3. WANNA FUCK MY UNCLE

Chapter 3

One week of torture.

Seven days of family dinners where I sat across from him and pretended I wasn't thinking about his cock. Of running into him at the grocery store and making small talk while my pussy throbbed. Of lying in bed every night touching myself to the thought of him touching me instead.

I was losing my mind.

It was Tuesday afternoon. My parents were both at work—Mom at the hospital, Dad at his office. The house was empty and quiet and I was lying on the couch in gym shorts and a tank top, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, when it buzzed.

A text from Uncle David.

**Your mom said the pool filter is acting up. I'm coming by to check it.**

My heart stopped.

I read it again. Then again.

He was coming here. To my house. While I was alone.

I had maybe thirty minutes before he arrived.

I should've texted back something normal. Thanks or Okay or See you soon.

Instead I just stared at my phone, mind racing.

This was it. This was my chance.

I could pretend it wasn't, could tell myself I was just going to let him fix the filter and leave, but I'd be lying. I'd been waiting for this. Hoping for it.

I practically ran upstairs.

My bikinis were still packed in a box somewhere but I knew exactly which one I wanted. The red one. Tiny triangles that barely covered my nipples, bottoms that were more string than fabric. I'd bought it last summer and never worn it because it felt too revealing, too much.

Perfect.

I pulled it out, held it up.

What are you doing?

The voice in my head sounded like my conscience. Or my sanity. Whatever part of me that knew this was wrong.

He's your uncle. Your mom's brother. This is sick. You're sick.

But I was already stripping off my clothes. Already putting on the bikini. Already looking at myself in the mirror and seeing what he'd see.

My tits looked good in this. Full and round, nipples barely hidden. My ass looked even better—the bottoms riding up just enough to show the curve of my cheeks.

I looked like I was trying to get fucked.

Because I was.

You're disgusting.

I know.

But I didn't change.

I grabbed a towel, sunscreen, my sunglasses. Headed downstairs and out to the pool.

The yard was quiet. Private. Our neighbors couldn't see into the backyard because of the fence. It was just me and the sound of birds and my heart hammering in my chest.

I spread the towel on one of the lounge chairs. Lay down on my stomach. Waited.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard his truck in the driveway.

Oh god. Oh fuck.

The gate creaked open. Footsteps on the concrete.

"Maya?"

His voice sent a shiver down my spine.

"Out here," I called, trying to sound casual.

He came around the corner and stopped.

I didn't have to look to know he was staring. I could feel his eyes on me like a physical touch.

"Hey," he said. His voice sounded strained. "Your mom said the filter's been making noise?"

"Yeah. It's been weird for like a week." I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder. "Thanks for coming to fix it."

He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. Work boots. His hair was messy like he'd been running his hands through it.

I wanted to run my hands through it.

"No problem." He cleared his throat. Looked away from me, toward the pool equipment. "I'll just, uh, take a look."

I watched him walk to the filter housing. Watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt. The flex of his arms when he crouched down to open the panel.

He was trying so hard not to look at me.

I smiled.

He worked in silence for a few minutes. I stayed where I was, face-down on the towel, letting the sun warm my skin. Letting him steal glances when he thought I wasn't paying attention.

But I was. I was paying attention to everything.

The way his jaw clenched. The way he kept wiping his hands on his jeans even though they weren't dirty. The way he adjusted himself once, quick, when he thought I couldn't see.

He was hard.

Holy fuck, he was hard.

The knowledge sent a rush of heat straight between my legs. I pressed my thighs together, trying to ease the ache.

"Maya, I think I found the problem," he said, his voice too loud. "Just needs a new seal. I'll run to the hardware store and—"

"Can you do me a favor first?"

He froze. "What?"

I sat up slowly, reached for the sunscreen bottle on the table next to me. "Put this on my back? I can't reach."

Silence.

I could practically hear him thinking. Could hear every reason he should say no running through his head.

"Please?" I added, looking at him over my shoulder. "I burn so easily."

He swallowed hard. I watched his throat work.

"Yeah. Okay."

He walked over like a man heading to his execution.

I lay back down on my stomach, rested my head on my folded arms. Waited.

The lounge chair dipped as he knelt beside it. I heard the sunscreen bottle open. The sound of him squirting it into his palm.

Then his hands were on me.

Oh god.

His palms pressed against my shoulders, warm and rough and big enough to cover so much skin. He spread the sunscreen slowly, carefully, like he was afraid to touch me too much.

I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

His hands moved lower. Down my spine. Over my ribs. His thumbs brushed the sides of my tits where they pressed against the towel and I felt my nipples harden.

"You're, uh, you're getting some color already," he said. His voice was rough.

"Mhmm."

His hands reached the small of my back. Stopped at the waistband of my bikini bottoms.