Falling for My Dirty Uncle

Magnus might be the biggest jerk in New York, but there’s one thing I gotta admit: he’s the most handsome jerk I’ve ever met. And the worst part? He knows it. Sitting here by my side in his tailored Tom Ford suit, his panty-dropper smile on his lips, the man seems like he stepped out of some Hollywood highlight reel.

“Maybe I’m an asshole,” he starts, slowly leaning toward me, “but I’m the kind of asshole you just can’t help yourself around.” He stops for a moment, his words hanging in the silence wrapping us both. “Or am I wrong?” he then adds, like a flourish, and I feel my body reacting on its own.

My pussy grows wet with each heartbeat, and time seems to slow down around the both of us. His deep voice turns and twists around my thoughts, slowly choking the rationality out of them, and all that’s left is some primal urge to… No! Oh, no. I’m not going down this way. Even though the man oozes sex, every inch of his body screaming for mine, I won’t stumble and fall before him like a crippled prey.

“You’re right,” I finally manage to say, looking back into his eyes and forcing a grin onto my face. “I can’t help myself when around assholes like you,” I say and, with that, pull my hand back and let my open palm fly straight into his face.

He stares at me, blinking once and then twice, and then laughs, brushing his fingertips over the place where I just slapped him.

“I know the kind of man you are, Magnus Davion. You’re the kind of man who thi

nks he can bow everyone and everything to his will just because he has money. You don’t care about anyone, Magnus. Only about yourself,” I find myself saying, the words flying out from between my lips before I can even stop them. I had them bottled up inside of me for too long, it seems.

“Self-esteem, babe, it’s the new craze in Europe,” he continues, talking to me as if I hadn’t just insulted him. He’s not a quitter and, hell, the bastard sure knows how to be charming.

“That’s not self-esteem. It’s arrogance. You only care about yourself,” I repeat, feeling as if I’m losing control of the situation. I hate him because of everything that he stands for; I hate him because of what he did to my mother… And, even so, I can’t help but feel irresistibly drawn to him. He’s like human quicksand: the harder you struggle, the faster you sink.

“I care about women too. Deeply,” he whispers, and my heart insists on picking up the pace. I feel my mouth go dry, and I reach for the whisky and down the whole thing at once, hoping it’ll help me steady my nerves.

“Just because you spend your days fucking half the women in this city, doesn’t mean you care for them,” I say, and that mental image of his naked body pressed against mine floods my mind once again.

Jesus.

“Seems like you have me all figured out,” he says without a care, a mocking tone to his words. “Have we met before?” he teases me, and I’ve finally had enough.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember me,” I tell him, feeling more pissed off than I’ve felt in a long time, and he just shrugs.

He has absolutely no idea who I am.

“Who are you?”

“Penny Wright,” I say, allowing the hint of a victorious smile to dance on my lips. That’s when I see it—that flicker of memory in his eyes. He parts his lips as if he’s about to say something, but then just closes his mouth, looking at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

“Penny Wright,” he whispers, disbelief washing over his face. And that’s when I hear Parker Trask saying his name, the voice of the senator carried to us through the overhead speakers.

“... Introduce our keynote speaker, the one and only, Magnus Davion!”

Magnus

Jesus fucking Christ.

I'm walking to the podium in a fucking daze. I mean, come on, is it really that hard to empathize with me in this situation?

I mean, you try having a drink at a bar during some charity gala for some shit you just found out you're going to. You try sitting there at the bar and see the most gorgeous fucking woman you've ever seen in your life sit down next to you and order a fucking whiskey neat.

I mean, she had some tits that left fucking echoes in my brain. Those were the plumpest, perkiest, gravity-defying orbs of pleasure I've ever seen in my entire goddamn life.

It's not just her fucking tits, but Jesus, it's hard to move on past those. I mean the way that dress was clinging to them. The way it was low cut that it gave me just enough to see. Fuck.

But the rest of her body too. That slender, tight body. I can imagine just emptying my balls on her.

God, that ass. That dress clung to her ass like tissue paper.

I'm walking toward the Senator, but I'm still fucking thinking about that ass. It's causing my cock to keep twitching. It was twitching like a snake that came alive when Penny sat down next to me.

It began to get a heartbeat it was so hard when we were talking.

And I swear to fucking God, it's freaking me out, but I almost came in my fucking pants when she told me her name.