Falling for My Dirty Uncle

I might want many things—one of them being right in front of me—but the number one thing that I truly care about and have been working my ass off for is this company and this line.

Blood, sweat, and tears are sewn into each piece, and my heart and soul has been laid bare as I make every decision. So, I’ll do anything in my power to make it what it deserves to be.

I re-read the previous piece on my company and feel a sense of pride overwhelm me—that’s me they’re talking about.

“Peop

le will find out about us. And this step-uncle, step-niece thing will be blown out of proportion. They’ll spin this narrative out to sell paper’s and increase ratings. It’ll be an explosive scandal. That’s a fact.” He’s talking to me as someone who’s experienced and knows his shit.

I swallow his words, and I continue to stare at the pages in front of me, not wanting to look away, but they start to become a blur once the reality sinks in.

He continues. “The scandal will ruin you before you even begin. And Mira.” He pauses, and the intensity in his voice pulls my gaze to meet his. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let that happen.”

It goes silent for what feels like an hour, though its only really a few seconds. We stare at each other, and the air around us becomes thick and heavy with anticipation.

I hate to admit it, but he’s right. I can’t let whatever this is get in the way of what I’ve worked so hard for.

“Okay,” I mumble.

“What?”

“Okay, I get it.” I say louder, looking directly at him. “This will not happen.”

“This can never happen. Ever,” he repeats, more sternly and louder this time.

I nod my head and toss the Chronicle between us, making direct eye contact as I declare my promise. “Nothing will ever happen between us. Ever.”

Chapter 11

Owen

Watching Mira in my kitchen is killing me. Fucking killing me.

I’ll just be frank: a lot of women have passed through my kitchen before—hair a disaster, makeup smeared into Hamburgular masks, clothes a complete mess.

Sometimes they even look like completely different people, rendering me speechless when I see their half-awake, hangover-stricken bodies grotesquely twitch into the kitchen.

But Mira, she’s different. Only she can wake up in the morning and look like a picture of perfection.

Honestly, it’s so surreal, it’s completely unfair.

She leans against the kitchen counter while clutching her coffee mug, the shape of her body curving perfectly in the morning light. If she was anyone else, I’d be practically shoving her into an Uber by now.

But of course, the one time I find a woman who makes me want to devour every inch of her just so happens to be my step-niece. She’ll completely ruin my reputation if anyone finds out I stuck my dick in her mouth once, despite me not knowing beforehand.

Mira finishes her coffee and starts strapping on her stilettos.

“Guess I better head out.” Her voice is upbeat yet sad, like she’s still trying to convince herself that she’s okay with leaving.

She grabs her clutch and starts checking her hair in the reflection of the microwave door. Her dress looks so much looser than I remember. Her tits keep bouncing around in her top as she tugs up her dress, the shiny fabric barely covering her.

Of course, my naughty girl wouldn’t wear a bra.

She puts her hair up into a bun and turns and looks at me, as if she’s looking to be inspected.

She throws her arms over her chest suddenly, clutching her arms tightly.

“I can’t go out like this, can I?”