I hadn’t had too many lovers, but I’d always bottomed. It was something almost expected of me when I sought out older and more dominant men.
“I’ve never topped.” The words came out on a squeak, and I cringed, embarrassed.
Uncle Denver must not have noticed or cared. He held my gaze, that same note of confidence bleeding from his deep brown eyes. “Would you like to?”
“Are you offering?” My cock sprang to life at the thought.
Uncle Denver’s smile was hazardous to my health. I was afraid if he kept looking at me like that, I’d agree to anything—including this crazy notion he’d proposed.
“I’m offering you all of it, Edison. Everything you can imagine. On one condition.”
“Yeah, I get it. Both of us or nothing.”
Uncle Denver leaned closer again, his mouth brushing my ear as he whispered, “Have you ever considered what it would be like to be in the middle of a French sandwich?”
Beads of sweat formed on my forehead at his proximity. The heat of his body and his scent engulfed me. “I… I don’t know what that is.”
He chuckled, his breath ghosting my earlobe and sending shivers rippling down my spine. “Look it up and let me know.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“My water’s boiling, and I’m hungry.”
His body heat and warm, invigorating words by my ear vanished as he retreated to the stove. That was twice in one day he’d left me right on the edge of losing my mind, my cock hard and throbbing.
I needed to find my phone ASAP. Escaping the kitchen, my skin on fire, I fled to the living room.
“Text your dad while you’re at it,” Uncle Denver called after me. “My house, my rules.”
I was seriously starting to wonder what had happened to meek and mild Uncle Denver.
The doorbell rang around seven.
Uncle Denver had gone into his office and shut the door hours ago while I sulked on the couch, watching mindless TV and ignoring my overactive imagination that had kept my dick hard with fantasies since exploring Google. Before he’d shut me out, he’d left me with one simple directive. “When your dad gets here, play nice.”
The bell rang again. Knowing Uncle Denver had no intention of leaving his office, I begrudgingly went to answer it. Under no circumstance had I pictured my dad in any of those fantasies about being in the middle of a French sandwich, but I couldn’t shake the unpleasant weirdness that consumed me when I considered facing him.
Dad stood huddled against the cold on the front stoop. The sun had descended long ago, taking with it any pitiful amount of midwinter heat it had tried to produce. A few flurries floated down from the heavens, lit up by the streetlights. The wind bit at my cheeks and made me curl in on myself.
Apart from a scowl, Dad wore his black bomber jacket, black jeans, and a black knitted hat. Since he was on his way to work, I also knew, underneath the jacket, he wore his fitted black work T-shirt with the strip club’s name, Bare Essentials, emblazoned in bold letters across the back. Next to the words, the silhouette of a female dancer posed in a provocative position.
It was ten kinds of embarrassing having a parent employed at the local strip club, whether they danced or not.
Dad unhooked a backpack from his shoulder and held it out, the weight of it digging grooves into his hand. “Textbooks. Your room’s a fucking disaster.”
I grabbed the backpack, ignoring the quip, and mumbled thanks as I heaved it over one shoulder.
He didn’t move, skewering me with a harsh glare. I called it The Evil Dad Look. He wore that face when he had something unpleasant to discuss, usually my behavior.
“Is he here?”
“Hiding in his office.”
Dad shoved past me, letting himself in. He kicked off his steel-toed boots—the ones he claimed came in handy if there was a problem at work—and headed for the kitchen. I heard him rifle through the fridge, clanging around before he came back with two beers and headed down the hall to Uncle Denver’s office. That was interesting. Dad never drank before going to work. It was a rule he adhered to quite strictly.
Dad didn’t knock on the door. He let himself in.
I caught up fast. If this was some kind of twisted game, I wasn’t willing to sit back and let my dad be in charge or win. I didn’t care if they had a secret past together. I was not going to let Uncle Denver be manipulated.
I stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene. Uncle Denver had swiveled his chair to face Dad, who had rounded the desk and stood in front of him, arm extended, offering him a beer.
Uncle Denver took it and set it aside. Dad chuckled, opened his bottle, and downed several long swallows that made his throat bob. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and wore his scruff like a rugged biker.
When he finished drinking, he swiped his mouth and nodded at the untouched beer on the desk. “Join me.”
Uncle Denver crossed his arms and leaned back farther, a smile splitting his face. “No. I’m not caving, and you know alcohol is my weakness.”
“I thought I was your weakness.”
I snorted. “Yeah, a hundred years ago. Why would he want your old ass when he can have someone younger and livelier.”
“Get out, Edison. The grown-ups are talking.”
“Fuck you. You can’t tell me what to do.”
Uncle Denver held up a hand, his eyes never straying from my dad’s. “Edison stays. I’ve told him the same thing I told you.”
“Uncle Denver wants me to be in the middle of your French sandwich. I looked it up. Urban Dictionary is shockingly perverse. And, PS, I’m not sure I want to top that badly.”
Dad’s gaze slipped to me. He studied me a second, confusion marring his brow before he turned back to Uncle Denver. “What the fuck is he talking about? A what sandwich?”
Uncle Denver hooked a hand around Dad’s neck and tugged him down so he could whisper in his ear. Dad braced himself on the arms of the chair, his gaze locked on me while Uncle Denver said something I couldn’t hear. When Dad’s body stiffened and his eyes bulged, I assumed he’d just been educated on the sex lingo.
Dad pulled back and passed his gaze over Uncle Denver’s face as though trying to see something deep and meaningful. Uncle Denver hadn’t released his grip on Dad’s neck and tugged him closer. Before I could react or look away, they were kissing. Not a chaste or clean kiss either. It was wet and dirty, filled with deep tongue action and biting.
It was like witnessing an accident. You know it should horrify you and you should look away, but you can’t shake the tiny nugget of intrigue despite knowing it’s wrong and perverse.
My eyes blew wide, and my knees locked, rooting me in place. I held my breath, unsure how to react. All I could do was stare. I knew the feel of my uncle’s mouth and the way his stubble grated my sensitive cheeks when he kissed me like that. I knew the taste of his tongue and the sting of those dangerous teeth when they nipped.
Against my wishes, my cock filled, and all those fantasies came roaring back to life.
I told myself it had nothing to do with Dad and that it was merely an unfortunate coincidence. The sexual arousal was all because of my uncle and my young, unsatiated libido. Nothing else.
Dad groaned when Uncle Denver pulled back. Uncle Denver wet his lips and turned his attention to me. He winked before informing Dad he better get moving or he’d be late for work.