My Taboo Harem!-Chapter 469: Aunt Cassiopeia (r-18 Forbidden Play)

Chapter 469: Aunt Cassiopeia (r-18 Forbidden Play)

A/N: This is going to be delicate. Do not rush it please. Enjoy.

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She squeezed him once — firm, appreciative — thumb circling the fat head of his cock blowing and stroking him softly and shamelessly and he was walking a thin line here to just shove her away.

He didn’t want too either.

"Fuck, Phei," she breathed, lips brushing his earlobe, tongue flicking out to taste the skin there. "I knew you were big before1... but this? This is ruinous. I can feel how hard you are for me already... throbbing like you want to split your aunt open right there on that table."

She gave him one more slow, teasing pump — enough to make his hips jerk forward involuntarily — then released him, trailing her fingers back up his abdomen, nails scraping lightly over his shirt as she finally pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

"So I’ve been told," Phei said, smile never faltering, voice velvet over steel, even as his cock throbbed painfully against her lower belly. "But flattery before dinner? You Maxtons really have lost your manners."

She laughed — genuine, surprised, delighted. The sound of a predator who’d come expecting an angry prey and found a sweet snack instead.

He offered his arm—elbow bent at the precise angle, posture straight, chin slightly lifted. The way you treated a woman you wanted to worship: with impeccable, devastating courtesy.

She took it — fingers sliding into the crook of his elbow, then trailing down to lace with his, thumb stroking slow circles over his pulse point.

It was steady.

Rock steady.

Something flickered behind her eyes — not concern, not yet.

But recalculation.

He guided her with a hand resting lightly in the small of her back — bare skin under the open back of the dress, warm and satin-smooth.

His touch was light.

Respectful.

His fingers spread just enough to cover the exposed vertebrae of her lower spine, thumb resting against the dip of her waist —

The Goddess Fall Touch flared the instant his palm made full contact.

Cassiopeia’s step faltered — only a microsecond, but Phei felt it: the tiny, helpless shiver that raced up her spine, the sudden hitch in her breath, the faint tightening of her fingers on his forearm.

And ripple of goosebumps erupted across her exposed back, visible even in the low light.

Her nipples hardened so much that instant against the silk — sharp little points tenting the fabric obscenely.

She recovered instantly, smile sharpening, but he’d seen it. Felt it. The faint, involuntary clench of her thighs as fresh heat bloomed between them.

He didn’t acknowledge it.

That was the move. The real one. Not the touch itself — but the refusal to draw attention to what the touch had done.

He simply kept walking.

Kept his hand where it was. Kept his pace matched to hers — not ahead, not behind, perfectly beside her, the way a man walks with a woman he respects.

Or a woman he’s about to ruin.

The etiquette was the same for both.

Maya — bless her chaotic, intuitive little heart — had already vacated the seat to his left. She’d slid two chairs down without a word, eyes wide and sparkling like she understood the game.

Phei pulled the chair out for Cassiopeia with perfect old-world courtesy. One hand on the back of the chair.

The other still resting on the small of her back — guiding, steadying, the warmth of his palm against her bare skin a constant, quiet assault.

He waited. Patient.

She sat — graceful, predatory — crossing long legs so the high slit fell open, revealing gleaming thigh almost to the hip, the shadowed curve where silk met bare skin hinting at the smooth, bare mound beneath.

He eased the chair in.

Smooth. Controlled— guiding.

Phei’s knuckles brushed the bare skin between her shoulder blades as he released the chair back, and the touch was feather-light and absolutely deliberate and the shiver it produced ran the entire length of her spine.

"Thank you, nephew," she purred, voice dripping honey and venom in equal measure.

"My pleasure, Aunt." He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of her ear, breath hot against her skin.

His hand found her shoulder again — bare, warm, the muscle beneath the silk taut with the tension she was hiding from everyone except him — and he squeezed once.

"Anything for family."

She shivered again — visibly this time — thighs pressing together under the table, a faint, wet sound audible only to him as her wet lips rubbed together.

He straightened. Circled back to his own seat.

Pulled out Patricia’s chair — which had shifted during the commotion — and tucked it back beneath her without being asked. His hand found the back of Sierra’s neck as he passed — a quick, warm squeeze that said I’m here, I see you, don’t worry — before he settled into his own chair beside Cassiopeia.

The four Maxton women were still locked in their own heads.

Melissa’s knuckles were bone-white around her glass. She hadn’t looked at Cassiopeia directly since the woman sat down.

She was looking at Phei.

Searching his face for a sign — panic, recognition, fear. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Finding none.

Finding only the calm, easy warmth of a boy who’d just seated his aunt at dinner and was reaching for his water glass like the world hadn’t shifted on its axis.

Victoria hadn’t blinked in thirty seconds. Her hands were flat on the table. Pressing down.

Grounding herself against something the rest of the table couldn’t see.

Delilah’s fork lay forgotten on her plate.

Her eyes were too wide.

Too young— she looked like a child who’d heard a noise in the dark and didn’t know what made it.

Sienna’s phone screen had gone dark; her eyes hadn’t left Cassiopeia once.

But where the others showed fear, Sienna showed something else.

Something quieter.

They all knew.

Harold’s sister showing up unannounced at the penthouse — the one safe place they’d fled to — barely a week after Phei had wrecked the Maxton Mansion in spectacular fashion was not a social call.

If Consort had been here, she would have recognised the woman instantly: the same face she’d seen projected on the One Above’s private screen days ago. The same woman who’d stood in the ritual circle and helped bind the Jörmungandr Prince’s awakening.

The same hands that had held the Dragon Heart Scale.

And now that woman was here — sitting at Phei’s table, surrounded by his women, radiating intent so thick the air tasted metallic.

Phei smiled like beautiful, dangerous women with soul-binding artifacts showed up at his penthouse every Tuesday and he’d simply forgotten to set an extra place.

He unfolded a new napkin and placed it across her lap.

"So," he said, taking a sip, "to what do we owe the pleasure? Not that we need a reason — you’re always welcome here. But you’ll have to forgive the mess. We weren’t expecting company."

Cassiopeia’s smile was all teeth, "I heard my favourite nephew had been... busy."

Her eyes flicked down the table — lingering on Melissa, Victoria, Delilah, Sienna — cataloguing their fear, tasting it, filing it away — then back to him, slow and appreciative.

Her gaze dropped to his chest. His shoulders. Lower. Back up.

The appraisal of a woman who wasn’t embarrassed to look and wanted him to know she was looking.

"Very busy."

"You have no idea," Phei said lightly. "But I’m sure you’ll catch up fast. You always were the sharpest one in the family."

Something passed behind her eyes. A flicker. He’d complimented her — genuinely, easily, without flattery’s usual aftertaste — and she hadn’t expected it.

Under the table, her knee brushed his.

Deliberate.

Then higher — her foot sliding along his calf, stocking-smooth, until her toes traced the inside of his thigh, pressing lightly against the thick bulge still straining his pants.

Phei didn’t flinch.

He smiled wider.

Picked up his fork. Cut a piece of steak.

Ate it.

Chewed slowly.

Like a woman’s foot wasn’t currently mapping the geography of his cock through his trousers.

Like this was Tuesday. Like he did this every week.

"You should try the steak," he said, nodding toward her empty plate. "I made the marinade. It’s exceptional."

Sierra — who had been watching the exchange with the frozen focus of a woman who didn’t know whether to scream or take notes — blinked.

Cassiopeia’s toes curled against his shaft.

Slow.

Teasing.

"I’d love some," she said.

Phei reached across the table.

Served her himself — selecting the best cut, placing it on her plate with the care and attention of a host who took hospitality personally.

Added vegetables.

A drizzle of sauce.

Handed her the pepper.

"Anything else?" he asked.

Her eyes glittered.

"I’m sure I’ll think of something."

The bracelet on Cassiopeia’s wrist gave another faint, cold pulse — only he and Eira felt it.

A quiet, patient heartbeat.

Waiting.

The question between them was simple now.

Who would be faster?

Because one of them needed only opportunity alone with him— a single drawn rune to bind the other.

While the other needed to be balls-deep in her dripping, clenching cunt to trigger Tiamat’s Claim.

And the way her toes curled against his cock under the table —

Well, it seems our aunt used to sneak on Phei, huh😂?