The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

"Good girl," he said, low and private and devastating.

The sound that left her was not a scream.

It was deeper than that, torn from somewhere below language, below composure, below the century of armour she had been wearing so long she had forgotten it was armour.

Her back arched away from the bed, her tail snapped rigid, and the climax ripped through her with the particular, obliterating force of something that had been building for much longer than tonight.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

He didn’t stop.

He drove her through it, his rhythm becoming harder rather than easing, chasing something of his own now, the controlled precision fraying at last into something rawer, his breath coming in audible, ragged bursts against her temple.

"Vesperia."

Her name, not Mommy, just her name, in a voice so stripped of everything except what he was feeling that it landed against her like a second climax entirely.

"I’m here," she gasped. "Az, I’m right here, cum inside me, breed meeee—"

He buried himself to the hilt.

SQUELCH.

And then the flood came.

It hit her in waves, deep and scorching and overwhelming, his essence pouring into her with a force that she felt in her meridians as much as her body, the gap between their cultivations no barrier at all to the raw, fundamental heat of it.

She felt her own body respond involuntarily, reaching toward his the way a flower turns toward light, and in the resonance between them, something happened that was not quite not quite ordinary and not quite describable.

Spurt.

Her internal walls pulsed around him, milking every wave with the instinctive thoroughness of a body that had decided it was keeping everything it was given.

Spurt. Spurt.

Above her, Azriel exhaled, long and slow, his forehead dropping to rest against hers, his hand still loosely cupping her jaw, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone with an absentminded tenderness that seemed to surprise even him.

Hah. Hah.

They stayed like that.

The hollow breathed around them.

The luminous insects sang.

The canopy shifted in a slow, dark current of air that carried the scent of earth and pine and the particular, charged musk of what they had just been to each other.

Somewhere deep in the dark behind them, the forgotten boss monster stirred in its lair, a low, distant rumble of something vast repositioning itself, and then went still again, as though even a boss monster had decided it wanted no part of interrupting this.

After a long moment, Azriel lifted his head.

He looked at her.

Vesperia’s golden eyes were already on his, open and unguarded and luminous in the dim light, none of the sovereign armour, none of the composed distance that had characterised every other version of her he had encountered.

He leaned in slowly, deliberately, giving her every opportunity to see him coming, and kissed her.

Not the way he had kissed her before, not the bruising, consuming, dominant claiming of earlier.

This was something different.

Slow and deep and suffused with a warmth that had no performance in it, his mouth moving against hers with the unhurried patience of a man who is not going anywhere and wants her to know it.

His hands cupped her jaw, fingers spreading into the silver-streaked fur of her cheeks, holding her face as though it were something worth holding carefully.

Mm.

Vesperia’s eyes closed.

She got lost in it the way she had not allowed herself to get lost in anything for a very long time, completely, without reservation, her fingers rising to thread themselves into his black hair, those dark mane-like waves that she had been wanting to touch since before she had admitted she was wanting anything at all.

She held him there, not urgently but firmly, the way you hold something you are not ready to release.

They kissed for a long, slow minute in which time did not particularly exist.

When Azriel finally drew back, he was smiling.

Not the predatory smirk of earlier, not the controlled, deliberate expression he used when he was talking with her.

A real smile, warm and slightly wondering, directed entirely at her.

He sat back and looked at her.

His violet eyes travelling the full, unhurried length of her, taking inventory of everything the dim light of the hollow revealed.

The generous, heavy curves of her. The full, round weight of her breasts, still flushed and marked from his mouth.

The soft abundance of her stomach, her hips, the thick, warm thighs that had been wrapped around him.

The dishevelled white of her hair and the slow, satisfied sweep of her tail and the golden eyes watching him do this with an expression that was trying to be composed and was not quite succeeding.

He exhaled slowly.

"Do you want to continue," he said, his voice low and rough and saturated with an intensity that made the question almost unnecessary, "or..."

Vesperia held his gaze. The corner of her mouth curved.

"Will you let me go," she said, "if I said no?"

"Like hell," he said immediately.

He reached forward and cupped both her breasts in his hands, heavy and full and overflowing past his palms, and caught her dusky rose nipples between his fingers, pinching with a slow, deliberate pressure that drew a sharp intake of breath from her.

"I’m going to enjoy every inch of this body," he said, his voice dropping into something that was barely above a murmur, thick with intent.

"I want to take my time with you, Mommy. I want to know every part of you."

His hands moved.

From her breasts, trailing downward, across the soft, warm plane of her stomach, tracing the curve of her navel with the pad of his thumb, moving lower still until his fingers found the swollen, oversensitised bud of her clit and pinched.

"Ahhh—" The moan that left her was low and sultry and completely involuntary, her hips tilting toward his hand before she could think about not doing it.

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