Five years ago, he was just Uncle Frank, the man who bought me ice creams and toys.

Five years later, he returned dripping with a dark, suffocating masculinity, becoming the forbidden fruit I was desperate to taste.

I may look like an innocent nineteen-year-old, but I can tell you actually I’m a bad girl at heart.

I teased him relentlessly—bending over in front of him on purpose, parading around in nightgowns that barely covered my ass just to torture him. I watched his dark eyes shift from restraint to raw hunger, watching him teeter on the crumbling edge of his morality.

“I can’t do this, Bella. You’re my best friend’s daughter,” he had groaned, his voice thick with torture.

But the night I pushed open his bedroom door when he was masturbating, all his resistance shattered.

Now, I won’t let him stop. Not even when my dad’s video call lights up the screen. Even as I smile innocently into the camera, pretending nothing is wrong, I need Frank to keep thrusting deep inside me.