My Taboo Harem!

Her lips were close enough that he became briefly, violently aware of them. Full. Soft. Painted in a shade that matched her gown and made every word leaving her mouth feel more dangerous than the last.

He wanted to kiss her right there—hard, reckless, shameless—taste her mouth in the emptying birthday hall, beneath black crystal rain, with Dravenna still walking away and half the world apparently conspiring to make him lose patience. He clearly did not care about the audience, he only cared that her lips were right there, close enough to claim, and that waiting even one more second felt like another deliberate cruelty.

Melissa stepped closer.

"Certainly," she added, voice lowering, "do not give her sleepless nights either."

Before he could answer, she lifted both hands and held his face.

Melissa’s thumbs brushed lightly along his jaw—slow, tender, with careful affection that felt almost motherly—and Phei’s hands hovered near her waist, not quite touching, held back by something deeper than restraint. She was so close now that her perfume wrapped around him, warm and mature, something floral beneath wine and skin.

The gentleness in her touch settled over him like a quiet claim, soft and steady, making the closeness feel both safe and dangerously intimate at once.

He could kiss her. He should do it here but she was so close, so hot and too tempting and he had less control when it is her.

He did anyway.

Phei gave in.

His mouth claimed hers in one decisive press; his lips sealed over hers with hunger and speed that left no room for hesitation in a hungry, deliberate kiss that took and gave at the same time. He kissed her upper lip first, slow and thorough, tasting the soft painted curve of it, then shifted lower, capturing her fuller bottom lip between his own and drawing it in with a quiet, open-mouthed pull.

The lust for his to kiss and do so much worse to his aunt burned through him like fire under the skin.

Melissa responded instantly.

Her lips softened, then parted beneath his; she pressed back with equal heat, matching him, her mouth moved with him in a slow, deepening rhythm. When his tongue slipped forward she met it at once—a soft, wet collision that turned into a deliberate battle.

Their tongues stroked and slid, tasting, challenging, neither fully yielding.

He tilted his head and sealed their mouths tighter, kissing her upper lip again before dragging down to claim the lower once more, the wet sound of it quiet but unmistakable in the emptying hall.

His hand closed at her waist before he realized he had moved. The dress was smooth beneath his palm, but beneath it was Melissa—warm, curved, familiar in ways that made his blood thicken.

Melissa’s whole body yielded, soft and willing, and leaned into his just enough to make the kiss deeper.

Her round firm breasts pressed fully against his chest—warm, full, and yielding through the thin fabric of her gown—while the rest of her body molded against him and her hips shifted forward until the hard line of his cock was trapped between them. Enough to let him feel every answering shift and twitch of her pussy his cock pressed on so hard.

Enough to remind him that advice from Melissa was never purely innocent.

She did not only tell him to pursue; she reminded him, with every stroke of her tongue, every answering press of her lips, and the deliberate way her soft body ground against his aching hardness, what being wanted by her actually felt like.

When she pulled back first, her breath came slightly uneven.

Phei’s hand remained at her waist.

Not gripping but just hovering and threatening to become a problem.

Melissa’s lashes lowered for a moment, and a soft, pleased sound escaped her before she steadied herself.

"See?" she murmured. "You know how dangerous you are to women, nephew."

Phei’s eyes stayed on her lips.

Melissa smiled, but there was seriousness beneath it.

"No woman stops thinking about you easily after she tastes you, Phei. No woman stops feeling that dangerous pull, that hunger, that intense need after you have made her body understand what you are and the things you make her feel."

His hand tightened slightly.

Melissa’s voice softened.

"You are lucky. You have us when you are hungry and when you burn in lust and desire becomes too much and you need warmth, hands, lips, a woman’s body to come home to."

She glanced toward where Dravenna had gone.

"But what about her? Who does she run when she feels all that and you’re so much of a coward to do anything when she only has you to count on to satisfy these desires?"

Phei stilled.

Melissa held his gaze.

"Dravenna must have been lonely, waiting for you to make your move while you thought you had to wait for her confirmation. You are both proud. Both dangerous and both of you are pretending patience is wisdom when sometimes it is just fear wearing nice clothes."

Phei wanted to answer.

But her words were too accurate, and her lips were still too close, and his hand still remembered her waist while his eyes kept wanting to travel down the body wrapped in that wicked dark-red dress.

Melissa laughed softly, seeing him fail.

"My poor dragon," she whispered. "So brilliant, and yet women still make you stupid."

"Only the difficult ones."

"We are all difficult."

"That is true."

"And yet you chose us."

"I have excellent taste."

"You have terrible survival instincts."

"Also true."

Melissa rose and kissed his cheek in a soft kiss.

Warm.

Final.

Commanding in its own way.

"Be the man I chose," she whispered near his ear. "You do not keep a lady waiting."

Then she stepped away.

Just like that.

Leaving only the ghost of her warmth in his hands and the insurmountable truth in her words.

Phei watched her walk toward the elevator, the dark wine gown moving over her hips with each step, the fabric clinging and releasing just enough to make his gaze follow despite himself. Melissa did not look back immediately.

Then, just before she joined the others, she glanced over her shoulder.

She knew exactly what he was looking at.

Her smile said as much.

Cruel woman.

Perfect woman.

Phei exhaled slowly.

The hall felt larger now that she had gone.

Quieter.

More honest.

’How stupid have I been?’

Dravenna had told him she would call, and he had taken that at face value like some innocent boy waiting beside a phone from a woman made of jade, silk and bad decisions to politely schedule his ruin.

He had mistaken her retreat for rejection. Her silence for refusal. Her promise for instruction.

Maybe she had not wanted him to wait.

Maybe she had wanted him to prove that he would not.

Maybe she had wanted to see whether the Young Dragon knew how to chase without begging, how to pursue without pleading, how to close distance without losing dignity.

And he had stood still.

Phei laughed under his breath.

"Consistent success has been making me lose my edge."

The words sounded ridiculous the moment he said them.

Worse; they sounded true.

He had become used to women coming closer. Used to the gravity of his presence doing part of the work. Used to love, attraction, desire and chaos building around him without him doing so much as lift a finger until even hesitation eventually softened into surrender.

But Dravenna had stepped back.

And instead of Phei advancing, he had waited.

Not anymore.

His eyes lifted toward the elevator.

Toward where Dravenna had gone.

Toward the penthouse.

The final reception, the quieter music, the smaller room and fewer witnesses:

With woman who had promised and never called.

Phei’s smile returned.

Slow.

Hungry.

Certain.

"Not anymore," he swore softly.

Then he walked after them.