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I drop down onto the bed and blow out a long breath, feeling the muscles in my shoulders loosen and unclench for the first time since I got into town. Rolling over onto my side, I look at the framed pictures that sit on top of my desk. The first one my eyes fall on is a photo of my father and Uncle Bastian from their early days with the fire department. They were so young and seemed so happy back then. My father would eventually go on to become the captain at Firehouse 132 and Uncle Bastian was his lieutenant. And neither of them ever seemed as happy again as they did in that picture on my desk.
Sebastian—Bastian to us—isn’t my real uncle, of course. He’s been my dad’s best friend since long before I was born. He’s my godfather. And I’ve grown up with the biggest crush on him. At six-four with short, neatly styled sandy-blonde hair, eyes the color of polished emeralds, and the body of an NFL linebacker, he’s a gorgeous man. He’s toned, his body taut with corded muscle, a trim waist, and an ass that fills out a pair of jeans really nicely.
Bastian probably could have been an underwear model if he wanted to. The fact that he’s a firefighter though, is like catnip for women. I’ve seen more than a few all but throwing their panties in his face. Strangely enough, I can’t think of a time when I saw Uncle Bastian with anybody. At least, not for more than a date or two. He’s been alone for almost as far back as I can remember. Or he just doesn’t flaunt his sexual escapades under our noses. Either way, I’m glad he hasn’t because the last thing I want in my head is the image of Bastian fucking some other woman.
I know it’s wrong. I know it’s tacky, crass, crude, and a thousand other things, but the moment I got to the service and saw Bastian, I felt my heart start to race, and a quiver run through my body. A ball of warmth formed in my belly that hasn’t let up since and my panties are almost as wet as if I’d just dunked them in a bucket of water. I’m literally dripping, and I can’t stop imagining feeling Bastian’s big arms around me, his mouth on mine, and that hard cock inside of me. It’s terrible beyond measure but I would kill somebody to have him come into my room and fuck my brains out right now.
The mere thought makes my cheeks flush with warmth. I’m not like this. At least, I’m not like this with anybody else. I’m taking classes at a local college now but the boys there don’t interest me. There are more than a few trying to get into my panties, but I know that's all they want from me and it's an absolute turn-off. They don't make my heart race, nor do they get me wet in the way that Bastian does. And I have never once gotten myself off thinking about any of them.
When it comes to my godfather though, I can’t seem to stop touching myself. Can’t seem to stop getting myself off. I know though, that’s as far as it’s going to go. Bastian would never think of me in that way because he’s known me since I was a little kid. He was there when I had scraped up knees from climbing trees and through every moment of my awkward pre-teen years. And even though I’m a grown woman now with a grown woman’s body, I don’t think he’s ever going to see me as anything other than that gangly, gawky kid I once was.
The door opens and as if merely thinking his name summoned him, Bastian steps in, his large frame filling the doorway. He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes traveling across my body in a way that fills my belly with a warmth that spreads through me. I didn’t think I could get any wetter but that smoldering gaze of Bastian’s proves me wrong.
He walks into my room carrying a plate of food and a glass of what looks like wine and sets them down on my desk beside the picture I was just looking at then turns to me.
“You should eat,” he says.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat something, baby girl.”
“I said I’m not hungry.”
His biceps strain against his shirt as he folds his arms over his chest and perches on the edge of my desk. The expression on his face is dark but not unkind. What I wouldn’t give though, to see the warm, electric smile on his face he’s got in the picture he’s sitting next to.
“How are you holding up?” he asks.
The deep rumble in his voice sounds like thunder and washes over my body deliciously, making me quiver. The warmth of my desire burning in my sex is almost overwhelming. As I’ve gotten older, my thirst for him has only grown deeper and more intense. I do everything in my power though, to stuff it down and keep him from seeing it. The only thing worse than unrequited passion is when the subject of your desire knows just how badly you want them and still doesn’t want you in return.
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“I can see you’re not,” he presses, his voice firm.
A heavy sigh passes my lips, and my gaze falls to the ground. One thing I remember about Bastian is that he’s always been able to see through me. He’s always been able to cut through my words to decipher my thoughts and see through to my true feelings. Even when I was a kid, he was able to get me to talk to him. I remember having plenty of conversations with Uncle Bastian about things that I now recognize to be trivial, silly things but at the time felt like the weight of the world upon my shoulders. But that was a long time ago.
“Bree. Talk to me,” he demands.
“I just… I feel like a stranger in my own home. I don’t know anybody out there,” I tell him. “But more than that, I feel like I’m supposed to be grieving for a man I didn’t even know anymore. A man who obviously didn’t love me enough to keep me around after my mother died.”
“Your father loved you more than life itself, baby girl.”
Baby girl is something he’s called me for as long as I can remember. Back when I was a kid, it was a cute nickname and nothing more. Now that I’m grown though, there’s something in me that enjoys hearing Bastian call me that. I’m sure those words are innocuous to him by this point and don’t mean anything—not really—but hearing that little endearment fall from his lips sends a ripple of pleasure through my body.
“No, he didn’t. He changed after my mother died. He just stopped loving me.”
“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” Bastian protests.
“Then why did he send me away? If he really loved me, why did he not grieve with me? Why did he send me to that fucking school?”
Opening up to Bastian is the last thing I intended to do, but the words came tumbling out before I can stop them. Bastian’s expression darkens and he looks away for a moment. When he turns his gaze back to me though, there’s a hard gleam in his eyes and I have the sudden feeling I’m not going to like the next words he’s about to speak.
“It wasn’t your father’s idea to send you away, baby girl,” Bastian said. “It was mine. So, if you want to be pissed at somebody, be pissed at me.”
I sometimes really hate being right all the time.
“Well, thank you then, Uncle Bastian,” I growl. “Thanks for ruining my life.”
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