Falling for My Dirty Uncle

It’s all I needed.

My inner caveman roars to life, and suddenly, I’ve got her by the throat. My thumb traps her clit beneath it and I begin to roll it round and round, never quite enough to make her come but certainly enough to make her whimper.

And moan.

And fucking beg.

“Yes,” she hisses. “God yes, Owen. Finger my pussy. Claim it. It’s yours.”

“That what you want, you little slut? You want me to claim you?”

“Yes! From the moment—from the moment I first saw you. It’s all I want.”

“How should I claim you, Mira? Tell me what you want.”

“Make me come!” she whimpers. Her hips are thrashing beneath me now, sending the water sloshing to and fro over the edge of the tub. “Please, please, please make me come!”

“You’re a bad girl, Mira. You said it yourself. Do you really think that bad girls get to come?”

“They fucking should,” Mira snarls at me. “I took what you were too much of a coward to give me.”

I can’t help it. I have to fucking chuckle at that—but it’s a dark laugh. Not the pretty kind.

“You’re pretty demanding for such a little slut, Mira.”

“Give me what I want, then.” With a flick of my thumb, she’s there—I can tell by the shift in her eyes, the way she gasps for breath. “Oh! Owen! Kiss me! Make me come! Give it to me! Please!”

“Choose,” I snarl back at her with urgency. “You only get one.”

She gasps again.

“Kiss me!”

I claim her lips with mine so hard we’re both bruised. Her kiss is so hot, so sweet, and so hungry for me, it would be a sin to deny her an orgasm now.

Not after she’s given me such a gift.

“Come,” I snarl against her lips. “Come! COME!”

“Aaaaaah!” she cries out.

Her body thrashes beneath mine so hard, I can physically see the reaction of her every nerve ending as her entire system lights up with pleasure.

I don’t let up in the least. If anything, I stroke her harder, even faster than before, until I feel the tension in her body dissolve into pure fucking bliss.

“Oh,” she pants against my lips, struggling to catch her breath. “Oh…wow. God. Oh.”

She smiles a satisfied little smile and steals another kiss; her eyelids heavy and hooded, her breath shallow and slowing.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

“Don’t thank me, Mira,” I warn her. I rise, ripping off my shirt so hard that the buttons pop off and rain down into the bathwater. “I’m not fucking done with you yet.”

Chapter 28

Mira

I’ve admired men before. I’ve watched the way their well-muscled bodies moved beneath their tailored Armanis. I know what I find handsome in a man: a strong jawline, a crooked smile, pale eyes and, okay, yeah, maybe a little bit older than me (or a lot).