Page 4 of Pretend I'm Yours
We both moan when he cups me, plumping my flesh in his warm, rough palm, rubbing his thumb back and forth across my nipple. “Corinne,” he says with a whimpering moan, as if it hurts him to touch me, yet he still can’t let go.
“Is that all you would do to me if I were your wife?”
He slowly shakes his head even as he lowers his mouth, his breath fanning across my skin. “I’d kiss you. Suck your nipple until it’s red and swollen.”
“Do it, Declan.”
“No, sugar,” he says, licking his lips and opening his mouth, hovering an inch above, then, “No! I’mUncle Declanto you, and that’s it.” He shoves up and off the couch, his cock long and hard and tenting his shorts. “This can never happen again.” His bedroom door closes with asnickseconds later, leaving me cold and anxious.
Tears prick my eyes that I’ve done exactly what I said I wouldn’t—broken the bond between his family and mine with my impulsive, inappropriate actions. I sit up and pull my straps back onto my shoulders, then turn off the TV and tidy the living room.
When I pass Uncle Declan’s bedroom door on the right side of the yellow rose wallpapered hallway, I hesitate and even go so far as to lift my hand to knock. Insecurity gets the best of me, though. Unwilling to risk another rejection, I quickly escape to my room at the end of the hall.
With my pride wounded and my body aching for Uncle Declan’s touch, I spiral over whether or not my one moment of bravery has completely ruined our relationship and if he’ll ever let me massage or scratch his back again—or if I’ve only spurredhim on to continue dating so he can find a wife, one who isnothis dead best friend’s daughter, to do it for him.
Since I’m not tired yet and need a distraction, I unlock my phone and pull up my text message thread with the only person I love as much as Uncle Declan.
Chapter 2
Kason
It’s been nearly two hours since I last texted Corinne with the photo I had taken earlier in the day.
Me:Missing home. Can’t wait to see you and Declan when I get back.
She still hasn’t responded, though her read receipts show she saw it immediately, which isn’t like her to do. It’s absurd how high my spirits lift when the ring tone reserved for her finally chimes, and I hurry to finish toweling off after my shower, pulling on a clean pair of blue boxers. Crossing my extended-stay motel room to pick up my phone, I jump onto my bed.
Corinne:Miss you too!
Corinne:Oh & UD says to tell you not to message me so late.
Me:Is that why you couldn’t answer before?
Corinne:Yeah. We were watching that docu-series I was telling you about.
Me:You tell him I said he needs to mind his own business.
As much as I love and respect Declan, I don’t like that he thinks he can dictate when Corinne and I can talk. It’s bad enough thatshe and I aren’t as close as those two are, since I’m not around that much, though I’m working on changing that soon. I don’t need him thinking that just because they’re living together, he can police the few minutes I manage to catch with her, what with me working sometimes sixteen hours a day, dead to the world most nights.
Corinne:He’ll love that haha
Me:Bet he will. You free to talk now?
Corinne:Yeah.
Unprovoked, Corinne sends me a selfie, smiling shyly, lying on her side in bed beneath the floral quilt my mama had made for one of her birthdays. Soft lighting spills across her sweet face from the LED string lights I helped hang up along the edges of her ceiling. I try not to notice her cleavage with her large breasts pushed together, her tiny white tank top strap loose and almost hanging off her shoulder, the hard buds of her nipples visible through the fabric. It’s difficult, my blood rushing south.
Corinne:When are you coming home?
Me:Three weeks. Not soon enough.
She sends me another selfie, jutting out her plump bottom lip. My cock plumps right along with it, and I crack my neck side to side, flexing my thighs as hard as I can to get my boner to go down. It doesn’t work.
Corinne:If I promise to make a hummingbird cake just for you, will that get you to come home sooner?
Me:I would if I could, hon.
Turning on my flash, I lie back and rest my hand on my bare stomach, flexing my abs, and snap a photo. It’s sickening of methat I don’t fully crop out the bulge visible in my boxers before I send the picture to my niece. I’ve been doing that more and more often, sending progressively riskier photos, though I doubt she’s noticed.
