Falling for My Dirty Uncle

Ethan stands, almost a reaction to that touch and he’s stood and stepped just a touch closer to me.

“Why are you ignoring me, avoiding me?” I say. I don’t care how desperate my voice sounds. I’m right here and I want to pour myself all over him, and I just need to feel him in return.

Ethan bites his lip, narrows his eyes, and finally responds, his face considering mine. “You wanted a one night stand, and that’s what I gave you,” he says. I hear the raw power in his voice, the thick timbre of it dark. There’s so much more to what he’s saying, but since I’ve been shut out, I don’t understand it fully.

“That’s not what I want now,” I say, but I back up a step. I'm dangerously close to making a fool of myself and that was okay with me until right now. Because if Ethan tells me that’s what he wants, then I’m going to be utterly crushed. I might shatter and turn to dust right here in his office.

“You don’t know what you want,” Ethan says, his voice a deadly calm before a storm.

The words whisper over my skin, and I turn toward him. “Yes, I do-“

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” Ethan says through gritted teeth.

“Did the last girl that you had an affair with know what she was getting into?” I yelp, frustrated that he seems to be having such a strong reaction but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to touch me. Does he even want me? There’s a welling sea of emotion breaking through me like a static electric storm surging through me.

Ethan deletes the space between us and grabs me, his fingers digging into my skin, holding my upper arms and shaking me a little. I’m jarred, like a little doll he can break in his touch. In this moment, if Ethan wanted to shatter me, that would be preferable to not having his hands on me. I’m not afraid of him, but I am afraid of what comes next. Not because I think Ethan will hurt me, but because I’m so aroused by his touch and by the brutal emotion he’s finally showing, I don’t know how to make it to the next moment.

“What happened with that other girl?” I ask quietly. It's part curiosity and part apology for pulling out a fact with no context.

I just want him to make me understand. If this is painful, I want Ethan to give me the pain. I need to know what he’s thinking, feel what he’s feeling, and if I can, I need to give him what he needs. What I need is for him to bring everything at my shoulders and lay it on me, because I want to be consumed by everything that is him. How do I tell him that?

“Well,” Ethan draws out the word. One of his hands goes up to the nape of my neck, and the other strokes my jawline achingly slow.

My eyes draw hooded with lust, his touch burning my skin up for him. My panties are so wet and my clit aches now. I need him so much I could burst.

“If you know about that,” Ethan says in a quietly powerful voice that makes me think of him as a volcano that won’t be dormant much longer. “Then why would you want me?” His sensual voice is almost musical in my ears. “Don’t you think I might be dangerous?” he asks with a wicked lift of an eyebrow that makes the mask of his always-composed face villainously attractive.

But I know Ethan is not sinister. He’s my protector and never would he harm me. “I know you’re dangerous. You’re the only person who could hurt me, but you’re not going to,” I say, my confidence utterly solid. “Like how I know now that you’re going to put me out of my misery. I need you to fuck away all the pain I’ve had being apart from you,” I say, my lips trembling. I crash into him, crashing my lips against him.

Ethan meets my kiss with an equally unbridled passion. The furious power surging through him is poured down my throat with his every kiss, his tongue sweeping over mine, his lips kissing mine again and again. This is not a gentle kiss. This isn't a slow burn. He’s incinerating me with a passion that leaves my lips bruised and my body aching like a shadow of his every action, desperately responding to his every passionate touch. I moan into his mouth and he eats it, growling against my lips.

Emmaline

I pull back from our kiss, pressing my fingers to Ethan's lips. “You steal the life out of me when you kiss me like that,” I say, breathless.

Ethan captures my wrist, pulling me to his side by my hand. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his voice husky, talking through gritted teeth with an intense passion.

“I’ll die if you stop kissing me,” I tell him. Melodramatic, and utterly true. We’re like this, and if you don’t get it by now, you’re reading the wrong story.

Romeo and Juliet didn’t know shit about love when it comes to drama, not compared to us.

I think about Jane Eyre and her tormented Byronic hero, Rochester. They were brutally honest with each other, and they loved each other so intensely that they could never be apart without it crushing them.

Jane saw Rochester through society and knew that they were two souls as one, and she felt herself in him.

“He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine;—I am sure he is,—I feel akin to him,—I understand the language of his countenance and movements: though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.”

Yes, no one understands the Ethan I see now. He and are the same. Our boundless passion entwines us and we are more inevitable than death, despite everything that tries to stop us.

“I want to worship your body,” I tell Ethan.

He smirks at me so deliciously, but the way that he looks down, his face heats a little, he sucks in a breath, I know that no one has said such a thing to him before. Not anyone that he wanted before. “I want you to be mine forever. I need to be yours,” I say, whisper soft but sounding out everything that I desperately need.

Am I foolish, am I young? But so what if I think of love through the ages and want ours to be just as great? I feel it. And when Ethan looks at me, when he touches me, I know that he feels it, too.

Ethan tangles his fingers through my hair and pulls me to him, where I'm beside him, kissing the side of my mouth and moaning against my skin. I’m on fire when he touches me, and I’m desperate for him to touch me every way he wants to. I want to be a vessel for his pleasure the way that he’s the creator of my ecstasy.

His other hand starts to take off my clothes, and he steps behind me to pull off every inch of my clothing until I’m completely bare before him.