
Seducing My Fiance's Uncle
"Don't you dare touch me. You bloody monster," Eric whispered glaring at me, which only turned me on the more.
A beautiful smile crossed my lips; luckily for us, his fake mother was so focused on Katherine, she did not know I was fucking her son before her eyes.
"So I am now a monster, huh? That was not what you said yesterday. Or have you forgotten about our hot night?" I asked as I traced my way to his lap again, approaching his groin area.
He swallowed hard, his eyes roaming around. "Damien. I am Katherine's fiancé. your niece" He reminded me as my hands reached his groan, caressing it through the layers of his trousers.
"Yesterday you were Mike's boyfriend, and what did I tell you? I don't give a fuck!," I whispered back. "Now be quiet and try to control yourself" .
Eric's life is thrown upside down when his brother is killed on his coronation day, and he now has to become the king. and he can't because he is gay and he has a boyfriend who he loves dearly, or so he thought until he met Damien Monetro, his fiancée's uncle and his former one-night stand
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
Eric's POV
My eyes stayed glued to the door; it's been two hours. Two fucking hours with a lot of pleading before Mike agreed to meet me here, and still he has not even shown up; neither has he given me a call or a text to let me know that he was not coming. He just left me hanging.
I fetched my phone and typed another text: "Babe, please just give me a chance to explain everything to you. Don't give up on us." It showed two ticks; he had read it, and yet no answer, not even typing.
Thankfully, the club was holding a masked party, so it had my face covered. No one would know that the prince of Elorida was sitting here with a crestfallen face as the love of his life snubbed him.
With every minute that passed, my hope for him showing up reduced drastically.
"One more glass," I said, tossing my glass to the bartender. He looked at me with soft eyes and shook his head. He has seen me ordering countless glasses while waiting for Mike.
Worse still, the alcohol was beginning to have an effect on me. He gave me a sad smile before walking to attend to others. I took the glass in a gulp, the burn settling down in my chest.
"Is this seat taken?" a deep baritone voice asked. I raised my eyes from my half-filled glass and looked at the man who just spoke.
My breath hitched the second our eyes met. His intense blue eyes stared at me, sending shivers down my spine. He should probably be in his late thirties. I sucked in a deep breath trying to gain control of myself.
My eyes subconsciously swept round his whole body. From his long, dark, curly hair that stopped at his neck to his dark, bushy eyebrows, blue yes, chiselled jaw. My eyes moved to his neck, and I swallowed hard.
He had one of my greatest weak points. Adam's apple. He was putting on black trousers paired with a white long-sleeved shirt. His sleeves rolled to his arms, revealing his vein filled arms and hairy skin.
"When you are done drooling. You should answer my question. Is this seat taken?" he asked again. I swallowed hard, my speech coming back to me.
Would Mike come or not? What if he does not come? He could be out there spending the night with someone else. I swallowed hard.
Can't let this one pass me by. Not like I was going to fuck him or anything, but to just enjoy the beautiful sight. I shook my head, feeling my cheek becoming red. "No, you can take it," I said.
He gave me a curt nod as a smirk graced his face. He turned to the bartender and asked for a drink.
The bartender smiled when he saw us. Immediately assumed that he was the one I was waiting for. "He almost had a panic attack thinking you won't come," he whispered as he set the drink on the table.
The stranger's eyes looked at me with a raised eyebrow as he sipped his wine slowly. "So this seat is for someone?" he asked.
I shrugged, "I don't think he would come. I have been waiting for two hours now," I said.
He shook his head. " I see. So what if he walked in as we were talking? What would you do?" He asked, his deep baritone voice sending chills around my whole body. His look was too intense; he was too goddamn attractive.
I could feel every bit of my patience slipping off me. Every integrity I had to not cheat was flying out the window. " I don't know. Depend on how well we had gotten close to at that time," I said.
He smiled, his eyes glittering with nothing but lust and desire. "You are beautiful," he said casually, his eyes not leaving mine as he drank his wine.
. A pink hue covered my cheek. I cleaned my sweaty palms on my jean trousers. "Thank you," I said in a hushed voice.
He nodded with a smile, "And you are blushing. I like it. I like it when my guys blush." Gosh! What the hell has gotten over me?
I have a boyfriend who I am trying to make up with, and here I am, blushing over someone's compliment.
Mike would be so angry at me if he found out. I better leave before I regret my actions. "Erm, I have to go," I said and reached out for my phone, which was lying on the table.
He held my hands. Stopping me on track. My skin burned with his contact. Looked like I was under fire. I could feel my erection gradually growing.
"Stay," he said, his voice laced with a plead. His hands left me, and just when I thought the torture was over, his fingers placed on my skin again, trailing down to my hands gently, sending more shivers down my dick.
Thank fuck. I was putting on tight trousers; I bet my dick was fully out already.
"Damien, you came," a woman said as she walked towards him. He smiled, his eyes still on me. "Get down on your knees," he told the woman.
she immediately went on her knees as he smiled at her. He mouthed to me, "Watch."
The woman slowly unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his abs. I swallowed hard. The urge to be the woman and not her came running down my spine. He took the half-filled glass and brought the glass to his lips and slowly poured the drink down his skin.
I watched with hungry eyes as the drink travelled down his throat to his six-packed chest. What the hell. She immediately placed her tongue on his throat, licking the drink down, one of her hands between his nipples.
The urge to be the woman doing this overshadowed me. I wanted to be anything but the watcher. Wanted to be the drink or the woman. Let my tongue be on his skin. Tasting the alcohol, his wear and the sin.
Pain settled on my groin; I could feel my painful erection. This was pure seduction. "Get out," he ordered. She stopped and walked away.
He stood up, exposing his chest, and walked around to my side. "You could be the one doing that. Taking my cock," he whispered as his hot breath burnt my skin.
" I have a boyfriend," I whispered.
His hands moved to my chest, stopping at my nipple. "I don't care," he said as he pinched my nipple.
"I don't want you," I lied with ease.
He chuckled, his deep chuckle vibrating against my skin. "Your dick says otherwise," he said as his hands trailed down to my erection.
His hands traced it, making my erection harden till it cost me pain.
"Fuck me," I moaned subconsciously. As his hands grabbed my dick. He turned my face around and slammed his lips into it. He tasted just like I expected. Like sin, lust, desire and anger, and the worst thing was that I had willingly given myself up to be used as he willed.
Our lips connected with each other as we kissed, desire matching desire. I closed my eyes, pouring everything I had into it. All my emotions, including my pain, heartbreak, and grief. Everything in it.
"Let's get out of here," he whispered as he pulled away. I followed him blindly, not caring where the hell he was going to take me to.
You may also like

7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.

7.1
I was the Architect who built the digital fortress for the most feared Don in New York.
To the world, I was Brendan Wiggins’s silent, elegant Queen.
But then my burner phone buzzed under the dinner table.
It was a photo from his mistress: a positive pregnancy test.
"Your husband is celebrating right now," the caption read. "You are just the furniture."
I looked across the table at Brendan. He smiled and held my hand, lying to my face without blinking.
He thought he owned me because he saved my life ten years ago.
He told her I was just "functional." That I was a barren asset he kept around to look respectable, while she carried his legacy.
He thought I would accept the disrespect because I had nowhere else to go.
He was wrong.
I didn't want to divorce him—you don't divorce a Don.
And I didn't want to kill him. That was too easy.
I wanted to erase him.
I liquidated fifty million dollars from the offshore accounts only I could access. I destroyed the servers I had built.
Then, I contacted a black-market chemist for a procedure called "Tabula Rasa."
It doesn't kill the body. It wipes the mind clean. A total hard reset of the soul.
On his birthday, while he was out celebrating his bastard son, I drank the vial.
When he finally came home to find the empty house and the melted wedding ring, he realized the truth.
He could burn the world down looking for me, but he would never find his wife.
Because the woman who loved him no longer existed.

8.1
Samira James has two weeks left.
Two weeks until she turns eighteen.
Two weeks until everything changes.
And a few months left trapped in high school with the boy she hates most.
Calvin Simms has been her enemy for as long as she can remember. Popular, untouchable, and the living reminder of a childhood misunderstanding neither of them ever corrected. Their interactions are sharp, heated, and carefully controlled.
Until they aren't.
As months pass, tension replaces silence.
Jealousy replaces indifference.
And lines blur where hatred once lived.
With rivals watching, secrets resurfacing, and temptation growing harder to ignore, Samira must decide if sticking to her rules is worth denying what her body and her heart are already choosing.
Because some mistakes feel too good to stop.
And sometimes...
you don't fall for the person you want.
You fall for the one you swore to hate.

7.5
I was the adopted daughter of the wealthy Ruiz family, but the moment their true heir appeared, I was thrown away like trash.
Not long after being kicked out, my adoptive father and uncle hired a hitman to stage a fatal car crash on Mulholland Drive.
Pinned under an overturned Porsche with a shattered leg, I watched the hitman point a suppressed pistol between my eyes.
"The Ruiz family sends their regards."
Before this, my reputation had already been completely destroyed by a director, a pop idol, and a reality TV star, leaving me blacklisted and universally hated.
My adoptive family didn't just want me ruined; they wanted me permanently silenced to tie up loose ends.
The hitman pulled the trigger, and the original Alicia died in despair, tasting only rain and blood.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand.
Why did the family she loved treat her like a disposable object? Why did those three men maliciously frame her and turn the world against her?
Opening my eyes again, the fear was gone, replaced by an ancient, cosmic indifference.
I, the Arbiter, had taken over this deceased vessel.
Moving faster than the human eye, I crushed the hitman's steel gun with my bare hand and turned his soul into dust.
Looking at the memories of those who wronged this girl, I signed a contract for the very reality show they were starring in.
Since I borrowed this body, taking out the trash is a required courtesy.

8.2
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.

7.3
While I was pregnant, my husband held a party downstairs for another woman's son.
Through a hidden mental link, I overheard my husband, Don Dante Rossi, tell his consigliere he was going to publicly reject me tomorrow. He planned to make his mistress, Serena, his new mate.
An act forbidden by ancient law while I carried his heir.
Later, Serena cornered me, her smile venomous. When Dante appeared, she shrieked, clawing her own arm and blaming me for the attack.
Dante didn't even look at me. He snarled a command that froze my body and stole my voice, ordering me from his sight as he cradled her.
He moved her and her son into our master suite. I was demoted to the guest room at the end of the hall.
Passing her open door, I saw him rocking her baby, humming the lullaby my own mother used to sing to me.
I heard him promise her, "Soon, my love. I'll sever the bond and give you the life you deserve."
The love I felt for him, the power I'd hidden for four years to protect his fragile ego, all turned to ice.
He thought I was a weak, powerless wife he could discard. He was about to find out that the woman he betrayed was Alessia De Luca, princess of the most powerful family on the continent.
And I was finally going home.