His Good Little Girl

Falling From Grace - Chapter 4

AN UNFOLDING ROMANCE BETWEEN UNCLE MATT AND HIS NIECE GRACE

This story is a slow-burn, emotionally intense journey told through micro-moments, small shifts, and inner dialogue. It explores themes of confusion, longing, caregiving, and the gradual unraveling of boundaries.

Please be aware that this chapter contains:

• Explicit sexual content between two related characters with a large age gap

• Emotional dependency and blurred caregiver roles

Reader discretion is strongly advised.

????✨???? BUT... If you're here for the slow ache and forbidden softness... enjoy and welcome. ????✨????

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He hadn't even made it to noon.

Tried to distract himself.

Tried to clean something. Fold something. Focus.

But she kept brushing up against him. Existing in their shared space.

Not because she was trying to be seductive.

Because she could. It felt right.

He escaped to the shed. Locked the door. Didn't bother turning on the light.

Dropped his jeans. Sat down hard on the old workbench.

His cock was already aching. Angry red. Swollen from everything he wasn't doing to her.

He gripped it with one hand.

Dragged his other hand over his thigh--right where she'd sat while she ate her breakfast.

Right where she'd left a slick little stain.

The fabric was still damp.

He found it. Pressed his fingers into it.

Swiped once. Brought them to his nose.

Inhaled.

Then sucked them into his mouth.

He moaned. Open-mouthed. Raw.

Her taste was soft and sweet and innocent and fucking ruined him.

He closed his eyes.

Jerked himself slowly.

Thought about kissing her belly.

Thought about holding her thighs open while she whimpered, "Please, Uncle Matty..."

Thought about the look on her face when she kissed him the first night. Satiated and proud of herself.

He licked his fingers again. Pressed harder into his cock.

Imagined her sitting on his face. Hoodie riding up. Hair in his hands.

His voice in her ear:

"Be a good girl and let me taste you, babygirl."

He stroked faster.

She would gasp. Shake. Try to be still.

He would praise her until she came.

And she would say thank you.

Because of course she would.

She was perfect.

He came hard. With a sharp, low grunt that echoed off the walls.

Covered his fist. His thighs. His stomach.

Collapsed against the workbench like he'd just survived something.

Maybe he had.

He wiped himself with an old rag, breath ragged, eyes wild.

Then looked down at his hand--still slick--and licked one more stripe from his knuckle.

Because she was in his mouth now.

And he wanted her to stay there.

Forever.

"Good girl," he whispered.

A sigh...

He headed for the house. Grace would wonder where he was. She followed him around like the sweetest little kitten.

Just as he reached the back door, his phone rang.

Liam.

Matt stared at the screen for a long second before answering.

"She's still there?"

Matt didn't answer right away.

"It's been two weeks."

"She's safe."

There was a pause.

"She's our daughter."

Matt's voice hardened. "Liam - she didn't finish high school for fuck's sake," Matt said. "You didn't bother to ask what she wanted to do with her life because you were too busy prepping her soul for the sky."

"She was homeschooled--"

"She was unprepared," Matt snapped. "She's brilliant. She's scared. She's never had a future to look toward because you convinced her there wouldn't be one."

Silence from Liam. Of course. Coward.

Matt hung up.

When he stepped back inside, Grace didn't mention that her little ears had heard the conversation. But later--while he stirred sauce on the stove--she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Pressed her face into his back. Stayed there without a word.

After dinner, they sat at the kitchen table. Her tablet was open between them. Matt pulled up online school options--GED programs, free college prep sites, lists of resources.

She tried to follow.

Took notes at first. Asked questions.

Then got overwhelmed.

"I don't even know where to start. I feel so behind."

Matt gently reached across the table. Moved her hair behind her ear.

"You're not behind," he said. "You've just never had support."

She blinked. Eyes glassy.

"I'm not trying to pressure you," he said. "We'll go at your pace."

She nodded.

"I want to try," she whispered.

"That's all I need."

--

He ran her a bath that evening.

She called him in after a few minutes--voice soft, lazy.

"Too hot," she pouted from behind the door.

He stepped in, adjusted the tap. Swirled the water with his hand until the steam settled. Checked the temperature again with his wrist, like he used to when she was little.

"That's better," he said.

She smiled.

Bare shoulders, flushed cheeks, his hoodie resting on the bathroom counter, waiting.

"Thanks," she said, almost shy.

She let him leave.

But not before he caught a glimpse of her beautiful body as she stepped back into the water.

Pink from the heat.

Slick from the steam.

When she came out later, she was soft.

Damp. Glowing.

Wrapped in his hoodie again--no pants. The hem barely covered her ass.

Her hair dripped down her back, leaving little wet spots on the fabric.

She smelled like honey and that fucking shampoo.

He didn't say anything.

Just sat on the edge of the couch and patted the spot in front of him.

She sat between his thighs.

Facing away. Knees tucked to either side. Her body warm and relaxed against his chest.

He reached for the brush.

Started at the ends.

Worked slow.

Gentle.

Rhythmic.

Her hair was thick and wet and slid through his fingers like ribbon.

She exhaled. Closed her eyes.

"You're good at this," she murmured.

"I've had practice."

She leaned back into him. Her bare thighs relaxed against his. Her hips settled lower in his lap.

Like she didn't know what she was doing.

Like she did.

He let his chin rest just beside her temple.

Kept brushing.

And tried--truly tried--not to get hard.

--

They were brushing their teeth when she asked.

"Uncle Matty?"

He looked over. Toothbrush still in his mouth.

She swished and spat. Stared at the sink.

"... Can I kiss you when we wake up?"

The question was soft. Almost shy.

He rinsed. Dried his hands. Thought for a moment before answering.

"You can ask," he said gently. "Anytime."

She tilted her head. Looked up at him.

"But... not always yes?"

"Right," he said. "Because part of us being safe is knowing when it's appropriate or not. I will take care of that part for now."

She nodded like she understood. Bit her lip.

"So is it yes for tomorrow?"

His chest tightened.

"Yeah," he said, voice warm. "Tomorrow morning, if you want to, you can kiss me."

Her smile was small. Pleased.

Not giddy. Not flirty.

Just... content.

"Okay."

And she turned off the bathroom light.

That night, they climbed into bed like always.

But this time he wrapped his arms around her waist, gentle and still. Little spoon and big spoon.

She leaned up and kissed his neck, gently pushing up against the big cacoon she had found herself in.

Then the line of his jaw.

Then just under his ear.

Each kiss was soft. Barely-there. But her breath was warm and her body was close and she didn't stop.

She kissed down the side of his throat. Let her lips linger just a second longer.

"Is this okay?" she whispered.

He nodded. Voice strained. "Yes."

She kissed his collarbone.

Lower. Right where the open neck of his shirt began.

Matt's breath hitched.

She kissed him again. Right there.

He groaned before he could catch it.

That's when it happened.

His hips moved--reflexively.

Pressed forward.

Ground against her thigh.

Just once.

But it was unmistakable.

He froze.

Pulled back immediately. Face flushed, chest heaving.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "That shouldn't have-- I didn't mean to--"

She blinked. Then looked down.

"Oh."

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved.

Then, softly--

"It's okay if you want to," she said. "If it helps."

Matt stared at her.

Her voice didn't shake. Her body didn't tense. She wasn't afraid.

She was just offering.

Because she cared.

"I don't want to do anything to make you uncomfortable," she added. "But... if that helps you feel good while we kiss..."

Her hand brushed his thigh.

"... you can."

Matt closed his eyes.

He took a long breath.

Then opened them again and cupped the side of her face.

"Tell me if anything feels like too much, Little One?" he said.

She nodded.

And kissed him.

This time, when he rubbed against her leg, he did it slow.

Deliberate.

Controlled.

His breath came low and shaky as his hips pressed forward, grinding against the soft curve of her thigh. His cock strained against the fabric of his sweats--hot, thick, painfully hard.

She didn't flinch.

Her hands moved gently up his back, resting between his shoulder blades. Holding him there. Letting him do it.

Her lips stayed on his--sweet, steady, trusting.

He groaned softly into her mouth. Let his hips roll again. A little deeper. A little firmer.

She whimpered.

He froze.

Pulled back just enough to check her face. "Was that--too much?"

She shook her head. Whispered, "No."

Her fingers curled in his hoodie. "I liked it."

That was all it took.

His forehead dropped to hers as his hips moved again, harder now. The friction building fast--his cock grinding right where her leg was soft and warm and still a little damp from her bath.

He clung to her like a man drowning.

"You're so good," he whispered, voice breaking.

She kissed his neck.

Then his jaw.

Then back to his mouth.

He groaned louder now. The rhythm lost all grace--his body grinding into hers, wild and desperate and quiet only because it had to be.

She just let him.

Breath hitching. Hands steady.

Let him take. Because he'd never once asked her to give.

He buried his face in her neck as he came--

hot, wet, full-body release that shook him to the core.

His cock pulsed hard against her thigh, his hips grinding helplessly through it, chasing every last wave of it like he couldn't stop even if he tried.

She didn't move.

Didn't push him away.

She just held him--still and steady, letting him fall apart against her, like she knew he needed it.

He groaned into her skin, low and desperate. His fingers curled into her back, clutching the fabric of her hoodie like it might keep him tethered to something real.

His body emptied.

His mind went quiet.

And for the first time in days, he felt relieved.

Not just from the release.

From being allowed.

From being seen. Even while he was behaving like a horny teenager.

He stayed there, chest pressed to hers, heart pounding, arms wrapped tight around her. Breathing her in. Letting the scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair calm him.

And then, slowly--gently--he pulled back just enough to see her face.

Her cheeks were flushed. But her eyes--

Soft.

Open.

Not afraid.

"You okay?" he murmured.

His voice was wrecked. Barely a whisper.

And she nodded. Almost shyly. Like she didn't fully understand what just happened--but she liked being the reason for it.

He kissed her again.

Lighter this time.

Like thanks.

Like worship.

Like love.

"That was really fun," she said, grinning from ear to ear.

He smiled too. Kissed her hair.

"It was. Thank you," he whispered. "You're... perfect."

He cleaned up in the bathroom. Again.

Quick. Quiet. A fresh pair of sweats.

When he returned, she was already under the blanket.

Curled on her side.

Hair a little messy. Mouth pink from kissing.

He knelt beside the bed and pulled the blanket higher. Smoothed it over her shoulder. Brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

I liked that a lot," she whispered.

Her voice was sleepy. Fragile.

But underneath it--something else. Something blooming.

Matt paused.

His hand was still resting on the blanket he'd pulled over her.

Her leg still pressed warm against the sheets.

His cock still aching from everything she'd given.

He looked down at her.

"You liked making me feel good?" he asked gently.

She nodded.

"I like knowing you want me... like that."

Matt exhaled--slow, wrecked.

"I do, sweetheart," he said softly. "More than I should, probably."

Her eyes fluttered. A soft smile curved at her lips.

And just before she drifted off, Matt whispered,

"You'll always be my good little girl, Grace. Daddy loves you."

He was kissing her forehead before he realized what he had said.

The words left his mouth like breath. Instinct. Truth.

She didn't flinch. Didn't stir. Just smiled. Turned her face toward his hand. Let the moment settle into sleep.

But Matt--

He froze.

Completely.

Heart pounding. Mouth dry. Knees weak.

He hadn't meant to say it.

He hadn't even known it was there.

But it had been. Somewhere deep. Waiting.

And now it was out.

He stood slowly. Tucked the blanket higher around her shoulders. Brushed one last strand of hair from her face.

Then stepped out into the hallway, shut the door behind him, and sat down hard against the wall.

He was still shaking.

Not from guilt.

Not from fear.

From knowing that it had felt so right and the idea that maybe - just maybe - his depraved fantasy could slowly become a reality.

next time:

"Daddy... " she whispers to herself, just as the door clicks shut.

She wants to make him feel good.

With her little hands.

With her mouth.

With her whole heart.