The Game We Play

I never thought of my Dad's friend that way.

Not at first.

For as long as I could remember, he had just been uncle Ethan—my father's best friend, the man who always seemed effortlessly in control, the one with sharp blue eyes and a knowing smirk that made people listen when he spoke.

I grew up watching him from a distance. He was always around—at family dinners, business parties, even lazy Sunday barbecues where he'd loosen his tie, sip his whiskey, and talk shop with my father. He was untouchable, off-limits.

Until, one day, something shifted.

It started small. A lingering glance. A touch that lasted a second too long. A comment that felt like more than just casual conversation.

It happened last summer.

My father had invited Ethan to our lake house for the weekend—a tradition they kept every year. I had just finished college and wasn't supposed to be there, but I had broken up with my boyfriend and had nothing to do so I decided to tag along at the last minute.

I didn't expect anything to happen.

I didn't expect to catch him staring when I stepped out onto the dock in my bikini, the way his jaw tensed as his fingers tightened around his glass. The thought of me and him made me wet.

I didn't expect the tension in the air when we were left alone in the kitchen that night, when I reached for a wine glass and brushed against him—when I felt his manhood as I pressed just a little too close.

I didn't expect the way my body reacted to him. It left me wanting for more and horny.

He was dangerous in a way that thrilled me, made me crave the idea of making him go down on me.

So I did.

I started testing him. Sitting a little too close, stretching just enough to make my dress ride up to give him panty shot, bending over to give him a good show. I wanted to see how far I could push him before he broke.

And then, one night, he did.

It was late. Everyone had gone to bed. I found him on the back porch, staring out at the lake, a drink in hand, lost in thought. I stood there for a moment, watching him as my pussy began to flood, I stepped outside.

He didn't look at me right away.

"You should be asleep," he said, his voice calm, measured.

I smirked. "So should you."

His lips twitched, but he didn't reply.

I moved closer, standing beside him, close enough that my bare arm brushed against his. I felt the way his body tensed, the way his breathing changed ever so slightly.

"Do I make you nervous, Uncle?" I asked, turning my head just enough to catch his expression.

His jaw clenched. "You don't know what you're doing."

I tilted my head. "Don't I?"

And then—finally—he looked at me.

Really looked at me.

His gaze darkened, his fingers tightening around his glass.

The air was thick, electric. A tension that had been simmering for months threatening to ignite.

For a moment, I thought he was going to walk away. That he was going to be the responsible one.

But then, in one swift movement, he set his drink down, reached out, and pulled me flush against him.

His hand cupped my jaw, his thumb grazing my bottom lip and his cock poking into me. "You have no idea what you're asking for."

But I did.

And when he finally kissed me, slow and deep, I knew there was no turning back.

That night changed everything.

And it all led to tonight.

I knew exactly what I was doing when I got dressed—choosing the black dress that clung to me like a second skin, pairing it with a red lace bra and matching panties. The kind of lingerie you wear when you want to be seen.

I adjusted my dress in the mirror, smoothing the fabric over my curves. It hugged just right—snug around my waist, draping over my hips, dipping low enough at the neckline to tease but not give everything away.

I turned slightly, catching the way the soft lighting traced the shape of my body. 36 inches at the bust, 26 at the waist, 37 at the hips—curves in all the right places. The kind that made clothes fit better, the kind that got looks without even trying.

At 5'8", I didn't have to do much to stand out. The heels just added to it, making my legs look even longer, my posture even more effortless. I knew how to move, how to make the sway of my hips seem natural, how to draw attention without screaming for it.

I smirked at my reflection, running a hand through my hair before stepping away. Yeah. I looked good.

The estate was alive with laughter and clinking glasses, the low hum of classical music blending seamlessly with the murmur of conversation. It was my father's annual business party—a night of extravagance where powerful men in tailored suits talked money, deals, and influence. I had attended these events since I was young, but this time, I wasn't a child.

This time, I wasn't just another guest—I was watched.

And by him.

I walked into the ballroom with purpose, feeling his eyes on me before I even looked in his direction.

And when I did—when our gazes locked across the crowded room—I saw it.

That hunger. That restraint he was barely holding onto.

I smiled, slow and knowing, and turned away.

I spent the next hour pretending he wasn't watching me. Flirting with men I had no interest in. Laughing a little too loudly, making sure Ethan could hear it. I could feel his frustration from across the room, the tension building with every passing minute.

Then, finally, my phone buzzed.

Uncle Ethan: Upstairs. Now.

My pulse spiked.

I didn't hesitate.

I slipped away from the party, my heels clicking softly against the marble floors as I made my way up the grand staircase. I could still hear the distant hum of conversation, but it faded as I reached the dimly lit hallway.

At the end of it, leaning casually against the doorframe of a private study, was Uncle Ethan.

His tie was loosened, his drink forgotten in his hand. His eyes burned into me, dark and unreadable with a sizeable bulge down there.

I hesitated just long enough to tease him. "What's the rush?"

His smirk was dangerous. "Come inside and find out."

I stepped past him, my body brushing against his as I crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind me.

The air between us was thick, charged.

I turned to face him, letting the silence stretch. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched me like he was waiting for me to make the first move.

So I did.

I reached for the strap of my dress, slowly sliding it down my shoulder, exposing just enough skin to make his breath hitch.

"Is this what you wanted?" I teased.

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist, stopping me before I could go further.

"You think you're in control here?" His voice was low, rough, full of warning.

I smiled, stepping closer, pressing my body against his and feeling his cock. "I think you like it when I make you lose control."

His restraint snapped.

One moment, he was standing there, still and composed—the next, his hands were on my ass and kneading, his lips crashing into mine.

I was dripping wet and ready to take him in. It was fire. Pure, consuming.

And I knew, without a doubt, that there was no turning back now.

The second his lips crashed against mine, I knew I had won.

For weeks, months even, we had played this game. A careful dance of stolen glances, subtle touches, unspoken words charged with something forbidden.

But this?

This was him giving in.

And I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

His grip on my hips tightened, pulling me flush against him. His body was hard, tense with restraint, but I wasn't interested in restraint. I wanted to feel him inside me.

I let out a soft sigh against his lips, pressing my chest against his, feeling the slow, deliberate drag of my red lace bra against his shirt. His fingers flexed at my waist as if he was struggling to hold himself back.

Good.

I wanted him on the edge.

I deepened the kiss, teasing him with my tongue, slow and coaxing. He groaned, low in his throat, his fingers digging into my ass as he pressed me back against the desk behind me.

I arched against him, letting my lips trail from his mouth to his jaw, to the sensitive spot just below his ear. I felt him shudder when I nipped at it, my breath warm against his skin.

"You've been staring at me all night," I whispered, grabbing his cock and feeling it. "Were you imagining this?"

His jaw clenched. "You think I don't know what you're doing?"

I smiled against his throat, tilting my hips just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. "What am I doing?"

"Testing me," he said darkly. "Pushing me."

I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "And what if I am?"

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening for a brief moment—then suddenly, he let go.

I blinked, confused as he took a step back.

My body felt cold without his warmth, and I knew I had pushed him too far.

Then he smirked. "You think you're in control, sweetheart?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, he grabbed my wrist and spun me around.

In one swift motion, I found myself pressed against the desk, my hands braced against the polished wood. His body was flush against my back, his breath hot against my ear and his cock poking in my ass.

"Let's see how much teasing you can handle."

His fingers trailed slowly down my arms, then lower, grazing the hem of my dress. He took his time, deliberately inching the fabric up, exposing more of my thighs.

I felt the cool air hit my skin, felt the slow, torturous drag of my dress riding higher.

Then—he stopped.

I let out a frustrated breath, shifting against him, silently begging for more. I wanted to be fucked.

He chuckled darkly. "So impatient."

I turned my head slightly, my lips inches from his. "Maybe I just know what I want."

He hummed, as if considering my words, before his fingers slipped under the lace of my panties, dragging along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my grip on the desk tightening.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing. "Don't you dare."

His smirk was unmistakable against my skin. "Good girl."

And then—he really started to play.

He started feeling my tits, deliberate and slow. Just enough to drive me crazy, just enough to keep me on edge. I could feel his cock rubbing my ass only separated by thin material.

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening against the desk as he stayed just barely out of reach. Teasing me. Testing me.

His breath was warm against my ear. "I should make you beg for it."

I turned my head slightly, just enough for our lips to nearly brush. "Maybe I want to see how long you can resist."

He let out a dark chuckle, slipping his fingers inside my panty and rubbing my pussy and stopping again, his restraint like a physical force between us.

I could feel how badly he wanted to break.

How much he wanted to lose control.

"You have no idea what you're playing with," he murmured.

I smirked, pressing back against him just enough to make his breath hitch. "Then show me."

That was all it took.

His hands tightened on my waist, his grip strong, claiming. He pulled me against him with a quiet groan, his lips trailing from my jaw to my throat, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

I gasped as his teeth grazed my skin, a soft, wicked tease before his tongue soothed the spot.

The push and pull, the tension, the forbidden thrill of it all—it was intoxicating.

And then, just as suddenly, he stopped.

I blinked, dazed, as he pulled away, his eyes dark and full of something unreadable.

"Not here," he said, voice low, rough. "Not yet."

A frustrated whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it, and his smirk deepened.

"Be careful, sweetheart," he murmured, brushing his thumb over my lower lip. "I do love watching you squirm."

With that, he stepped back, his hands slipping away, leaving me breathless, aching, wanting. I wanted him inside me badly.

I watched him, chest rising and falling, my heart pounding as he straightened his tie like he wasn't seconds away from completely losing control.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're playing dirty."

He smirked. "You started it."

I took a slow step toward him, closing the distance again, grabbing his manhood. "And I always finish what I start."

His eyes darkened, his hands flexing at his sides like he was fighting the urge to grab me again.

"Careful," he warned.

I grinned, biting my lip. "Make me."

The tension between us was a living, breathing thing—electric, dangerous, and utterly intoxicating. I stepped closer, my chest brushing against his, feeling the heat of his body even through the layers of his tailored suit. His jaw tightened, his blue eyes darkening with something raw, something untamed.

"You're pushing me," he growled, his voice low, gravelly, like he'd been holding back for far too long.

I smirked, tilting my head just enough to expose the curve of my neck, my lips brushing against his ear as I whispered, "Am I?"

His hands snapped to my waist, his grip firm, possessive. "You think you can handle what happens when I finally break?"

I let out a soft laugh, trailing my fingers down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. "I guess we'll find out."

For a moment, he just stared at me, his breathing ragged, his eyes searching mine for any hint of hesitation. But there was none. I wanted this. I wanted him. And I wasn't going to stop until I got exactly what I craved.

His restraint snapped.

In one swift motion, he spun me around, pressing me against the nearest wall, his body pinning mine. His lips crashed into mine—hot, urgent, demanding. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was wild. And it was everything I'd been waiting for.

I moaned into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper. His hands roamed my body, sliding down my sides, over my hips, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He gripped my thigh, hitching it up around his waist, our bodies pressed together in a way that left no room for doubt about what we both wanted.

"Ethan," I breathed, breaking the kiss just long enough to gasp his name.

His lips moved to my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, sending shivers down my spine. "You're playing with fire, sweetheart," he murmured against my skin.

I arched into him, my heart pounding, my body aching for more. "Then burn me."

He let out a low, dark chuckle, his hands slipping under my dress, fingers brushing against my pussy mound. "You don't know what you're asking for."

I grabbed his tie, pulling him back to me, our lips crashing together once more. "Stop talking and show me."

He didn't need to be told twice.

His hands moved with purpose, peeling away the fabric of my dress, his fingers trailing over my skin like he was memorizing every inch of me. I reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle, my hands trembling with urgency. He stopped me, his fingers wrapping around my wrists, pinning them above my head.

"Not yet," he said, his voice rough, his breath hot against my ear. "You wanted to play this game. Let's play."

I let out a frustrated whimper, but he didn't relent. His lips moved down my neck, over my collarbone, his hands exploring every curve of my body, every inch of skin he could reach. He was slow, maddeningly slow, teasing me with every touch, every kiss.

"Ethan," I breathed, my voice trembling. "Please."

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his lips curling into a smirk. "Please what?"

I glared at him, my chest heaving, my body on fire. "You're killing me, fuck me already."

He chuckled darkly, releasing my wrists, his hands sliding down my body, over my hips, to the hem of my dress. "You wanted to push me. Now it's my turn."

I didn't have time to respond before he dropped to his knees, his hands lifting my dress higher, exposing the lace of my panties. My breath hitched, my heart racing as he looked up at me, his blue eyes dark with desire.

"Ethan," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

His lips brushed against my inner thigh, his breath hot against my skin. "Tell me to stop."

I shook my head, my hands tangling in his hair, my body trembling with anticipation. "You know I won't."

He smirked, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties, dragging them down slowly, torturously. "Good."

The cool air hit my skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his breath as he leaned in, his lips brushing against me, teasing, torturing. I let out a soft moan, my grip on his hair tightening, my body arching toward him.

"Ethan," I gasped, my voice breaking. "Please."

He chuckled darkly, his hands gripping my hips, holding me still. "Begging already?"

I glared down at him, my chest heaving, my body trembling with need. "You're impossible."

He grinned, his lips brushing against me again, slow, deliberate. "And yet, you're the one who started this."

I didn't have a response—couldn't form coherent thoughts as his tongue finally, finally touched my pussy. A low moan escaped my lips, my body trembling, my hands tightening in his hair. He didn't stop, didn't slow down, his hands holding me steady as he kept eating my pussy, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me.

It was too much. Not enough. I needed more.

I tugged at his hair, pulling him up to me, my lips crashing against his, my body pressing against his with a desperation I couldn't control. He growled, his hands slipping under my dress, gripping my ass, pulling me closer, tighter.

"Ethan," I breathed, breaking the kiss just long enough to gasp his name. "I need you."

He let out a low, dark chuckle, his lips brushing against my ear. "You've got me, sweetheart."

I reached for his belt again, this time with more urgency, my fingers fumbling with the buckle. He didn't stop me, his hands moving to help me, his breath hot against my skin as we worked together to free him from the confines of his trousers.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough, his eyes searching mine.

I met his gaze, my heart pounding, my pussy flooding with need. "I've never been more sure of anything."

He didn't hesitate.

With one swift movement, he lifted me, pressing me against the wall, my legs wrapping around his waist. His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he positioned his cock, his eyes locked on mine.

"Last chance," he said, his voice low, rough.

I arched into him, my hands tangling in his hair, my lips brushing against his ear. "Take me."

He didn't need to be told twice.

With one slow, deliberate thrust, he was inside me, filling my pussy completely. I gasped, my head falling back against the wall, my body trembling with the overwhelming sensation of his cock. He didn't move at first, his breath hot against my neck, his hands gripping my hips like he was afraid I'd disappear.

"Ethan," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Please."

He let out a low growl, his hips moving, slow at first, then faster, harder. I moaned, my hands gripping his shoulders, my body arching toward him with every thrust. It was perfect—too much, not enough, everything all at once.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck, his breath hot against my skin. "So damn good."

I couldn't respond—couldn't think—could only feel. His hands moved to my ass, lifting me higher, giving him deeper access, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. I clung to him, my body trembling, my breath coming in shallow gasps as he drove me closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he growled, his voice rough, his hands tightening on my hips. "Let go."

And I did.

My body tensed, my back arching, a low moan escaping my lips as waves of pleasure crashed through me. He didn't stop, didn't slow down, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, until he finally let go, his body tensing, his breath hot against my neck as he came with a low, guttural groan.