I shouldn’t want him. Not like this. Not my step-uncle Ian, who is thirty-five, just seven years older than my own twenty-eight. But ever since my mother, Bree, forty, married his father, Elliot, forty-two, six months ago, and they bought this isolated farmhouse out in rural Oregon, something’s shifted. It’s not like we grew up together. Ian and I were both fully formed adults, living separate lives, when our parents decided to blend their families. There’s no shared history, no childhood memories, just this new, uncomfortable proximity. And a pull I can’t ignore.
“Tessa, darling, could you help your mother with the groceries?” Elliot’s voice boomed from the kitchen, always too loud for the small space. I dragged myself off the porch swing, where I’d been pretending to read, and went inside. Bree was already unloading bags onto the counter, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Just the last few, honey. Your father went a bit overboard with the organic kale.” She smiled, a little strained. They were still in the honeymoon phase, but even that had its moments of domestic friction.
Ian was leaning against the doorway, a bottle of local beer in his hand, watching us. He’d arrived a few hours earlier, a surprise visit for his dad, though I suspected it was also an escape from whatever chaos was happening in his own life back in Portland. He wore a faded band t-shirt and jeans, his dark hair falling over his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just took a long swallow of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I felt his eyes on me as I picked up a bag, and a shiver went down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool air from the fridge.
“Need a hand with that?” His voice was a low murmur, barely cutting through the sounds of Bree rattling pots and pans. I nearly dropped the bag of apples. My cheeks felt hot. “No, I’ve got it,” I mumbled, turning quickly to put the groceries away. I could feel his presence behind me, warm and solid. Too close. He moved further into the kitchen, placing his empty bottle on the counter with a soft thud. “You’re just visiting for the weekend, right?” he asked, his voice casual now, but I could still feel the thread of something else under it. Like he was testing the waters.
“Yeah, just until Sunday,” I confirmed, trying to keep my own voice even. “Got a big project at work coming up, need to be back in the city.” It was a lie. My job was flexible. I just hadn’t wanted to stay any longer than necessary. But now, with him here, I wasn’t so sure. I risked a glance at him. He was looking at me, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. My stomach did a flip. He knew I was lying. Or at least, he knew I was uncomfortable. And he seemed to find it amusing.
Later that evening, after a slightly awkward family dinner filled with Elliot’s stories about his new prize-winning zucchini and Bree’s attempts to steer the conversation to more neutral topics, Ian and I found ourselves outside, standing by the fire pit. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the smell of pine and damp earth. Elliot and Bree had gone inside, promising to bring out marshmallows. The moment they were gone, the silence between us stretched, thick with unspoken things.
“So,” Ian said, breaking the quiet, his voice a little rougher than before. “How’s life in the big city? Still chasing dreams?” He leaned forward, tossing a small twig into the flickering flames. The firelight danced in his eyes, making them seem even darker.
I hugged my arms around myself. “Something like that. And you? Still saving the world one endangered species at a time?” He worked for a wildlife conservation non-profit. It was one of the many things about him that made him annoyingly attractive. He actually cared about things.
He chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Trying to. Mostly just filling out grant applications these days.” He looked at me then, directly, his gaze steady and intense. “You look… good, Tessa. Really good.”
My breath hitched. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Thanks,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. I could feel the heat radiating off the fire, but it was nothing compared to the flush spreading across my skin. He was so close. Close enough that I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his dark irises, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. We were alone, completely alone, in the vast, dark Oregon night.
He took a step closer. Just one small step, but it felt monumental. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, “when Elliot told me he was marrying Bree, and that she had an adult daughter… I pictured someone completely different.” His eyes raked over me, from my hair to my lips, lingering there for a fraction of a second too long. “Not… you.”
I swallowed hard. “And what did you picture?” The words were out before I could stop them. I regretted them instantly, but it was too late. He was already smiling, a slow, knowing smile that sent a jolt right through me.
“Someone… less distracting,” he murmured, and then his hand was on my arm, his fingers warm against my skin. Just a light touch, but it felt like a brand. My whole body tensed, waiting. Waiting for him to pull away, waiting for him to lean in. My eyes flickered to his lips. They were full, slightly parted. I wanted to taste them. Desperately.
Before I could react, before I could even think, he leaned down. His lips were soft, hesitant at first, just a gentle brush against mine. Then, as I let out a small, involuntary sigh, they firmed, pressing harder. My mind screamed *no*, but my body was already betraying me, leaning into his touch, my fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt. It was a kiss that tasted of beer and woodsmoke and something fundamentally forbidden. Something I craved.
His hand moved from my arm, up to my neck, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. My lips parted under his, inviting him in, and his tongue swept inside, hot and insistent. I gasped, a soft sound lost in the vastness of the night. This was wrong. So wrong. But it felt so incredibly right. His other hand found my waist, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the hard line of his body, the rising heat between us. My hands, which had been clutching his shirt, now slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
We broke apart, both breathing hard, our foreheads resting against each other. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated. “Tessa,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “We shouldn’t…”
“I know,” I breathed, but I made no move to pull away. In fact, I tightened my grip on his hair. The sound of Elliot’s booming voice from the house, closer now, jolted us. “Marshmallows are ready! Who wants a s’more?”
We sprang apart as if scalded, stumbling away from each other. My heart was still racing, my lips still tingling. We tried to look casual, leaning against the fire pit, staring into the flames. Elliot and Bree emerged, oblivious, carrying a tray of supplies. We exchanged quick, furtive glances, a silent promise hanging in the air. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
The next morning was a blur of forced normalcy. I tried to avoid Ian, but the farmhouse was small, and there was no real escape. Every time our eyes met, a jolt went through me. Every time our hands brushed accidentally, a current sparked. The air around us was thick with unspoken tension, a dangerous game of ‘what if’ playing out in our heads.
Elliot announced he needed to go into town for some obscure farm supply, and Bree, ever the supportive wife, offered to go with him. “You two kids hold down the fort,” she chirped, oblivious. “We’ll be back in a few hours.” My stomach dropped. A few hours. Alone. With Ian.
As soon as the car pulled out of the driveway, the silence in the house was deafening. I busied myself with washing the breakfast dishes, my back to Ian, who was lingering in the doorway. I could feel his eyes on me, burning into my back. My hands trembled slightly as I scrubbed a plate.
“So,” he said, his voice low, “about last night.”
I kept my back to him, pretending to concentrate on a stubborn piece of egg. “What about it?” My voice was too high, too breathless. I hated how easily he could unravel me.
He walked over, stopping right behind me. I could feel the heat of his body, the smell of him – clean soap, a hint of something musky and male. “You know what about it.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the hair away from my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “You wanted it. Just as much as I did.”
I finally turned, plate still in hand, to face him. His eyes were dark, intense, burning into mine. My breath caught in my throat. “It was a mistake,” I whispered, though even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. It was a mistake I desperately wanted to repeat.
He took the plate from my hand, placing it gently in the sink. Then his hands were on my waist, pulling me forward until our bodies were pressed together. I gasped, my hands flying up to rest on his chest. “Was it?” he murmured, his face inches from mine. “Because I don’t feel like it was a mistake, Tessa. I feel like it was… inevitable.”
His lips were on mine again, this time with no hesitation. Hungry, demanding. I responded instantly, my body arching into his. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. His hands slid from my waist, down to my ass, pulling me tighter against his growing erection. A moan escaped my throat, and he swallowed it, his tongue dancing with mine.
“Bedroom,” he rasped against my mouth, breaking the kiss just enough to speak. “Now.”
I nodded, unable to form words, my head spinning. He scooped me up, carrying me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist. I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent, my hands gripping his shoulders. He carried me through the living room, down the short hallway, and into his bedroom, which was sparse and masculine, smelling faintly of him.
He gently lowered me onto the bed, then stood back, watching me, his eyes blazing. My breath hitched as he started to unbutton his shirt, slowly, deliberately. Each button came undone with agonizing slowness, revealing more and more of his muscled chest, covered in dark, fine hair. He shrugged the shirt off, tossing it onto the floor, and then turned his attention to his belt buckle. My gaze was riveted, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
“Take off your clothes, Tessa,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I want to see you.”
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of my sundress, suddenly clumsy. He walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with anticipation. When I finally managed to undo the last button, he reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my collarbone, then pushing the fabric off my shoulders. The dress slid down, pooling around my waist, revealing my lace bra and panties. He paused, his eyes lingering on my breasts, then my hips.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. He helped me push the dress down the rest of the way, then tossed it aside. My bra and panties felt suddenly flimsy, inadequate. He reached out, his thumb tracing the lace edge of my bra, sending shivers through me. “Can I?” he asked, his eyes seeking mine for permission. I nodded, desperate.
He unhooked my bra, letting it fall open, exposing my breasts. They swelled, nipples already hardened with anticipation. He leaned in, his mouth closing over one nipple, sucking gently. A gasp tore from my throat, my back arching. His tongue swirled, teasing, and then he moved to the other, suckling hungrily. My hands went to his head, holding him close, urging him on. He was making soft, guttural sounds in the back of his throat, and the raw, uninhibited sound of it only intensified my own desire.
His hand slid down, pushing aside my lace panties. His fingers found my wetness, pressing lightly against my clitoris. I cried out, my legs parting instinctively. “So wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You want this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whimpered, “Please, Ian. Please.”
He slid a finger inside me, slowly, deliberately. I gasped, my body clenching around him. He added another, stretching me, his fingers working in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. I could feel the pressure building, the heat intensifying. My hips started to buck, instinctively seeking more.
“Not yet,” he whispered, pulling his fingers out just enough to tease. “I want to watch you come apart for me, Tessa.” He shifted, moving between my legs, his erection hard and throbbing against my inner thigh. I could feel his hot breath on my skin as he leaned down, his mouth tracing a path from my stomach to my inner thigh, sending goosebumps erupting everywhere.
Then his tongue was there, hot and wet, on my clitoris. I cried out, my back arching off the bed. He tasted me, swirling his tongue, flicking, sucking gently. The pleasure was overwhelming, a white-hot wave crashing over me. My body convulsed, my fingers gripping the sheets, my legs trembling. “Oh god, Ian, yes, yes!” I chanted, my voice raw.
He kept up the relentless assault, his mouth working magic on me, driving me higher and higher. The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, washing over me, shaking me to my core. I screamed his name, my body thrashing, every nerve ending alive and buzzing. He didn’t stop, even as my shudders began to subside, continuing to lick and tease until another wave, smaller but still potent, rolled through me.
When I finally lay spent and breathless, he pulled away, looking up at me, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “Now,” he said, his voice deep and raspy, “it’s my turn.”
He quickly stripped off his jeans and boxers, revealing his hard erection, thick and throbbing. My eyes widened, a fresh wave of desire washing over me. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between my legs. I reached out, my fingers wrapping around his cock, feeling the smooth, hot skin, the hard ridge of his head. He groaned, leaning down to kiss me deeply, his tongue plunging into my mouth with the same fierce intensity he was about to plunge into me.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, pulling back just an inch. His eyes were locked on mine as he pushed forward, slowly, deliberately. I gasped as the head of his cock pushed inside me, stretching me, filling me. He paused, letting me adjust, his gaze never leaving mine. “Tell me you want me, Tessa.”
“I want you,” I choked out, tears stinging my eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the moment, the forbidden thrill of it all. “More than anything.”
He groaned, then pushed deeper, burying himself inside me with a guttural sound of pure satisfaction. I cried out, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him even closer. He started to move, slow at first, then picking up speed, his hips thrusting into mine. The bed creaked with every powerful stroke, a rhythm that was raw and undeniable. I met his thrusts, lifting my hips, arching my back, wanting to feel every inch of him.
“Fuck, Tessa,” he gritted out, his voice raw. “You feel so good. So tight.” He leaned down, burying his face in my neck, kissing and sucking at my skin, leaving a trail of fire. His hands gripped my ass, lifting me, slamming me down onto him. The friction, the pressure, the sheer force of him inside me was almost too much to bear. I felt myself climbing again, rapidly, the pleasure building with each thrust.
“I’m going to come,” I gasped, my voice thin, almost a sob. “Ian, I’m going to come.”
He pulled back, just for a second, his eyes blazing into mine. “Come for me,” he commanded, and then he started thrusting harder, faster, deeper. My body exploded around him, a shattering, earth-shattering orgasm that had me screaming his name, my nails digging into his back. He groaned, a deep, raw sound, and then he pumped into me a few more times, his body tensing, before he let out a roar, his own climax spilling deep inside me, hot and pulsing.
He collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily, his weight a welcome pressure. We lay there for a long moment, our bodies slick with sweat, our hearts still racing. He kissed my forehead, then my lips, a soft, tender kiss that spoke volumes. “We really shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse, but he made no move to pull away.
“I know,” I whispered back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “But I don’t want to stop.”
We spent the rest of the day in a haze of illicit pleasure. Every time we heard a car, or a distant sound that might be Elliot and Bree, we’d scramble, pulling ourselves together, our hearts pounding, a mixture of fear and thrilling defiance coursing through us. We ate lunch quickly, barely speaking, our eyes constantly meeting, a silent understanding passing between us. The house felt charged, alive with our secret.
In the afternoon, after lunch, we found ourselves back in his bedroom. The curtains were drawn, casting the room in a soft, dim light. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me as I moved around the room, picking up stray clothes, trying to appear nonchalant. “Come here,” he said, his voice soft but firm.
I walked over to him, and he pulled me down onto his lap, my back against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, his hands resting on my thighs. He pressed a kiss to my hair. “This feels… dangerous,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “And I’m loving every minute of it.”
I leaned back into him, letting out a soft sigh. “Me too. It’s insane. Our parents… what if they found out?” The thought sent a jolt of fear through me, but it was quickly overshadowed by a thrill.
“They won’t,” he said, his voice confident. “We’re careful. Aren’t we?” His fingers began to trace patterns on my skin, making my nipples harden under my shirt. He was already hard again, I could feel it pressing against my ass. The sheer potency of his desire for me was heady.
He turned me in his lap so I was facing him, straddling him. His hands went to my waist, then slid up to cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. I leaned into his touch, my hips rocking slightly, rubbing against his erection. He groaned, his eyes darkening. “You’re driving me wild, Tessa.”
“Good,” I breathed, a wicked smile playing on my lips. I bent down, pressing a lingering kiss to his mouth, then trailed kisses down his jaw, his neck, to his chest. I pulled his shirt over his head, then mine, and tossed them to the floor. Our bare skin met, sending shivers through me. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the strong beat of his heart against mine.
He grabbed my hips, guiding me down onto him. I gasped as he slid inside, slow and deep, filling me completely. I closed my eyes, letting out a soft moan as the delicious pressure built. I started to ride him, slowly at first, then picking up speed, feeling his cock plunge deeper with each rise and fall. He gripped my hips, helping me set the rhythm, his eyes locked on mine.
“That’s it,” he gritted out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Ride me, Tessa. Ride me hard.”
I obeyed, leaning forward, my breasts brushing against his chest, my lips finding his. Our tongues danced, our bodies writhed, a symphony of raw, uninhibited desire. The bed groaned under our movements, the sounds of our coupling filling the quiet room. I could feel the orgasm building again, a powerful, familiar wave. My whole body tensed, my muscles clenching.
“Oh god, Ian!” I cried out, arching my back, my climax breaking over me like a storm. He groaned, thrusting up into me, his own climax following swiftly, his body convulsing, filling me with his hot come. We held each other tight, our chests heaving, until our breathing slowly returned to normal.
He pulled out of me, and I collapsed onto his chest, feeling utterly spent but completely satisfied. His fingers tangled in my hair, stroking gently. “I knew this would happen,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost regretful. “From the moment I saw you.”
I lifted my head, looking at him. “What are we going to do?” I asked, the fear creeping back in. This was real. This was happening. And it was incredibly risky.
He kissed my forehead. “We’re going to be careful. We’re going to enjoy this, Tessa. For as long as we can.” He held me tighter, as if to reinforce the promise. I knew he was right. We were playing with fire, but neither of us had any intention of stopping. Not yet.
We heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway, signaling Elliot and Bree’s return. We scrambled, a flurry of panicked movements, pulling on our clothes, smoothing our hair. I quickly darted back to my own room, heart pounding, trying to compose myself. When I emerged, a few minutes later, Elliot was already calling out, “Tessa, Ian! We’re back! And we got that special organic milk you like, sweetie!”
I walked into the kitchen, trying to look normal, a pleasant smile plastered on my face. Ian was already there, leaning against the counter, sipping a glass of water, looking perfectly composed, a master of deception. He caught my eye over Bree’s shoulder, a flash of shared, illicit knowledge passing between us. A thrill, hot and potent, shot through me. This was our secret. Our dangerous, delicious secret. And it was just beginning.