"So what exactly are you saying, Mr. S?" I asked, annoyed. First, my math teacher said I had to meet him after school, then the man made wait an hour before he decided to show up. Everyone had gone home, and I was stuck in school having a chat with this middle-aged tightass.

At this rate I was going to be late to Maegan's party.

Mr. Matthew Steele pushed up his glasses and flipped through my exam paper. "What I'm saying, Ms. Halliwell," he said, looking up at me. "Is that I'm going to have to give you a C on your test. Unfortunately, that will bring your grade this semester down to a B+."

"You can't be serious," I said. "I've never had anything lower than an A on anything."

"Unfortunately, there is a first time for everything and -"

"That's bull," I said.

He frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

I rolled my eyes. "The whole 'there's a first time for everything' is silly, don't you think? I mean, how many people do you know have run the bulls in Pamplona in their lifetime? Gone to war? Knitted a sweater?"

Mr. Steele sighed. "That's just an expression, Ms. Halliwell."

"Fine. Whatever. Just tell me how I can make it up."

"You can't."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"That was the final test. There aren't any other exams you can take to get your grade back to an A."

"That is unacceptable." I got up from my seat and put my hands on top of his desk, facing him with the most outraged expression I could muster. "My father never accepted failure in his life, and neither will I."

"That's enough of the histrionics, Ms. Halliwell," he said, leaning back on his chair. His eyes gravitated involuntarily to my cleavage before he realized what he was doing and looked away.

I smirked inwardly. My outfit today had a pretty low neckline, I admit. I've been getting filthy stares from every boy I ran into all day. Even old Mr. Evers from Chemistry class nearly scorched his shirt sleeve on the bunsen burner, so engrossed with ogling my chest. All things considered, getting ogled by Matthew Steele wasn't so bad. The man was forty, but still hot. Maegan said he goes to her nanny's gym. I could imagine him being pretty ripped under those ugly tweed suits he wears.

However, hot or not, there was no way he was getting away with giving me a B in Calculus.

"Oh, so if I'm a boy, I'm outraged, and if I'm a girl, it's histrionics? You're pretty sexist, Mr. S."

"I beg your pardon?" He leaned forward, hands on his desk. He looked angry.

"You heard me. I'm reporting you for sexist behavior towards me."

Mr. Steele stood up, fuming. "Go ahead! You spoiled Manhattan girls think you can get anything you want, don't you?"

"See?" I said. "You tell boys not to let anything get in the way of getting what they want, but when a girl does the same thing, she's spoiled? You're totally sexist. Admit it!"

"Men don't throw a fit when they don't get what you want," he said. "You're nothing but a spoiled brat who needs a good spanking."

"So what if I am?" I said, leaning forward. That's right, get a good look at my tits, you perv, I thought as I saw him glance at my cleavage again. "It's not like you have the balls to do anything about it." I smiled at him mockingly.

"Don't test me, Taylor," Mr. Steele said in a low voice. He was breathing heavily, and sweat had started to form his forehead.

"Or what? You'll hit me?" I laughed and rolled my eyes. My family had been donating a ton of money to Haliston Academy for years - ever since I was in pre-school. Its library was named after my Grandfather. I could get away with anything in this school.

He didn't speak for a long time, and I just stood there, leaning on his desk. My eyes dared him to do something he'd regret.

Then he took his jacket off. I could see his biceps bulge under the tight shirt he was wearing under it. His chest looked pretty good too.

"I warned you," he growled. To my surprise, he grabbed both my wrists and dragged me towards him over his desk.

"Hey!" I cried out, more shocked than hurt. My chest slammed down hard on his desk, but before I could react, he'd yanked my arms behind me and pinned my wrists down against my back with one hand.

"Get off me you freak!" I screamed, struggling as hard as I could.

Mr. Steele said nothing.

I felt the skirt of dress roughly pulled up above my waist. His hand rested on my ass for a moment, his palm rubbing against my butt cheeks. Then he hooked his finger on the waistband of my thong and slowly pulled my underwear down my thighs.

"Stop it!" I yelled. "I'll have you arrested for this, you sick fuck!"

Whack. His hand came down hard on my ass.

It hurt like hell.

"No!" Tears of anger welled in my eyes. He can't do this to me, I thought. I'm Taylor Halliwell. No one hits-

Whack.

I felt my ass explode with red hot pain. I chocked back a sob.

"Now will you promise to behave?" Mr. Steele said, his voice cold.

"Fuck you," I snarled.

"Is that another challenge, Taylor?"

My eyes grew wide when I realized what he meant.

"No!" I screamed.

Like I was nothing more than a limp doll, he turned me around and pulled me toward the edge of his desk until my legs dangled over it.

I struggled harder against his grip, but he twisted my arms until I screamed in pain.

"I'm going to let go of your arms now, Taylor," he said calmly. "But if you move from that position, I'll make sure to break something next time. Do you understand?"

I bit my lip, trying not to cry.

He grabbed my hair and yanked it back hard. "Yes! Yes!" I screamed. "I understand!"

He let go of my hair, and soon, he let go of my wrists as well, positioning them to lay on the desk above my head.

I tried not to move as I stood there bent over his desk, my naked ass in the air. Even when I heard him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, I kept still, afraid of what he would do to me if I disobeyed him.

"Do you like Gilbert and Sullivan, Ms. Halliwell?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Then you've heard that song they wrote about letting the punishment fit the crime, haven't you?"

I gulped. "Yes, sir."

"You, my dear, have not been properly punished for your bad behavior," he said. "As your teacher, I would be remiss in my duty if I did not discipline you." He rubbed my naked behind languidly with both his hands. "Do you agree?"

"But Mr. S- Ahhh!" I yelped as he inserted two fingers into my pussy.

"I said: Do you agree?" He stroked my insides with his fingers so hard I had to bite back a moan.

"Yessir!"

"Good... good..." he murmured. "If you accept your punishment without complaints, perhaps I'll go easy on you."

"T-t-thank you, sir."

Whack.

His leather belt connected with my butt with a sharp sound. It hurt so much, I screamed louder than ever before.

"Shhhh," he whispered. "I really don't enjoy hurting you, Taylor. I don't. But you have to be taught a lesson. So I'll give you a choice." He rubbed my ass cheeks tenderly.

"Y-y-yes?"

"Pleasure or pain?"

"I don't understand," I whimpered.

"It's simple, my dear." He thumbed my clit roughly. "I'm giving you the simple choice to either let me fuck you or let me spank you."

He could scarcely bear

touching and stroking

her lush vanilla skin,

afraid for their love

to ever end.

He laid her down,

drawing her honeyed

breasts into his mouth,

savoring the sensual taste.

He gulped her aroma,

that of cherries and lavender,

and breathed her in

as he traced his tongue

down her moist body

to her throbbing center

which tasted of

freshly mown grass –

a delicacy for his senses.

Caressing her hips

he drew her to his

spooned masculinity

stirring her to

a cauldron of hotness

and smoldering wetness

until their cream and sugar

melded together in

a melting pot

of climaxing lust.

He knew he could never

leave her, wanting

to encompass her

forever where she

would be at his

beck and call,

encased where

she could never escape.

He punctured her soft

chocolatey neck with

his teeth, spurting blood

running in crimson streams

of fruited beauty

down his body,

leaving a white outline

where she was lying,

silent contours,

for eternity.

He bathed her

frozen body with

crushed strawberries

and arranged her

as a fragrant feast

on a tableau

of silk rose petals

where he could

partake of her beauty

with not only his eyes

but his body,

leaving her purity

with deep wounds

that would never

         CLOSE,

REMAINING OPEN

 FOR HIM ALONE.

Seconds

No please I'm sorry come back we can make this work

Minutes

This has to be a joke you can't be serious what am I supposed to do now are you sure I love you

Hours

I can't stop crying and thinking about you this has to be some mistake please I still love you I can change I swear

Days

I can't believe this is real how do I function now I told all my friends deleted some photos and just focused on work and try to make the pain end

Weeks

I've taken up writing the pain is still there but it seems to be going away friends try to take me out to help but that doesn't help to much I still feel the love

Months

I got a dating app I'm not looking for anything long term just something to fill a void I guess but this writing thing is the best I never felt more at peace with the situation I still think of you pretty often but not as the love of my life like you used to be now I draw from that past hate sadness and over all sense of confusion to spin it into beautiful works of so called art but it helps so

A year

Wow a year and I didn't notice I found someone kinda of she is a lot like you and very different from you at the same time my writing hasn't changed its become more ambiguous is all but I'm starting to see life for the bigger picture now I want to grow but growing alone makes me sad so I want to grow with someone I knew this with you but you grow more alone I love the romanticized love story and I want that for my life to grow and change together with a person that may take many years to find but I know I can and I can say that you helped you showed me love in a different way then how I wanted it and even if I didn't realize it then you made the right choice

Years

I don't know but probably grand...

It's very different from love. With love, you want to make somebody smile, you want to make them feel safe. With lust, an unexplainable rush of chemicals moves through your body, causing you to move and feel in unfamiliar ways. Your brain is flooded with only thoughts of your new person, and your heart feels like it could explode from needing them. Lust is powerful, consuming, and often fleeting. 

Haunting me in daydreams and teasing me during sleepless nights, you know the power of your hands even at a distance. Simultaneously, I get my vengeance by taunting you with my own tactics. Darling, we're masochists and we can't get the taste of our skins out of our mouths. We hope our flavor will last forever so the memory of us can be triggered repeatedly. We're traumatized and we know we love every moment of this torture. The only part that hurts is the distance. As long as we're physically apart, we'll never merge our souls or tangle our heartstrings. We need it. We need touch.

Hell is this apartment without him. The home we shared is silent now, full of ghosts and memories, and me. Hell is his ball cap dangling off the banister post. Hell are his clothes hanging in the closet. Hell are his keys, tossed carelessly on the dresser. Hell is the beer in the fridge, his soap in the shower, a lone sock dropped in the corner by the bed. It's the echo of his voice bouncing off these empty walls.

Hell is our bed, too big and too cold without him. Hell is his scent still lingering on the pillows. It's waking up in the morning, reaching out to touch him, only to come up empty. Hell is the empty space behind me, where he used to snuggle close. It's the small part of my waist, where his arm would grow heavy in sleep. Hell is the spot on the back of my neck where his breath would graze. Hell is this loneliness, this empty void he left me with.

Hell is looking around and seeing him everywhere. Hell is that foolish hope that he could walk back in the door at any moment. Hell is me, living alone. Hell is sharing a home with his ghost. Hell is this limbo state I'm in. Unable to hold him, unable to let go.

•••••••••break•••••••••

The night is still and silent, but for the crickets chirping busily in the dark. It's almost summer, the clean desert air is warm on my bare arms. I hear footsteps moving purposefully up the driveway towards me. He steps into the light by my neighbors front door and my breath catches. Same blue eyes, same tousled blond hair, same California beach boy good looks. This one is a little taller, a little thicker....but in his eyes I see that same cocky twinkle possessed only by boys who know how good looking they are. He starts to speak, but I hold my finger up to my lips, nodding towards the neighbors silent doors. Shhhhh.....

He comes through the front door, I have my back to him as I close it. Shutting my eyes briefly, what am I doing? This isn't the man I want, this isn't the man I love. This is a substitute, a quick bandaid to cover my wounded heart. This isn't right.

But then the thought of another lonely night makes me want to die. The one I want isn't here. The one I want isn't lonely. I turn around and face this one. He's smiling at me, he speaks again. His voice is deeper, there's a hint of an accent there. Different. But he's not here for conversation, and I silence him by leaning forward and pressing my lips to his. It's a hello, a question. An unfamiliar taste, a mix of toothpaste and mystery.

My hands slide up his chest and over his shoulders. They're a bit broader, a bit wider. I snake my arms around his neck and his arms circle my waist, pulling me closer as his kiss deepens. His tongue in my mouth, I'm arching backwards as the kiss shifts from getting-to-know-you to getting-inside-you. I break away and see his crystal blue eyes have darkened with desire, just as his do.

I take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. Standing at the foot of the bed, I grab his face and bring him back in for a kiss. A bit of stubble, rough against my palm. Different. He had a beard, fuzzy and soft. I chase the thought of him out of my head as our tongues dance wildly. His kiss deepens and as I fall backwards onto the bed I can feel the power shift. I let it go, gladly. I'm living in this moment only. I will not think of the past, nor the future, nor of my broken heart. I will think only of this second, and the anticipation building in my body, and this hot body pressed against mine. I will submit to this moment of passion, I will relinquish my power to this man, for this moment, I will trust him to drive all the sadness out of me. He is on top of me, his mouth and hands are everywhere, my heartbeat is quickening at the sensations.

I grab his shirt and pull it over his head, sliding my hands down his rib cage and hip bones. Feeling the smooth ridges, his golden skin is hot beneath my fingers. He is up on his knees, I am kissing his neck, the short stubble rubbing my smooth skin with friction. I lower my head and bite, closing his collarbone gently between my teeth. Lower, lips and tongue teasing and flicking along his chest. Lower, nibbling the warm, taut skin of his abdomen.

He's pulling my dress, yanking it up and over, it's tossed on the floor and I smile at his quick intake of breath. I hate underwear. I lay on my belly in front of him, nuzzling, my tongue is tracing the ridges that delineate his abdomen. The glowing expanse of warm skin has only a light sprinkling of hair, trailing from his belly button and disappearing into his shorts. I lick my way around his stomach, mapping the firm, golden skin with my mouth. My hands are on his hipbones, my breath has quickened.

Taking in this unknown scent, inhaling deeply as my lips brush over firm skin, finding that V. A different V than the one I want, the one I love. But tonight, this one is here and my tastebuds are developing an appreciation for this unaccustomed flavor. Digging my fingers into fiery skin, feeling the goosebumps rise as my breath sends chills through him. He inhales sharply again as I bite down once more, harder this time. He jumps a bit, and I laugh with delight. This is familiar. This is indulgence and titillation and gratification. This is my validation.

Then his hands are tangling in my hair and he's pulling me up. I go slowly, trailing lips and tongue over abs and chest, nibbling on his collarbone, biting harder into the skin near his neck. My hands are gripping firm biceps, reveling the firmness and heat. His hands are roaming wildly, up and down my rib cage, kneading my bottom, over my breasts.

I'm reminded that I surrendered control as he pushes me backwards and this time it's his mouth blazing a trail over my breasts and down my belly. His lips are hot and my heart is racing. His breath coming quickly sends jolts at each exhalation. I jump a bit when his mouth moves over that spot on my ribs that I like so much. He notices and as his hands grip my hips holding me in place, his mouth burns hot against my skin. I'm wriggling beneath him, losing myself in the diversion he brings.

There's a fire building deep in me; wantonly, with abandon, I'm going to let this stranger put it out. For the first time in weeks, I'm feeling something other than despair. It may be wrong but at this moment I don't want to be right. For the first time since he left me, I feel alive.

My hands grip his hair, it's shorter, but soft. There is excitement churning deep in me as his stubbled cheeks and chin rub against the smooth skin of my belly and thighs. He slides off the bed suddenly, he's on his knees on the floor. He grabs my thighs and yanks me down lower, then his face is buried in me and I'm absolutely lost to the thrill of this strange tongue toying with my center. Abruptly, he stops, pulling me up, and the next thing I know I'm on hands and knees on the bed, and then his mouth is back on me, and his tongue is lapping at me and this is different and this is foreign and this is really fucking good.

That bubble of excitement is blossoming, growing larger and more urgent with the ministrations of his mouth. His hands join in, and as his finger enters me, I grab a pillow and bite down. I'm going to explode at any moment. The stubble on his cheeks is going to leave whisker burn tomorrow, but for now....right now...it's driving me closer to the edge and it's thrilling and lascivious. One hand rears back and lands with a loud smack on my ass cheek and that's when I lose it, I'm tumbling over the edge, muffling my cries into the pillow as swells of pleasure wash over my body, leaving me trembling.

He stands up holding my hips still, then I hear the sounds of a wrapper opening as he lets go. A moment later, he's gripping my hips firmly again and then with a forceful thrust he's all the way inside, opening me up in one long stroke. I cry out, that gratifying mix of pleasure and pain, that is exactly how I like it. He begins moving, slowly at first, driving deep. I am pushing my body backwards into him, feeling that tension building again.

Without warning, I'm arched backwards as he grabs my hair and pulls me up. One arm encircles my waist while the other remains entwined in my long hair, bringing me upright until I'm standing on my knees, with him still buried inside me. "I'm in charge here," he says, breath hot against my neck. "Got it?" I nod breathlessly.

He begins moving again, torturously slow. I can't help but wiggle, trying to get more. Trying to feed that hungry thing inside me. Suddenly, my head is yanked back again and the arm encircling my waist snakes it way up until his hand is over my throat. A pressure, my heart begins racing even faster. "What'd I say?" He demands. At my silence his hands tighten, using my hair to arch my throat back even farther, his other hand gripping my neck even tighter.

"You're in charge," I whisper, willingly acquiescing. Instantly, he withdraws and I'm lifted off the bed and tossed on my back as if I weigh no more than a feather. I scramble backwards as he grabs my ankles and pulls me forward. I quit wiggling, looking up into darkened blue eyes, so similar to his. The corner of his mouth turns up, a cocky smirk that is undeniably sexy. He hooks his arms under my knees and pulls me further, I'm half off the bed.

My eyes stay locked on his as he places my ankles together, straight up in the air. He places one knee on the bed and licks my calf, his hands sliding down to my knees. He begins nibbling the back of my calf, down to my thighs, I feel like my body is humming with tension while he toys with me. But I hold still obediently and within moments, his right hand is back at me, probing, entering. I stay perfectly still, maintaining eye contact as he teases me, goosebumps dot my flesh as his mouth sends chills coursing down my legs.

Finally, an eternity later, he smiles and before I can blink, my knees are hooked over his shoulders, my back is lifted off the bed, and he is driving into me with such powerful force that immediately brings me to orgasm. I'm crying out helplessly as he rocks into my body, I'm twisted up like a pretzel as waves of ecstasy wash over me. He continues to drive into me mercilessly, the orgasm peaks, and ebbs and then begins climbing again as the thrusts into me with reckless abandon. I'm biting his shoulder, my nails are leaving long red gouges in his back as I cross the precipice once more. I sink my teeth in his sculpted shoulder, crying out as my body clenches around him, this time bringing him with me over the edge. With a moan in my ear, he thrusts one final time, then collapses on me.

I lay there and he rolls off next to me. My body is tired, sated, and the thought occurs that tonight, perhaps at last I will get some decent sleep. He is speaking, I'm not sure what he's saying, I'm aware only if the deep hum of his voice and the slow drawl of his words. My eyes are growing heavy.

"---okay, Julia," he says, and leans over to get his shorts, he's getting dressed. Momentary confusion, then I remember Julia was the fake name I had given him. "Mmmm-hmmm," I answer, unsure of the question. I roll onto my belly, still naked and reach for my cigs on the night table. "I'll call you," I say, as I light one, hearing the lie and wondering if he does too.

Acrid smoke fills my lungs as my heart rate returns to normal. There's something always so satisfying to me, that first pull of a cigarette after sex. I'm humming, lost in my own satiated daze as I feel his hand trail over my ass and up my spine, finally closing at the back of my neck. He leans down and kisses me on the mouth and says good night.

The front door opens and closes softly. The sweetly sad melodies playing from my phone seem louder, now that I'm alone again. I snuff out my cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. I smoke wherever the hell I want to, now that I live alone.

My eyes are heavy, my body is limp from the evenings exertions. Halsey's clear voice is like a lullaby, and I realize with relief, that for once, my spin cycle brain has gone still. Gratefully, I close my eyes as blissful sleep takes over.

••••••break•••••••••

Morning light through my windows force me out of my deep slumber. Naked, stretching like a cat. My body is a little tender and I push back a little, to discover I'm alone in the bed. Confusion, I thought I felt his breath on my neck. I thought I felt his arm on my waist, his body pressed behind me, cuddling, holding me close. My eyes pop open, glancing into the bathroom....empty. I sit up, examining his side of the bed closer. It is still made up, though rumpled.

My eyes fill with tears like they do most mornings, if I sleep. I always wake up looking for him. Bitterly, I wonder if I always will. Because every morning I search without finding feels like I'm ripping off a scab, reopening an unhealed wound. Blood pours endlessly from this injury, yet I never die, and I never heal. I bleed and bleed and bleed. Every morning he is still gone, it is a fresh heartbreak to realize again.... still.... forever.... he isn't coming back.

The echoes of our life surround me.

But I live here alone.

My Uncle was checking me out.

It felt weird. Actually, no. It felt weird that it didn't feel weird. It felt nice. If he weren't married to my Aunt, and he was just some random guy at a party checking me out, I'd be totally into it.

I was totally into it now.

I wondered how long he'd been staring at my legs. If he was still looking now. If he had been checking out any other part of me while I was busy thinking up things to say.

What happened next I attribute mostly to a sudden flash of naughtiness, and also because I had been thinking of doing something really bad to Rita and for some reason, this opportunity fell on my lap, so to speak.

I dropped my fork.

When I bent over to pick it up (slowly), I was fully aware of the hem of my short skirt rising up to just below my butt.

Oliver caught his breath.

Inwardly, I smirked. I had him.

I straightened up, looked him in the eye and and said, "Oops."

He swallowed. Hard.

I gave my fork to a passing catering staff, who gave me a fresh one. It was time to finish my lovely cake.

Slowly, I forked bits of mousse into my mouth, taking great care to lick the tines of my fork each time. I ran my tongue over my lips much, much more than I needed to.

In the corner of my eye, I could see Oliver just standing there, motionless. Watching me.

I could hear his heavy breathing.

Great. Now what?

At that moment, Aunt Rita finally looked up from chatting with her group of fawning minions to notice her husband was standing on a corner next to her niece. "Oliver, darling," she called out. "Come say hi to my friends."

I glanced at him, and gave him a little smile. He nodded at me before going over to sit with Aunt Rita.

Mom came over with a glass of soda for me. "Are you having fun, dear?" she asked.

"Mom, this is Aunt Rita's best party yet," I said. "I'm so glad we came."

"That's great, sweetie. Did you say hi to your Uncle Oliver?"

"Oh yes, Mom. We had a lovely chat."

I spent the next few minutes trying to figure out what my game plan was.

Seducing my Uncle Oliver wasn't something I'd actually thought about. Sure, I had fantasized him a few time. Okay, I'd fantasized about him a lot. But I'd never really thought I'd do anything close to what I'd just done a while back. And now I was dying to know if there was any way in hell I'd actually pull off what was basically the most terrible thing a niece could do to her aunt.

An aunt who hated her. A really vile human being who humiliated her and her mother any chance she got.

I made my decision.

I went over to my Mom, who was talking to a young couple on the other side of the room. As I walked over, I swear I could feel Oliver's eyes on me. So I glanced his way. He was sitting next to Aunt Rita, not paying any attention to the conversation around him.

Our eyes met.

I held his gaze for a while. I had to make sure he knew what I was knew. What I was thinking.

Then I looked away, a secret smile playing on my lips.

"Mom, do you mind if I stay in the den for a bit?" I asked. "Jenny was home sick today, I promised her I'd go over today's Physics lecture with her over Skype."

"Of course, dear. Did you leave your backpack in the den?"

I nodded. "We're not leaving anytime soon, are we?"

"Maybe in a couple of hours," she said. "Around ten, maybe?"

"I'll be back in an hour."

I made sure I walked past Oliver again on my way to the hall. I glanced at him briefly and found him looking at me again.

When I got to the door that went out into the hallway, I paused and glanced back at him again. Our eyes met, and I held his gaze for several seconds before I turned and left.

I hadn't spent that much time in my Aunt Rita's house, for obvious reasons. It was a large house, with around ten bedrooms. I didn't know my way around so well, but I did remember that there was a library on the second floor. Whenever I couldn't stand being around my Aunt, I'd go there to hide. I liked books, so I was never bored there. It was my sanctuary.

I was going there now.

As I was halfway up the grand staircase, I looked down to see if Oliver had gotten the hint.

He was at the base of the stairs looking up at me.

I could feel, rather than see Oliver following me the rest of the way to the library. He kept his distance, keeping a good ten feet between us. It was a long walk to the library, as it was at the very end of the hallway.

I was half afraid he could hear my heartbeat hammering through my chest. At first I thought I was simply nervous, then I realized that wasn't why my pulse was racing.

I was excited.

I'd never been more excited in my whole life.

I should have been afraid. Or scared. But I wasn't, not one bit. I knew I wanted to do this. I desperately wanted to do this.

When I opened the library door, I felt like I was opening a Christmas present. I went inside and shut the door.

A minute after, Oliver came.

I was sitting on top of a desk that was facing the door, watching him as he came inside.

He didn't say a word as he closed the door.

I heard a lock click.

"What are you doing here, Kaylie?" he asked.

"I got bored," I said.

He didn't make a move towards me.

"What about you?" I asked him.

"I came to see what you were up to. Do you mind that I followed you?"

"Well, it's you're house," I said. "You can do whatever you want." I put as much meaning as I could in those last words.

You can do whatever you want.

Oliver began to fiddle with his cufflinks. "I suppose you're right," he said, not looking at me. "You know, Kaylie, that desk isn't for sitting."

"I'm sorry. Will you help me down, Uncle Oliver?"

He looked up from his cufflinks in time to see me spread my legs apart, and rest my hands on the table, between my thighs.

He walked toward me slowly. As I expected, he seemed nervous, but the way he was breathing heavily told me he was excited too.

As I was.

Oliver laid his hands gently on my thighs, pushing up my skirt a little.

"Do you always show such little respect for furniture, Kaylie?" he asked, his voice thick. His hands started moving slowly up and down my thighs.

God his hands felt so good. They were big and strong, and I could feel their strength and power as he stroked my thighs. "Sometimes," I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling the unbearable need I was feeling. "Is it so wrong?"

Oliver moved his mouth close to my ear. "Yes," he whispered. "So wrong. Very wrong." His hands had moved higher up my thighs. I could feel his thumbs slip under my panties with every upward stroke.

I lifted my hands to give him more room to touch me. I put my arms behind me, my hands resting on the desk for support.

"Will you punish me, Uncle Olie?" I asked, breathing heavily. I wanted to beg him to touch me ... more. I wanted his fingers deeper inside my panties.

"Stop it. Stop making me ... do this."

For a brief moment, I almost pitied the poor man. Very few men could refuse the young, nubile flesh I was offering up to him.

But I was so horny, I couldn't have stopped even if I wanted to.

______________

Please vote for this story if you like it! I'll post the next part very soon. Thank you. - Iliada T.

A dark look flashes through his eyes and Emilia feels liquid heat leak from the junction between her thighs. "Gabriel Calváni." The man introduces himself.

Emilia scoffs, "nice name, Romeo."

"Charming, sweetheart. Do you have a name or do you go by; Juliet?" A smirk forms on the tall mans face, it'd been a while since such an expression had been welcomed.

The woman holds back her surprise at his teasing banter, "Emilia O'Niell."

* *

"Prepare yourself for an explosion of pleasurably, erotic destruction." — Jay