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EROTICA | INCEST | UNCLE NIECE | FORBIDDEN | TABOO | ROUGH SEX | RISKY SEX | STORMY NIGHT

My Uncle’s House, My Uncle rules — 4

After one forbidden night, we tried to stay away — until the thunderstorm hit and he came to my room, desperate and hard.

PART 3

“Morning,” I said, keeping my tone casual but my voice more terrified.

He looked over his shoulder and he gave me a smile that was—normal. Warm. Uncle-like. “Morning. Sleep okay?”

Was he serious? “Yeah. Fine.”

“In a minute pancakes'll be ready, get some coffee.”

I made myself a cup, my hands were not very steady, and I sat at the kitchen table and watched him cook. There was a hush between us, not awkward, but loaded with unspoken words.

He placed a plate of pancakes in front of me and sat across the table from me with his own cup of coffee. We both remained silent for a long time.

“Last night,” he said at last, “we should talk about that.”

My stomach dropped. “Do we have to?”

“Yeah.” His tone was soft, yet strong. We do. That can't happen again, honey.

Honey. A thousand times he called me honey when I was a child. This time it landed another way. It caused something in my chest to twist now.

“Why not?” I couldn't stop them from saying the words. “Both of us are grown men, both of us wanted it.”

“That's not so easy.”

“It could be.”

He rubbed his face, and I could tell he was tired—his eyes were dark, his mouth was clenched. You're my niece, your father is my brother. Should any one ever discover—”

“No one has to find out.”

“Is that really what you want? Sneaking around? “Lying to all your loved ones?”

I wanted to say yes, but I didn't. I wanted to tell him that if it meant that I would lie to God himself, I would have him. But I couldn't get the words out, I knew he was right. He was correct and I hated it.

“What do you want?” I whispered.

He took my hand and placed it over my hand. The contact was warm, steady and too short. “You're young, you have a lot of life to live, you don't want to get wrapped up in something like this.”

Don't tell me what I want.”

“Ellie—”

“Don’t.” I withdrew my hand. “You can't do that, you can't be in my body one night, and the next morning patronize me.”

The word was in the air between us, hard and unyielding. His jaw tightened. His eyes twinkled, as if with desire, perhaps, or regret, perhaps.

“Yes,” he replied, “you're correct.” “Oh sorry, that's not fair.”

“Yeah. It was.”

We sat in silence to eat our pancakes. We didn't eat them.

We were extremely polite for a week. He didn’t touch me. I didn’t touch him. We chatted about the weather, his work, my future, anything but what was burning a hole in both our minds. At times he looked at me but his stare was dark and hungry, and he always looked away first.

I would touch myself to his memory at night while I was in bed. His mouth. His hands. When he came, he said my name like that. I brought my fist to my mouth to silence the noises and lay there in the dark, empty, hollow, aching, and longing for something I couldn't get.

It was unsustainable. It was inevitable that something would break.

It broke on a Thursday.

About midnight, a thunderstorm came in and shook the windows and lit up the sky. I never outgrew my fear of storms and was crouched under my blankets, flinching at every thunderclap, when my bedroom door opened.

A flash of lightning stood out against the sky as David stood in the doorway. He was in his underwear, his hair disheveled from sleep, his face hard with desire.

“This can't be done,” he said.

Another flash of lightning. I watched the battle in his eyes, the war he was fighting with himself and I made a decision.

“Then don’t.”

I threw back the covers. In three steps he came to my mouth and his mouth was like a punch in the face, it was urgent, it was violent. This was not the first time, patient and exploratory and infused with wonder. This was desperate. This was need without any pretense.

He ripped my nightgown over my head. His boxers hit the ground. Then we were naked and tangled in my childhood bed, his cock hard against my thigh, his weight on me.

“Yes, I tried,” he said into my throat, his voice rough. “God, I tried to stay away from you.”

Don't go away, I don't want you to go away.

His fingers made their way between my legs, where they found me wet and ready, and he groaned. “You will kill me.”

“Good.”

He pushed me in one hard push, and I cried out, not because it hurt me, but because it was so right. This was where I was supposed to be. I had been missing out on all those nights in bed by myself. His hips were pounding into mine, his hands holding my wrists above my head, he was fucking me like he was going to punish me.

“Is this what you had in mind?” I heard his growl in my ear. “Are you looking for something like this?”

“Yes—yes—”

“At night, touching yourself and wishing it was me?”

The words zapped me. He knew. He knew, of course, that the walls of this old house were thin, that I wasn't always quiet. I couldn't help but gasp, as shame and arousal intertwined in my stomach.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” I sobbed. “All the time. All the goddamn time.”

He let go of my wrists and grabbed my hips and flipped me onto my stomach. His hand jammed between my shoulder blades, pushing my chest into the mattress, and then he was back inside me again, but from the back this time, deeper than the first time, and I grabbed the sheets and let him rip me apart. PART 5