Page 14 of Pretend I'm Yours
“Like what?”
“Something fun,” he says slowly, lowering his voice, leaning closer.
“Like…a new game?” I ask, equally low, squeezing my thighs together. “Maybe one that you and I can play together? We could pretend I’m your—”
Uncle Kason tugs the collar of his T-shirt away from his neck when Uncle Declan appears at my side, cupping my elbow. “Come on, sugar. It’s late, and I’m ready to hit the hay.”
I lean farther through the window, arching my back in case Uncle Declan is looking at my ass with my skirt being so short, and I kiss Uncle Kason’s scruffy cheek, dangerously close to his lips. “Want to come by tomorrow morning? I could bake another cake for you. Maybe a lane cake, this time, like I did last summer at the lakehouse.”
Uncle Kason drops his head back on his headrest and lifts the hem of his shirt, flashing his tight abs, and he rubs his stomach. “Fuck, yes, hon. Looking forward to eating your—” Uncle Kason pinches his lips when Uncle Declan grumbles something behind me. Uncle Kason lifts his eyes past my shoulders, his fingertips lingering on his abs, but then lets his T-shirt drop, and shifts the car into drive. “Got another ride. See y’all tomorrow.”
Uncle Declan grunts, and I wave Uncle Kason off before following Uncle Declan to the front door. He unlocks it, hovering his hand at my back but not quite touching me while he waits for me to step inside first. He gives me a wide berth when he suddenly rushes ahead, throwing his cowboy hat to the side on the dining room table, his boots pounding the hardwood floor.
“Goodnight, Corinne,” he calls over his shoulder.
Ugh. We’re right back to square one. “Declan.”
“It’s Uncle Declan,” he says, staring straight ahead at his bedroom door so I only get a shadowy view of his profile, his strong, square jaw clenched.
“The night’s not over yet. You, Declan, still owe me a song.”
I take it as a good sign when he doesn’t push into his bedroom and shut me out, and I pull up my music app, setting my phone on the narrow shelf that runs the length of the hallway where we display photographs and knick-knacks to free my hands.
He takes a long, calming breath, then turns around. It’s so dim in here that I can’t see his eyes, but I feel the heat of them when he lifts my hand in the air, then slides his other around mywaist. As the song builds, I scoot close enough that I have one leg between both of his. If I were any shorter, I’d be riding his knee.
At the last chorus, he says, “When the song is over, so is our date, and I go back to being Uncle Declan.”
“Ok,” I eagerly agree, but that’s because I’ve looped the song so that it plays on repeat.
Uncle Declan chuckles, his hand tightening on my waist. “You little trickster.”
“Can’t blame a wife for wanting to dance with her husband for a little longer.”
Uncle Kason clearly got into his head, because he says, “I’m not your husband, Corinne. And I never will be.”
“Play pretend with me, just for a little longer.” He doesn’t argue, and I already have my next line waiting when the song loops a third time and Uncle Declan pulls away. “Come on,” I say, leaning into the fantasy, drawing the back of his top out of his jeans so I can lightly scrape his back, no chance of anyone breaking us up now that we’re home. “Our kids won’t be up for another few hours. The night doesn’t have to end just yet.”
Uncle Declan spins us and pushes me against his bedroom door, breathing heavy against my lips. “You have to stop talking like that, sugar.”
“Why?” I finish working the rest of his top out of his jeans, trailing my fingers to his belt buckle with my heart beating wildly. I’ve daydreamed about undressing him so many times, but to actually do it,and without him pushing me away, makes me lightheaded.
“Because if you don’t stop me, I’ll end up putting another baby into you when Bianca is only four months old and Aiden’s not even two yet,” he says in a rush.
I gasp. He’s leaned into the fantasy, too, using two of the top baby names on my list I once shared with him and Uncle Kason.With my lips parted, Uncle Declan strikes, thrusting his tongue in my mouth with a groan, tasting of tequila and sin.
“We can’t do this. Tell me to stop,” he begs a minute later, our lips swollen and skin feverish.
“Stop,” I whisper, my heart dropping right along with my hands at my sides. I don’t want him to think I’ve manipulated him into taking things further if he’s only caught up in his lust and doesn’t truly want to be with me.
He slaps a hand flat on his door, grinding his dick against my lower belly. “Again.”
“Stop,” I say with a firmer voice. I won’t be a living embodiment of his regret come the morning. I don’t deserve that.
“Again, Corinne!”
“Stop, Uncle Declan!” I shove his right arm that’s barring my escape, intending to run into my room so I can bury myself in my blankets, hoping I can bury my feelings, too, until I no longer ache from his rejection.
“I can’t.” He groans and seizes my waist, and it’s he who twists the doorknob, both of us stumbling into his bedroom. “Fuck, sugar,” he mumbles, pulling his top and undershirt off over his head.
