Lustful Nights With Uncle Regan.

Trigger warning ‼️ This isn’t your regular taboo story… read with caution.

Kiara.

Oh fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Uncle Regan’s cock. The way I imagined it… thick, hard, and pulsing in my hand.

I had wanted a taste for so long it made my thighs squeeze together just picturing it. I know how wrong that sounds.

He’s my uncle. But the ache between my legs didn’t care about rules or blood. It never had.

***

My fingers drummed restlessly against the cool granite countertop, my heart hammering in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the savory aroma of my mother’s famous roast chicken filling the kitchen.

The house buzzed with the kind of chaotic energy only a military homecoming could bring.

My two older brothers, Jax and Marcus, both in their late twenties and still living at home while they “figured shit out” were wrestling over the remote in the living room, their deep laughs echoing down the hallway.

Dad was outside firing up the grill as a backup, even though Mom had everything under control. And Mom… Well, she was a whirlwind of nervous excitement, flitting between the oven and the dining table like this was the most important dinner of the decade.

Because, in a way, it was. Uncle Regan was coming home.

I swallowed hard, staring at my reflection in the dark window above the sink. At twenty-two, I liked to think I had my life together.

I had a decent job at the local marketing firm, a boyfriend named Tyler who was sweet and reliable, and a body I’d worked hard to sculpt, curves in all the right places, long dark hair that fell in waves down my back, and full lips I’d painted a soft berry shade tonight.

But as I smoothed down the hem of my sundress, one that hugged my hips just enough to feel a little dangerous, I felt like that awkward teenager again.

The one who used to sneak glances at my uncle during family barbecues, my stomach twisting with a forbidden heat I didn’t understand.

It started when I was sixteen. Regan, then twenty-eight, fresh off his first deployment, had always been the mysterious one.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with that sharp jawline and piercing hazel eyes that seemed to see right through people.

He’d ruffle my hair and call me “kiddo,” but there was something in the way he looked at me as I grew older, lingering for a while that made my pulse race.

I’d fantasized about him in the quiet of my room, touching myself to thoughts of his strong hands, his deep voice murmuring things no uncle should say.

Then he’d left for another tour, and I’d convinced myself it was just a silly crush. Time and distance would kill it. I’d been wrong.

The front door creaked open, and the entire house seemed to hold its breath. My mother let out a joyful cry. “He’s here!”

My legs felt unsteady as I followed the family into the foyer. There he was, Regan, standing in the doorway like a force of nature.

Six-foot-three of pure, hardened muscle wrapped in desert-tan fatigues that stretched across his chest and biceps.

His dark hair was cropped short, military-style, with a hint of silver at the temples that hadn’t been there before.

A fresh scar traced along his left jaw, giving his already rugged face an even more dangerous edge. His duffel bag hung casually from one broad shoulder, and the faint scent of travel-worn leather and clean soap drifted toward me.

God, he looked even better than I remembered. Stronger. More commanding. The kind of man who could pin you down and make you forget every rule in the book.

“Regan!” My father clapped him on the back, pulling him into a bear hug. Jax and Marcus piled on next, their voices overlapping in excited greetings.

Mom was already tearing up, fussing over him like he was still the little boy she’d raised alongside my dad.

And then his eyes found me.

“Kiara.” His voice was deeper than I remembered, roughened by years of barking orders and breathing sand.

A slow smile curved his lips as he stepped forward, arms opening. “Look at you, kiddo. All grown up.”

I stepped into his embrace before I could stop myself. His body was solid heat against mine, arms wrapping around my waist with effortless strength.

I pressed my cheek to his chest, inhaling the scent of him, something masculine and intoxicating that made my thighs clench involuntarily.

The hug lasted a beat longer than it should have. His large hand splayed across my lower back, fingers brushing the curve just above my ass through the thin fabric of my dress. When he pulled back, his hazel eyes locked onto mine, searching.

“You’ve changed,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. His gaze flicked down for the briefest moment, over the swell of my breasts, the way the dress clung to my waist, before snapping back up.

Something dark flickered there. Hunger? Recognition?

My cheeks burned. “So have you, Uncle Regan. Welcome home.”

I forced a bright smile, stepping back as my brothers dragged him toward the living room, already peppering him with questions about his last tour.

I busied myself in the kitchen, pouring drinks and trying to ignore the slick heat building between my legs.

This is ridiculous, I scolded myself. He’s your uncle. Family. And you have Tyler. Tyler, who was supposed to come by later. Sweet, safe Tyler, who never made me feel like my skin was on fire.

Dinner was a loud, joyful affair. The long oak table groaned under platters of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, grilled vegetables, and fresh bread.

Regan sat at the head like the returning king he was, regaling us with carefully edited stories from overseas, close calls that made my mother pale and my brothers lean in with wide eyes.

I sat across from him, picking at my food, hyper-aware of every shift in his posture.

He’d changed out of his fatigues into a simple black t-shirt and jeans that did nothing to hide the powerful thighs beneath.

The fabric stretched across his chest, outlining the hard planes of muscle earned from years of carrying gear and surviving hell.

When he reached for the salt, his forearm flexed, veins standing out in sharp relief. My mind wandered to dangerous places, those arms holding me down, that rough voice growling commands in my ear.

“Kiara, honey, you’re quiet tonight,” my mother said, nudging me gently. “Tell your uncle about your job. She’s doing so well at the firm, Regan. Real creative type.”

I blinked, tearing my eyes away from the way Regan’s throat moved as he swallowed a sip of beer. “It’s nothing exciting. Mostly social media campaigns and graphic design. Pays the bills.”

Regan’s eyes met mine again, steady and intense. “Creative, huh? Always knew you had that spark. Remember when you used to draw those comics for me before I shipped out? Still got the one with the soldier superhero in my locker the whole time.”

Heat flooded my face. Those comics had been my clumsy, teenage way of staying close to him, heroic versions of him saving the day, always with a secret admirer watching from the shadows.

“Yeah… that was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he said softly. His foot brushed mine under the table, accidental? The contact sent electricity shooting up my leg. I didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

The conversation shifted to Regan’s plans. He was staying with us for a while, at least until he found his footing again.

“Just need some time to decompress,” he explained, his deep voice rumbling. “Military life doesn’t exactly prepare you for picking out throw pillows and grocery runs.”

“You can stay as long as you need,” Dad assured him. “Guest room’s all yours. Kiara’s down the hall if you need anything.”

My pulse spiked at the thought of him sleeping just a few doors away. Night after night. Hearing him move around in the quiet hours. Maybe even catching glimpses of him fresh from the shower, water dripping down that sculpted torso…

“Tyler coming over later?” Jax asked, smirking at me across the table. “Your boy’s been glued to you lately.”

I shot him a glare. “Maybe. He’s got work early tomorrow, but he wanted to say hi to Uncle Regan.”

Regan’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Boyfriend, huh?” His tone was casual, but those hazel eyes bored into me like he was dissecting every word. “He treating you right, kiddo?”

“Tyler’s great,” I said quickly, too quickly. “Kind. Stable.” Boring. Nothing like you.

Regan nodded, but the darkness in his gaze lingered. He leaned back in his chair, the t-shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned abdomen.

My mouth went dry. I crossed my legs under the table, pressing my thighs together against the growing ache. Stop it. He’s family. He’s thirty-five. Off-limits.

Dessert was served, Mom’s apple pie with vanilla ice cream, and the family lingered, soaking in the reunion. I volunteered to clear the table, needing movement to burn off the restless energy.

As I reached past Regan for his empty plate, my hip brushed his shoulder. He didn’t move. Instead, his hand steadied my elbow, fingers lingering on my bare skin.

“Careful there,” he said, voice low. His thumb brushed once, slowly, sending shivers racing across my body.

I met his eyes. Time stretched. The chatter around us faded to a distant hum. For a heartbeat, it was just the two of us, years of unspoken tension crackling like live wire.

His pupils dilated, gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before flicking back up. Something raw and possessive flashed across his face, gone so fast I might have imagined it.

“Kiara?” My mother’s voice broke the spell. “You okay, sweetie? You look flushed.”

I jerked back, nearly dropping the plates. “Fine! Just… warm in here.”

Regan’s lips curved into a knowing half-smile as he stood, towering over me. “I’ll help with the dishes. Least I can do after that meal.”

In the kitchen, we worked side by side. The space felt too small, too intimate. Every time he passed behind me, his body heat brushed my back.

When he reached for a high cabinet, his chest grazed my shoulder. I could feel the hard ridges of muscle, the restrained power.

“You really have grown up,” he murmured while the water ran, masking his words from the others. “Not my little kiddo anymore.”

My breath hitched. I turned, finding him much closer than expected. “No. I’m not.”

His eyes darkened again, that dangerous hunger rising to the surface. For a moment, I thought he might close the gap, press me against the counter, and…

“Regan! Come tell us more about that last mission!” Marcus called from the living room.

Regan exhaled sharply, stepping back. But as he walked away, he glanced over his shoulder, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper meant only for me.

“We’ll talk later, Kiara.”

I stood there, heart pounding, body alight with forbidden need. The crush hadn’t died. It had only grown sharper, hungrier.

And now, with him living under the same roof, I wasn’t sure how long I could resist testing the limits.

As the family settled in for stories and laughter, I slipped upstairs for a moment to catch my breath.

But when I glanced out my bedroom window toward the driveway, I saw Tyler’s car pulling up.

Holy shit! Not now that Uncle Regan was around… This was going to be torture.