Chapter 3

"Mmm… Uncle."

I couldn't help but whimper his name. His hand froze instantly. Then he tried to pull his hand away.

But I wouldn't let him go.

I felt like someone lost in the desert, parched, feverish, and desperate. Only his large, strong hands offered any comfort.

"Uncle Grayson," I whispered, "I like you."

"Uncle… I want you…"

I babbled nonsense, even daring to confess my feelings outright. After all, it was just a dream—why hold back?

Over and over, I called for him, until finally, a sharp growl cut through the silence above me.

Suddenly, the bedroom door slammed shut.

I opened my eyes to an empty room and curled my lips into a quiet smile.

At midnight, the soft patter of water echoed from the bathroom.

Grayson was showering.

I pushed open my bedroom door and stood silently outside the frosted glass, touching myself with frantic urgency. Though I couldn't see him clearly, I pictured his broad shoulders, the hard ridges of muscle across his chest—so tempting, so maddeningly close.

"Bella? You out there?" he asked suddenly.

I didn't answer. Instead, I snatched the towel he'd left hanging on the hook.

Sure enough, within moments, his voice came again, low and impatient. "Bring me that towel."

I picked up the pink one I'd prepared earlier—one I'd slipped a tiny lace thong inside and padded barefoot to the bathroom door.

"Uncle, I brought your towel!"

"Just leave it outside."

He sounded firm, but I slipped back to my room anyway, leaving my door cracked open just enough to watch.

Through the narrow gap, I saw his hand reach out from the steamy bathroom. He grabbed the towel… and then froze. A beat passed. Then another.

The shower spray roared louder, but beneath the rush of water, I heard it—his ragged, stifled breaths, thick with desire.

Giddy with triumph, I grinned into my pillow.

Now came the real game—making Uncle Grayson admit his desire and surrender to it.

I cranked the AC to its lowest setting and slept under nothing but a thin sheet.

By morning, I was burning up.

"Bella, how are you feeling?" Grayson had taken the day off to stay home with me.

"Awful…" I croaked from under the covers, my cheeks flushed crimson. I stretched out a trembling hand toward him. "Hold me, Uncle..."

He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around me over the blanket.

That wasn't good enough.

Pouting, I whined until he finally sighed and slid beneath the sheets beside me.

Being held by him again was heaven.

I could feel the way his body tensed against mine, how his breathing grew shallow, his skin heating under my touch.

"Uncle," I murmured against his ear, "they say sweating helps a fever break faster. Is that true?"

"Y-yeah… probably," he stammered, uncharacteristically flustered.

I poked his cheek, now tinged pink. "Then… can you help me get warm enough to sweat?"

"What—"

Before he could finish, I guided his hand to my forehead, down my cheek, along my throat…

His eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the gray irises whole.

"Uncle," I whispered, "did you like the pink panties?"

His expression shifted—confusion, shock, then furious embarrassment.

"So that little scrap of fabric was your idea all along—"

Just before he could snap at me, I rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, breathless.

"I love you, Uncle Grayson!" I gasped. "Please… love me back. Just a little."