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His eyes went wide when he saw you standing there in the pouring rain, shivering as your wet clothes and hair clung to you; all you had on were the smallest little jean shorts and a tank top, plus the mascara starting to run under your eyes.
He was shocked enough to see a strange, beautiful woman on his doorstep this late at night in the middle of a massive thunderstorm, let alone when you actually said something: “Uncle Miles?” you asked between chattering teeth.
Obviously, he hadn’t recognized you until you said that. And he went through an entire emotional rollercoaster when he figured out the woman he’d just been shamelessly checking out a split second ago was his niece. “O-oh, my god,” he stammered, “what are do— how did you— come in!”
He stepped back to open the door wider and motioned with his hand for you to get in the foyer as he laughed awkwardly.
“The one day you’re in California and it’s the one day it rains like this,” he mused aloud, “why didn’t you call? I mean, it’s so great to see you— how long has it been? I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I didn’t know I was coming,” you explained, “I just got in the car and started driving. It’s been about thirteen years. Aaaaand I didn’t call because I don’t have your number. Can I get a towel, please?”
He blinked as he looked around, “uh, yeah,” he stalled, “yeah, I’ll— there’s one in that closet, I’ll get it for you.”
As he dashed over to the closet and searched for the beach towel that he knew was somewhere behind the spare set of sheets, he tried to figure out how he was going to gently press for more information when he got back to you. Obviously you had a fight with your dad. And that wasn’t too shocking— not just because you and him hadn’t even been doing great the last time Miles himself was visiting (which was apparently thirteen fucking years ago , shit), but also because Miles grew up with your dad and always found him very, very easy to get into a fight with. He’d always felt so bad for you and your brother, having to put up with him all the time. Miles had felt trapped under his thumb just for being three years younger— but actually having him as a true authority for your entire childhood? You were a trooper for surviving it.
But, he didn’t want to ask about it if you weren’t ready to talk about it. He didn’t want to assume too much. And he didn’t want you to notice he was struggling to reconcile that this unignorably sexy (and soaking wet) woman was apparently the same person as that happy-go-lucky kid he used to take to the pool or petting zoo. As desperate as he was to associate the two enough to get his mind to stop wandering, it wasn’t really working.
He found the towel— it was a little old, more off-white than it used to be beneath the pattern of seashells and starfish, but it would do— and went back to the living room where you were standing awkwardly and dripping onto the hardwood. You reached out to take the towel from him, but he found himself wrapping it around you. “Thanks,” you hummed as you held it closed around your chest and took a slow breath. He didn’t really want to let go and step back, but he figured he should, so he did.
An awkward silence reminded him of the rules of hospitality. “Do you want something to drink? Water, club soda— we’ve got wine, obviously, a lot of wine…”
“Just some water would be great,” you nodded.
“Lemon, lime, ice, no ice?” he asked as he tilted his head a bit.
“Uh, lemon, no ice,” you decided.
“Great,” he said quietly with a nod as he left for the kitchen. While he was there he poured a quick drink for himself but otherwise tried to be back as quickly as possible, not wanting to leave his unexpected houseguest alone too long. He brought you your glass as you sat on the couch, and decided to go ahead and sit next to you as you dried your hair a bit. “So,” he prompted, “you… decided to come here, last minute… just needed a little family time?”
“Well, technically it was sort of the opposite,” you explained, “just needed to get away from my family for a while. I came this far south looking for some sunshine… we can see how well that turned out.”
He smiled and nodded, looking out the window as another strike of lightning briefly sent the dimly-lit room into a shock of bright, purple-ish light. “Not to criticize your unplanned road trip or anything,” he began, “but coming to see your uncle isn’t exactly getting away from family.”
“Yeah,” you shrugged, “but it’s different. Things always felt different with you.”
Your tone made it impossible to be sure if that was supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, maybe you were saying that you felt like you could be more honest with him because of the distance compared to your parents. On the other, maybe it was a well-deserved dig for disappearing and creating that very distance that brought you here now. “I’m sorry,” he decided to offer after a longer pause, “for not being around so much. I thought you had my number… I would’ve called, but I just thought you didn’t want to call me.”
“Well, dad probably knows it, but he didn’t want us to talk to you,” you explained. “He thinks you’re a bad influence.”
“Me? Never,” he joked, secretly loving the way you smiled wide and tilted your head back with a laugh. You looked so fucking pretty when you were smiling like that. He used to like making you laugh but it had never felt like this— were you too old to be tickled now? What he’d give to pin you down and grab your ribs and make you laugh like that until you begged him to stop—
“I mean, I guess every cool uncle is inherently a bad influence,” you continued, snapping him out of that very dangerous train of thought. “That’s what makes them cool.”
“Believe it or not, I was trying to be somewhat responsible,” he recalled. “It wasn’t enough to keep from pissing off your dad, but I tried. I did still plan on giving you your first joint, though...”
“Ah, afraid you missed the train on that one,” you smirked. “Maybe about ten years too late.”
“Damn, so close,” he snapped his fingers and gave a sarcastic frown that crinkled his nose.
“But, if you wanna give me my next joint…” you grinned, and he raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, no better way to welcome you into my humble abode, right?”
He made a little grunting noise as he got up, stepping past you to go to his bedroom and search for just the right strain— he had a pretty wide array at the moment, luckily, and he ghosted his fingers over the little plastic bags in the drawer. He didn’t want something that would get you both too sleepy and out of it, but he didn’t want you to trip or anything either. Just as he found something he thought you might like, he turned around and found you sauntering into the doorway.
“Oh,” he blurted out, “I was just about to bring this back…”
“Your room is cool,” you noticed as you looked around.
“Thanks,” he nodded, “I should probably redecorate, the aging hippy decor is kinda losing its charm, I think.”
“Nah, I dig it,” you smirked. “Can we smoke in here?”
“Yeah, sure,” he agreed— and he was already a little worried about smoking with you on the couch, but in his bedroom? The connotation was even worse now and he was struggling not to notice that he usually only smoked with a woman in his bedroom before… something that was definitely not going to happen tonight.
“What’d you pick out for us?” you wondered, stepping closer and looking down at the baggy he was holding.
“Oh, uh, they call it ‘deep purple’, it’s just kind of a chill, slow head-high,” he explained.
“Sounds great,” you smiled, grabbing the bag from his hands— and the grinder and papers, too. “I’ll roll it.”
“O-okay,” he stammered, following you as you sat down on the bed and started preparing your supplies. “I don’t feel like I’m being a good host, letting you do all that.”
“How about you get me some dry clothes to change into, to make it even?” you suggested.
“Great idea,” he agreed with a quick pair of finger guns, returning to his drawers again in search of something for you to wear. Honestly, if he looked hard enough he might be able to find a women’s shirt that somebody left behind, but it would just be so much more convenient to give you something of his to wear…
He found an old concert t-shirt and a pair of shorts that had a drawstring— so you’d probably have an easier time making them fit you well enough.
Turning around to hand them to you, he choked a little when he saw you licking the paper to finish rolling the joint— you even looked up at him as you did it, and he was desperate to not think anything of it, but you had such pretty, almost-innocent eyes looking up at him like that. Not entirely innocent, of course: did you know what you were doing to him? How could you not?
Were you doing it on purpose?
“Here you go, kiddo,” he offered the rolled up shirt and pants.
"Can't believe you're still calling me that," you rolled your eyes, standing up and taking them.
"Old habits die hard," he shrugged.
“Turn around while I change,” you instructed, and before he could protest to you changing in here and not the bathroom, you were already lifting the bottom of your shirt so he just shut his mouth and spun on his heel.
He heard you sigh softly as you got the shirt off, then saw it get tossed aside and land on the chair in his peripheral. Your shorts were next.
He swallowed thickly when he saw your panties fly by and land on top. Was it only the rain that soaked them?
The sound of fabric sliding over your skin was probably pretty quiet, but in a room with no other sound, it was deafening. He made a mental note to put on music later, but right now the silence was serving him far too well as he heard you slide the pants up over your legs.
“Alright, I’m dressed, let’s get lit,” you announced, beaming when he turned around. You looked way too good in his clothes; the neckline hung low and showed your collarbones, and the shorts were longer on you than the ones you’d had on before but that wasn’t saying much. And he knew you weren’t wearing anything underneath. Fuck.
"You should have the first hit," he offered, pulling the lighter out of his back pocket. "I insist. You're my guest."
“Okay, fair enough,” you agreed, bringing the joint to your lips and leaning forward for him to light you up. He had to strike it twice, but you leaned the end of the paper into the flame and waited for it to start burning before you stood up straight and took a long, slow breath in.
You held it for longer than he expected— a lot longer. He knew it wasn’t your first joint, but damn, you were in it to win it. He raised his eyebrows as you crinkled your eyes, and finally, you exhaled a massive puff of smoke from your mouth and nose simultaneously.
“Shit,” you groaned, falling back onto the bed. “I knew you’d have good stuff.”
He laughed a little as he laid down next to you on the bed, on his side propped up on one elbow, and took the joint from you when you held it out for him. “Is that why you came all this way?”
You shook your head as he took his own hit. He wished to get a taste of your lips off of the paper, but he just tasted the weed. “Nah, I missed you, really,” you admitted. “Wanted to remember why I don’t just fuck off and pretend I never even was a part of this family.”
He winced a bit hearing that, letting out his exhale and watching your face through the smoke. “Really? I get it with your dad, but isn’t your brother alright?”
“He’s grown up to be just like his old man,” you frowned. “And mom… she’s better, but… it’s just complicated.”
He nodded, handing the joint to you again and watching you stare blankly up at the ceiling as you took another hit.
While you were looking away, and as the high started to hit his head and make everything a little distant and fuzzy, he found his gaze trailing over your body. He saw your stomach rise and sink with a deep breath; he noticed his shorts you’d borrowed were riding up your thighs, showing more and more that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from until he had to bite his lip a bit. She’s my niece, she’s my niece, goddamn those gorgeous fucking legs, she’s my niece…
He looked back up at you as you passed the joint back, eyes lingering on the soft smile you gave him. “Are you feeling it yet?” he asked, and you nodded.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” you hummed, “my head’s kinda tingly. On the inside.”
“Oh shit, music,” he remembered. “I’ll put something on.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding the joint in his mouth to scroll through a few playlists. Obviously he had plenty for times like this, but he knew some were… a little more flirtatious than others. He settled on something in the middle, hearing it fade in over the bluetooth speakers– kinda groovy and sensual but nothing too aggressive.
You started bobbing your head along slightly with the beat as you took the joint back, closing your eyes gently. He was just enjoying watching you with the music playing quietly in the background, he didn’t feel any need to fill the silence. And yet, in his slightly hazy state, he heard himself do it anyway.
“When did you grow up?” he asked. “I just remember this little girl, and now you’re… not.”
“Uh, I don’t know,” you mumbled, “a lot of time passed while you were gone.”
“When did you get so sexy?”
You bit your lip, fighting back a smile. “Uhhh…” you stalled.
“Your dad still owns that old shotgun right? He probably got it out of the basement to chase those boys away,” he posited with a smirk.
“It wasn’t quite like that,” you chuckled, “boys didn’t think I was worth the trouble, for the most part.”
“Well, they didn’t deserve you,” Miles decided firmly. “They must’ve sensed that.”
You looked at him for a minute and something was different about it; you stared at his chest for a while, bared by his unbuttoned shirt, and he tried to imagine what you were thinking as you sat up onto your side to face him.
“I’ve never understood your tattoo,” you admitted, leaning forward and lifting his sleeve to look at it. “It’s, like, a cowboy?”
“A wanderer,” he offered instead.
“This one’s new,” you noticed as you reached down and started to trace the petals of the rose on his hip, peeking out from under his shorts.
“Got it, hmm, maybe five years ago?” he recalled.
He froze when you reached for the button on his shorts and snapped it open, unzipping the fly next. He fought very, very hard to not react with any part of his body to what was happening; you hooked your hand under his pants and boxers by the tattoo and pulled them down just enough to see the rest of it. He let out a little sigh of relief, but he was still putting nearly all his mental energy into not letting his cock fill any more than it already had.
“Looks cool,” you complimented, as casual as ever like you hadn’t just given him half a heart attack and a quarter of a boner.
“Thanks…” he mumbled, watching you slip your hand out of his pants— the greatest disappointment and relief all at once— and roll onto your back again.
He cleared his throat and hoped for the courage to break the silence after a moment like that.
“Your dad’s probably worried about you…”
“Don’t make me go back,” you pleaded softly, “just let me stay here.”
“You can stay here as long as you like,” he assured. “Maybe call him. Let him know you’re okay.”
“He doesn’t even care.”
“Of course he does,” Miles insisted. “He loves you.”
“He’d kill me if he knew I was here,” you countered.
“He’d kill me if he knew you were here,” Miles corrected.
"Why?" you frowned. "You aren't doing anything wrong."
Except thinking about how much I want to kiss you right now.
"I'm giving you drugs? Did you miss that part?" Miles reminded you, and you giggled.
"Oh yeah, right," you remembered.
"How are you feeling?"
"Good, kinda… floaty," you described, "kinda warm."
He nodded, reaching out with the back of his hand to check your forehead. "You still feel cold to me, you haven't been out of the rain long enough."
"No, I'm warm right here," you corrected, holding his hand and moving it down to your chest. His palm was against your skin where the shirt exposed it; his fingertips grazed over the fabric, so close to where he could see your nipples barely poking through.
"Yeah, you do feel pretty hot," Miles agreed.
"You look different than you did the last time I saw you, too," you began.
"I'm sure," he nodded, "I bet I look old."
"No, not at all," you smiled, "but you have gray in your beard… and your hair is longer… and I don't remember you being so hot."
He kept his hand on your chest as he looked down at you, admiring the way you coyly but your lip and blinked up at him with that mischievous glimmer in your eyes. You passed him the joint and he never looked away from you as he took the hit; you squirmed a little under his stare, clenching your thighs together.
"You must have girls over a lot," you realized awkwardly as you took the joint back— over halfway gone now as the smoke filled the room.
"None like you," he assured. You gave him a shy smile, looking down until he couldn’t see your eyes past your lashes. But he missed seeing your eyes, so he reached forward and gently lifted your chin until you looked up at him again. “So pretty,” he cooed, “I definitely don’t remember you being this pretty.”
You bit your lip as he ran his thumb over your cheek; he felt your hand press against his chest, fingertips brushing over the sparse scattering of hair there before you trailed a little lower. He followed suit and moved his hand down to your shoulder, then the dip of your waist.
“You look good in my shirt,” he noticed.
“I look better without it,” you replied.
He smiled wide, even though being stoned wasn’t enough to completely suppress the obvious fact that this was horribly wrong. It was enough to make him ignore it for a while, though. “I bet you do,” he agreed.
You licked your lips as your fingers trailed lower and lower, over his stomach and the happy trail of hair there, down to the waistband of his underwear left slightly exposed after you opened his pants.
Finally, too lost in the moment to hold back anymore, he let himself get hard as your fingers trailed gently over the shape of him getting thicker and firmer through his boxers.
“What are you doing, sweetie?” he asked you in a whisper.
“Just wanna touch you a little,” you explained casually. “You look really good and smoking always turns me on.”
He took a deep breath through the joint, sparing a glance down to watch your hand press against his erection through the fabric, your palm running up and down over the shaft. The pressure was just right yet not enough; he let out a slow exhale as he leaned in closer, and you met him in the middle to breathe in the smoke before kissing him softly.
It was gentle and lazy, just like it should be in a time like this, and he let his hand dip down into your borrowed shorts to tease you a little. He smiled into the kiss when he felt you shift and spread your legs— you were so ready for him to touch you, it was driving him crazy.
But just before he did, you reached down into his boxers and pulled his cock out. Your skin against his felt too good, he had to moan out loud, he had to pull out of the kiss to look down and watch your hand on him: sliding over the shaft and twisting when you reached the head, just to tease him that much more.
"God, it's big," you gasped. "I knew you were gonna be big, I fucking knew it."
"You thought about this?" he realized, chuckling when you nodded. "You're so naughty," he breathed proudly. "Damn, baby, what are you stroking my cock like that for?"
“Does it feel good?” you asked with a little smile and half-lidded eyes gazing up at him.
“Feels so damn good,” he answered with a sigh. “Want me to touch you, too?”
You nodded.
“Then say it,” he insisted, noticing the little way your breath caught and knowing he’d caught you off guard with his demand. Did you think he was just going to let you get it that easy?
“Touch me, Miles,” you whispered, and he slipped his hand lower into your shorts to feel the wetness gathering already.
“Oh, babygirl,” he groaned quietly, “you’re all wet, you need it that bad?”
“Yes,” you breathed, squeezing his cock a little bit with your hand as he started to rub your swollen clit.
“You like how it feels when I touch your pussy, huh?” he encouraged.
“ Yes ,” you repeated.
He kissed you again, hungrier and needier with his tongue tasting all over yours. You relented to him quickly and let him explore you, mewling quietly into his mouth.
You started rocking your hips against his fingers, making it harder for him to keep focusing on that one spot that made you moan loudest; he figured that meant you wanted a little more, and he was happy to give it to you. Even just one finger slipped into you made you sigh so beautifully, and he just barely snarled at how tight and warm you were around him.
“Don’t stop,” you pleaded against the kiss. “I want more, please…”
He put another finger in beside the first and you both winced, for slightly different reasons.
“Fuck, yes,” you purred.
“Are you just doing this to get back at your dad?” he whispered.
“No,” you whispered back. “Are you just doing this to get back at my dad?”
“No,” he answered, holding your waist a little tighter. “But that’s a fun side effect of the whole thing.”
“Yeah,” you agreed with a grin.
"You think it's hot?" he pressed, and you nodded as he leaned in closer to you. “Your dad would kill me if he knew,” Miles continued, grinning against your neck. “He’d kill me if he saw what I’m doing to his little girl… if he could see how bad you want me right now…”
“He’s never gonna forgive me for this,” you added. “He’ll disown me.”
“Mm, maybe,” he shrugged, “but it doesn’t matter… you know why?”
“Why?” you asked innocently.
“‘Cause I’m your daddy now,” he purred. “Say it.”
“You’re my daddy,” you whined.
“Mhm, good girl, and this little pussy belongs to daddy now, too, doesn’t it?” he egged you on, curling his fingers inside you for emphasis.
“Yeah,” you panted, “s’all yours. I’m all yours, daddy…”
He pulled his fingers out of you and started yanking your shorts down, tossing them away the second they were over your ankles. “M’gonna take care of you,” he promised, “don’t worry babygirl, I’m gonna take such good care of you.”
Spreading your legs to get a good look at you, he moaned aloud at the sight. It created an unfortunate paradox because he wanted to never look away from your folds parting to reveal your cute little hole, clenching around nothing in such obvious need of him, but at the same time he needed to stop looking and get inside you now .
He descended upon you with a desperate kiss and his hands running all over you. It felt great to have you under him, wrapping your legs around his hips, moaning as he rubbed his cock against you.
"Fuck me, daddy, please," you begged in a groan.
Obviously he couldn't resist that, and he angled his hips just right to slip his cock inside you.
"Tight," he blurted out the moment he felt your body take him in, "shit, you're fucking tight."
"O-oh god, I want you to stretch me open," you whined. "Fuck, daddy, you fill me so good— it's so deep…"
"Yeah? Sweetie, I'm not even all the way in yet."
"Oh fuck," you groaned, head falling back onto the bed limply.
"Think you can take it all, babygirl?" he encouraged in a low voice.
"Mhm," you nodded, "I can take it, daddy, please…"
You hissed a little and grabbed onto his wrist when he buried himself in you, even crinkling up your face a bit. "It's not too big for you, right? Am I hurting you?"
You shook your head. "It's just so deep… god, I dunno if anybody has ever been this deep inside me before…"
"That's so hot," he grinned. "Nobody's been fucking you right all this time, babygirl? Such a waste. And you're taking it so good, too, you're taking all of my cock like a good little slut."
You smiled at the praise, reaching up to grasp his arms at either side of your torso. He sighed when your nails dug into him a bit, not minding that they might leave a mark. If anything it would be a sign of a job well done; maybe you could scratch up his back, too, if he really gave it to you good– which he planned to.
His lip caught between his teeth when he looked down and watched his cock slide in and out of you with every stroke: he remembered what that pussy looked like when he first saw it, versus now getting stretched wide by him. He still couldn’t really believe that it was him doing this to you, his body inside yours like this. Did he feel guilty about it? …Well, he kind of assumed that he should, but whatever part of his brain was supposed to prioritize logic and morality over pleasure was full of smoke and not proving to be very useful.
Speaking of the smoke, the last of that joint was still burning, balanced precariously on an ashtray on the bed– very likely to tip over if he started fucking you any harder. He leaned over and grabbed it quickly, holding it to your lips and watching you obediently take a hit from it. “Good girl,” he smiled. He pulled it back to inhale with it one more time, watching you hold in your breath– and he wanted to see if he could force you to let it out, so he gave you one especially rough thrust all the way in, hitting you nice and deep.
“Oh, fuck,” you groaned, and he started thrusting faster; he loved the way your words shaped the smoke pouring from your lips, which floated right up to him before he dipped down and kissed you again, exhaling into your mouth gone slack with a moan.
“Look at you, daddy’s pretty baby,” he softly encouraged, “your eyes are so gorgeous turning red, getting all glassy while daddy makes you feel good. Look up at me, sweetie?”
You were clearly trying to focus on his face but you kept getting lost in it, fluttering your eyes shut every few seconds when he met the end of you. He laughed gently at your struggle to keep your attention in one place, giving you another slow, messy kiss while he sped up his pace just a bit.
He took a moment to put out the roach on the ashtray and shove the whole thing aside (he had much bigger things to worry about now than ash on his carpet) before wrapping his arms around you and holding you close so he could really get into it. You moaned loudly when he fucked you harder and faster, loud enough to totally drown out the music he’d basically forgotten entirely was playing at all. Nothing was quite as exquisite as your noises echoing around his bedroom, getting higher in pitch with every movement.
“Daddy,” you whimpered, “fuck…”
It sounded even better when you called him that while your voice was wavering from moaning– next he wanted to hear you say it as he made you come.
“Oh!” you yelped when he changed the angle of his hips, apparently slamming right into your spot.
“Is that it, sweetie?” he grinned, hitting it again and feeling your whole body tense up in his embrace. “Go on and tell me how good that feels…”
“It feel so- oo good ,” you choked out, the latter half turned into a moan by another thrust forward, “right there, daddy, keep fucking me— oh, fuck !”
He started to kiss your neck as he continued focusing on that one specific motion, running his hands down to your hips and over your thighs parted to fit his body between them; you reached up under his shirt to grab onto his bare back, holding him almost as tight as he was holding you. “You feel so good, sweetie, you’re so tight and warm for me,” he grunted. “So fucking good for daddy…”
You writhed a little at the praise, and when he watched your nipples harden through the shirt of his that you were wearing, he finally figured he should push it up and get a good look at what he couldn’t stop thinking about for the last half hour. So he sat up a bit to do just that, and let out a slow sigh at the sight of you.
"Oh, baby, look at your tits," he groaned. "Of course you've got perfect tits… my pretty girl…"
He stayed balanced on his left arm while he lifted the right to get groping handfuls of you, alternating back and forth. A smirk curled on his face when he brushed over a nipple and you whimpered.
"Oh, they're sensitive, too?" he realized, pinching the bud and watching you squirm. "You want daddy to suck on them?"
"Please," you whined, gasping when he leaned down right away and caught one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.
He hummed as he worked, loving how little he had to do to make that sweet pussy clench on him from the pleasure. "You're so fucking sexy, baby," he mumbled against your skin as he kissed his way from one nipple to the other. "So cute when you get soaking wet from having your tits sucked."
"Harder," you pleaded.
"The fucking, or—?"
"Both, all of it," you begged, “I just need more."
He held onto your hips and slammed into you, moaning just at the sound of your cries getting weaker yet louder at the same time; and he did suck harder on you like you wanted, teasing you by breaking away to leave faint hickeys around your nipples as well.
“Oh, daddy, fuck– I’m gonna come,” you warned.
“Already?” he chuckled. “God, are you always this easy or is it just for me, huh?”
“Just you, daddy,” you purred as your back arched deeper. “Just you, Uncle Miles.”
He growled and moved up to bite your neck instead. “Don’t talk like that,” he warned. “I know your dad raised you better than to be such a dirty slut.”
Your legs wrapped around his hips and kept him deep in you as he kissed all over your neck and nibbled on the lobe of your ear. “He sure tried,” you grinned.
“He must not have given you enough discipline,” Miles decided. “He must not have spanked this pretty ass so you’d know better than to go looking for dick where you shouldn’t be getting it.”
“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, “I’m close, I’m so close– god, yes–”
“Is that it?” he continued. “You just weren’t raised right and that’s why you spread your legs for me, hm? Should I pull out now and give you that spanking you need, not even let you come?”
“N-no, daddy, let me come, I wanna come,” you whined impatiently, “fuck, just don’t stop– don’t stop, daddy, please, you’re gonna make me come.”
“Yeah? Why don’t you go ahead and come on daddy’s cock, babygirl,” he encouraged in a rough voice just beside your ear, and he watched you throw your head back as you let out a sharp cry, your walls flexing in an erratic pattern around him as you started to come.
He could tell how bad you’d needed this, with how hard you let go. So much tension spilled out of you at once, every part of you going limp and relaxing beneath him like you’d let some great burden go. You looked amazing, actually, so relaxed and floating in a sea of pleasure.
Of course, the relaxation didn’t last too long as he kept pumping his cock into you relentlessly.
Your eyes went wide as a silent gasp fell over your face, and he smiled: you assumed he was going to stop, clearly, or at least slow down. But he was just getting started. “Is it too much for you, sweetie?” he whispered. “You were taking it so good before, are you gonna tap out now?”
You shook your head feverishly, whimpering “n-no, daddy, I can take it…”
“Good girl,” he praised, “I knew you could handle it. You’re so fucking good, babygirl, so good for your daddy.”
You were shivering, though– shaking, with the struggle to keep from screaming as he kept thrusting hard into your overstimulated channel. He considered reaching down and giving that cute little clit a pinch just to see you break, but he didn’t want to push you that hard; he wanted to make you come again, and that was going to require a bit more patience.
“I bet you’re getting close again already,” he whispered. “Aren’t you?”
You hesitated for a second before nodding your head, and he smiled proudly.
“Yeah, that’s my girl,” he purred as he kissed your neck again, words muffled against your skin.
You whimpered as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and buried your face into his chest. “Feels so good, daddy, you feel so good…”
“You feel good, too, angel,” he whispered back. “You feel fucking amazing, and you’re all mine, right? You’re daddy’s girl now?”
“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, oh my god yes!”
“I love seeing you like this,” he grinned. “God, you’re gorgeous. And you look good getting fucked.”
“I love you,” you blurted out, and his heart clenched in the best way. He figured you meant it in the familial way– ironically– and not true romantic love since the two of you were only just now getting reacquainted as adults in the most perverse yet effective way.
“Really, baby?” he cooed, smiling as you nodded. “Oh, sweetie, I love you too, of course. You know I love you so much.”
Little tears were starting to roll down your temples and he kissed them away gently. “I-I’m gonna come again,” you whimpered, “daddy, I– I–”
“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, “just let go babygirl, daddy’s got you.”
The pulses inside you were weaker this time, your muscles worn out from being stretched out by him for– well, he wasn’t sure how long it had been, his sense of time wasn’t good even without weed this strong in his system. But still, if it wasn’t as obvious from the feeling inside you, he knew you were coming from that cute look you got on your face– almost in pain, and yet clearly overwhelmed by pleasure just how he wanted you to be.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, “that’s my good girl, that’s daddy’s good little girl…”
“Oh god,” you sobbed, “daddy, Miles, please– please come, fuck !”
He smiled and held you a little tighter, kissing you for a while as he kept up his pace without any regard for the fact you’d just come for the second time. Your legs were still holding tight onto his hips and as he finally started to give in to his own building euphoria, he decided not to rely on body language alone and ask outright: "Is it okay to come inside?"
"Yeah, do it," you panted. "Come in me, daddy!"
Honestly, he didn’t think he’d do it so fast, but it’s hard not to give in to a request like that; he felt the first wave hit almost instantly, and a pump of come spraying inside you just after that. Fuck, it felt good to come in you— way too good, way too natural. You were obviously made to take it with the way you spread your legs even wider to take his load; you arched your back with a whimper and if he was even on this plane of reality at the time he would've told you not to whine yet because he had so much left to give you. But he was totally out of it now, lost completely in the heat of you.
It felt like it went on forever– maybe it was the weed or maybe it was just because it had been ages since he’d felt anything this good.
“Baby,” he sighed as he kept filling you, holding your hips so he could bury himself deep and give you everything to the very end of you.
You smiled and wiggled under him just a bit, flexing your channel just to give him one last squeeze when he was at his most sensitive.
“Fuck,” he gasped, growling when you giggled proudly. “You’re trying to drive me crazy, right? You might really need that spanking after all.”
“Nooo, I’ve been so good,” you smiled and licked your lips. “Haven’t I, daddy?”
“Yeah, baby, you did so good,” he agreed as he lowered his face to kiss you hungrily again. “You’re daddy’s best little girl, aren’t you?” he continued against your lips, feeling you nod.
Now should’ve been the time for the post-nut clarity, for him to sit up and stare down at you and think oh god, what have I done? Did I just come in my niece? That little kid I gave piggyback rides and birthday money? Her?!
But that moment never really came, he just kissed down your body instead to distract himself from the overly-sensitive feeling of pulling out of you after coming that hard; you writhed beneath his kisses in the most perfectly erotic way, wordlessly tempting him for more, and he smiled at the gasp you let out when he opened your legs and settled his face between them.
"Damn, is that my come leaking out of your gorgeous pussy?" he grinned. “How’d I get so lucky?”
He dove forward and ate you voraciously, moaning in the back of his throat as he sucked on your bud. The only thing better than the way you tasted in that moment, was the way you sounded.
You cried, digging your fingers into his hair, back arching instantly. "Oh, daddy, fuck…"
He was trying not to smile so he wouldn't break the seal that kept him suckling hard on you, but it was difficult when you were moaning so loud for him and your thighs were quivering beside his head.
You got even louder when he put his tongue inside you; he was amazed at how your walls were bearing down on him when he thought he'd just stretched you out a minute ago. Of course a sweet young thing like you could recover that fast, tight as ever when he'd need a few hours before he could even get hard again.
"You taste so good, babygirl," he informed you between kisses to your inner thighs. "Even better full of my come, just like you were meant to be…"
But he didn’t stop for too long, he was on a mission; and you could tell because you tried to warn him, “I can’t come again, Miles, I swear.”
“Yeah you can,” he assured, laving you with wide licks and looking up at your shocked expression from such a wonderful angle. “You’re my good girl, remember? You can give me one more.”
“Fuck,” you groaned as your head fell back, “and you think I’m trying to drive you crazy…”
But the truth was, he just wanted to get as much out of this as he could before tomorrow morning when you inevitably told him it was all a huge mistake, an insane plan to get back at your dad after the fight of the century, a high-induced temporary insanity that made you jump into bed with the first guy you saw whether he was your blood relative or not.
He twisted and swirled his tongue inside you, teasing your bud with his lips, desperate for another perfect glimpse of you hitting your high right here in his bed and knowing he was responsible.
And how perfect it was when your hips started to grind against his face, your legs shaking, your fingers tugging on his mess of hair while your pussy soaked his beard. He hoped to still be able to smell you in it tomorrow, after you were long gone…
“Daddy, fuck, fuck ,” you moaned, “your tongue feels so good– don’t stop…”
This time he couldn’t help but smile against you. Wasn’t it you just a minute ago who said you wouldn’t be able to come again? It was too much fun to push you past your limits like this, show you how good you could really feel. You’d probably only messed around with guys your age, nobody who could really treat you like you deserved. The way you gasped with every breath made him wonder if anybody had even eaten you out properly before– it didn’t seem like it, but either way, whether he was the first or the thousandth it was an honor to get the opportunity at all. He hadn’t had a pussy this sweet in years .
“Ah god,” you whined, “right there, oh my god just like that–”
Your words fell into a desperate moan when he put more pressure on your clit and tried his best to keep this exact pace– not speeding up or slowing down at all because he had a firm policy that when a woman says ‘just like that,’ you’d better believe her.
“I’ll come, fuck, I’ll come,” you sobbed– and then you started laughing, sort of, though it was hard to describe. It was a noise of disbelief, it seemed, and shock and awe all mixed in between desperate cries for more.
He was putting nearly all his strength into holding your hips down so you wouldn’t squirm away, and he only caught a little glimpse of your hands balled into fists in his sheets before you bucked again and he had to really pin you down to keep you still.
“You’re gonna make me come again, Miles,” you breathed, “holy fuck– I… I’m so close just don’t stop, daddy, please!”
Not able to say much at the moment, he moaned against you and hoped you understood that it meant he absolutely wouldn’t stop until you came. Honestly, you’d be lucky if he stopped even then.
Keeping up the pattern as precisely as he could against a moving target, he listened carefully to the sound of your moans getting louder and needier. It was different than the last two times, your voice even broke a couple times and he worried you might lose it entirely by tomorrow. But damn was it the most exquisite music to his ears, your sweet sounds of ecstasy while he got to taste you right from the source.
At this point you weren't really getting out any words, you were sort of past that stage— and he loved that he was pushing you to that state, seeing you reaching something so primal in yourself. As much as he was generally not a selfish man, he really hoped he was the only person who had ever seen you like this, who had ever brought you this far into your own pleasure. It was the least you deserved, but the most he could ever wish for.
He knew the peak had passed you when you started to quiver weakly, beginning to go limp— and then when he tried to suckle on your clit just a bit more, he had to dodge a kick to the face and decided to finally show you a little mercy.
He’d barely begun to climb up over you again when you threw your arms around his shoulders and yanked him down into a sloppy kiss, the taste of you right there in the middle of it as he relaxed and let his weight sink onto you.
Holding you tight, he rolled onto his side and pulled you into him, smiling into the kiss as you grabbed his hair and fought to shove your tongue deeper— apparently trying to get a stronger taste of yourself off of his tongue. He just grinned and let you go for it; he wasn’t going to complain about a beautiful woman so desperate for him.
After a few minutes that went by far too quickly, you fell back with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling blankly.
He grinned as he admired you, exhausted and beautiful and panting as you came back into your body properly. He brushed away a lock of hair that covered your face and you started to laugh breathlessly.
"I guess I'm sleeping in your bed tonight, huh?" you realized.
"Yeah, every night," he grinned back.
//
His bed was empty when he woke up to the late morning sun coming in through the window– and of course it was, he didn’t expect anything less. He only hoped you might’ve left a note somewhere, even if it wasn’t hard to guess what it would say. This was a mistake, don’t tell anyone, don’t contact me again , all that jazz; maybe if he was really lucky it wouldn’t have that last part and you wouldn’t cut him off completely, because he really didn’t want to go another thirteen years without seeing you again.
And wow, it’s not like he was ever contending for uncle of the year, but… damn. This was bad. You were emotional and unstable and he got you high and fucked you. He was well beyond worrying about if his brother would forgive him, that ship had sailed, he just hoped he hadn’t gotten you back for one moment just to lose you forever.
So, he was pretty surprised when he went into his kitchen looking for a goodbye you might’ve written on some scratch paper and found you there in the flesh, munching on a bowl of cereal.
Your mouth was full so you just greeted him with a smile, putting your spoon and bowl down.
“Uh, morning,” he smiled nervously.
“Hey,” you hummed, hopping up out of your chair and coming around the table to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah, you?” he asked, watching you walk past him to grab an orange off the counter like he still couldn’t believe you were here– because he couldn’t.
“Like a rock,” you sighed happily. “Nothing like three orgasms to knock you out for the night.”
“Y-yeah, that was the idea,” he nodded in agreement. “How– uh– how long were you planning to stay?”
“You’re not trying to kick me out, right?” you frowned. “You said before I could stay as long as I needed.”
“Of course! I meant that,” he assured. “I just wondered if you might take off. Thought maybe I spooked you.”
“What, with the amazing sex? Yeah, I’m terrified,” you rolled your eyes.
“But… I’m your–” he began, and you interrupted him with a sudden kiss that he gave into way too easily. He sighed and held your waist, pulling you in a little closer, moving his lips with yours. “You taste like Frosted Flakes,” he chuckled when you broke the kiss and looked up at him.
“Yeah? You taste like shit, go brush your teeth,” you instructed with a shove to his chest.
“Okay, yeah,” he agreed, “fair enough.”
But he stole another glance at you as he started for the hallway, watching his shirt ride up on your butt as you walked back to your chair; he was never gonna get tired of that view, for sure.
“You’ll still be here when I get back?” he asked again, just in case.
“You can’t get rid of me that easy… daddy,” you added with a wink.