Eden Books Tax Season Breeding By My Uncle

 My accountant uncle has a knack for numbers… and for making me scream and beg to be bred.

I walked into my uncle’s accounting office expecting a lecture and a pile of overdue tax returns.

What I got instead? My hot-as-sin uncle bending me over his desk and giving me a breeding punishment I never saw coming.

Now, I’m sneaking around, begging for another hot, forbidden load. Because come to find out, I’m one filthy niece.

A taboo forbidden erotica short story featuring a stern accountant uncle and his free-spirited virgin niece. Includes dirty talk, breeding kink, and a filthy sweet HEA.

Note: This is the taboo version of my story “Off Limits Temptation.”

Word count: 6400. All characters are 18+The cover picture is 100% created with AI.

Excerpt

His brow lifts, that stern expression settling onto his features. “You’ve been running the smoothie bar for how long now?”

I blink, pretending to count on my fingers. “Um, thirteen months? Give or take. Time flies when you’re blending kale, am I right?” I laugh at my own joke, but his expression doesn’t change.

“And you haven’t filed once?”

I shrug. “I’ve been busy. The snow melted, so more people are coming to the yoga class next door. People need their wheatgrass, you know. It’s practically a public service.” I flash another smile. “Besides, taxes are so…boring.”

His jaw clenches, and a muscle ticks in his cheek. God, my uncle’s sexy when he looks all stern and disapproving. It makes me want to do something even more irresponsible just to see that look intensify.

“Your dad talked to me yesterday about this.” He gestures to the mess of receipts. “He said you’ve been dodging his questions about your accounting for months.”

“Technically, it’s not dodging if I’ve just been forgetful.” I bounce a little on my toes, making my tits jiggle. “Besides, I thought you’d just plug a few numbers in and tell me I owe, like, what—a thousand bucks? Tops?”

It better not be more than a thousand. That’s all I have in my savings account, and I’ve already mentally earmarked half of it for that cute vintage blender I saw online.

He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’ve never paid sales tax. You haven’t categorized a single expense. And you think you’ll only owe a thousand dollars?”

I hesitate, my stomach doing a nervous flip. Shit, he thinks it’ll be more? “I don’t know, but how complicated can this be? It’s just a smoothie bar. People give me money, I give them fruit in a cup. Simple!”

He exhales slowly. When he looks at me again, there’s something darker behind his eyes that makes me stand up a little straighter.

“You think this is cute?” His voice is even, but the sharp edge beneath it makes my skin go hot. “You think just because you’re young, you can ignore your obligations and someone else will clean it up for you?”

I swallow and my cheeks flush, but I lift my chin anyway. “I mean…that’s what family is for, right?” I bat my eyelashes. “I’ll make you a free smoothie every day for a month. The premium kind, with the fancy protein powder and everything.”

His jaw flexes again, and the tension in the room snaps tight. Desire flutters in my stomach, and it’s suddenly very clear I pushed too far.

He moves around to the front of his desk and stands next to it. “Come here.”

“Why?” I ask, and my voice comes out breathier than intended.

“I said come here.” His voice is like steel, and my feet move before my brain catches up.

I stand in front of him, and my pulse pounds so hard I swear he can hear it. Dammit, why do I like it when he’s angry? Why does his stern voice make me want to simultaneously run away and press myself against him?

“I’m not your father, but my brother should’ve disciplined you more,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.

My lips part, a protest forming, but before I can say anything, he bends me over his desk and pulls my sundress up in one smooth motion.

My palms hit the polished wood, and I’m stunned. “What’re you—?”

He cuts me off and growls, “You want to act like a spoiled brat. You’re going to get treated like one.”

He spanks me—hard—right on my panty-clad a$$. I gasp, and my body jolts forward as the sting blooms across my backside.

Holy shit. That hurt. Like, not a joke. Not a playful little tap. Not something I can roll my eyes at and walk away from feeling smug.

“Ow! What the hell—“ I start to protest, but the words die in my throat when his palm connects again, harder this time.

My brain is a jumble of what-the-actual-fuck and oh-my-god-this-is-hot. My thighs clench involuntarily, and a ripple of pleasure heads straight for my cl*t. What is happening to me?

“Be quiet and take your punishment. If you didn’t want consequences, you’d be responsible.”

Oh my God. Is this really happening? “You can’t just—“ I wiggle, trying to free myself, but he presses down on my lower back, holding me firmly in place.

Another slap. This one is more centered, and I moan more from lust than pain. I’m trembling, and I wish it was from shock, but it’s not.

It’s the heat. The shame. The fact that my panties are sticking to me and every time he spanks me, I feel myself getting wetter. I should be outraged. Instead, I’m pressing my thighs together, desperate for friction.