,” I add, and the second the words leave my mouth, I can fucking smell Mira’s pussy get wet. “When this is all over, Mira, I’m taking you to bed with me. Not just as some kinky little slut who I can’t get enough of…but as my wife.”
“Is that…a proposal, Owen?”
I laugh. “No, angel. But when I fix all of this and I have a big billion-dollar ring to slip onto your slender little finger, it might be.”
“I might say yes,” Mira counters.
I tilt my head over to my shirt where it was abandoned on the floor last night, and Mira hops up off the bed, prancing over to it and bringing it over to me.
I grab it from her and pull her against me as I do it. My lips capture hers in a hard, reassuring kiss that says a thousand things that I want to say to her without a single fucking word.
And from the way she moves against me—the way her back arches and her lips part, the way her tongue dances against mine like she was fucking made for me—I get the feeling that she understands every last sentiment perfectly.
She’s wild. She’s passionate. She’s precocious and witty and the most goddamn stubborn person I’ve ever fucking met…
And I’m in love with her.
I’m in love with my own fucking step-niece.
And before the day is done, I’m going to make this right.
“We know this bullshit isn’t true,” I say, nodding to the Lis Langley piece I still have pulled up on my phone. “At least, not the way Langley’s trying to spin it, anyway.”
“She said she had an informant.” Mira goes and fetches me my socks and shoes, then kneels at my feet to put them on for me. “But I don’t know who—”
“No?” I chuckle darkly, shaking my head. “You can’t imagine anyone close to us…someone who has stock in hurting us? Or at least, hurting you to get to me?”
Mira’s sharp. I can see her work it out immediately.
“Carl,” she growls, bitter and low. “You beat the shit out of him, Owen…and if it wasn’t for me…”
“That fucker was going to be a problem for you with or without me around, angel.”
“Still, I didn’t exactly help things...”
“Wouldn’t have mattered what you did, Mira. I’ve known that slimy, lecherous piece of shit my whole fucking life. I saw the way he looks at you, too—like he owns you.”
“You own me,” Mira says forcefully.
I pat my knee, and she places herself on my lap, twining her pretty little arms around my neck.
“That’s right, babydoll. But that’s because I earned you and you gave yourself to me. Nobody will ever own you without your consent—not even me. Remember that.”
“But…” Mira’s brow furrows as she comes to another realization. “Owen, my mother said that Carl and his board of directors are taking the company away from me. With W
ilder Lingerie going public today, they didn’t want a scandal, and…”
“Like hell they are,” I swear.
I grab Mira’s hair up in my fist and pull her lips down to meet mine. This time when I kiss her, it’s a promise.
“Those bastards aren’t taking your company from you, honey. Not after how hard you’ve worked—everything you’ve built and all the people that you’ve helped with it.”
“I just don’t know how we can stop them, Owen. I’ve read over the legalese…you might own me in here…” Mira takes my hand and presses it against her chest. Her heart is beating quickly beneath my touch, and it only quickens when I move to cup her breast. “But Carl owns me in paper and ink.”
“We’ll see about that,” I growl. “I need two hours and a phone call to my lawyer, babydoll. That’s all this is gonna take.”
“Are…are you sure, Owen? I don’t want to be a—”
This time when I kiss her, it’s just to shut her up. Not just her pretty little mouth, but all those worries and fears she has brewing behind those gorgeous blue eyes of hers too.
“Do you trust me, Mira?” I purr against her lips.
“With my life,” she says with an all-serious certainty.
“Good. Then let’s make that bastard pay for this.”
He will, too. Let’s just say that a man doesn’t become a multi-billionaire without knowing how to make the right people pay at the right time…
And Carl Westbrook’s desserts are long overdue.
Chapter 32
Mira
I’ve never seen a shit-eating grin immediately turn into a look of defeat in my entire life.
When Carl Westbrook walks into the shitty, dilapidated offices that he tried to foist off onto me and my company, he’s obviously feeling pretty proud of himself.
I can see it smeared across his rat-like, self-satisfied face. Or at least, across the parts of it that Owen hasn’t already turned black and blue.
Carl thinks he’s beaten me. He still thinks that the little stunt he pulled behind my back has already played out better in his favor than he ever could have imagined.
