The cuffs dug into my wrists, pinning me to the headboard. My legs were tied high, rope biting into my thighs as they hung in the air, leaving me spread wide, helpless, and soaking for him.
He stepped back just enough to admire his work. That cruel, satisfied smirk stretched across his lips as if he’d painted me into this obscene position himself. My chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, every nerve screaming with tension.
‘What am I doing… he’s my uncle’ the damned rational part of me screamed over the haze of lust clouding my mind.
‘….step…step uncle, ‘the darkest part of me replies, ‘and you want him, you can’t say no, you like being fucked by him, Lyra.’
And I do, god I do. I’ve wanted this. I need this.
Then the crack hit. His palm slammed across my ass, sharp and merciless. My scream tore through the room—half agony, half a filthy, unashamed moan. Heat bloomed across my skin, and I hated how much it made me ache. Slickness poured from me, shamefully loud when I shifted.
“Fuck… please,” I gasped, my voice breaking apart as I writhed against the ropes. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need you to fuck me.”
My eyes fell to the bulge raging against the front of his trousers. Huge. Angry. His cock strained against the fabric like it was seconds from tearing free. And still—he just stood there, watching me beg. Watching me fall apart.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you’re desperate,” he murmured, voice like gravel.
A sob tore from me. My thighs trembled, clenching uselessly in the air. Every flicker of restraint only made the hunger worse until it felt like madness.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. One finger slid between his lips, wetting it before he dragged it down over my breast, teasing the hardened nipple until I was shaking.
“God—please,” I whimpered.
He chuckled darkly. “Oh, you’ll get it. But first, I’m going to break you open. Make you scream my name until your throat’s raw.”
My whole body trembled. Desire and fear tangled into something feral, something unstoppable.
His hand slipped lower. A single finger pressed inside me and the sound was obscene, wet and sloshing. I should be embarrassed about how wet I am, but I wasn’t this was perfect, heavy My breath hitched, heat flaring so hard it felt like I’d been gutted. Then—without warning—he shoved two more fingers deep, stretching me wide, pounding rough and fast.
“Shit—ahh—” My head slammed back against the headboard, my back bowing. “I can’t—fuck— Adam”
My cries only made his smirk darker. He pressed hard against my clit, grinding circles until I screamed and jerked, helpless, caught between agony and bliss.
His other hand went to his belt slowly unbuckling, It slid free from his trousers with a hiss. My stomach dropped right before the first strike landed, leather cracking across my ass with brutal precision. My cry ripped through the room, but it wasn’t just pain—it was molten fire shooting straight to my core.
“You like that, don’t you?” he growled, voice low, dangerous. “You like being ruined like this.”
I was panting, broken, wet enough to drown. He was right. Fuck, he was right.
Then—he freed himself. His trousers dropped, and the sight of him stole the last of my breath. Thick. Veined. Brutal. His cock stood heavy, flushed and angry, dripping at the tip.
My mouth went dry. My body thrashed against the ropes, every nerve begging, praying, desperate to be filled.
And when he stepped between my legs, stroking himself slowly, his eyes burning into mine, I knew there was no turning back.
This was the moment I was going to be destroyed.
*****************************************
THE BEGINNING……..
My career was everything. Every choice I made, every sacrifice, was for the spotlight—and it had finally paid off. I’d just landed the role of a lifetime: the orphan girl who falls in love with a prince, destined to be a box office hit. For once, the world was mine.
But the world didn’t care when I stepped out of the studio and the sky split open. Rain poured down in sheets, cold and merciless. My phone mocked me with its “No Signal” glare. No car, no ride, no shelter—just me, heels clicking through flooded streets, soaked to the skin. By the time I reached home, my hair clung to my cheeks, my shirt plastered against me like a second skin.
Relief lasted only a breath. Because when I pushed the door open, he was there.
The man who haunted my sleep. The one whose face lingered behind my eyelids until my body burned. He was leaning against the banister as though he owned the place—and in a way, he did. My mother’s new husband’s younger brother. My step uncle. Wealthy, ruthless, carved from stone. Every inch of him screamed danger, temptation, sin.
“Sweetheart,” his voice rolled through the hall, low and commanding, “get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.” He started toward me, eyes sharp, mouth set in a hard line.
I froze. “What are you doing here?” My tone was harsher than I intended, but shock left no room for gentleness.
“No one told you?” His gaze slid past me, casual, controlled, but the air between us crackled. “I’m staying for a few days.”
My stomach knotted. He knew this house better than anyone—he’d given it to us, after all. After my father died , everything had fallen apart. My mother and I were seconds from losing everything until my mother married into fortune. My step father was older than him but he had nothing, it’s Adam who funded us, our lifestyle, our home. Pirks of being a billionaire's big brother I guess. The mansion, the cars, the glittering comfort—his brother’s empire had saved us. But the crueler twist of fate was him. This man. A curse dressed in power and beauty.
“Lyra.” My name dropped from his lips like a command. His baritone pulled me from the whirl of memory. “You’re shivering.” He held out a towel, green eyes catching mine with a flicker of something dangerous.
That flicker died when his gaze slipped lower. I followed it, too slow, realizing too late. My soaked white shirt clung to my chest, nipples hard and shameless without a bra to hide them.
His jaw tightened. The muscle ticked. And then I saw it—the sudden strain against his trousers, impossible to disguise.
My heart slammed into my ribs. I snatched the towel from his hand, clutching it to my chest, and ran. The bathroom door shut behind me with a slam, my breath ragged as thunder cracked outside.
When I emerged later, wrapped in a robe, the hallway was empty, I went to my bedroom, my safe haven. He wouldn’t come up here… but I want him too. Damn it I need to keep my mind in check, this is just a stupid stupid crush, he doesn’t think like that. I’m just being an idiot.
But the knock came minutes after. I opened the door to find him—hair wet, skin damp, the clean scent of lavender clinging to him. He leaned against the frame, wearing nothing but shorts that hung low on his hips. Did he take a shower? Was it because of me… no, no, nothing like that Lyra, he is your uncle.off limits…but I want too…I want him.
“Your mother and father won’t be home tonight,” he said evenly.
My grip on the towel tightened. “Why?” I should have changed but I ended up on my bed doomscrolling through tiktok again and now my head is running wild.
“The roads are flooded. They’ve checked into a lodge. They’ll be back tomorrow.” His voice was calm, but his gaze betrayed him—dipping, dragging, fighting the battle of a man barely in control.
“No…” My whisper shook. “They can’t.” Because I knew. Alone in this house with him, temptation wouldn’t just simmer—it would boil over.
“Get dressed properly,” he muttered, his voice rough, slamming the door shut behind him. “Then come downstairs for dinner.” The word “properly” landed like a threat.
I sat there frozen, pulse hammering. He’d never said it out loud before—never admitted he saw me. It had always been me, burning in silence. But tonight felt different. He was cracking. And if I pushed just a little harder, he would fall with me.
My hand trembled as I pulled out the dress. A pink slip of fabric that clung to curves like a second skin. A gift from a brand I’d modeled for—a dress I’d never dared to wear in front of him. Until now.
I slid it on, the hem brushing mid-thigh, my breasts pressing against the satin, nipples hardened to peaks. I bit my lip at my reflection—hungry, reckless, dangerous—and went downstairs.
He was already at the table, pouring wine into a glass. The moment his eyes found me, the room shifted. His pupils darkened, his jaw locked, his knuckles tightened around the bottle.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice was raw, coarse, a snarl forced through clenched teeth. He shut his eyes, cursed under his breath, then set the glass down with a violent thud.
“I’m trying to control myself,” he growled, standing, towering, every muscle tight with restraint. “And you’re making it fucking impossible.”