Forbidden Affair With My Step Uncle

CHAPTER 7 : 85 Degrees.

ISABELLA’S POV ~

Isabella shut the bedroom door behind her and rested against it. Her heart was beating wildly as if she had just run a marathon. The taste of strawberry and victory hung on her lips.

She had listened to all of Callahan’s rules, paying attention to them as he counted on his fingers like a man signing his own death warrant. Twenty-three years older. Victor’s trust. Reputation. The company. The age gap. Guilt.

She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled gradually. Rules are cute. But she was not in Malibu to follow them.

She took off his white shirt and let it fall next to her, then she stood naked in the light that hit the room straight from the windows. Her body was already a live-wire, n*****s hard, p***y still wet from rubbing against him on the bed. She was aware of the phantom of his thick c**k pressing between her folds, the wet mark he left on his sweatpants. He wanted her. Desperately. The rules were just armor. And armor is meant to be taken off.

Isabella unlocked the suitcase and picked her next weapon with due consideration. Not the tiniest bikini, not yet. That would be too obvious.

She took a modest white one-piece that Victor would have only approved of until she put it on. The material was thin, very stretchable, and cut almost up to the waist with a plunging neckline that hardly held her breasts. At the front it gave an impression of almost being innocent.

At the back, the suit was very low, exposing not only the top curve of her ass, but also the dimples at the base of her spine. One pull and it would fall off. Perfect.

She completed her ensemble with a sheer white cover-up that hid nothing and slipped on strappy sandals. Then she took a bottle of coconut sunscreen and went downstairs.

Callahan was in the home office next to the living room, door half-open, voice low on a business call. She hesitated in the corridor just long enough to catch his words.

“Blackthorns latest offer is insulting to our company. Tell the board we're not selling. And get me the latest security report on the girl, Victor's daughter. I want eyes on every entrance.”

Her stomach turned over. Even now, while he was struggling to control his own arousal, he was still thinking about protecting her. The thought only made her desire stronger.

She came out from behind the corner, cover-up fluttering around her thighs.

“Going to the pool,” she said gently, showing him the sunscreen. “You said I've got to dress appropriately. This covers all the important parts.”

Callahan's head swung around. His glance raked over her as if they were hands, stopping on the deep V of the cleavage, the way the bikini was almost glued to the waist, her unveiled long legs. His mouth clenched so tightly that the muscle beneath his jaw stood out. He put the call on mute.

“Isabella,” he uttered in a constrained tone. “We just talked about this.”

“I’m sticking to the rules.”

She slowly turned around, showing him her back. The swimsuit was cut very revealingly, the thin white fabric disappearing between the cheeks.

“Look? No flashing. No crawling into your bed. Just a girl trying to get some sun before her internship starts on Monday.”

His stare was burning her ass. She felt it as if it were a physical touch.

“Put on a robe,” he commanded. “Its eighty-five degrees outside.”

She grinned back at him. “You wouldn't want me to overheat, would you, Uncle Cal?”

“I’ll be by the infinity pool,” she said, innocent as pie. “If you need me for anything, sunscreen, company, whatever, you know where to find me.”

Then he rose, standing tall behind his desk, his sweatpants replaced with dark jeans which however did very little to conceal the prominent bulge in his zipper.

Isabella's mouth watered.

He unmuted the line with a brisk click. “Finish the report and send it to me. Now.”

She headed off before he could say a word to her, swaying her hips with every step. She sensed his gaze on her all through the glass door.

The outside was scorched by the sun. Isabella tossed the cover-up on a lounge chair and lay on the ground on her stomach, unfastening the halter straps so that the suit opened on her back. She placed the bottle of sunscreen near her.

And began to wait.

Minutes passed.

She heard the sliding door open and footsteps emerging.

Callahan halted beside the pool deck, with his arms folded and wearing sunglasses that covered his eyes but she didn’t need to see them to know he was getting an erection again. The front of his jeans was pulled tightly enough to reveal the outline of his erection.

“You are supposed to be working,” she whispered without raising her head.

“You are supposed to be following rules,” he answered, voice hoarse.

“I am.” She leaned back and moved the sunscreen bottle closer. “Unfortunately, I cannot reach my back. Besides, you said dress appropriately. This is appropriate. Help me out?”

Silence.

Then his shadow blocked her. He took the bottle from her. The cap popped off. The cold lotion touched her skin. After which came big, warm hands.

At first, Callahan’s touch was impersonal, shoulders, spine, waist indentation. But when he got to her lower back, his fingers stopped. The swimsuit had shifted up; half of her buttocks were exposed. His thumbs grazed the tender skin just above the garment.

Isabella tilted back and even pushed slightly against his palms.

His breathing altered.

“You’re pushing it,” he murmured threateningly.

“I am just lying here,” she said so softly. “You’re the one touching me.”

His hands went still. She felt a shaking in them, the conflict of pleasure and restraint.

Suddenly, his phone went off loudly in his pocket. He raised it, saw the caller, and muttered a curse.

“Stay out here,” he said, voice heavy. “I have to take this.”

Then he headed inside, leaving her glistening with sunscreen and victory.

Isabella grinned against the pillow. Phase one complete. She stayed there, listening to the sound of his office door being closed. Finally, she got up, loosely tied the swimsuit and directly went to the master bathroom, well knowing that was the place where he was taking midday showers after workouts.

The door was slightly open. Steam was already wafting out.

She quietly walked in, her heart thumping with the thrilling sense of breaking a rule. The glass shower box was getting foggy. Through the steam, you could see the silhouette of Callahan's broad back as he went under the shower, jeans and shirt on the floor.

Isabella could feel her own pulse thundering through her ears.

She closed the bathroom door.

And waited for him to turn around.