After Rebirth, I Became My Ex's Aunt-in-Law

The invitation to the ”traditional afternoon activity” was delivered by Alfred, who looked like he was in physical pain just speaking to Aria.

”Clay pigeon shooting,” Alfred intoned, staring at a spot on the wall three feet above Aria’s head. ”On the South Lawn. Everyone is expected to participate. Appropriate attire is... requested.”

”Appropriate,” Aria mused. ”Got it.”

A few minutes later, Aria walked onto the manicured South Lawn.

The Sinclair family was already assembled. The men were in tweed and hunting vests. The women were in quilted Barbour jackets and sensible boots. It looked like a catalogue for people who owned bloodhounds and hated joy.

Aria was wearing denim jeans that had been shredded within an inch of their life, exposing vast expanses of her upper thighs. On her feet were brand new high-top Converse.

But the pièce de résistance was her shirt.

It was a white crop top, tight enough to cut off circulation, with the words FUCK YOU printed in bold, black, impact-font letters directly across her chest. The cotton was thin—deliberately so. It clung to her curves like a second skin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. The dark, intricate lace of her bra was clearly visible through the fabric, printing against the white material with every breath she took.

Grandfather Sinclair, who was loading a vintage shotgun, looked up. He saw the shirt. He dropped the shell.

”My god,” he whispered.

”Ready for the hunt, Grandpa!” Aria waved, walking over. ”I didn’t have any tweed, but I thought this shirt really captured the family spirit.”

Diana covered her mouth in horror.

Lucas stood frozen, his shotgun dangling from his hand. His eyes were glued to her chest, fixated on the way the tight fabric strained over her breasts, outlining the lace. He swallowed hard, his face flushing.

Damien, standing by the gun rack, didn’t even try to hide his amusement—or his lust. He watched Aria walk toward him, his gaze raking over her exposed thighs and the sheer top.

He stepped forward, invading her space before she could even reach the group. He didn’t care about the audience. He reached out, his large hand splaying across her stomach, his thumb brushing the underwire of her bra through the crop top.

”Provocative,” he murmured, his eyes darkening as he felt her shiver.

”It’s a statement piece,” Aria whispered, leaning into his touch.

”It’s a distraction,” Damien told her, his hand sliding up to graze the underside of her breast.

”This is an abomination!” Grandfather roared, pointing his (unloaded) gun vaguely at the sky. ”You cannot wear profanity to a shoot! There are staff present!”

”Relax, Grandpa, it’s just a shirt,” Aria said cheerfully, stepping away from Damien’s touch. ”Now, are we shooting plates or what?”

”I’ll show you how it’s done,” Catherine stepped forward. She was wearing a perfectly tailored shooting outfit. She picked up a shotgun with the ease of someone who had grown up destroying things for sport.

”Pull!” Catherine shouted.

BANG.

The clay shattered.

Catherine lowered the gun, looking at Aria with a smug, pitying smile. ”It requires a certain... breeding. Perhaps you should sit this one out, Aria. The recoil can be bruising for the... delicate.”

Aria looked at the shattered clay. She walked to the rack and picked up a heavy over-and-under shotgun.

”I’ve never shot a gun,” Aria admitted. ”But I’m a quick learner.”

”You’re holding it like a broom,” Lucas sneered, his eyes still lingering on her chest. ”You’re going to dislocate your shoulder.”

”Let me,” a deep voice rumbled behind her.

Damien stepped in.

He moved directly behind her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her back until her body was flush against his.

Aria gasped. There was no space between them. Her ass was pressed firmly against his crotch.

He was hard.

The thick, heavy ridge of his erection dug into her lower back through his trousers and her thin jeans. It was a shocking, solid pressure that sent a jolt of electricity straight down her legs.

”Spread your feet,” Damien murmured, his mouth right at her ear, his breath hot.

Aria obeyed, widening her stance. Damien’s leg slid between hers, his thigh brushing against the inside of her knee, opening her up.

”Lean back into me,” he instructed. ”Let me take the weight.”

He reached around her, his large hands covering hers on the stock and the barrel. He adjusted her grip, his fingers interlacing with hers.

”Can you feel that?” he whispered, grinding his hips forward slightly so the head of his cock pressed against her tailbone.

”Damien,” Aria choked out, her face burning. ”Everyone is watching.”

”Focus on the target.,” he growled. ”Ignore what I’m doing to you.”

It was impossible. The friction was maddening. Every time she breathed, she rubbed against him. He was using the shooting lesson as an excuse to dry hump her in front of his entire family.

”Pull the stock tight against your shoulder,” Damien whispered, his hand sliding from the gun to her waist, his thumb digging into her skin. ”Expect the kick.”

”Pull!” Damien shouted.

The clay disc flew.

Aria forced her eyes open. She tried to ignore the throbbing heat between her legs and the rock-hard erection pressed against her ass. She focused on the target.

Her finger tightened on the trigger. Damien’s hand squeezed her waist.

BOOM.

The kick was sharp, but Damien absorbed it, his body acting as her anchor.

In the sky, the clay pigeon exploded into a cloud of orange dust.

”Center mass,” Damien noted, sounding incredibly satisfied. He pressed a hard kiss to the sensitive cord of her neck. ”Good girl.”

Aria lowered the gun, her legs trembling. ”That was... intense.”

She looked at Catherine. The ”Perfect Fiancée” looked like she had swallowed a lemon.

”Beginner’s luck,” Catherine snapped.

”Luck is for people who miss,” Aria said coolly.

She turned to Lucas.

”Your turn, Nephew. Show us that ’breeding’.”

Lucas grabbed a gun, his face red, desperate to prove he wasn’t useless. He marched to the line. He didn’t wait for instruction. He fired wildly.

BANG.

He missed by ten feet. The recoil caught him off guard. The stock slammed into his shoulder with a sickening thud.

”Ah!” Lucas yelped, dropping the gun and clutching his arm. ”My shoulder!”

He fell to his knees.

”Pathetic,” Grandfather Sinclair muttered.

Aria blew a imaginary wisp of smoke from her barrel. She looked up at Damien, who was watching her with dark, hungry eyes, his erection still visible against his thigh.

”I think I like shooting,” she whispered.

”I think I like being behind you,” Damien replied, his voice low. ”Keep the shirt. I want to rip it off you later.”