Falling for My Dirty Uncle

Ethan and I were just beginning, and now our flame flickered out before we really got to burn together.

Delia texts me again, asking if I’m talking to my parents.

Yes, I am. I tell her how I understand why my mother did what she did…but I’m not ready to forgive her.

Delia starts up again about how I need to try to meet someone new.

I groan out loud. My roommate has her headphones on and isn’t interested in my heartbreak-induced zombification. I text Delia back how I’m not interested in meeting anyone new.

I wasn’t even interested in meeting anyone before. Ethan was the unicorn; he was that charming prince in a fairy tale that pulls me out of the dregs of my ordinary life and makes it magical. He was the magic slipper. We were a perfect fit.

But are we still? I don’t know.

I sent Delia a lighter toned text, telling her that my grades will be stellar because all I do is study.

I start to type another text to tell another problematic truth that the new English teacher is boring, but my text is interrupted by a call.

I’m stunned at the sight of his name taking over my phone and the call goes to voicemail before I can answer. I immediately click on the voicemail, my stomach all twisted in knots over how eager and excited I am. This is the first bit of hope that I’ve had in some time. He called me.

I listen to the message.

“Meet me at my house this evening, Emmaline.”

That’s all the message says. I know he knows my class schedule, probably knows that I will scoot my ass over there as soon as possible. That’s what he wants. I can hear it in his voice. There’s the same kind of aching desperation that’s been devouring me without him.

I’m all funk, and not in the fun dance sense. I have two hours to make myself the kind of woman that’s getting fucked tonight. I’m not about to be Cinderella showing up in the pumpkin. Christine Daae in Phantom of the Opera had the fancy Victorian bustier to keep her tits center stage and make her whole body say eat me. I’ve got the pushup bra and good contouring makeup to make my cheekbones get my face to that perfect look. I’ll wear a cute little sundress. No thong. I want to feel his skin against me. Speaking of skin, I have a shower power hour ahead to shave everything I’ve let get furred over like I’m planning for winter.

My eyes are puffy and glassy from crying, but I’m fine with that. If I look like a broken little doll, at least my flawless makeup is going to just make that all the better.

Fuck, the heat of the shower is torturous and I’m thinking about how badly my hands need to be on Ethan.

Yeah…this is supposed to be about him earning me back. Check, I’ve got that sass, too. But I just love him so goddamn much that I can barely breathe. I get ready as fast as I can and I head over there as soon as I can. Hopefully this modern little fairy tale will have a happy ending. I tried to look the part.

Ethan certainly does. I can’t breathe when I see him. He looks so incredibly sexy that I just can’t believe it when I see him again. I don’t think Ethan will ever stop having that affect on me. Every line of his body, the firm muscles, are evident. He’s wearing dark wash jeans and no shirt. This is unholy sexy, and I just want to lick every inch of him. He’s at the door, waiting for me. Like, in front of his door when I arrive.

The gate code almost tripped me up, thinking about it on the way, but it was open. I appreciate the intensity of how urgently, how desperately Ethan needed me. I know that he feels about me the way that I feel about him.

“Emmaline,” Ethan growls, and he runs up to the car door, opening it and swooping into my car. There’s not enough room for him to be there, but he’s invading my space deliciously. He drops his head to my lap and kisses my exposed thigh.

I moan, his mouth on me so dangerously good.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you at the restaurant. For not having contact with you this whole time. It isn’t appropriate, though, for a teacher and a student to be involved. Your mother was right. But so were you. We understand each other. That’s how I know you know that I let Joelle’s tirade get under my skin. I should have stood up for us.”

“You shouldn’t have ignored me. I’m not a child. What I want—what we want, matters,” I say.

Ethan's eyes look up at me, pleading for forgiveness.

Forgiveness I'm desperate to give, but I keep myself from reaching out and touching him. “Did my mother go to the university?” I ask, trembling. Partially, I shake because I’m terrified that he lost his job because of me. And partially because his hot breath is ghosting over my pussy and I’m aching for him.

“No, I resigned,” Ethan says.

“But you love teaching!” I exclaim. I can’t believe he did this. Which one of us must be having the worst spiral in the fallout of our almost relationship?

“I love you more,” Ethan growls, his hand reaching under my dress and cupping my ass. “Dear God, no thong? You’re trying to kill me. If so, I need to die with your pussy cumming on my face. I’m not going to lose you, but I could go that way.”

“Y-your job,” I whimper. He said those words. Ethan loves me. Ethan doesn’t want to lose me. Ethan is touching my bare ass and I’m so dripping wet for him.

“I don’t need the money,” Ethan says with a smug laugh.