I looked at my calf where a thick nearly black rivulet of blood trickled slowly down my leg. “It's no big deal. Just as shard. But I am kind of...stuck.” I shrugged, feeling horribly stupid. “I'm so sorry. I can go on ebay and try to replace it. I'm such a klutz!” I felt like I might start sobbing right then from frustration.
“Hey, I scared you. Don't talk about ebay or any of that. Stay there. I'm gonna grab you and take you in the dining room, then I'll clean up this mess.”
His work boots crunched over the china shards as he picked me up and carried me out. He set me on the table and put my foot on one of the ladder back chairs. “Let me get the bandages.”
I nodded, suddenly feeling little and helpless again. Letting him care for me the way he had when I was a little girl and I'd skin my knee. He caught that far away look when he came in. “You okay? You're not cut anywhere else are you?”
I looked. “Nope. Just there. Not too shabby considering the immense mess I made.”
“We made,” he amended. “You never would have dropped it if I hadn't startled you.” He wiped the cut with a wet cotton ball. Wet with alcohol it seemed because fire bloomed in the cut and I hissed. “Easy, be good,” he said, smiling. He blew on the cut to cool the sting. Just like old times. Only now, the feel of him blowing on my skin made my pussy keep a wet tempo with my heartbeat.
“Ugh,” I said.
“Sorry it stings. It will be over in a minute. Promise.”
I could only nod.
He squeezed a gem sized squirt of antibiotic lotion on and covered it with a big square bandages. “To keep it all covered,” he said. His fingers smoothing the flesh colored cloth covering made me shift on the table. I felt trapped by his presence, the very hugeness of him and my pulse jumped at my throat from a mix of excitement and fear. So close like this I could picture him beating off to me. As close as we were, I could picture his hands pushing my legs apart. I could imagine a million scenarios I shouldn't. “Thanks,” I managed.
“You sure you're okay?” He turned my chin so I had to look at him. I nodded and swallowed hard.
“Yeah,” I said, thinking inside,
God, just kiss me, kiss me already, kiss me and then touch me and we'll pretend it never ever happened, I swear...
It took a second for it to register his hands on my thighs, his long finger splayed out so they pointed like traitors to my pussy. Uncle Ed leaned in, his lips brushed mine so softly it was more like a kiss of wind than a person. I opened my mouth, spread my legs, begging him with my body. More.
I buried my hands in his too shaggy hair—I'd try to make sure I scheduled him a cut—and pulled him in tighter, closing my legs around his hands and scooting forward just a touch. I wouldn't think that I shouldn't do this. I'd think about how good and right it felt. Fuck feeling shamed.
“Fiona, I shouldn't...”
“I know...I do, but...” His fingers slipped over the hot moist V at the crotch of my shorts. I broke off in moan. It was like being burned, electrocuted, smacked so hard the blood seems like acid when it rises to the surface. I wanted his touch so bad that just a fingertip made my mind go red and my heart skip wildly.
“Don't make that sound,” he said, but swept another finger along where the first had been. Two fingers running soft patterns over the crotch of my snug shorts. Over my pussy. Fuck. Directly over my clit.
“Sorry,” I said. I tried, but another sound, deeper and more needy slid off my lips into the air.
Uncle Ed shook his head,
no, no, no
. But he popped the blue button of my shorts and tugged at the zipper. I raised up, shimmied, helped him get them off. He tossed them as he pulled at my panties and the shorts landed on the secretary. My tank was snatched off with ease. I don't wear bras, usually. “Spread your legs for me, Fiona,” he said.
A hot rush of fluid puddled between my legs, and his fingers played through it like he was painting me. My head fell back and I sank into the feel of him. His mouth on my nipple. He kissed me and shushed me all at once. Like a child, like something precious. I watched his dark head as he kissed a path from my breast to my belly button. I arched up, trying to be quiet like he wanted when his mouth found my pussy and he sucked. His mouth was impossibly hard and then impossibly soft and then a tongue of perfect blazing wetness over my clit. “Oh, Uncle.” I wanted to tell him how good it felt, how good he was. How perfect his mouth was on me and how it was what I wanted. So bad. What I needed—so much.
“Shh, Fiona. Don't.”
So I didn't. I curled my fingers around the edge of the table and I held on. The bright afternoon sun trickled through the slats of his blinds and splashed across my belly. His dark head worked between my legs, I touched his hair, arching my pelvis to meet his mouth, greedy little girl wanting him to lick her. “I'm going to”
He shoved his fingers into me, curling and pressing against all the singing nerves. I gasped, my belly muscles rippling with my orgasm and my effort to hold myself up. I didn't bother. I lay back, giving over to him completely as he fucked me with his fingers, licked me with his tongue. Uncle Ed pushed my legs wide like a slut and attacked me with is mouth, he kept going, raking his dripping tongue over my clit. “Give it to me, one more, Fiona,” he demanded and sucked my clit hard. Tiny purple spots filled my vision and I came for him again.
“Oh, uncle Ed, I—”
But he was standing, his face angry, his shoulders heaving. He wiped the shiny evidence of my juicy pussy from his face and I felt suddenly wrong. Bad. I had never felt more naked.
“I shouldn't want you,” he said. It was an accusation.
“It's normal. It's just a little confusing,” I started.
“No. It's wrong. Not confusing, just wrong.” His blue eyes flashed and he plopped into a chair, hung his head.
I felt horrible. I pulled on my panties and ran to him. The same as when I was a little girl, I climbed onto his lap. Only now I was all grown up and I climbed onto his lap facing him, I straddled him, rubbing my hands along the scratchy stubble on his jaw and cheeks. Again, the way I always had. I kissed the tip of his nose and said, “Don't do this to yourself. It was both of us. It's a hard time right now and we'll get through it. Don't do this, please. Don't make something that was so good to me, bad.”
He eyed me and I realized he looked on the verge of tears. My cut was throbbing and I shifted just a bit. I felt it then. The hard ridge of his cock under my panties. Under me. If I shifted, I could push him just that inch it would take. If I wiggled just a little I could get myself off on uncle Ed's lap. The question was, should I? I leaned in, kissing him, rotating my hips just a little so his hard shaft stroked my clit, still sensitive from his lips and teeth and tongue.
“Fiona—”
“Shh,” I said this time. I kissed him harder.
“Fi—”
“Unh-unh,” I said, teasing, kissing, moving.
His strong hands clamped down on my hips and he lifted me, setting me on my feet, shooting from the chair like and angry bear on the beginnings of a rampage. “I said, no!”
“But—”
“No, buts. You listen to me when I talk, young lady. This is still my house.” He moved past me toward the steps to go upstairs. I grabbed his arm with both of my hands. I didn't want him angry at me. That broke my heart. All of my life he had been one of my favorite people and his anger made me so sad, I had no words.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” I said, pulling. “Just don't be angry with me.”
He turned, fast for his size, fast like an animal. He spun me before I could react, pressing me face first to the wall, hands splayed like a prisoner. His breath was hot on my cheek as he said in my ear, “I'm not angry at you, Fiona. I should not want you. I shouldn't want you and if I do want you I should be man enough to ignore it. But I'm not. And I didn't. And now...” His hands smoothed over the swell of my ass, calluses snagging on my small white panties. He growled, pushed them down around my ankles and his one hand pinned my neck so I couldn't turn to watch him.
“Yes,” I breathed. My pussy so wet, so ready. I wanted him so bad. So badly it was insane. I wanted to feel his hard cock in me, fucking me. I didn't care how he needed it to be. Any way was fine.
“No,” he said, but he kicked my panties away and pushed my legs wider. The hand at the back of my neck did not press but it didn't let up, either. I heard his zipper, his belt jangle, closed my eyes and tried to breathe. I arched back with my body without thinking, seeking him. Wanting him.
I bit my tongue. No talking, I'd be quite. He brushed the silken head of his dick along the small of my back. His skin impossibly warm and soft and hard all at once. I sighed, standing as still as I could manage while wanting to bubble right out of my skin like champagne escaping a bottle.
“What have you done to me, Fiona?” He ran the tip of his cock along the crack of my ass and then thrusting very gently against my wet pussy hole. I held my breath, shook my head, didn't speak.
His hand left my neck and he grabbed my hips forcefully, his fingers biting into my flanks. A quick tip of my hips and he had angled me. He came in from behind, fast againso fast I didn't feel it coming. He rubbed the entire length of himself through my legs like he was running me through with a sword. His shaft licked at my asshole, my pussy, rubbing all the way through until the head of his dick raked over my clit before slipping back out the way it had come. Dry fucking me through my thighs.
“This is all your fault. Are you a witch? Are you? What have you done to me, Fiona?” He smacked my ass hard, and I balked for the first time. Rearing back, tears coming to my eyes. I tried to turn and he caught me up, his one big hand acting like a collar around my neck, keeping me facing forward. I did start to cry then. What was wrong with him?
“Are you drugging me? Hexing me? You little slut,” he hissed. I could tell he was crying and I cried harder. He pushed at my thighs again and I resisted. I had changed my mind. I wasn't a slut. I wasn't a witch.
He pushed and I shook my head. “No!”
“Shut up!” He smacked my ass again. “I was fine. A grieving widower when you came. My niece. All these years I have doted on you and now this. Now you've turned me into less than a man,” he sighed into my ear, pushed his hand against the back of my neck, the head of his erection to my wet pussy. My pulse still beat there. I was still so wet. Wetter now that I was scared as my body crossed wires and lubricated my fear with juices in my most vulnerable place.
“Let me go,” I begged.
“No,” he said, beginning to thrust. Up high and hard, one big hand gathering my hips to him as he penetrated me over and over, my neck still pinned, my arms still splayed. I marveled at how small I was in comparison to him and my body betrayed my mind by gripping up round him like a slippery fist.
“I changed my mind,” I sighed, but even I could hear in my voice that it was lie. At least it was now that he was in and fucking me.
“Too, bad.” His grip on my throat relaxed a little and his fingers tickled down my spine. “You put a spell on me, Fiona.”
“No,” I cried, pushing back to meet him, letting him in. The anxiety of it all had made me so sensitive I thought I would splinter apart into bits of light and air.
“Don't worry, baby girl,” he said, fucking me faster, slipping in and out of my wet pussy in a more scattered way. He was going to come and when his fingers reached round and found my clit and started to strum me, I knew I would too. “It was years ago when you cast it,” he confessed, coming hard, crying against my shoulder, his heartbeat banging against my shoulder blade.
I came too, wishing I could comfort him, but settling on clutching at the wall so I didn't turn inside out.
He kissed the back of my neck, his hands smoothing over my bare bottom, especially gentle where he had struck me. “Go get cleaned up. I'll take care of the kitchen.”
I turned, desperate for him to be okay with me. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to”
He pushed his finger to my lips. It smelled like me and I knew if I licked it would taste like me, too. “Fiona, I'm sorry. I'm the man. I'm the one who has no control. I'm twice your age, I should know better.”
“I'm not a little girl anymore,” I blurted.
“I know,” he said and turned to the kitchen. “But this wanting of you isn't new. I've just lost my handle on it.”
I made Aunt Jean's famous spaghetti sauce because it was a favorite we shared. A nice salad and a beautiful wine and some garlic bread to go with it. I heard the shower come on and then go off as I set the table. Since our encounter, uncle had avoided me. Not in a mean way but in an embarrassed way. Head down, shoulders a bit slumped.
I wanted to major in psychology when I started school and it was my impulse to dissect his feelings. Obviously he felt guilty. I was his long beloved niece and his wife had just died. Aunt Carole had adored me just as he did, so that added to the sticky messiness of the whole thing. Not to mention still identifying with me as a young woman as opposed to seeing me as an adult. The added confession that these feelings had been around for a while made it more confusing.
“Surely he can see that I've always been mature for my age.” I had always been mistaken for five or so years older than I was. Grown men had been eyeing me up since I was thirteen. My mother would always politely but firmly correct them when they would approach me.
They don't know any better Fiona, you look like a grown woman. Being beautiful doesn't help the situation.
And she would smile. She knew how it was because she had the same issues as a young girl. “And he didn't act on it for god's sake,” I told the bubbling sauce pot.
“Does it answer you like in Beauty and the Beast? The Disney version, of course.”
I jumped, thankful that I wasn't holding anything breakable. “No. Sorry. Thinking out loud.”
His face creased with worry and then he forced a smile. “Smells awesome. Jean's I supposed?”
“Is there any other sauce?” I laughed.
“There are but they can't hold a candle.” He pulled some napkins from the cupboard and filled the holder.