Falling for my Dirty Uncle: A Virgin and Billionaire Romance

by Alexis Angel

  The way that he's looking at me right now, I feel like we're both in a trance. I wrap my hands around his cock. Magnus shuts off the water and we're both still dripping wet, but that's all the invitation I need to draw his cock into my mouth and start sucking him. I lick the whole length of his cock and then I suck him in deep. It isn't long before we're both shuddering. When his cock jets hot cum down my throat, my pussy is shivering with my own orgasm. I don't even have to touch myself. Sucking his cock makes me cum because that's how much I really do crave my daddy in all of my holes.

  I feel his cock quicken. I cup his balls in my hands, and they are loaded up. He's ready to burst, and I'm ready to swallow him.

  Magnus cups my chin, groaning low in his throat, “I’m cumming. Drink me up, Penny.” The way he moans my name makes me shiver. I slide Magnus’s cock even deeper down my throat and swallow every hot drop of his cum I can before I pull out that massive cock, stroking the shaft. I rub the sticky final rope of cum over my lips, and draw my fingers to my own creamy pussy lips. I run that against my lips, tasting us both together.

  I stand in the shower, and Magnus steadies me as I rise. His lips close over mine, and a thrill shoots through me with the realization that we're tasting each other like this.

  I love being so naughty with my Daddy.

  The New York Daily Journal

  Who Moved My Cheese?

  Gossip Central on Page Eight. From the Desk of Vicky Durner - All the gossip you never even knew you needed to know!

  Good morning Gothamites! There's a new sensation going on in the streets of our fair city recently. One that has New Yorkers from all walks of life scratching their heads. They just can't figure out what's gotten into Magnus Davion.

  What am I talking about?

  Mr. Bad Boy Superstar has been replaced by Mr. Rogers and the sweater vest.

  Well, maybe the sweater vest is a bit too much. He's still got the ripped body and fantastic abs. And we've all seen what he's packing below the waist.

  But while the city expects Magnus Davion to misbehave, what it doesn't expect is for him to turn into a pillar of society.

  And when I say pillar, I'm not talking about an erect sex organ. I'm talking about an upstanding citizen.

  That's right, New Yorkers. Meet Magnus Davion, savior of the city.

  In the last two weeks, this ex-bad boy billionaire has been seen at three charity fundraisers. He's hosted a blood drive from his Midtown offices. He's donated coats. He's read books to orphans. He's even donated a hospital wing to Beth Israel's children's section.

  This is not the same man who used to spray ejaculate on women's faces in front of 50,000 people.

  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 to 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 hi 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.