Breaking the Taboo (1v2, Blood Uncle and Nephew) - Chapter 14

Han Yezhen’s shirt hung loose on his shoulders, collar open, the fabric clinging to the shape of his chest. Below the waist, he was completely naked. He sat at the edge of the bed, lifting a sweat-soaked lock of her hair with his fingers, leaning down to gaze at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, head turned to the side, body slack in a languid sprawl. Her soft, pink lips parted slightly with shallow breaths, chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm—like a fish stranded on land, mouth opening helplessly.

In the stillness, his eyes burned with flickers of something dark and unstable, his sharp, handsome features cloaked in a strange, unreadable haze.

Only came once and already like this?

Such a delicate little body.

Thinking of the bruises covering her, he forced himself to hold back the gnawing urge rising in his chest.

No rush. A little restraint now makes the taking sweeter later.

That tight little pvssy would belong to him—completely, sooner or later.

He reached for some tissues, wiping his half-hard c0ck clean, then pulled his pants back up. Lowering his head, he searched the floor for a moment until his fingers hooked around a pair of men’s briefs.

Black fabric. At the crotch, the material was darkened, soaked. Still wet.

He scooped up a thick glob of milky cum from her br3ast, spread it onto the fabric, rubbing it in with slow, lazy fingers, mixing their fluids into one messy stain—then slid the underwear back between her legs.

Afterward, he fetched a warm towel and a fresh shirt. Returning to the bedside, he carefully wiped away the remaining semen from her skin, then dressed her, taking his time.

Before leaving, he leaned down, brushing a kiss against the center of her brow.

“Xiao Mohan. Sweet dreams.”

—

Li Mohan had that kind of dream again—but not the same scene as before.

The man in the dream was dominant, aggressive. She still couldn’t see his face clearly, a layer of black mist clouding her vision, but she knew exactly who it was.

His big hands—rough, hot, slightly calloused—tore her clothes off with practiced ease, teasing every sensitive inch of her with maddening skill. She felt like she was sinking into quicksand, struggling, but her body kept sinking lower.

It should’ve been shameful.

And yet she was breathless with anticipation, unable to fight the electric thrum of arousal under her skin.

When she opened her eyes, the unfamiliar ceiling made her momentarily forget where she was.

Then came a slow, creeping awareness.

Her body froze. Hands threw the blanket aside.

She swallowed, throat dry, chest tight and aching. She hurried to unbutton her shirt, peeking down—her n1pples were swollen and stiff, flushed an angry red, tingling with the ghost of friction.

“What the hell…”

She remembered going through this during puberty—her br3asts had ached like this for weeks back then.

But puberty was long gone. This didn’t make any goddamn sense.

Before she could untangle the confusion, a more terrifying realization slammed into her. Between her thighs was a sticky mess, like something thick had glued her legs together. Hand trembling, she slipped her fingers into her underwear—and found herself drenched. Slick, warm, humiliatingly wet. The clear fluid clung to her fingertips in viscous strings.

No way.

No fucking way.

This was the first time she’d had a s3x dream and actually… gotten wet.

The discovery jolted her awake like a slap.

She stripped off the underwear. At the gusset, a dried patch of white crust remained, smeared and tangled with her own fluids.

What… the fvck?

Li Mohan rubbed the spot with her fingertip. The dried white crust flaked into fine powder under the pressure.

She didn’t know why she did it—but she brought the underwear to her nose, and sniffed.

The faint, fishy musk hit instantly.

Her face drained of color. Was she sick? Some kind of infection?

But no—that wasn’t the worst of it.

This was… her little uncle’s underwear.

Last night, she’d meant to borrow it temporarily, just to wear while her own clothes were drying in the machine. She’d planned to change back after the cycle finished.

But she fell asleep.

Fell asleep, had a wet dream, came in his underwear.

This underwear was ruined.

She couldn’t face him. What if she walked out and ran straight into Han Yezhen?

She paced in circles inside her room, legs trembling. But she couldn’t just stay here forever.

Eventually, she cracked the door open a sliver and peeked out.

No movement. Morning sunlight poured through the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, casting soft gold on the wooden floor. Even the long hallway looked peaceful.

Han Yezhen wasn’t around.

In her panic, she forgot to put on slippers. She bolted barefoot toward the laundry room like a shot arrow.

When she opened the dryer, damp clothes and underwear still sat inside. Not even half-dry.

She wanted to bang her head against a wall.

She slapped her forehead—of course. She’d forgotten to press the “dry” button.

Idiot. Sick, half-conscious idiot.

She ran around the laundry room like a headless chicken, pulse thudding in her throat.

Beep beep.

The front door unlocked.

Footsteps followed—unhurried, deliberate, drawing closer.

Each one rang out against the floor, echoing down the hallway. Each step felt like it landed directly on her spine.

Li Mohan froze.

The footsteps passed by the laundry room, moving farther away—toward her bedroom, it sounded like.

Her heart seized.

She threw the door open and ran.

“Xiao-jiujiu!” Her voice came out breathy and small.

Han Yezhen stopped in his tracks, turning around.

“You’re awake,” he said. Voice calm as ever, unreadable.

“Mm. Did you go out early?”

She was just trying to fill the silence. In truth, she never intended to show her face in front of him like this—not wearing anything under the shirt, not even panties.

Her underwear was still sitting on the bed. If Han Yezhen went into her room and picked it up…

He’d see the sticky, crusted mess.

No amount of tofu-smashing could save her from that kind of death.

Thankfully, he didn’t head into her room. Instead, he walked toward her.

She instinctively stepped back half a pace—but he was already right in front of her.

Tall and broad-shouldered, Han Yezhen easily towered over her, casting her in the cool shadow of his body.

His gaze flicked down, studying her face. “Didn’t sleep well?”

The pressure made her breath catch. She clutched her hands together in front of her, head ducked.

Like hell I can tell you I got wrecked in a dream all night long.

She pressed her lips together. Stared down at her toes. “I’m okay.”

She wore one of his shirts—oversized, loose around the shoulders but cinched at her chest. Her long black hair spilled down her back in messy waves, making her fair face look even paler by contrast.

The silk fabric clung to her, thin and smooth. Her round, perky br3asts were faintly outlined beneath the shirt, n1pples poking through despite her hunching and arm-crossing.

It did nothing to hide them.

The tips were so hard, the pink peaks slightly visible through the fabric. Han Yezhen’s eyes paused on the sight, unmoving.

Below, her bare legs stretched out long and straight, creamy white under the sunlight. Her delicate toes curled slightly against the cold floor, unconsciously tensing from nerves.

Inviting crime.