CHAPTER 1 - I LET MY UNCLE RUIN ME I

I should have been concentrating.

The leather chair felt too big for me. My black pencil skirt had ridden up slightly when I sat down, and I kept having to tug it back toward my knees like that would somehow make me look more professional. My uncle sat across from me behind a wide, dark desk, completely still except for the occasional slow blink. Victor Hale—Mom’s adopted older brother, the man I had been told to call Uncle Victor my entire life, the same man i had been fantasising about for the last three years—was wearing a charcoal shirt, almost black, with the top two buttons undone.

Every time he shifted even slightly I caught a glimpse of the hollow of his throat and the beginning of his chest. The fabric looked expensive and soft. It stretched across his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry.

I had expected the meeting to feel formal. Clinical. He was offering me a job because the family needed the money and he could afford to help. That was all it was supposed to be. Instead I couldn’t stop staring at the open collar of his shirt. The silver at his temples only made him look more severe. His hands rested loosely on the desk, long fingers relaxed, and I kept wondering what those hands would feel like if they ever stopped being an uncle’s hands.

“Tell me about your last position,” he said.

His voice was low and even. I started talking. I heard myself listing responsibilities, achievements, software I knew. The words came out smoothly enough, but my attention kept sliding. My eyes drifted down to the open collar of his shirt again. I imagined slipping the next button free. I imagined the sound it would make. Heat pooled low in my stomach and I pressed my thighs together under the desk, hoping he couldn’t tell.

He was my uncle.  

I was not supposed to be getting wet looking at him.

He asked another question. Something about handling confidential information. I answered on autopilot while my mind wandered further. In my head I was no longer sitting across from him in his office. I was standing between his knees. He was still wearing that dark shirt, but my fingers were on the buttons now. He wasn’t stopping me. He was just watching with that same calm expression while I undid them one by one. When the shirt finally fell open I could see the hard lines of his chest and stomach. In the fantasy he let me touch him. He let me drag my palms down his skin until I reached his belt. The fact that he was my mother’s brother only made the picture filthier.

A soft, shameful pulse answered between my legs. I was getting wetter by the second and there was nothing I could do about it.

Victor’s eyes stayed on my face, but every so often they dropped. Once to my mouth. Once lower, to the front of my blouse where I was certain my nipples had gone tight. Each time his gaze moved I felt it like a physical touch. My answers started coming slower. I was losing the thread of the conversation and I knew it.

“How do you handle pressure, Nora?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but the office suddenly felt far away.

The fantasy took over completely.

I was on my knees in front of his chair. His hand was in my hair, not rough, just steady, holding me where he wanted me. In the fantasy he was still speaking in that same controlled voice, telling me exactly what to do with my mouth. I could almost feel the weight of him against my tongue. My fingers—my real fingers—slid up the inside of my thigh without permission. The skirt was already bunched high enough that it was easy. I pressed two fingers against the soaked center of my panties and rubbed once, slow and hard, chasing the ache that had been building since I walked through the door.

I rubbed again.

The friction made my breath catch. In the fantasy Uncle Victor’s voice dropped lower. He called me a good girl. He told me to keep going. My hips shifted forward in the chair, chasing more pressure. My fingers slipped beneath the edge of the fabric and found bare, slippery skin. I was so wet it was almost embarrassing. I circled my clit once, twice, lost completely in the picture of my own uncle watching me do it.

A quiet moan left my throat.

That was what pulled me back.

The office snapped into place again like someone had turned the lights on. My hand was still under my skirt, two fingers pressed deep against my own soaked pussy. Victor was no longer sitting. He was standing on the other side of the desk, palms flat on the wood, staring directly at the place where my hand disappeared under the black fabric.

For a second I couldn’t move.

Then panic hit.

I yanked my hand away so fast my wrist burned. I stood up so quickly the chair rolled backward and hit the wall with a dull thud. My face felt like it was on fire. I could still feel the wetness on my fingers and the cool air against the damp spot I had left in my panties.

“I—I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “I don’t know what happened. I just... I zoned out. It won’t ever happen again. I swear.”

Victor didn’t speak right away. He walked around the desk slowly, like he had all the time in the world. When he reached my side of the room he leaned his hips against the edge of the desk, arms loosely crossed over his chest, and looked at me. His expression hadn’t changed much, but there was something sharper in his eyes now.

I tried again. “It was a mistake. I wasn’t thinking about... I mean, I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he said quietly.

The two words stopped me cold.

I shook my head, still trying to crawl back into some version of normal. “No. I was answering your questions. I just lost focus for a second. That’s all. You’re my uncle. I would never—”

Victor uncrossed his arms. He reached out, hooked two fingers into the front waistband of my skirt, and pulled.

I stumbled forward until I was standing directly between his parted thighs. The position forced me close enough that my knees almost brushed the inside of his legs. My breath hitched hard in my throat. He kept that light but unbreakable grip on the waistband, holding me in place. I could feel the heat of his body. I could smell the clean, expensive scent of his skin mixed with whatever cologne he wore. The fact that this was the same man who used to give me birthday money when I was younger made the entire moment feel unreal.

“What were you doing, Nora?”

His voice was still calm. Almost soft. That made the question worse.

I swallowed. My heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Try again.”

“I was just sitting there. I must have—”

Victor’s thumb brushed once across the strip of skin above my skirt, slow and deliberate. The tiny contact sent a fresh rush of wetness between my legs. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.

“You had your fingers inside your panties while I was asking you questions,” he said. “You were touching yourself and thinking about me. Your own uncle. Don’t insult both of us by pretending otherwise.”