Her Demon Uncle

The barn was sweltering, the air thick and heavy. My best friend, Isabella Roscente, was perched on Benjamin Lowell's lap.

Her pale, delicate legs were parted just so.

Half-hidden, half-exposed, like ripe fruit ready for the picking.

"Hell, she's tender," Benjamin growled, his eyes devouring her as he moved with the frantic energy of a starved animal.

I was hidden behind a stack of hay, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, forcing my body to stay still.

Just as my knees started to buckle, Benjamin looked up and spotted me. "Good girl," he called out, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "You're next!"

...

Isabella had met a man online named Benjamin Lowell. He lived out in the sticks.

It only took a few days for him to completely charm her, mostly by flaunting his labor-hardened body.

He was sun-baked and dark, his muscles solid—a walking fortress of a man.

The most shocking part? In all his selfies, Benjamin was only ever wearing a pair of boxer shorts.

"Come to your uncle, sweetheart. I've been alone too long. I'll give you anything you want," he'd croon in his videos, thrusting his hips to show off a desire he wasn't even trying to hide.

Isabella would stare at her phone, her face a perfect picture of longing.

She bounced on the edge of my bed, practically buzzing. "Summer break is almost here! Please, come with me to visit my uncle in the countryside?"

I kept packing my suitcase. "What's even out there?"

"He's got a plow ox! We can get a real taste of rural life, and you can get some painting done!"

We were both art students. A countryside trip was supposed to be great for creative inspiration.

But back then, Isabella failed to mention that this "uncle" was just some random guy she'd met on the internet. I thought he was actual family, so I agreed.

We took a train to the middle of nowhere.

A man who looked to be in his forties or fifties was there to pick us up.

His eyes lit up the second he saw me. "Isabella, who's this? A friend?"

"Hello, Uncle," I said, trying to be polite.

"Good, good..." Benjamin swallowed hard, his gaze raking over us like we were a feast and he hadn't eaten in weeks. Years of isolation must have driven him half-feral.

As I walked past him, I could feel his eyes burning into my back, locked onto the curve of my hips.

"Two for the price of one!" I heard him mutter under his breath. "Both so pretty. What a lucky man I am."

Inside the farmhouse, Benjamin led me to a shabby little room.

The walls were bare wooden planks, and the only real piece of furniture was a large, simple bed.

I'd just set my luggage down, ready to collapse, when Benjamin walked in.

"Sweetie, Isabella tells me you're a painter? Life drawing and all that?"

Figuring he was just her friendly uncle, I gave him a smile. "Yes, that's my major."