Jiang Wei leaned against the cool wall of the corridor, his breath steady but his thoughts raging. The previous night lingered on his skin, warm, teasing, like invisible fingers brushing up his spine. Lin Suyin had awakened something in him that no polite conversation could ever bury again.
The house was quiet, too quiet. Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of the old family home, casting soft shadows on the polished floor. Every footstep echoed louder than it should, each creak of the wood holding the possibility of another encounter.
He hadn't even made it halfway to the kitchen when a gentle voice called out from behind.
"Jiang Wei?" It was Lu Meiran, his mother's brother's wife. Her hair was loosely tied up, a few strands falling over her bare shoulder. The thin straps of her peach silk nightgown slipped just a little too low, revealing an elegant curve of cleavage that gleamed under the sunlight. It clung to her voluptuous figure like liquid heat.
"Ah, good morning, Aunt Meiran," he replied, straightening up quickly.
She smiled softly, approaching with a cup of tea in hand. "You were up late last night. Couldn't sleep?"
His throat tightened as she stopped just inches away. Her scent—something floral and faintly powdery—wafted toward him.
"I... I guess not. Must be the change of rooms."
She chuckled, the sound vibrating through her full chest, which swayed ever so slightly beneath the fabric. Her robe, barely tied, opened just enough to give a peek of her generous thighs. "This house can get lonely at night. You're welcome to knock if it gets too quiet."
He blinked. The invitation was subtle, but the undertone unmistakable.
"Thank you. I mean... I appreciate it."
She leaned in slightly, whispering near his ear. "Or if the silence gets too loud."
Before he could reply, soft footsteps echoed from the stairs.
"Mom? Did you make tea already?"
Chen Qiaoling. Lu Meiran's daughter. His cousin's real daughter, yet only a year or two younger than him. Her delicate feet padded across the floor, her short pink camisole clinging to her chest, bouncing slightly with each step. Her nipples subtly pressed against the thin fabric, betraying the lack of anything beneath.
"Oh! Jiang Wei, you're already up?"
She looked freshly showered, her damp hair tied in a high ponytail that bounced as much as her soft chest did when she walked closer. There was a brightness in her eyes, an almost innocent glow that contradicted the way she stretched lazily in front of him.
Her arms rose over her head, pulling the camisole upward just enough to reveal her toned stomach and the bottom curve of her breasts. "I had this weird dream last night. I think it was about you."
Lu Meiran coughed lightly, clearly amused. "You should be more careful what you say, Qiaoling."
Jiang Wei cleared his throat, unsure where to look. Both women stood before him in states that shouldn't have been considered appropriate, yet neither seemed to care.
Chen Qiaoling giggled. "It wasn't bad, I promise. Maybe it just means I missed you."
Her voice dropped lower as she added, almost in a whisper, "We were so close growing up. Maybe it's time we got close again."
He didn't respond. His heart beat faster, not from shock, but from the way their eyes held him. They were playing with fire, and he wasn't sure he wanted to run from the heat.
"Why don't we have breakfast together?" Lu Meiran suggested smoothly. "I'll cook. You two set the table."
Moments later, they were in the kitchen. Qiaoling leaned over the table, pretending to reach for utensils, but pressing her chest flat on the cool marble surface. She looked back at him, lips curled.
"You look distracted, Jiang Wei."
"You're not making it easy to stay focused," he muttered, setting down the bowls.
She turned, stepping closer until her chest brushed against his arm. "Is that a bad thing?"
The air between them sizzled. Her hands touched his lightly, intentionally lingering longer than needed.
Meanwhile, Lu Meiran watched from the stove, a sly glimmer in her eyes as she stirred the porridge. Her robe had slipped further down, the gentle bounce of her generous breasts barely contained by the fabric.
"Qiaoling," she said casually, "Jiang Wei might need help adjusting to all of us again. It's been a long time."
"I can help him adjust," Qiaoling replied sweetly, sliding her fingers around Jiang Wei's wrist. "Very gently."
The room grew heavy with unspoken intentions.
Suddenly, the front door opened.
"Ah? You're all up already!"
It was Shen Lianhua—his father's younger brother's wife. Clad in yoga tights and a snug crop top, she had clearly come from her morning walk. Her curves were wrapped in tight spandex, sweat glistening between her ample cleavage and across her toned arms.
"I brought breakfast too," she beamed, holding up a basket. "But it seems I'm late."
Her eyes drifted to the closeness between Qiaoling and Jiang Wei, and then to Meiran's robe barely clinging to her shoulders.
She laughed, deep and husky. "Well, isn't this house lively in the morning?"
The temperature in the room jumped. Jiang Wei looked at each of the three women—their curves, their eyes, their subtle games—and felt the pull from every direction.
He knew this was only the beginning.
And he was already tangled deep.
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