NOVEL NEXT Chapter 696: Teasing My Aunt
Jasmine's laughter exploded out of her like champagne from a shaken bottle—bubbling, effervescent, impossible to contain.
She doubled over, one hand clutching her stomach, the other gripping the railing for support, her laughter vibrating through her body in a way that made her breasts rise and fall with each breath.
"Oh my God," she gasped between laughs. "Oh my God. You—" She couldn't finish. Just kept laughing, the kind of deep, helpless laughter that came from the absurdity being so complete it transcended into art.
"Just because you got twenty women," she finally managed, wiping tears from her eyes, "you think you're some kind of a god of sex? And even have a Church of sex?"
"Actually," I said, stepping closer, voice dropping into that lower register that made conversations feel like secrets, "that title has different meanings. Being freaking handsome like no one else is one of the meanings."
She stopped laughing. Looked at me. Really looked—the kind of assessment that started professional and ended somewhere else entirely, her gaze lingering on my mouth, my throat, the line of my collarbone where my shirt had slipped open just enough to reveal skin.
"Okay," she admitted quietly. "I'll give you that one. You're—" She gestured vaguely at my face, my body, the supernatural perfection that came with godhood. "You're stupidly attractive. Criminally attractive. The kind of attractive that should be illegal because it's not fair to everyone else."
"Thank you." I smiled, predatory and pleased. "And the other meaning? The fact that I can get any woman I want."
The air between us shifted—thickened, charged, the space between our bodies humming with unspoken electricity.
Jasmine's breath caught—subtle, barely noticeable, but I'd spent months learning to read micro-reactions the way other people read books. Her pupils dilated slightly. Heart rate increasing.
The Taboo Aura had been all along doing its work like gravity you couldn't fight even when you knew it was pulling you somewhere dangerous.
She'd been subject to it all night—my presence, the inescapable reality of what I was. As long as you were attracted to me, the aura worked. Subtle. Patient. Building pressure like water against a dam until cracks started forming whether you wanted them to or not.
"Now look who's acting like One Punch Man," she said, but her voice had lost some of its steadiness, the words coming out breathier than intended.
We both laughed, but it sounded different now. Charged. The kind of laughter that happened when tension needed somewhere to go but couldn't find appropriate outlets.
I moved closer—not touching, just occupying space that made the air feel thinner. Leaned in until my mouth was close enough to her ear that she'd feel my breath when I spoke, the heat of it ghosting across the sensitive skin of her neck.
"Do you think it's a bluff?" I whispered.
Her breath hitched—sharp, involuntary, a tiny gasp that betrayed her before she could stop it. I felt it more than heard it, the way her body tensed against mine, the sudden stillness in her chest like her lungs had forgotten how to function.
Her pulse thrummed wild under her skin, a frantic drumbeat I could sense through the thin space between us—raw, animal recognition that bypassed every careful wall she'd built.
She steeled herself. I watched the shift happen in real time: spine straightening inch by inch, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening with that fierce, stubborn resolve of someone bracing against a storm they already knew would drown them.
"I can't fall for you," she said, voice low and deliberate, like pronouncing a verdict she desperately wanted to believe.
I let out a soft, dark laugh—started low in my chest and curled into the air between us, laced with certainty. "You're daring me."
Her brows drew together. "What?"
"You heard me." I eased back just enough to lock eyes with her, letting her see the heat banked behind the amusement. "That line about not falling for me? It's not a wall, Jasmine. It's a dare."
Her lips parted—soft, flushed, trembling just slightly—but no sound came out at first. "I am not—"
"You absolutely are." My thumb traced the sharp line of her jaw, slow and deliberate, barely grazing her skin yet igniting every nerve it touched.
When I reached the corner of her mouth, I lingered, pressing just enough to feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, the faint tremor she couldn't hide.
"Your words are saying one thing. But your body—" I let my gaze drop deliberately, taking in the quick rise and fall of her chest, the way her nipples had tightened against the thin silk of her dress— "is screaming something else entirely."
She opened her mouth again, closed it, then tried once more. "You're terrible."
"I'm honest," I murmured, voice dropping into that low register that made her pupils flare. I lifted my wine glass, took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the tension to coil tighter. "There's a difference."
She stared at me—eyes dark and conflicted, want and warning warring in their depths. The war between what she knew she should do and what every cell in her body was begging for played out across her face in vivid, breathless detail.
"This is insane," she whispered, almost to herself, the words trembling on her lips.
"Most of the best things are."
"You're impossible."
"I'm inevitable," I corrected, my smile slow and dangerous, promising ruin wrapped in pleasure.
Her hands rose—hesitated in the air for a heartbeat—then landed on my chest.
Palms flat against my shirt at first, as if to push me away, but her fingers curled almost immediately, nails scraping lightly through the fabric, catching on skin underneath, pulling me fractionally closer even as her brain screamed retreat.
The heat of her palms burned through the thin cotton, branding me.
"God, you're arrogant," she breathed, but the words came out shaky, laced with something that sounded dangerously close to need.
"I'm honest," I said again, leaning in until my lips brushed the shell of her ear, voice a low rumble she felt more than heard. "And you fucking love it."
Her breathing fractured—shallow, ragged pulls of air that lifted her chest faster, the silk of her dress clinging to every curve with each desperate inhale, outlining the stiff peaks of her nipples in merciless detail.
The scent of her—warm skin, faint jasmine, and the sharper edge of arousal—wrapped around me like a drug.
The balcony door slid open behind us.
Madison stepped out, took one slow look at the charged space between us—Jasmine's hands fisted in my shirt, my thumb still stroking her jaw, our bodies close enough that the heat between us was visible—and her lips curved into a knowing, wicked smile.
"Am I interrupting?" she asked, voice dripping with delighted amusement.
"Yes," Jasmine said, too quickly, voice husky and breathless.
"No," I answered at the exact same moment, not looking away from Jasmine's darkening eyes, my smile sharpening with promise.
Madison's smile widened—slow, wicked, knowing. "I'll leave you two to… whatever this is." She turned to go, paused at the threshold, glancing back with that gleam in her eye that said she was enjoying the chaos she'd just poured gasoline on.
"By the way, Aunt Jasmine? He really can get any woman he wants. Just so you know exactly what you're dealing with."
The door slid shut behind her with a soft click, sealing us in the sudden hush of the balcony. All the electricity in the air was right here, crackling between us.
Jasmine stared at the closed door for a long second, then turned to me. Her voice came out low, almost disbelieving. "Your girlfriend just gave me permission."
"Madison doesn't give permission," I said, stepping close enough that the heat of her body brushed mine. "She recruits. She saw something in you she likes. That's rarer than you think."
"This is insane."
"You keep saying that," I murmured, letting my knuckles graze the bare skin of her arm—light, deliberate, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. "And yet here we are."
Her breath trembled. "Because it keeps being true."
I took one deliberate step back, giving her the space she hadn't asked for but needed. My hands stayed open at my sides—no pressure, no cage. "Nothing happens that you don't want, Jasmine. Not a single thing."
Her eyes flicked up to mine, dark and searching, hunting for the catch, the power play, the moment I'd prove every warning she'd ever been given about men like me. She didn't find it.
"And if I want it?" The words came out barely above a whisper, but they hit me like a shot of whiskey—smooth heat sliding straight through my blood.
"Then ask for it," I said, voice low, steady, letting the promise settle between us like smoke.
The city hummed far below—traffic, distant music, the endless pulse of LA at night. Beautiful. Corrupt. Perfect.
Jasmine held my gaze for a long, suspended moment. I watched the decision form behind her eyes—slow, inevitable, like the tide finally giving in to the moon.
She drew a breath that lifted her chest against the thin silk of her dress, then let it out in a soft, deliberate exhale.
"Show me," she said, quiet but unflinching.
The words hung in the air, simple and devastating.
My smile came slow—not triumphant, but hungry, reverent, like a man who'd just been handed something priceless and knew exactly how carefully he had to ruin it.