The whole week had seemed a laboured stretch before Poppy, full of anticipation and filthy thoughts about Uncle Drey.

His scent on the stolen boxers, the wet spot she’d left on his pillow, the way his eyes had lingered on her cleavage—it was all fuel for the fire burning between her legs that seemed incessant.

Clark had been convenient; she had used him as an outlet all week, but he just wasn’t Uncle Drey.

Even when Clark had pushed inside her on her bed, when his mouth was hot on her pussy, when his hands fumbled under her shirt, groping her breasts, she had used it all as a way to project the man she wanted, the man she needed, in Clark's place, so when her mother had told her they were hosting a family party at their house this weekend, it seemed perfect to take another step to getting closer to her uncle. She had a clear plan, a plan she fully intended and would execute this weekend, and if she carried it out right, she would be getting fucked by her uncle.

She had helped her mother pick out her dress for the party, her intention not just to be helpful to her mother; she needed to know what her mother would be wearing for the party for her plan to work.

Clark and Poppy had gone shopping on Wednesday. It took Poppy a little while, but she found the same dress in her size; it was exactly like her mother's. She couldn't find the same shoes but got something very similar. Poppy held the silky fabric in her hands, a perfect duplicate. Clark broke her thought; Poppy treated him to a BJ in the changing rooms to reward him and also because she was more than a little excited at her plan.

On the day of the party, Poppy dressed in a little tight blue dress, then she hung her replica dress and shoes behind her bedroom door. She checked what perfume her mother was wearing and the hairstyle she went for; Poppy copied both.

The family arrived, and Poppy made sure everyone was drinking, topping up glasses to make sure people were getting tipsy. She moved through the crowded living room with a bottle of wine, a sweet, helpful smile plastered on her face. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic counter-rhythm to the casual chatter and clinking glasses.

Poppy kept looking over at Drey, really aware of how handsome he was and how her aunt and mother did not deserve such a man. He was leaning against the fireplace, his laughter a low, warm rumble that cut through the noise and went straight to her core. She watched the way his hand, holding a glass of whisky, gestured as he talked, the strength in his fingers, and imagined them digging into her hips.

She saw her mother, Tess, laughing a little too loudly at something Jeff said, her face flushed with drink. Her aunt Katie was fussing with a platter of food, her attention fragmented. They were both oblivious, unworthy of the masculine energy Drey possessed. They didn't see the huntress beneath the sweet façade she projected, how Poppy intended to enjoy the hunt.

The opportunity arrived when Tess excused herself to use the downstairs bathroom. Poppy’s pulse skyrocketed. She slipped her hand into her mother’s purse, which was slung over a dining chair, and retrieved the phone. Her fingers worked quickly.

She found Drey’s contact and typed the message she had rehearsed in her mind for days. “Hurry, come to my bedroom. I'm bent over; just come in and stick it in me. Fuck me quick before we are missed, and let's not say anything or mention it ever again.” She hit send, deleted the message from the sent folder, and slid the phone back into the purse like nothing had happened. Her entire body was trembling; even though she had played this dozens of times in her mind, it was now real, and oh, how sexy she thought.

Without a second glance, she ducked out of the room and sprinted upstairs as best she could in her tight dress; she felt her breasts bounce as she bounded upwards, taking the steps two at a time. In her room, she tore off her blue dress. She pulled the duplicate of her mother’s dress over her head, the fabric washing over her skin. She stepped into the similar heels, her hands shaking as she fastened the thin straps.

Poppy marched into her parents' room and closed the door. She drew the curtains slightly, letting only the little outside light into the dark room, her breathing ragged. The faint sounds of the party below were a distant murmur. She positioned herself at the foot of her bed and slid her panties to the floor; bending over at the waist, she pressed her chest to the mattress, presenting herself exactly as the message had promised.

Poppy made sure the hem of the dress was bunched high against her back, her panties. She was completely exposed, utterly vulnerable, and more turned on than she had ever been in her life.

The wait was an agony of seconds, each one stretching into an eternity. Then, the doorknob turned. The door slowly opened.

Poppy turned her head to make sure the hall light didn't ruin her plan.

The door closed with a soft, definitive click.

"Wow, this is risky, but I like it; that ass looks great. You want this? right here while at the family party?" she heard her uncle say.

"Shhhhh," Poppy said, eager for him to get on with it and also to avoid conversation; there was less chance of it not working, she felt.

"Oh right, no talking, just two strangers hooking up in a bedroom at a party; we could be anyone." Drey reminded himself.

His footsteps closed in on her; she was so ready.

She guessed he had already got his hard cock out because he was now behind her and pushing forward, one hand on her hip.

She heard his sharp, low intake of breath even over her own moan as he began to slide up and down her.

Poppy's plan was working.

“Fuck, Tess, you are so wet.” Drey’s voice was rough, stripped of all its social pleasantness. He didn’t hesitate. His hands, large and warm, gripped her hips.

"Shhhh," she said again between moans.

She felt the insistent pressure of his cock, already slick with his own arousal, pressing against her entrance. He was thick and perfect. “So wet for me,” he grunted, his voice a dark promise.

He pressed himself to the hilt inside her. A choked, passionate moan was torn from Poppy’s throat, overwhelmed with pleasure.

“So tight, Tess,” he growled, his grip on her hips tightening.

"Shhhh," she repeated. Desperately, she wanted to hear her own name, but not tonight; tonight was about just having him for this quick moment.

He began to move, pounding rhythmically, which shoved her forward with every thrust. The bedframe creaked in protest. Each slam of his body against hers sent a jolt of pure, undiluted ecstasy through her nerves; he was ten times better than her fantasy, a hundred times better than Clark.

She could feel the coarse hair of his legs against her bare thighs. The air was thick with the scent of sex and his cologne. 

His thrusts were forceful but perfect. Poppy buried her face in the duvet to muffle her cries, each deep penetration better than the last.

Poppy could only nod frantically, her body trembling on the edge.

"I want to feel you come on my cock," he said.

That was all it took. Her orgasm ripped through her, and she felt her body tremble and shudder, the grip on her hips and the bed below her keeping her from falling at the seizing intensity, her internal muscles clenching around his shaft in a series of violent, fluttering spasms. She bit the sheets to choke the sound; it was the only thing that she could manage.

Feeling her convulse around him tipped him over the edge. He began deep drives and a low, animalistic groan; he fucked her until he emptied himself inside her, his hot release flooding her in pulsing jets. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, his body shuddering against hers for a long, breathless moment.

The only sounds were their ragged, struggling breaths and the faint murmur of the party below. He slowly pulled out, the sudden absence of him making her feel hollow, exposed. The cool air hit the wetness between her thighs, a stark reminder of what had just happened.

She could sense him tuck himself away, his movements brisk and quiet. "Jesus Christ," he breathed, almost to himself. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "That was fucking incredible. We are definitely doing that again. That was the best ever."

Poppy waved a hand, her face still buried in the covers as she caught her breath.

"Shit, sorry, no talk." He kissed her back and left.

Poppy listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall. The door clicked shut, sealing her in the dark, scent-filled room. She stayed bent over for a moment, savouring the deep, throbbing fuck he’d left with her, his wet warmth trickling down her inner thigh.

A giddy, triumphant laugh bubbled up in her chest, but she stifled it, pressing her face into the mattress. She had done it. She had actually fucking done it. 

She finally pushed herself upright, her legs feeling unsteady. The smell of sex and his cologne was potent on her skin and on the dress. She needed to move; Poppy could only smile as she pulled her panties back on. Slipping out of her parents' room, she padded quickly and silently down the hall to her own.

Once inside, she locked her door and leaned against it, catching her breath. Her reflection in the full-length mirror was a revelation. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, her eyes glittering with a feral light. Her mother’s clone dress was rumpled, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. She slowly peeled it off, letting it pool on the floor at her feet before placing it in a box she had prepared as a trophy holder if she were successful.

“Fuck yes,” she whispered to her reflection, her voice husky.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her face as she felt a fresh trickle of his warm release trying to escape to her inner thigh. This was better than any fantasy she’d ever concocted in his bedroom, better than the exploration into her bedroom.

Slipping back into her original blue dress, she felt the soft cotton against her sensitised skin, every nerve ending still singing. She took a deep, steadying breath, composed her features into a mask of casual indifference, and opened her bedroom door.

The party noise washed over her again, a wave of mundane chatter and clinking glass. She descended almost like a falling snowflake, each step a deliberate act of normalcy while the memory of his pounding rhythm echoed in her core.

She found her mother first, still by the dining table, laughing with a neighbour. “There you are, Poppy! I was wondering where you’d disappeared to,” Tess said, her speech slightly slurred from wine.

“Really,” Poppy replied, her voice remarkably even. She leaned in to adjust a platter of cheese, acutely aware of the dampness between her legs, another hidden reward. “Everything okay out here?”

“Better than okay! Uncle Drey’s in a fantastical mood,” Tess giggled, nodding towards the kitchen and holding her daughter’s arm firmly.

 Poppy's eyes met his across the room, and her world narrowed. A flicker of something dark and knowing passed through her gaze, so fast she almost missed it. It wasn’t the innocent look of a niece to an uncle; it was the look of a woman who was far from settling. Poppy was only getting started.