by Kane, Jessa
Alana is prepared to grill me, but before she gets the chance, Estelle enters the room, looking every inch the small-town church lady. It’s a killer disguise. She pats me on the arm. “Room five, dear. He’s ready.”
* * *
My hand settles on the doorknob and a million butterflies are set loose in my belly.
This is by far the wildest thing I’ve ever done, but Mase left me on the precipice of self-discovery two days ago. The unused muscles between my legs have been in a permanent clench since he left me panting on my bed. Nothing compares to the ache in my chest, though.
The first time I ever walked into my dining room and saw Mase, I knew he would be important to me. My gut tells me I’m important to him, too. Way more than he’s letting on. So while I know I’m doing something a little reckless—and a lot deceptive—I tell myself this is for us. No one ever got what they wanted by sitting on the sidelines, right?
Mase is the man in my life.
If I can just eradicate limits he’s put on our relationship, I’ll be the woman in his.
I’ve always suspected that, despite Mase’s confidence, he doesn’t think himself a good match for me (our related-by-marriage status aside). Perhaps he feels that way because of his prison record. Or maybe because of the MC lifestyle he lived that landed him there. The words he spoke in the heat of frustration the other day seemed to confirm my theory.
Listen to me. I’ve got no business putting my cock in a sweet thing like you. You’re going to college. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.
Don’t you dare fuck it up for someone like me.
Remembering how anguished he sounded starts a burn in my chest and I turn the knob, prepared to show my step-uncle exactly how worthy of my love he is. What happens in this room tonight is going to determine the direction of our relationship and I’m nervous as heck, but I’m beyond anxious to feel the passion of his touch again. My body is already humming from being so close to all of his intense masculine energy.
Before I step fully into the room, I reach in and dim the light, leaving the room almost dark. Having him recognize me right away would seriously put a dent in my plan, so yesterday I lopped off several inches of my hair, leaving it swinging just below my shoulders. Throw in the extremely low light and I shouldn’t be in danger of premature discovery.
With a deep breath I glide through the opening and close the door behind me, leaning up against it. And oh my God, there’s my uncle, sprawled out in a chair looking predatory, impatient and fueled up. The muscles in his big thighs flex at my arrival, a line jumping in his cheek. His size and the sheer maleness of him makes the room feel dainty in comparison. Makes me feel that way, too. Like a bunny rabbit willingly being sacrificed to a lion.
Trying not to betray too much of my excitement, I push off the door and advance toward him slowly, noticing the glossy, eight-by-ten photograph sitting beside him on the table for the first time.
It’s a photograph of…me.
Mase notices me eyeing the photograph and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Listen, I don’t want to offend you. I’m sure you’re a nice girl. I’m sure you’re pretty and all, but…” He massages both knees roughly, like he desperately needs a way to occupy his hands. “I’ll be calling you Ripley. That’s who I’ll be fucking.”
Unadulterated happiness strikes my belly like a gong. Wow. Oh wow. Now I know for sure I’ve made the right decision. I haven’t been imagining the connection between me and Mase. It’s real. Remembering myself, I nod, but say nothing.
“I haven’t, uh…been with anyone in a while. Not since right after I got out of prison,” he says, his laughter tinged with strain. “After I met her…I just couldn’t anymore.”
My heart is going a million miles an hour. I want to throw myself into his arms and confess my love. Praise him for waiting for me. And I would do those things if I thought he’d drop his worries and be with me. But there are reasons he’s come to a brothel and not to me. He thinks us being together is wrong. So I can’t reveal my identity just yet. Not until we’re at the point of no return and his resistance to the idea of us has been crumbled.
Mase is staring at the picture. It’s one that was taken quite a while ago.
I’m in my cheerleading costume, looking back flirtatiously over my shoulder.
Bad, bad Uncle Mase.
“I don’t know why you’re wearing the mask. This is a small town. Maybe you don’t want your identity getting out there,” he says gruffly, running his fingers over the photograph’s surface. “Whatever the reason is, I’m glad. It’ll make picturing her easier.”
Every cell in my body tilts when Mase stands to his full, considerable height, carrying the picture over to the headboard of the bed, propping it between a pillow and the headboard. It excites me in a way I’m not expecting, this plan of his. To stare at my picture while he uses a warm body in frustration. And lord, must he be frustrated. A virile man like Mase not having sex for four years? His grumpiness is beginning to make a lot more sense.
Mase draws my attention when he lowers the zipper of his jeans. Staring at the picture of me in my cheerleading uniform, he reaches into the opening, winces, and starts to fondle himself roughly, his hard grunts filling the room. “I know you’re a virgin,” he says on a harsh breath. “You sucked a man off before?”
I’m supposed to respond? How can I even speak when I’m watching my uncle masturbate to a picture of me? How often does he do this? My nipples are in painful little pebbles, liquid warmth spreading on the seam of my panties. Flushed and beginning to tremble, I remember he asked me a question. You sucked a man off before?
He glances up in time to see my headshake.
“Come sit on the edge of the bed,” he instructs me, reluctantly taking his hand out of his jeans, leaving his bulky erection straining inside the denim. “You probably won’t have long to practice. I never make it longer than a few minutes looking at that picture.”
Catching myself mid-sway, I nod again.
“You don’t say much,” he comments dryly.
Distract him before he makes you speak. On unsteady legs, I go toward the right side of the bed, keeping my head down in case the darkness of the room and the mask aren’t enough to conceal my face. I try to make myself breathe evenly as I sit down in front of Mase, putting my mouth even with his lap. He reaches past me and adjusts the photo so he can see it better, then he shoves a hand back into his jeans, taking out his fisted erection. The first time his shaft made an appearance in my bedroom, I was too shocked to savor the sight, but now I trace every vein with my gaze and memorize every ridge.
His thumb presses to the middle of my bottom lip, tugging it down and guiding his thickness to my mouth at the same time. “Ah, fuck. Open up for me, Ripley, sweetheart.” His smooth head pushes past my teeth and fills my mouth, his salt and musk flavor hitting me in the back of the throat. My cheeks and the corners of my lips stretch to allow his size inside, his hand flying to the back of my skull to hold me steady. “This is the dick you’ve been teasing,” he rasps, canting his hips up and back, slicking out of my mouth and groaning his way back in, stretching me further this time. “Thought of doing this more times than I can count. Thought of doing it even when I was sitting right next to your father.”
I whimper around his next invasion, then fingers in my hair growing more insistent, the pace of his hips picking up. Maybe I’m not just a troublemaker, maybe I’m a bad girl, because I picture the scene he’s painted, Mase setting down his fork at the dinner table, tossing aside his napkin and rounding the furniture toward my seat. Unzipping his jeans and plowing himself between my lips while everyone gasps in outrage. The texture of him on my tongue, the hoarse sounds he’s making, the vision…they all join forces and lust coils in my belly.
My hands move of their own volition, wrapping around his swollen sex and stroking him toward my eager suck. Mase’s cock is in my mouth. I can’t believe it. It’s better than I could have imagined, espec
ially when he makes a broken sound and starts to push deeper with every thrust of his hips, nudging the back of my throat with the enormous head of his manhood.
“Yeah, I knew you’d be like this, didn’t I, Rip? I knew as soon as you got a taste of your uncle’s fat cock, you’d be climbing the walls for it. You can barely stop yourself from stripping naked when we’re in the same room already.” He growls and starts to pump faster, more insistently, his ruddy arousal spearing between my lips so fast, his balls make a smacking sound off his thighs every time he rears back. “If I’d given in and dicked you down while your parents were off staring at their fucking phones, the next time I came over, you’d have crawled to me on hands and knees, fingering yourself and whining for another fuck. We’d never get away with it.”
God oh God oh God. Yes, he’s right. We’ve only just started and I can feel something inside of me blossoming. Finally. All of those times I strutted around in my bathing suit or a short skirt in front of Mase, I was frustrated and achy. Now I know. I was made to give this man pleasure. I was made to get pleasure from him. The switch is being flipped with every drive of his mighty hips and I’m never going back to before.
“All right. Enough,” he pants, using his grip on my hair to pull me off his hard length and I lick my lips, staring at it, internally begging for another suck. “That’s a sweet, little mouth you’ve got, Ripley, but I’m after the hot cunt you’ve been offering me for a lot longer than I should have been tempted. Take off the robe and get on your back.”
My hands are shaking so severely from need, from nerves, from everything in between, but I manage to peel the robe off my shoulders. I’ve barely got it down over my braless breasts when Mase rips it the rest of the way off, throwing it on the floor. He rakes hungry eyes over my chest, my belly, the blue silk panties—and in one fell swoop, he picks me up and throws me down in the center of the bed.
Visibly agitated, he strips off his shirt, but doesn’t bother removing his jeans. I have precious few seconds to marvel over the brute strength of him, seething muscles covered in intimidating tattoos, before he climbs onto the bed and kneels between my thighs. The panties are drawn down my legs slowly, painstakingly, and as soon as my sex is uncovered, a rope of white liquid belts from the head of his erection and stripes across my stomach. “Fuck,” he grates. “Let you give me head too long. Not going to last.” Throwing my underwear over his shoulder, he drops down on top of me and locks his attention on the picture beside my head, groaning, wetting his lips. “Been dreaming of getting between your thighs so long, Ripley. You’re going to open them now and give Uncle Mase that little cherry.”
5
Ripley
My back arches on a gasp, my knees falling open.
Yes.
Finally.
I want to moan those words into his ear, but I bite my lip and endure the wonderful suffering in silence. His fingertips trail down the center of my body, the pad of his middle one sliding between the lips of my womanhood. I jerk on the bed when his touch travels over my sensitive nub and I want him to linger, to massage it, but he’s breathing heavily, sweat starting to speckle his wide shoulders. There’s a desperation to him that makes me think of mating season between animals, full moons and the feverish bucking of hips.
As soon as he finds me wet, he gives a low, reverent curse and grips himself, prodding my opening with the broad tip of his arousal. “God, Ripley, sweetheart, I tried to stop wanting you so fucking bad, but you make it impossible.” He inches inside me, pressing, working his hips to stretch me, and just when the pain begins and my muscles start to seize, he seats himself inside of me with a snapping thrust. “Ahhhh. Jesus.”
My ears are ringing. Oxygen has vacated my lungs.
Mase’s full weight is pinning me down, his shaft thick and pulsing inside of me and the pressure in my lower belly is almost too much to bear. I scrape my fingernails down his hips and push, trying to get him off, but it’s futile. I’m a mouse trying to move a mountain.
“I’m sorry,” he exhales against my ear, the muscles of his abdomen jumping, hollowing, a hungering rumble building in his chest. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ripley. I tried not to be rough. I’ve just been suffering so long. And you’re so wet and warm and…God, baby. Tight.”
“It’s okay,” I whimper, without thinking, my thoughts scattered like buckshot. “It’s okay, Uncle Mase. It already feels better.”
The scarred giant on top of me freezes.
For long moments, there’s not a single sound in the room except for my pounding heart.
Oh boy. Okay. I was going to reveal myself sooner or later. Maybe I didn’t really ease into it, the way I’d planned, but I’m quickly realizing there is no way to ease into this.
My mask is ripped off, revealing Mase’s livid face looming over me.
“Ripley?” he growls, crumpling the mask in his shaking fist. Shock holds his features hostage as he looks down between our bodies at the place where they lock together. “Goddammit. What the hell did you do?”
This is the problem with being a troublemaker. I’m able to convince myself my actions are benefitting the greater good. I never see the flaws in my plan until it has been executed and then, whoosh, there’s that pesky error, blinking like a neon sign. What if this doesn’t work? What if my subterfuge actually drives him further away than before? “I’ve wanted you, too,” I whisper shakily, panic spearing me. “You were being too noble a-and—”
“And now I’m raw dogging my virgin niece in a fucking brothel.” His hand comes up and wraps around my throat, lines of strain appearing around his mouth. Those long, blunt fingers flex and quick bursts of breath fall from his mouth, as if it’s taking every ounce of his willpower not to move. He is moving, though. Inside of me, his huge sex beats in a low, hungry rhythm, still continuing to grow, pressing impossibly deeper. “You went too far this time, Ripley,” he chokes out, tightening his grip around my throat. “You’re meant for better than this.”
“No,” I whisper, stroking my palms over the meat of his pectorals. “I’m meant for you. If that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t need a picture of me to—”
“Shut your perfect mouth.” His head drops forward, shoulders starting to heave. “I’m trying to make myself pull out, but you’re gripping me so tight.” His groan vibrates through me. “God. You feel so good.”
“Don’t stop, Uncle Mase.”
“I have to stop, dammit,” he pants.
The pain has almost completely fled me at this point and now there’s a thrum in my lower body that matches the throb of his manhood. My muscles have stretched to fit him and now they fix around him almost lovingly, contracting and releasing involuntarily. “Ripley,” he pleads hoarsely, his hand still banded around my throat. “Ahhh, Christ, what an eager cunt you’ve got, sweetheart. Make it stop teasing me.”
“No.” I pull my knees up, settling them against his expanding ribcage. The move causes him to sink deeper and he grits a roar in response, his hand leaving my throat to brace himself on the headboard. “Can’t you move a little?” I murmur, threading my fingertips through his black, curling chest hair. “Just to show me what it feels like?”
A shudder wracks his large frame and I hear the headboard creak in his grasp. “I move once and it’s on. I won’t stop until your little pink pussy is sloppy with come.”
I’ve forgotten my regrets over being deceptive. I can’t think of anything now but giving myself to this man the way I’ve always dreamed. He needs me. There is a picture of me two inches from my head, for chrissakes. If that isn’t proof that he needs me as much as I need him, nothing is. I want Mase to lose himself in me. Lose his reservations. I want to show him with my body and this offering of my virginity that there is no one better. No one I’d rather have touch my body. Possess it.
Biting my lower lip and watching him through my lashes, I writhe my hips side to side, lifting them as much as I can with Mase’s heavy body pinning me down. His jaw loosens as I wiggle and str
ain, his eyes losing focus. “Show me what it feels like to be a woman,” I whisper, arching my back, bringing my breasts inches from his mouth. “Show me.”
“A woman?” His laugh is dark and out of breath as he glances over at the photograph. “You’re barely that. The things I’ve thought of doing to you, Ripley? They never should have let me out of prison.”
He’s been planted inside me so long, throbbing and throbbing, that my body is starting to accept those beats of his shaft as friction. There’s a spot inside me that feels tender and incredible all at once and every time he swells against it, a little more pleasure invades my limbs. Pleasure and anticipation of finally having my frustration solved. “What kind of things did you think about doing to me?”
“Enough,” he pushes through clenched teeth, his body now shining with sweat. The exertion of staying still and not driving into me. “Enough or I’m going to demonstrate.”
I drop my hands to my breasts, massaging them deftly, watching his eyes go black. “Do it, Uncle Mase. I deserve it, don’t I? For teasing you for so long?”
“Yes,” he says raggedly, his huge, perspiring body flattening mine, his face nuzzling roughly into the crook of my neck. “Christ. Christ. I’m going to fuck her. I can’t stop.”
And then he rears back and slaps his hips forward, impaling me forcefully.
My mouth falls open on a silent scream, lust screaming through my nerve endings, darting inward and clustering beneath my belly button. “Oh yes, Uncle Mase,” I gasp, my thighs fidgeting against his heaving sides. “More. More.”
“Look what you made me do,” he grunts into my neck, rocking faster into the cradle of my hips, my ample wetness making it possible for him to squeeze his still-lengthening shaft into my channel. When does it end? How much bigger can he get? “Your parents trusted me. Even with my shit past. They even asked me to let you stay at my place for a week while they went to Carmel. Do you have any idea what would have happened if I’d said yes?”
