Falling for My Dirty Uncle

* * *

“When did you first come to New York?” I ask Derrick as we cross Columbus Circle and into Central Park. Considering how nice of a day it was, we decided to walk from the Upper West Side through Central Park.

“My dad brought me here when I was thirteen,” Derrick says. “My mom was sick. He checked her into a hospital. It was maybe the only time in my life I’ve seen that bastard take care of my mother.”

There’s anger in his voice and I see his eyes flash. I squeeze his hand and he looks back at me, coming back from wherever he went.

“And you moved here after that?” I ask.

“I came to New York after Afghanistan, love,” Derrick says looking at me. “I didn’t want to spend one minute longer than I needed to with that fucking asshole after high school so I enlisted in the Military Academy and then went to fight in the war. Afterwards, I came here.”

“The King being the fucking asshole?” I ask.

He nods.

“He can’t be that bad?” I ask, not knowing why he’s so angry.

Derrick’ eyes grow dark. “No, love?” he asks me. “He neglected my mother all throughout her cancer. He fucking cheated on her. He would have divorced her. Fuck me, he brought her to New York City and checked her into a hospital and then left her here to die. He didn’t even care that she died without him by her side after he drove her to death.”

I’m silent, looking ahead as we stop. Derrick continues. “She never had a chance to fight the fucking cancer after the hell he put her through.”

He pauses and I see anguish in his face. “I’ve asked people in the Royal Court. My father spent a pittance on research. If it were you,” he says to me, looking at me. “If you were sick, I would spend every last fucking cent I had to get you fucking better.”

We’ve meandered off the path and we’re surrounded by trees. I know we’re close to Strawberry Fields but I can’t see anyone at all.

I look at Derrick and he’s still staring at me. God, that look he has. This bad boy, this alpha male, is staring at me with his soulful eyes.

All of a sudden, all I want to do is forget the world with him.

I want to fuck him.

There. I said it. I said fuck. That’s what I want to do to Derrick.

Right. Now.

His shirt is hugging every corner and crevice of his muscles. I know I’m staring, but I don’t care anymore.

“I want you,” the words are low and soft, but my thoughts are aggressive and forceful.

“What?” He asks, looking over his shoulders.

“You heard me. I want you,” I repeat myself, licking my lips because I know it drives him crazy.

“Now?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Right fucking now,” I squint my eyes.

For a second he just looks at me and I think he’s contemplating his options, but then he charges towards me, gripping the nape of my neck ferociously as he takes my mouth, swooping his tongue around. Forcing me backwards, my legs scurry until I feel a rough hard surface against my back. Glancing sideways I can tell he’s pinned me to a tree. Actually, we’re surrounded by them, and although we can hear voices, we can’t see anyone.

“Fuck me, Derrick,” the words roll off my tongue and without hesitation, he lifts me into the air, my legs instantly wrapping around him as he pulls my hair back to attack my neck with that mouth.

Our bodies are fighting as we both rush to feel each other, our addictions growing quite lethal.

“Fucking hell,” he growls, reaching below my dress. I hear the lace tear as I scramble my hands on his belt buckle, working to free his rock hard length. The wind is cool on my wet sex, the breeze hitting me naked bottom since Derrick is lifting my dress readying me for him.

“Fucking do it!” He growls as I fumble with his belt from this weird angle. Finally, I unzip his pants and his cock falls heavily into my waiting hand. The instant I touch him he groans deeply before adjusting my hips so his head is right at my opening. Holding still, he looks deeply in my eyes. There’s something he wants to tell me, but I can’t be sure what it is. Sometimes I feel like he’s seeing right through me, reading through all my lies. It’s like he knows who I really am, and he’s just pretending to go along with everything. Maybe that’s wishful thinking.

What do you mean a guilty conscience? You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.