The Forbidden Fruit: My Alpha Step-Uncle

Amber

How do you seduce a 35-year-old player to take your 18-year-old virginity? 

First, send that bitch he brought home running with tail between her legs. Second, wear your confidence like the bigger bitch and the queen of sass. Third, strip naked, get under the covers, and wait patiently for him to finish his shower. 

Oh, and the most important thing of all: do not gawk. 

It’s just a human organ. Nature's response to human reproduction—. 

God, it’s not helping. I’m fucking nervous. 

No, no, I can’t back out now. No pain, no gain, remember? 

Clack!

The bathroom door opened, and the man of my dreams—my destined mate, my future, my everything—emerged in a cloud of steam like an angel from heaven. 

Except, Hunter Black is no angel.

He can easily be mistaken as one, no doubt about it. 

Silvery hair that shimmers like feathers of angel wings in the day and glows like the moon at night. Eyes golden like the summer sun that bronzed his skin and sculpted his muscles into a swimmer’s physique. 

Even now, under the warm fluorescent glow of his room, all fresh and steamy from the shower, he oozes the innocent charm of an angel and the blasé confidence of a surfer. 

But looks are deceiving. So is a name. 

The only swimming Hunter's ever done is midnight skinny dipping in the house pool. And the only thing black about Hunter Black? His fashion sense. 

Also, Hunter doesn't hunt. He moves in and delivers. 

That's why he's the sharpest blade of the potent Alpha of Blood Moon Pack—my father. After my father, he’s the next most feared and the most fearless. 

Folks see him coming from a mile away, they don’t wait to greet that handsome burst of sunshine, they run and pray hard that they aren’t the ones he want. 

Unless, of course, they’re women. 

Like I said, he doesn't hunt. He moves in and kills. 

And Hunter Black is a die hard fan of the big breasted, tiny waist with pink, wet puss—. 

“Fuck, not again.” Frustrated fingers ruffled that damp, sexy fringe loose while that barrel of the meanest muscles heaved in a controlled sigh. Eyes closed to shut me out, my future husband snapped, “Get out.” 

I’m the fucking queen of sass. 

“Make me,” I snapped back. 

My toes were curling in sheer embarrassment under the covers.  

Those eyes flew open, and a livid amber gaze fixed on me. 

And then I knew: I had won half the battle. 

Because no matter how angry Hunter gets, he never, EVER puts his hands on me. Which means, I can do whatever the fuck I want and get away with it. Nothing will ever happen to me. 

Which is the most infuriating!

I get it. He’s my father’s stepbrother. We’re family. 

But not by blood! Why is everyone missing that? The most important of all fine prints! We’re not related by blood so it’s not illegal for us to marry! 

And who cares about the 17 year gap! We’re living in the times of ‘eat, pray love’, not Marie Antoinette!

His Blackness seemed to read my mind, and stood his ground; arms crossed to stop himself from murdering me before I made a fool of myself yet again.  

And all I could see were those fierce biceps. All I was thinking about was touching them—.  

“I’m not going to sleep with you, goddamn it. Now, leave or I’ll scream.” 

That smirk, thinking that he’s got me. 

And I got bolder. Instantaneously. 

“And let everyone see this?” I threw the covers aside and stepped out of his bed. All five feet seven of me fully unclothed, in bare naked skin, from toes to tip. “Are you sure?” 

His breath got caught.   

“Do I not interest you one bit?” I bit my lip to force myself to not look away. 

He was silently drinking in the sight of me, not missing an inch or a curve. From my squared shoulders to my breasts, and down to my belly… and then between my thighs. 

His throat bobbed with thirst. 

And the heat of embarrassment swarmed up from my toes. 

Nerves froze my fingers so I gripped into fists and raised my chin with a deep inhale. My shoulder blades gathered, pushing my chest forward, which was a big mistake because now, my nipples are hardening.  

He swallowed hard. 

“Hunter,” I began, taking a step forward. 

And he staggered back. “NO.” 

But he couldn’t look away. 

He was going all over me—thoroughly—with his eyes right now. If his eyes were his hands, I’d be fully glazed in sunscreen. So why is he still refusing to touch me?  

“Then, look away.” I dared another step. “Look away, Hunter.” 

“Stop testing me, Am.” 

I smirked. “You can’t, can you? You want me. I know that look.” 

He scoffed, eyes on my collarbone. “Do you, now. You’re a fucking kid—.”

The sheer gall of him to use that taboo word. 

“AM I?” I backed away, switching tactics. “Then dress me up like you used to.” I tucked my hands behind my bum to push my breasts even forward. 

They aren’t the biggest, but the guys couldn’t stop staring, so I’m confident that they are enticing enough. 

“Am…” He warned, his voice hoarse with restraint. 

“Here.” I tapped my toes innocently on my flimsy shirt discarded on the floor, showing off the length of my legs while at it. “Put it on me and shove me out.” 

His riveting gaze was burning the side of my thigh. 

So I stretched my curves, lengthened my neck like a ballerina, and then looked over my shoulder, twisting gently around my waist, to check my firm bum. 

Eva’s magic trick for nabbing cute guys: a visual tour of the feminine curves. 

I swore off it because it gives the slutty vibes. But at this point, I’ll try anything. 

And, thank goodness, I did.

Because his breathing laboured. 

“No?” I lifted my lashes and met his eyes, now filled with unspoken rage, and brazenly rebutted, “Still a kid?” 

“Fine.” He glanced away. “You made your point.” When he looked back, he was still adamant. “But I’m still your uncle, and you’re still my niece–.”

“Step-uncle.” I cut him off. Then, my finger swivelled back to tap between my breasts. “Step-niece,” I enunciated, my own impatience rising. 

A wrong move because he regained composure and had that stupid grin on his face again. 

Which means I had failed. 

“You know what—screw this.” I snatched my shirt off the floor. “It’s mine so I decide when to lose it, and I’m losing it tonight. You don’t want it? Fine!” I gritted my teeth to stop the tears. “There are plenty out there dying to have it.” 

“Are you threatening me, right now?” 

His eyes followed me like a leash as I stomped about his room picking up my clothes because he wouldn’t come anywhere near me.

Which made me feel even worse. 

He does prefer those whores over me.  

“Whatever, Hunter.” I fetched the final piece—my underwear—and headed for the door. “Goodnight.” 

But he slotted in between me and the door. 

“You're going out like this? Are you crazy? You’re naked, for fuck’s sake!” 

God, now, he sounds like a parent. 

My eyes are about to explode with tears. 

Then, I’ll really look like a kid. 

And the shame amplified. My anger shot through the roof. 

“You’re the crazy one!” I pushed a glare into his face. “I just told you I’m losing my V-card tonight! How do you suppose I do it then? By fucking myself?! I need a guy of course, you cockblocker!”    

And large, hot palms grabbed my face. Firm, masculine lips crashed onto my mouth. 

He sucked my lips strongly, as though trying to knock some sense into me, but I was too stunned with raw delight to think morally. 

I squeezed my eyes to shut out everything else and enjoy the moment.  

So this is what kissing Hunter feels like. 

I’ve never kissed before, but he’s damn good. 

Each time he seemed to be done, he would part his lips the other way to draw in more of my lips, as if to confirm something. And I’d be consumed all over again. 

I wasn’t sure how long we were kissing. But it couldn’t seem to end—until the hot tip of his tongue swept in to rub mine. 

Fear got the best of me, and he seemed to sense it. 

Abruptly, he withdrew, releasing the suction with a tender smack. But he was still holding my face, and the heat from his palm was keeping me drunk in that kiss. 

He seemed to like what he saw and smirked proudly before completely removing himself and stepped away. 

And my heart sank once more. I thought he was finally done with me.

But he reached behind him and locked the door, his gaze fiercely wanting. 

“If we’re going to do it, we do it my way.”  

He was as breathless as me, which meant that the kiss affected him as much as me, and my insides overflowed with pride.   

“First,” he stepped from the door, “this stays between us. Not a word to anyone. Not even Eva. Got that?”  

His words dropped reality back on my lap. My confidence vanished. Suddenly, I was very aware that I’m wearing nothing, and he’s in a towel and nothing else. 

Shit. I didn’t think I’d come this far. What do I do? 

Hide. I want to hide. Dive back under the covers. But I can’t. All my efforts, the embarrassment I had endured, they’d all go to waste!

Push on, Amber. 

“Your word, Am,” he demanded. 

And I nodded obediently. 

“Next.” 

He straightened, and I finally caught sight of it, bulging against his towel. 

The nerves slammed right back in. 

Don’t gawk… don’t gawk…. 

I switched to his abs and blurted, “W–what—how do we—?” 

He chuckled dryly, his voice taking the reins again. 

“How do we do it? Come on, Am. You came prepared, didn’t you?”

I scoffed. “Are you kidding me? Of course, I did!”  

I haven’t the slightest clue. 

And looking at his smug grin, I’m pretty sure he knows it too. 

“Then, get on the bed and spread yourself.” He swung a chair over and sat on it. “Nice and wide, Am,” he muttered. “Until I see the colour of your pussy.”