Breaking the Taboo (1v2, Blood Uncle and Nephew) - Chapter 12

Han Yezhen’s eyes flushed at the corners with a thin tinge of lust as he looked down at her—utterly unaware, defenseless.

Hair as dark as ink, skin like cold jade, and that swanlike neck: elegant, slender, evoking both tender pity and a dangerous, almost primal urge to snap it with his own hands.

But as he stared, his brows slowly furrowed.

Earlier, he’d been too focused on fondling her tits to take a good look at her body. Now that he was seeing it clearly, something wasn’t right.

In the dim light, he could faintly make out several bruises beneath her pale, luminous skin. Some were yellowish-green, others deep violet. New and old wounds layered over each other, large and small. On her snowy complexion, they looked violently stark, impossible to ignore.

He curled an arm around her waist and turned her over. On her back—another fresh bruise, dark red and vicious.

Years of living on the edge, under fists and blades, told Han Yezhen exactly what that meant.

Motherfucker.

He clenched his jaw, suppressing the boiling impulse to lash out. He’d never dared leave a mark on her. And yet someone had the balls to lay hands on Li Mohan?

No wonder she had a fever today.

But the worst part wasn’t even that. No—the thing that pissed him off most was that tonight, he’d planned to lure her here and fvck her senseless, round after round, until she couldn’t walk.

And now? Seeing her covered in bruises, half his arousal drained away.

He could admit he was a beast, but he had rules. Standards. A baseline for what was acceptable.

The marks on her body had to be his. Only his.

How fucking dare someone else touch her? Defile her?

If he ever found out who it was, he’d twist that bastard’s head clean off.

He leaned in, one hand braced beside her neck, the other lifting her chin. His eyes, shadowed beneath long lashes, burned with growing fury.

“Aren’t you good at hiding?” His voice was low, tight. “Always hiding from me. Someone hits you and you don’t say a word? Am I really scarier than they are?”

His tone was dangerously calm, but anger seethed beneath every syllable.

He didn’t understand why he was this furious.

Just that he was.

His long fingers clenched a little harder, distorting her soft lips into a squashed little bloom. Lips reddened from his earlier sucking now puckered like a flowerbud crushed in a storm.

Han Yezhen’s eyes darkened. His breath came faster. Lust, briefly doused, came roaring back to life. He’d been starving for days now.

A hungry wolf doesn’t spare a rabbit just because it limps.

No. He’d split her open, devour her whole, leave nothing behind.

He hadn’t deprived himself this long just to jerk off. That no longer cut it.

He crashed his mouth down on hers, biting, devouring, his lips ravaging hers with brute need. His tongue plunged in again, violent and relentless, twisting through her wet heat.

He held her tight, her nude, slippery body pressed flush against his burning skin. Compared to his broad, muscular frame, she was too delicate, too soft—her small frame like something that would snap if he used even a little force.

Li Mohan gasped, breath catching under his ferocious kiss. She shook her head instinctively, trying to avoid his invading tongue.

Han Yezhen withdrew, a thread of silver spit stretching from her lips to his. It clung to the corner of her mouth, gleaming.

He smirked, leaned down, and licked it away—his tongue trailing across her tender cheek, down her neck, kissing, biting, grazing every inch of exposed skin.

Then he moved lower, behind her ear, to the nape of her neck—biting hard, leaving raw, dark hickeys wherever he went.

His hand skimmed past her bruises with care, slid down her flat belly and came to rest between her thighs.

His boxer briefs were pressed right against her cunt, the fabric already stained with a small patch of wetness. The faint heat and dampness seeped through, meeting the dry warmth of his palm.

He let out a soft scoff, head tilting, pitch-black eyes glinting with mockery.

“So sensitive, little Mohan. Weren’t you a virgin just a while ago? Now just kissing and tit play’s enough to make you wet?”

He deliberately didn’t take off his boxers. Just rubbed her pvssy through the fabric, his fingers teasing along the seam, pressing, stroking.

His other hand cupped her br3ast again, pinching the n1pple between two fingers, tugging, rolling it roughly.

Li Mohan had never been touched like this. Within moments, under the dual assault, a gush of fluid spilled from her cunt, seeping through the fabric—sticky, unmistakable.

The c0ck between his thighs throbbed with savage urgency, his pants barely containing it. Han Yezhen clenched his jaw, eyes bloodshot, his usual cold demeanor gone—now replaced with nothing but the brutal hunger of a beast who wanted nothing more than to fvck his niece raw.

For her body to react, to drip for him the moment he touched her—that was what he needed. And if it meant enduring his own maddening desire a little longer, holding back from sinking in and tearing her open, so be it.

Some training was necessary.

A light sheen of sweat gathered on Li Mohan’s forehead. She let out a whimper, small and soft like a helpless animal. Even in her sleep, her body was reacting.

There was still some resistance in her. Her legs, instinctively, pressed together, trying to deny him access.

Han Yezhen didn’t hesitate. He grabbed one thigh near the base and wrenched her legs open, forcing himself between them, kneeling so she couldn’t close them again.

“Don’t run, little Mohan. Uncle’s not done playing yet.”

Her legs were spread wide, forced apart, and the pure black boxer briefs were soaked—dark with wetness, clinging to the shape of her slit, the fabric dipping into the folds, painting an obscene, lewd picture.

Han Yezhen controlled his strength. His index finger pushed against the fabric, right at the entrance of her pvssy, pressing in, working it deeper.

She didn’t disappoint—another gush of slick spilled out, soaking his fingers. The tips glistened, coated with her arousal.

He chuckled darkly. “Already feeling good? Huh?”

From the first time, he’d known how sensitive she was. Even then, forced and reluctant, she came within a few dozen strokes—her first climax, taken by him.

And after that, she came twice more before he even finished once.

Now he hooked his fingers under the waistband, pulling the briefs aside. Her juices clung to the fabric and her cunt lips, stringing in sticky, translucent strands that shone in the low light.

He hadn’t had time to look closely before.

Now that he could, he couldn’t look away. His bl00d roared. His c0ck twitched, jerking visibly beneath the fabric of his pants.

Her pale, tender pvssy was laid bare.

Just a few soft hairs decorated the mound, fine and downy.

Her lips were fat and pink, the inner folds hidden in a narrow slit—short, tight, glistening faintly with arousal.

Han Yezhen’s slender finger traced the entrance, and Li Mohan’s body shivered, delicate as a flower in the wind.

“Your little pvssy’s like rose petals. Beautiful.”

His voice was rough now, husky with desire. Lips parted, breath shallow.

He circled her entrance with his longest finger, sliding, coaxing out more of her slick. With that lubrication, he easily found the little nub tucked under the folds—her cl!t—and trapped it between two fingers, rubbing, pinching.

Her cl!t had never been touched by anyone else. Under his skilled fingers, it quickly swelled, hardened, flushed with bl00d. A new wave of wetness spilled from her slit.

Without the fabric to absorb it, the arousal trickled down her ass crack, dripping onto the bed below, darkening the sheets beneath her hips.

Han Yezhen watched, fascinated, as more slick oozed from her cunt, smirking coldly.

“My fingers haven’t even gone in yet. You’re this wet already?”

It was unclear whether it was the word “Uncle” that triggered her, but even in her dazed state, Li Mohan’s fingers curled into trembling fists.