Breaking the Taboo (1v2, Blood Uncle and Nephew) - Chapter 18

She pressed her lips together, hesitating as she unzipped her backpack. One glance down—sure enough, it was Lu Yan.

She paused. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the clean, blade-cut line of Han Yezhen’s jaw, and those long, jointed fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.

Xiao Mohan didn’t even take out the phone. She only moved her finger and hung up. “Sales call.”

After that, her head felt even heavier than before; her thoughts scattered. She didn’t notice that Han Yezhen had already driven to a place with very few people.

She took advantage of the drive to secretly send a text from her bag: “Mr. Lu, my Xiao-jiujiu picked me up. I’ve already left.”

A moment later, Lu Yan replied: “Got it.”

She turned off the screen. The car braked—suddenly came to a stop.

She looked out the window. A strange place.

It looked like a newly renovated street, almost empty—just a couple of stray cats.

Panic flickered through her. As she turned back, a hand clamped hard around her jaw, forcing her chin up.

Her lashes lifted like butterfly wings, and she met his sea-deep eyes.

They were so close she could hear each other’s breathing. Her heartbeat became a mad, arrhythmic drum.

His gaze dropped, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks; beneath those brows, his eyes were as dark as an abyss.

His voice was cold. “How did you get that bruise on your face?”

Her eyes skittered. She tried to pull her chin back, but his grip pinned her in place.

She had never intended to tell him what happened at school.

For so many years, she’d carried everything alone.

She was used to it.

Her red lips parted. “I ran into something by accident.”

His eyes narrowed, a probing glint flickering there. He studied her for a long beat, then asked, “Why did you change clothes?”

She hadn’t expected him to remember what she’d worn in the morning. Most men weren’t that observant.

She decided to bluff to the end. “Got dirty when I fell, so I changed.”

He glanced at her, a clouded look gathering between his brows. He enunciated each word: “Take off your clothes. Let me see.”

Her body went rigid. Startled, she lifted her eyes.

His expression didn’t change—if anything, it was more solemn. In those black eyes, not a ripple.

Nervous, she bit her lip. Her fingers tugged the hem of her shirt straight, putting distance between them as she reminded him, “Xiao-jiujiu, I’m already eighteen. I’m not a child.”

The Adam’s apple beneath his collar rolled twice, rough and tight. There wasn’t a place on her body he hadn’t seen.

He really wanted to say that of course he knew she wasn’t a child—she got wet, she climaxed, she moaned when she came, and the way she cried out was devastatingly sweet.

In the small, silent cabin, his voice came low and slightly hoarse. “Then tell me honestly—how did you get hurt?”

When you’re young, you insist on strange things.

Like Xiao Mohan—so obedient and soft by nature, yet on this point she locked horns with him and kept silent.

His stare turned colder. Under the clamp of his fingers, her jaw tilted slightly, baring the delicate, slender line of her neck, beautiful and fragile, as if it could be snapped with one hand.

She half-closed her eyes, long lashes trembling. She still refused to look at him.

A hint of mockery flickered in his gaze.

At some point, his seatbelt had come undone. He lunged suddenly, still gripping her chin, while his other hand slid under the hem of her shirt with unarguable force.

All the bl00d drained from her face. His scent—ambergris-tinged, masculine—poured over her senses. Heat from his palm seeped through her tender skin, searing straight into her bl00d.

Her calves shook with fear; her heart clenched tight. She started to struggle.

The hand that had been clutching her hem shifted to seize his wrist, to stop his advance—only to brush the cold metal of his watch.

That night’s memories surged through her skull like a breaking tide.

Her palm was slick with sweat. Her voice shook as she breathed out his title, eyes instantly reddening.

“Xiao… Xiao-jiujiu…”

Her resistance was no more than a tickle. His thin lips brushed her ear as he breathed, “Either I undress you, or you tell me the truth. Choose.”

His low voice spread through the car like a dangerous drug, impossibly persuasive.

Pressed hard against the door, she felt his slim, strong fingers stroking lightly over her skin—once, then again—as if testing the boundaries.

The touch burned. It made her body tremble without her consent.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She bit her tongue hard to keep from fainting.

His words, his actions, were drenched in transgression.

He didn’t care. He only pushed further. His fingertips reached the edge of her bra, didn’t pause, and she felt all five of his fingers slowly gathering over her br3ast.

Her whole body jolted. The muscles along her jaw went stiff, twitching visibly.

Her voice warped by fear, she choked out, “Xiao-jiujiu, I’ll talk, I’ll talk—please, don’t do this…”