Chapter 3 #2
Several beats pass without a reaction from Corinne, and I do it, the most awful thing I’ve ever done—I crook my left index finger under the thin strip of fabric, lift it from between her cheeks, and slide my hand down until the back of my knuckle rubs her bare pussy lips from behind, parting them.
Without so much as a twitch from her, I use my middle finger to toy with her entrance, trying to hold back from doing anything worse.
But she’s hot and wet, her pussy ripe for the taking.
And I do it. I do, I do, I do. I sink my middle finger into her and wait, breathing heavy as my precum wets my shorts.
It’s still not enough, and I back out and push deeper, curling my finger when I withdraw as her pussy walls contract.
I’ve really lost control of myself when I brace a knee on her mattress and push my shorts down, freeing my heavy cock.
I could easily do what I really want with her while she’s asleep—slide into bed behind her after prepping her pussy with a second and then third finger, then fill her with my cock if I go slow enough.
It’s so fucking hot to think about that I pull my finger out of her, strangle my dick as I stroke it from root to tip so I can gather my precum, then sink my finger back inside her.
Oh god. Now she really has a part of me inside her. It’s so much better and worse than just my finger. It’s my essence.
Corinne’s breath hitches when I try to push a second finger inside her, and with the arch of her back, she subtly hikes her knee higher on her pillow, giving me a better view of that heavenly place that’s calling me home.
I can’t tell if she’s still asleep, merely shifting, or if she’s pretending.
Either way, I startle at how reprehensibly far I’ve already gone when this is so wrong, and I yank my hand away before rushing out of her bedroom.
I can’t let anything remotely like this happen again, this disgusting display of predation on my sweet, innocent niece, who should be safe with me.
For her, I realize, it’s just a crush on the man who’s always loved her.
For me, it’s enough to send me to the fiery pits of hell, tortured for all of eternity, as I deserve.
Back in my bed, I furiously beat my dick until I’m on the cusp of cumming, then twist my white sheets in my hands and gnash my teeth together with the idea that I can Pavlov’s Dog this madness over my best friend’s daughter out of my system if every time I think of her, I’m reminded of the pain I’m in now.
Because, so far, nothing else has worked, and I’m desperate for a solution.
It works, at least for the time being, since my cock is now too raw to handle, my left shoulder and bicep trembling and aching as if I’ve just put myself through the most grueling workout.
I pull up my dating app, swiping left to reject any woman who resembles Corinne in the slightest. Only then can I finally fall into a restless sleep.
It’s too bad that my sick and twisted mind rebels, Corinne and Kason following me into my dreams. When I wake, I’m lying on my stomach atop a sticky puddle of cum, having humped the sheets as I dreamed of making love to my wife with Kason’s naked chest plastered to my back.
So much for that.
* * *
I at least attempt to remember my date’s name this time around, finally forcing myself back out into the dating world another month later. I’m pretty sure her name is Jenny or Jennifer. Both, maybe? To be sure, I ask, “Jenny is short for Jennifer, right?”
“Yeah?”
I tap my boot in time to the music as I smile at my age-appropriate date, having brought her to a swankier country western bar closer to the city, where the floor is only marginally sticky and the little hairs on our arms won’t adhere to the tabletop.
It’s not nearly as nice or familiar as the old honky tonk, but it’ll have to do until I’ve finally saved enough money to get approved for a loan to buy and fix it up.
“Which do you prefer to go by?” I ask.
“My name is Jessica,” she says, leaning back on her bar-height chair, crossing her arms.
“Ah, sorry about that.” I tap my right ear and lie when I say, “Bad hearing.”
She raises a bright blonde brow. “We met on a dating app. My name is on my profile.”
I cough, taking a swig of my soda to buy time, having ditched the alcohol this go around. “Bad eyesight.”
She huffs. “Thanks for dinner, I guess,” she says when she stands, though she’d hardly touched her five-star dish of chicken fingers and limp French fries.
“Sorry,” I mumble, dragging my hands down my face as Jessica walks away. It wasn’t going to work out with her either—she’s wearing bright green plastic clogs. Who does that on a first date?
By the time I’ve paid the bill—no Asshole Gratuity this time, having been extra polite to the waitress—and am ready to head out, a tall brunette catches my eye, line dancing to the jukebox with a few others.
With her next heel kick and hop, her short black skirt flounces up, giving me a sweet peek of her lovely thighs and the underside of her bouncy ass.
Leaning against a wooden post, I stare at the woman like a creep beneath the brim of my cowboy hat and let my eyes trail down her long legs, appreciating the fact that she’s wearing brown leather boots. Now there’s a woman who knows how to dress up for a night out.
I cock my head to the side. Huh. I think Corinne has those same pair of boots. I wonder if she has a skirt to match. Bet she’d look mighty fine—
I hightail it across the dance floor and spin my niece around, catching her with an arm around her back so she doesn’t fall. “Did you follow me here, sugar?”
“Uncle Declan?” Corinne’s hazel eyes flash wide, but I’m not buying her innocent act, as cute as it is.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know I was here.
” The guy dancing to the side bumps into us, stumbling enough to almost spill his beer before he catches his balance, throwing me a nasty glare.
With a quick apology, I steer Corinne off the dance floor toward the dim hallway that leads to the employees-only area.
Corinne says, “No, I didn’t follow you—I didn’t even know you were off from work.” She looks past me and shimmies her shoulders when the song changes, oblivious, perhaps, to the war raging inside me with her looking so fine.
“I should have texted. Sorry,” I tell her, since I’m usually pretty good at letting her know where I’ll be so she won’t worry.
But this time I was worried that if I pulled up our message thread, I’d end up telling her I was coming straight home instead.
“If you didn’t follow me, then what are you doing here?
” I back her up, slapping my hand against the wall covered by a collage of old, peeling band posters and car-for-sale signs over her shoulder, forcing her to look at me.
She does, but only with an impertinent eye roll. “Why are you here?”
“You first.”
“I was on a date,” she says with a shrug.
It’s a hot poker to my heart. “With who?” I eye every guy in this place, deciding not a single one of them is good enough to even shake her hand.
“Doesn’t matter. He left, like, five seconds after he saw me.”
“Now, why in the hell would he do that?” Though I’m glad he ditched her, it’s tempered by the fact that some loser took one look at my sugar and thought she, somehow, wasn’t good enough for him. Doesn’t he know how lucky he’d be to spend time with her? That she has the most magical hands?
Corinne says, “He lied about his height. Said he was six feet tall. He didn’t like that I was taller than him, even without my boots.” She huffs a laugh. “If he’d have just owned it, I wouldn’t have minded dating someone shorter than me.”
All that tells me is one, her date is an idiot, and two, she at least found him attractive enough to continue the date if he hadn’t bailed, which drives me up the wall. I don’t want her interested in anyone other than me, even though that’s exactly how it should be. Damnit, Boyd, sorry again.
“Your turn,” she says, poking me in the stomach playfully. “What are you doing here?”
“I was on a date, too,” I tell her with a sour tone.
Corinne wrinkles her nose. “Then you should quit grilling me and get back to it. Bye,” she says, attempting to duck beneath my arm.
“Nope.” I push my chest against hers, pinning her to the wall, strictly keeping my hands flat beside her shoulders instead of cupping her tits spilling out of her itty, bitty V-neck white T-shirt, the bottom knotted at the nip of her waist. “Date’s over, and I’m not done with you, young lady.”
Why did I have to go and say that? Because, of course, Corinne reads more into it than I intended, and she drops her head back to expose the length of her neck, peering up at me with hooded eyes beneath her bangs.
“Why? Do you need a little help, Declan?” It’s what she always says when she’s hinting at offering me a massage, which I haven’t taken her up on in too long, my muscles aching for her as much as my hard cock.
“Uncle Declan,” I bite out with a glare.
She hooks her fingers in my belt loops to pull me closer, then tugs the back of my top out of my jeans and runs her fingernails up and down my lower back, making my dick lengthen.
“You’re here, I’m here. Our dates are not.
So how about we”—she shoves her hands up farther, dragging her nails down hard enough that my spine bows with pleasure—“pretend we’re an old married couple who left the kids at home with a sitter for date-night? ”
A vision of what could very well be our future—the kids, the sitter, the rare night out with my wife, if I would just give in—is too tempting to overcome, and I yank her hips against mine.