Falling for My Dirty Uncle

“What are you sorry for? That was everything I’ve been fantasizing about since the wedding. Or, well, since forever, really. In like, a non-specific way, y’know? It was amazing.”

“Mira, we can’t be together. I took your virginity. This could totally ruin your company and your life.”

Her sleepy blue eyes grow fierce for a second. “No, look. Fuck Carl. This was a great thing, and we won’t let it ruin anything. No regrets.”

She’s using her finger to run circles around my chest now. It feels so fucking good.

“Mira,” I remind her, trying to be the voice of reason. “You could get pregnant.”

“Worse things have happened.”

She then drags her fingernails across my chest.

She’s so young. I want to explain it to her—tell her how much of a terrible idea this was and get her to see that I’ve been completely irresponsible.

But for once, this isn’t about my ego. This is about her. She needs to be cared for, and she needs me to be there for her.

Do with your self-loathing what you should have done with your dick: keep it to yourself, Owen.

“So, you’re happy? With this?”

She runs a finger behind my ear and then softly breathes into it.

I’ve never been harder in my entire fucking life.

“I am so, so happy,” she whispers.

And then I know what I have to do. Best leave it there, with Mira feeling happy and me not losing my senses twice in one night.

I think she’s finally ready to sleep, too. So I stand, picking her up in my arms as I do so.

I know why I found her so extremely sexy when I first met her; it’s frankly amazing that anything so tiny can be so powerful. She’s so petite, but you can tell that she’s a force of nature.

I gently place both of us on the tiled floor and reach for the bathrobes folded by the sink.

I’m not an angel, though. I get one final glimpse of that glistening, steaming body before I wrap her robe around her.

Those full tits, dripping with water…those open little lips…

She sees me watching hungrily.

“Are you checking me out, Uncle Owen?”

Christ. She’s a naughty little flirt, even when she’s exhausted beyond belief and also stifling a yawn.

I want to kiss her, but I exercise some goddamn self-control for once.

I wrap my towel around myself, too. We can’t have any more shenanigans, so best cover myself up completely.

As if that would stop us.

Then, I pick her up in my arms again—marveling at how she weighs next to nothing—and carry her to bed.

Pajamas. Shit. That’s the one thing I overlooked.

There are no pajamas, dammit.

I undress her again to stop her from getting her wet robe in the bed, then fold down the covers and then tuck her in.