Chapter 10:No more rules

Mabel

I woke up to the smell of coffee and the low throb between my legs that told me I’d been fucked thoroughly, repeatedly, and perfectly.

Adrian was already in the kitchen, shirtless, sweatpants slung so low I could see the V-cut that made my mouth water. He slid a mug across the counter without looking up from his phone.

“Morning, little niece,” he said, voice rough from sleep and last night’s screaming.

I took the coffee with one hand and flipped him off with the other. “Call me that again and I’m biting you.”

“Promise?” He grinned, put the phone down, and prowled around the island toward me.

I was wearing his T-shirt and nothing else. He backed me up against the fridge, took the mug out of my hand, set it aside, and dropped to his knees.

“Adrian, it’s nine a.m.—”

“Shut up,” he muttered against my thigh, pushing the shirt up to my waist. “I woke up dreaming about how you taste with my come still inside you.”

He spread my legs and licked one slow stripe through my folds. I was already swollen and sticky from last night; the first drag of his tongue made me whimper. He groaned like he was starving, hooked my leg over his shoulder, and buried his face in me.

Ten minutes later I came on his tongue so hard my knees gave out. He caught me, stood up, spun me around, and bent me over the kitchen island. The marble was cold against my nipples through the thin shirt.

He didn’t bother pulling his sweats down all the way—just shoved them low enough to free his cock and slammed into me in one thrust. No warning, no condom, just thick, bare heat stretching me open.

“Fuck,” I gasped, fingers scrabbling for something to hold onto.

“That’s it,” he growled, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Take your uncle’s cock like the greedy girl you are.”

He fucked me like he was trying to imprint himself inside me—deep, punishing strokes that shoved me up onto my toes with every thrust. The island rattled. Coffee sloshed out of my abandoned mug. I couldn’t do anything but moan and push back, chasing the angle that made my eyes roll.

He reached around, found my clit with two rough fingers, and rubbed tight, filthy circles. “Come on my dick, Mabel. Show me who you belong to.”

I shattered—screaming, clenching, squirting all over his cock and the kitchen floor. He snarled, yanked my hips back hard, and came with a guttural “Fuck, baby—” pulsing hot inside me until it leaked down my thighs.

We stayed like that, panting, him still buried deep, my cheek pressed to the cold marble.

Eventually he pulled out slow, turned me around, and kissed me lazy and deep, tasting both of us.

“Shower,” he said against my lips. “Then bed. I’m not done with you.”

We didn’t make it to the shower.

He carried me upstairs, tossed me on the bed, and spent the next two hours wrecking me completely.

First he ate me out again, slow and worshipful, until I was sobbing into the pillow and coming on his face for the third time that morning.

Then he flipped me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up, and fucked me from behind while I clawed at the sheets. He reached under me, pinched my clit, and told me to come again—and I did, ugly and loud, shaking apart while he pounded through it and filled me a second time.

After that he laid me on my back, pushed my knees to my chest, and slid in slow, watching every inch disappear inside me.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Taking me so fucking perfectly. This pussy was made for me.”

I couldn’t talk—just nodded frantically, nails raking down his back, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.

He fucked me like that (slow, dirty, eye contact that burned) until we were both dripping with sweat and I was coming again, milking him so hard he cursed and spilled deep inside me with my name on his tongue.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs and sheets, sticky and ruined and grinning like idiots.

That’s when I saw it.

On his nightstand, half-hidden under a book, the corner of a small velvet box. Black. Square. The kind that makes a girl’s heart stop.

I sat up slowly. “Adrian.”

He followed my gaze, saw the box, and went very still.

“It’s not—” He blew out a breath. “It’s not for you. Not yet.”

I reached over and picked it up anyway. Opened it.

Inside was a stunning solitaire on a thin rose-gold band. Simple. Perfect.

“It was for Lauren,” he said quietly. “My ex-fiancée. She gave it back when I told her about the… direction my practice was taking. Said it was too ‘kink-adjacent’ for a respectable doctor’s wife.”

He laughed, but it was hollow.

I closed the box, set it back exactly where it was. My chest felt weird—tight and hot and a thousand things I couldn’t name.

He watched me carefully. “I’m not asking you to wear it. Not while we’re still sneaking around like teenagers. But one day, when we’re ready to burn everything down and tell the world, I want you to have something that’s only ever been yours.”

I swallowed hard. “You’d really do that? Risk your whole family?”

“I’d risk everything for you.” He cupped my face, thumb brushing my lip. “I already have.”

My phone buzzed on the floor—Mom’s ringtone.

I groaned. Adrian handed it to me.

Mom’s voice was bright and clueless. “Sweetie! Adrian says you’ve been staying late at the clinic to help with patient files. He says you’re a natural! We’re all so proud of how close you two are getting!”

I met Adrian’s eyes. He bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, Mom,” I managed. “Super close. He’s… teaching me a lot.”

Adrian mouthed, “Liar,” and slid two fingers back inside me while I was still on the phone.

I had to slap a hand over my mouth to stay quiet as he curled them slow and perfect.

Mom kept talking about Sunday dinner next month and how she couldn’t wait to have “her favorite girl and her favorite brother-in-law” under the same roof again.

Adrian leaned in, licked a stripe up my neck, and whispered, “Tell her you’ll be full of me by then.”

I came again (silent, brutal, clenching around his fingers) while Mom was still mid-sentence about pot roast.

I hung up somehow, dropped the phone, and tackled him back onto the bed.

He laughed until I sank down on his cock and rode him hard, chasing every remaining aftershock.

When we finally lay spent, sunlight pouring across the tangled sheets, he pulled me on top of his chest and kissed my temple.

“Ready to stop pretending, little niece?” he asked softly.

I traced the mark I’d left on his shoulder and smiled against his skin.

“Soon,” I whispered. “But first, fuck me one more time so I remember exactly who I belong to when I go home and lie to my mother’s face.”

He rolled us over, spread my legs wide, and did exactly that—slow, filthy, perfect—until I was screaming his name loud enough to rattle the windows.

No more rules.

Just us.