The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Vesperia’s golden eyes rolled back.

A loud, shameless moan tore from her throat, raw and entirely unguarded, her tail squeezing tighter around his ankle as her back arched off the bark of the tree.

"Then suck Mommy’s tits more," she panted, the words breaking apart on her tongue, her usual sovereign composure reduced to this, to breathless, flushed demand.

Azriel looked up at her from beneath his lashes, his violet eyes catching the dim light of the hollow.

He held her gaze for one deliberate moment, just long enough to make her feel it, and then he smiled and descended again.

He was not gentle about it.

Slick.

He sucked voraciously, drawing the full, heavy flesh deep into his mouth, his tongue working in tight, relentless circles before he caught her nipple between his teeth and bit down with careful, precise pressure that walked the exact edge between pleasure and sting.

"Ahhh—!" Her head dropped back against the pillow.

Her fingers dug into his hair, not pushing him away but pressing him closer, harder, as though she could not get enough of the specific sensation of his mouth treating her like something to be consumed.

Mm. Slick.

He switched sides without warning, and the sudden, wet exposure of the first made her gasp, the cool air of the hollow hitting oversensitised skin, before his mouth sealed around the other and she forgot to care about anything except the deep, pulling suction that seemed to connect directly to something low in her belly.

Her moans filled the hollow without apology.

Loud and unrestrained, the sounds of a woman who had spent a century being quiet and had decided, somewhere in the last several minutes, to be done with that.

The hollow was vast and the nearest living thing was the boss monster they had both entirely forgotten existed, and neither of them cared even slightly.

Slick. Mm. Slick.

Vesperia looked down at him, her chest heaving, her golden eyes hazy and dark.

"Mommy will take a pill next time," she breathed, her voice thick with effort, "so that when you suck, you can actually drink."

Azriel paused.

He lifted his head and looked at her directly. "Is there actually a pill like that?"

She moaned at the loss of his mouth, her hips shifting instinctively. "Yes," she managed.

"Aetherial lactation Potion."

Something moved through Azriel’s eyes, a slow, considering heat.

He looked at her breasts, still slick from his mouth, heavy and full and exactly the size that filled both his hands with abundance to spare.

He thought, with the particular clarity that extreme states sometimes produce, about Rosalind.

About both of them.

About what it would mean to have both mother and daughter.

His hands tightened around her breasts without him consciously deciding to.

"Anhhhhhhh."

The sound she made was pain and pleasure fused into a single note, her body arching into the grip rather than away from it.

Then she looked at him, and something in her expression shifted.

The boldness went slightly soft at the edges.

A faint, entirely unfamiliar colour rose in her cheeks.

"If you want," she said, quieter now, her golden eyes holding his with an intensity that was different from lust, deeper, more serious, more vulnerable, "you can make a baby with Mommy. Then Mommy will have lots of milk for you. Naturally."

The hollow went very still.

Azriel looked at her.

"You want to be bred, Mommy?" he said quietly.

The word landed between them.

Her breath hitched.

She held his gaze and did not look away.

"Yes," she said.

Azriel’s breathing shifted.

Something in his chest tightened, something in his blood ran hotter, and he reached up slowly and wrapped his hand around her throat, not squeezing yet, just holding, his palm warm against her pulse.

Azriel leaned down until his lips were barely a breath from hers, his hand still firm at her throat, his violet eyes holding hers with an intensity that left no room to hide in.

"You really want a baby from me?" he growled.

The words hung between them, raw and enormous in the quiet of the hollow.

Vesperia had lived for centuries.

She had ruled.

She had reduced armies to ash with a gesture and sat across negotiating tables from Empresses and never once flinched.

She was not a woman who said vulnerable things out loud.

"Yes," she whispered.

And then, as if the single word had cracked something open, she closed the remaining distance herself, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was brief and urgent and entirely unguarded, a peck, almost, the kind a woman gives when she has run out of defences and has decided she no longer wants them.

She pulled back just enough to speak.

"It will be difficult," she admitted, her voice low and husky, stripped of its usual sovereign resonance. Her golden eyes stayed on his, steady despite everything.

"The gap between our stage is enormous. It may take many attempts." A pause, in which something moved across her expression that was older and quieter than desire.

"But I want your child, Az."

She did not fully understand the want.

She felt an unknown ancient, cellular pull that she feels when she has found something strong enough, something real enough, that her body makes the decision before her mind has finished its argument.

The urge to take the seed of a man like this and let it take root.

To grow something from what they were to each other in this moment.

She had not felt it in a hundred years.

She felt it now, looking up at him in the dark.

Azriel’s fingers tightened slowly around her throat.

His eyes, already dark, went darker.

Something shifted in them, something that was not quite tenderness and not quite ferocity but lived in the charged space between the two.

"Then I’ll fuck you until it takes," he said quietly.

The words came out measured, deliberate, the tone of a man making a promise rather than a declaration.

"Every time harder than the last."

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