My Taboo Harem!

Chapter 468: Danger: Aunt Cassiopeia

The door had barely clicked shut behind the intruder when the room’s temperature seemed to drop — not from any draft, but from the sheer gravitational weight of her presence.

She stepped fully into the light.

Black.

Everything black.

The dress was midnight silk — liquid sin poured over skin, clinging so tightly it looked painted on, every breath making the fabric ripple like dark water disturbed by a predator beneath the surface.

Off-shoulder straps so thin they were little more than whispers of shadow wrapped around the tops of her arms like dark silk ribbons, leaving the elegant slope of her shoulders and the sharp, sculpted line of her collarbones completely bare.

The bodice was high-necked and long-sleeved, yet somehow more obscene for how completely it covered her — no cleavage on display, no need.

The silk molded to the full, proud swell of her breasts — round, heavy, impossibly high — pressing against the fabric so the faint, perfect shadow of her nipples teased through every time she inhaled, hard little peaks that strained the silk like they were begging to be freed.

The waist cinched impossibly tight, carving her torso into a lethal, exaggerated hourglass: deep, dangerous inward scoops on both sides that exposed the carved ridges of her obliques and the flat, sculpted plane of her stomach — abs so sharply defined they looked etched from dark marble, flexing subtly with every slow, deliberate breath she took.

From there the dress flared into a high slit on the left thigh — splitting all the way to the hip bone, revealing long, toned legs that gleamed like polished obsidian under the penthouse lights.

Every step flexed powerful muscle beneath smooth, flawless skin; the inner thigh muscle tensed and released in a slow, hypnotic rhythm that drew every eye downward.

The hem brushed mid-calf on the right side — deliberately asymmetrical, predatory, teasing — the fabric parting like it was being pulled aside by invisible hands, hinting at the shadowed heat between her thighs with every measured stride.

Her hair flowed like spilled ink — long, straight, glossy black reaching past her waist, swaying with every step like a living shadow that caressed the small of her back, the curve of her ass.

When she moved, strands slid over bare skin, brushing the exposed dip of her spine, drawing attention to the way the silk clung to the full, heart-shaped swell of her backside — round, firm, high enough to make the dress look like it was struggling to contain her.

On her left wrist: the bracelet.

Simple.

Almost too simple.

A thin band of blackened silver, no stone, no engraving, no visible runes.

Just a narrow, matte ring that sat against her skin like it had grown there — cool, ancient, humming with quiet menace.

To everyone else in the room — Melissa, Victoria, Delilah, Sienna, the entire table — it was just jewelry.

Expensive, understated, elegant. Nothing more.

But Phei felt it.

A low, cold hum — like distant thunder trapped in metal.

Not loud or flashy.

Just… present. A quiet vibration that resonated deep in his dragon blood, in the void-ice of Eira’s wings on his shoulder, in the primal part of him that recognized old power—

Eira’s crystalline fingers tightened against his collarbone, nails digging in.

“Not simple,” she whispered, voice stripped of flirtation, edged with something close to awe. “Not even close.”

Phei didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

She stopped at the head.

The entire room held its breath.

Then she smiled — slow, sharp, devastating — and looked straight at Melissa.

“Isn’t my favouritesister-in-law going to welcome me?” Her voice low, amused, edged with something that could cut glass. “No hug? No kiss on the cheek? No oh Cassiopeia, it’s been so long, we’ve missed you terribly?”

She tilted her head, hair sliding like liquid shadow over one bare shoulder, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat. “Or have you all gotten so comfortable playing house without me that you’ve forgotten your manners entirely?”

Melissa’s knuckles went white around her glass.

Victoria made a small, involuntary sound — half gasp, half choke.

Delilah’s fork hit the plate again — clatter loud in the silence.

Sienna — Sienna actually put her phone down.

The woman’s gaze slid sideways — casual, predatory — landing on the three youngest Maxton women.

“And you three…” She tilted her head further, hair cascading in a glossy black wave that brushed the swell of her breast, drawing every eye to the way the silk stretched taut over her nipple for one heartbeat.

“A few days out of the Maxton Mansion and you’ve already forgotten your aunt?”

She let the word hang — low, intimate, dripping with dark honey.

Then she took one slow step forward.

The high slit parted wider — revealing the full length of her thigh, the shadowed curve where leg met hip, the faint gleam of inner thigh muscle flexing as she shifted her weight.

The silk whispered against her skin like a lover’s breath.

Her stomach flexed — hot abs rippling under the tight fabric, each ridge catching the light like carved obsidian.

Her breasts rose and fell with a single, deliberate breath, nipples pressing harder against the silk, twin shadows that made the room feel suddenly smaller, hotter.

She leaned one hip against the doorflame — casual, lethal — hair sliding forward to frame one breast, the tip of a lock brushing the peak through the fabric.

Her eyes — dark, endless, amused — swept the table once more, lingering on each face like she was cataloguing weaknesses.

Then they settled on Phei.

And the temperature in the room dropped another ten degrees.

She smiled again — slower this time, sharper, more intimate. The smile of a woman who had just found exactly what she came looking for and was already deciding how to unwrap it.

“Hello, nephew,” she purred, voice wrapping around the word like silk around a throat. “You’ve grown… delicious.”

The bracelet on her wrist gave one low, almost inaudible pulse.

The system notification hit Phei like a cold blade sliding between ribs.

[DING!]

[Celestial Grade Artifact Detected!]

[Item: Binding Bracelet]

[Uses: Produces runes that bind a soul of any being to the wearer’s!]

Eira’s whisper cut off mid-sentence.

“— by the time she leaves here, one of you would belong to the other. Either you’re quicker or she is — the moment she has space, Master, she’s going to put those runes in you. I can tell that for sure! Whatever her intentions and purpose are, they are to bind you… that means —”

“Which means she knows what I am, Eira. I know that.”

“I was going to say you have to be quicker because by the time she leaves here, one of you would belong to the other. Either you’re quicker or she is!”

While she chattered away Phei was already moving.

He stood smoothly. Chair sliding back without a sound. Every head at the table tracked the motion —watching him rise with the particular attention of an audience that didn’t know what act they were watching but could feel the curtain lifting.

His face split into the warmest, most disarming smile he’d ever worn — the Oscar-worthy.

“Aunt Cassiopeia,” he declared, arms spreading wide, voice rich and easy, filling the room with the kind of warmth that made people forget they’d been afraid three seconds ago.

“Long time no see! And looking more beautiful than ever — Harold never mentioned you were in town.”

The room’s frozen terror cracked like thin ice.

Just enough for people to breathe again.

Cassiopeia’s eyes flashed — surprise, genuine, only for a heartbeat — before her own mask slid back into place.

Whatever she’d expected from the boy she’d come to bind, it hadn’t been this.

Not the warmth. Not the easy confidence.

She opened her arms in perfect mirror of his gesture and stepped forward.

“Harold doesn’t mention much of anything lately,” she said, voice light, amused. “Something about a broken jaw. I wonder who’s responsible for that.”

“Terrible business,” Phei said, not missing a beat. “I heard it was a door.”

“A door.” Her lips twitched. “Must have been quite a door.”

“Italian marble. Very heavy. These old mansions, you know — health hazards everywhere.”

They met in the middle and hugged.

She smelled like old money, night-blooming jasmine, and something darker — something metallic, like blood dried on ancient silver.

Her body pressed flush against his, breasts soft and impossibly heavy through the silk, nipples already stiff and dragging slow, deliberate circles against his chest as she inhaled.

Her hips slotted against his like they’d been measured for the fit — perfect alignment, deliberate pressure.

The thick ridge of his cock —half-hard— settled right against the silk-covered mound of her pussy, the heat of her radiating through the thin fabric.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead she leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice pitched so low only he could hear it — velvet wrapped around a blade.

“Gods, nephew… you smell so good,” she murmured, shameless, breath hot against his skin. “And you feel even better.”

Her hand slid down his back — slow, possessive — fingertips tracing the dip of his spine before slipping lower, palm flattening against the small of his back, then dipping further until her fingers curled around the curve of his ass, squeezing once, firmly, pulling him tighter against her.

His cock twitched hard — thickening instantly —pressing deeper into the soft heat between her thighs.

She shifted—just a fraction, a deliberate roll of her hips—and the friction dragged a low, involuntary groan from deep in his throat.

She felt it.

Of course she felt it.

Her lips curved against his neck.

“Mmm… look how much you’ve grown since I last saw you,” she whispered. “So thick now… so heavy… pressing right against your aunt’s cunt like you already know where you belong.”

Her free hand slipped between them — bold, shameless — fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft through his pants, stroking upward in one long, slow drag that made the fabric stretch taut over every pulsing vein.