His Little Secret
He grunts, propping an elbow on the doorframe. “I’ll stand here.”
“Out in the hallway?”
Mase doesn’t answer, merely continuing to watch me through narrowed eyes. I’m still in my string bikini—purchased with him in mind—but crossing the hardwood floor of my bedroom while he peruses my body in the itty bitty bathing suit feels even more explicit than it did downstairs near the pool. Do I hear him groan when I bend over to open the bottom drawer of my desk? Or is that just wishful thinking?
I can hear the high-pitched laugher from my mother outside, along with the whir of the margarita machine. All the sounds are muffled, but they’re a reminder that we’re one curious set of eyes away from being discovered. An uncle watching his nearly naked niece strut around her bedroom, a beer bottle in his hand.
Taking a bracing breath, I remind myself of my favorite motto.
No guts no glory.
And I close my hand around the ceramic object I made in secret yesterday while my parents were out browsing yachts. If they’d been home while I created a six-inch sex toy shaped like a phallus, they probably would have had a lot of questions.
Keeping the toy hidden behind my back, I turn and slowly cross the room toward Mase, noticing his fist tighten around the beer, the closer I come.
“Okay…” I breathe. “Here it is.”
Paying close attention to his face, I hold up the sex toy.
Something primal flares in Mase’s eyes, his jaw tightening ominously. “What the hell is that, Ripley?”
“It’s for me.” I twist side to side, trailing the tip of the toy down my belly button, letting it linger on the low waistband of my bikini. “For fun.”
I get the impression he’s trying to control his breathing. He grinds his forehead against the doorframe, then glances toward the stairs. As if ordering himself to abandon the situation immediately. Instead, after a few heavy moments, he asks me, hoarsely, “You’ve…used it?”
Triumph makes me giddy. He’s never, ever let our conversations get too personal. Never let them cross the invisible line drawn in the sand between uncle and niece. But he just did. And I couldn’t be more thrilled that there’s no turning back now. “Not yet,” I whisper, tucking the thick tip just inside my bottoms. “I was thinking I’d try it now.”
His hips press to the doorframe. “Goddammit, Ripley.”
“What?” I slowly back toward the bed and sit down on the edge, carefully edging my thighs apart. “You don’t have to stay…”
Mase watches me expose my sex like he’s witnessing a beautiful disaster unfold. The string bikini covers only the valley of my sex, but nothing on either side. It will take very little effort to nudge the material over and slide the toy between my lips. But deep down, I know Mase is not going to let it get that far. Not if my plan works.
I want you so bad. I’ve wanted you forever.
Every part of me is throbbing with heat, excitement. I’m wet between the folds of my womanhood and though I’m innocent of men and pleasure, I’ve educated myself enough to know that the dampness is a good thing. That it’s natural when a female is aroused—and good lord, I am definitely that. Uncle Mase is finally at his breaking point, his big chest heaving up and down as he watches me tuck the ceramic phallus between slick lips that have never been breached, not even by my own fingers.
“Stop that. Now.” He stomps into the room, kicking the door shut behind him, huge and dangerous and pissed off in his motorcycle cut. “You’re a virgin.”
“So what?”
His hands are white-knuckled fists at his sides. “You put that in too deep, Ripley,” he growls through clenched teeth, “it’s going to pop your little cherry.”
“I know.” I gasp when the toy drags over a sensitive spot and exhilaration fans out into every corner of my body. A shiver passes through me, beading my nipples, and he groans in response. “I don’t want to go to college a virgin. I’m getting it over with.”
“The fuck you are.” He leans down and gets in my face, gorgeous in his fury. Here is the rampaging ex-convict I’ve heard my father whispering about. The man my father claims used to rain hell on his enemies and put the fear of God into everyone else. Only this time, I’m the object of his frustration. His barely leashed vitality. “Put one inch of that thing inside of you and I’ll spank you raw.”
I press my lips together to suppress a moan. Spank me? With his huge, scarred hands? I’ve never imagined that scenario and it sends a thrill racing down toward my core, tightening my loins like a wrench. Having the man I’ve pined for so long watch me touch myself is overwhelming my senses. It’s awakening a sexuality inside of me I always suspected was just waiting to be tapped. And I’m definitely tapping it now, while the source of my frustration seethes in front of me, a thick ridge tenting the front of his jeans. Uncle Mase is hard for me. I’m not just dabbling in teasing him or trying to make him notice me.