The room was dark—the kind of dark that came at 2:47 AM when even LA's light pollution couldn't penetrate blackout curtains that cost more than my old wardrobe.

Madison slept beside me, one arm draped across my chest, her bare skin warm and soft against mine, breathing deep and even with the peaceful unconsciousness of someone who'd had three glasses of wine and knew she was safe.

Her thigh was slung over my hip, the heat of her pussy pressed lightly against my side through the thin sheet, a lazy, possessive claim even in sleep.

I wasn't asleep. Hadn't been for the last hour. Just lay there in the dark, processing the weight of normalcy from dinner—the arguments, the laughter, Mom's threat to abandon us for reality TV if we didn't stop being dramatic.

The family chaos that felt more valuable than every supernatural ability I'd collected. My cock still half-hard from the memory of Jasmine's taste on the balcony, her broken moans echoing in my skull like a filthy lullaby.

The door opened. Silent. Careful.

The stealth that came from years of sneaking past a light-sleeping mother who worked night shifts and had developed superhuman hearing for the sound of teenagers doing things they weren't supposed to.

The faint creak of the hinge was a whisper of sin in the quiet.

I didn't move. Didn't speak.

I just watched through barely-open eyes as a silhouette slipped inside, closed the door with a soft click that sounded loud in the silence, like the snap of a lock on a cage she was walking into willingly.

Jasmine.

Of course it was Jasmine.

She stood there for a moment—frozen, probably letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, probably questioning every decision that had led her to sneaking into her nephew's bedroom at three in the morning while his girlfriend slept beside him and her sister slept down the hall.

Her silhouette trembled slightly, the oversized t-shirt clinging to her curves in the faint moonlight, nipples hard and visible through the fabric, thighs pressed together like she was fighting the ache between them.

Smart people would've turned around. Would've gone back to the guest room and pretended this impulse never happened.

Jasmine had always been smart. But smart people did stupid things when desire stopped being theoretical and became something that kept them awake at night, counting heartbeats, wondering what if—wondering how her nephew's tongue would feel buried inside her again, how his cock would stretch her, fill her, breed her.

"I know you're awake," she whispered, voice barely audible over Madison's breathing, husky with need and shame.

I opened my eyes fully. Let her see me seeing her. "You should go back to your room."

"I know."

She didn't move.

Her bare feet rooted to the carpet, toes curling into the plush fibers, her breath coming in shallow pants that made her breasts rise and fall under the shirt.

The moonlight sliced through the curtains like a lover's gaze, catching her face in silver shards—cheekbones sharp enough to cut, lips parted and swollen from biting back moans, eyes wide and glassy with sleepless hunger.

Blonde hair spilled wild over her shoulders, tangled from restless fingers, framing the flush that crawled down her throat and disappeared beneath the only thing she wore: a threadbare, oversized t-shirt that clung to her like a second skin, hem skimming the tops of her thighs and fluttering with every shaky breath.

No bra. No panties.

The cotton was damp where it brushed her pussy, molding to swollen lips, the outline of her clit a faint, treacherous shadow.

Every shift of her hips made the fabric ride higher, exposing the slick trail cooling on the inside of her thigh, the air thick with the raw, unmistakable scent of her need—musky, sweet, desperate.

Her nipples pressed hard against the shirt, dark peaks begging for teeth, and when she swallowed, the motion dragged the hem up just enough to flash the curve where thigh met ass, bare, trembling, naked to anyone who knew how to look.

"This is a bad idea," I said quietly, not moving, not disturbing Madison who still slept peacefully against my side, her pussy's warmth a steady pulse against my skin.

"I know that too."

Still didn't leave. Her thighs rubbed together subtly, a desperate friction, her fingers twisting at the hem of her shirt like she wanted me to come over myself to her side and lift it, expose her while she begs.

I could smell her from here—the faint scent of wine on her breath mixing with whatever lotion she used, nerves manifesting as heat that made the air between us feel thinner, charged, electric.

Her heart was racing.

I didn't need supernatural abilities to know that. Could see it in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers twisted together at her waist, the way her nipples strained against the cotton like they were begging for my mouth.

"Yes, Jasmine?" Not Aunt Jasmine. Not right now. Right now she was just a woman standing in my bedroom in the middle of the night, pussy dripping for her nephew, and we both knew why.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "I can't stop thinking about—" She stopped. Shook her head. "About the balcony. About what you said. About—"

"About being a dirty fucking aunt who wants her sister's son to ruin her greedy little cunt, to pump her full of family seed while she screams?"

The words hung between us like smoke. Like confession. Like the truth neither of us could take back now that it had been spoken out loud, raw and filthy in the dark.

Her breath hitched, a soft, needy whimper escaping her lips. "Yes."

One word. Quiet. Honest.

The honesty that only happened at three in the morning when defenses were down and consequences felt distant enough to ignore, when all that mattered was the ache between her legs and the cock she could see tenting my boxers.

Madison stirred beside me—just a small movement, an adjustment in sleep, her arm tightening slightly across my chest before she settled again, her pussy grinding subtly against my hip in her dreams.

The sound of her breathing changed rhythm for a moment, then evened out.

Both of us froze. Waited. Held our breath like teenagers caught doing something forbidden, Jasmine's hand slipping between her thighs for a second, pressing against her clit through the shirt before she caught herself.

She didn't wake.

Jasmine let out a shaky breath, her free hand trailing up her own thigh, stopping just short of where she needed it. "I should go."

"You should."

"But I—" She stopped. Swallowed, her throat working. "I need to understand. How you do this. How you have all these women and they're all okay with it. How Madison sleeps beside you while I stand here wanting—"

She cut herself off, her voice breaking on a gasp as her hips shifted, chasing friction against nothing.

"Wanting you to fuck me like you own me. I need to understand before I lose my mind completely, before I crawl into that bed and beg you to take me while she watches."

I carefully extracted myself from Madison's embrace—slow, gentle, years of practice making the movement smooth enough not to disturb her.

She made a small sound of protest, reached for me in sleep, found a pillow instead and curled around it, her ass pressing back against the sheets.

I stood. Crossed the room in bare feet and boxer briefs, all my godly perfection on display in moonlight-painted shadows—muscles flexing, cock hard and straining against the fabric, a wet spot where precome had leaked.

Jasmine's eyes tracked every movement, pupils dilating even in the darkness, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

I stopped in front of her. Close enough to feel her body heat radiating like a furnace. Close enough to hear her breath coming faster, ragged.

Not close enough to touch.

Yet.

"You want to understand?" I kept my voice low, aware that Mom slept two doors down and Sarah and Emma were just across the hall.

"It's simple. I don't lie to them. I don't pretend to be something I'm not. I tell them exactly what I am, exactly what I offer—what I'll do to their bodies, how I'll make them come until they forget their names—and I let them choose."

Or at least, the sex part of what made my harem trust me. The other part was being a man for them and a guardian god who'd burn the world for them.

"And they choose this?" She gestured vaguely at the room, at Madison sleeping, at the impossible situation we were all tangled in, her hand brushing her own breast accidentally, nipple peaking harder.

"They choose to share you? Can they choose to watch you fuck your own aunt?"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.