The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

"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.

She looked at him through heavy lashes, a slow smile spreading across her flushed face.

"Good," she said, her voice still slightly wrecked at the edges.

"Because Mommy doesn’t think that amount of seed is going to be enough to breed her."

Azriel’s eyes darkened.

He leaned in slowly, his face descending toward hers, his violet gaze holding her gold one with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and something far more serious.

"Then," he said quietly, "I’ll fill you up until your womb can’t hold any more. And then I’ll do it again."

He held her gaze for one more beat, letting the words settle into the space between them.

Then he looked down at her body, at the full, voluptuous sprawl of her against the bed, at the evidence of what they had already done tracing warm lines down her inner thighs, and said, simply and evenly.

"On your fours, Mommy."

Vesperia moved immediately, but not before pressing her hand firmly between her thighs, cupping herself, her palm sealing against her entrance with careful, deliberate pressure.

She was not losing a single drop.

She shifted onto her hands and knees with a fluid, unhurried grace that managed to be dignified even now, her tail sweeping in a slow arc behind her.

She felt the slight shift of his seed within her as she moved, felt the warm, insistent pressure of everything he had given her, and held it carefully.

Then she looked back at him over her shoulder.

Her golden eyes were heavy-lidded and dark.

Her white-streaked hair fell across one cheek.

Her full, generous curves were presented to him completely, the picture of abundance and patience and wanting.

Slowly, with her gaze still fixed on his, she removed her hand from between her thighs.

Immediately, a thick, slow drip of warmth began to trace its way down her inner thigh.

Her brow furrowed.

She reached back with two fingers, scooped what had escaped with a quick motion, and brought her hand to her mouth without breaking eye contact.

Mm.

She licked her fingers clean, slowly, thoroughly, her tongue moving between them with an expression of someone tasting something worth savouring, and the sound she made was low and satisfied and genuine.

"Don’t let it waste," she said, holding his gaze with an expression that was half command and half something far more naked.

"Put it in."

Azriel stared at her for one suspended moment.

Then he raised his hand and brought it down across the full curve of her backside in a sharp, resounding blow.

CRACK.

She moaned, the sound rolling through her throat like something that had been waiting, and he watched her entrance clench reflexively, holding what remained.

He positioned himself.

Ran the head of his cock slowly, deliberately, through her slick folds once, feeling her shiver at the contact, feeling her press back toward him, and then drove himself deep inside her in one smooth, authoritative stroke.

Squelch.

Vesperia’s arms buckled slightly at the initial thrust.

She caught herself, fingers pressing onto the soft bed, nails curling into the pillow, and let out a moan that filled the hollow from the ground up, long and unguarded and deeply, thoroughly satisfied, the sound of someone receiving exactly what they had been wanting.

"Az..." she breathed.

His hands found her hips, fingers spreading across the full, generous curve of them, his grip settling into that firm, possessive hold that she had already, in the span of a few hours, learned to recognise as the last warning before he stopped being careful.

Slap. Squelch.

He set a rhythm immediately, deep and measured, each stroke driving forward with the full authority of his hips, and Vesperia dropped her head between her shoulders and simply breathed through the first wave of it, her tail sweeping in agitated arcs behind her.

Then his hand found her tail.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of it, that thick, white-furred extension of her that was, she had always known and never quite acknowledged, absurdly, humiliatingly sensitive, and gripped.

The sound that came out of her was entirely different from everything that had preceded it.

"Ohhhhh—" It broke apart in the middle, rough and hoarse and stripped of every layer of refinement she had ever cultivated.

Her entire spine went rigid.

Her inner walls clamped around him in a sudden, involuntary vice that dragged a sharp exhale from his own throat. "Myyy... Az... ohhhhhh"

She could feel it everywhere.

The tail was nerve-dense in a way that bypassed the rational mind entirely, the stimulation of it radiating through her lower back, her hips, the base of her spine, feeding directly into everything his cock was already doing and amplifying it tenfold.

It was almost too much. It was exactly enough.

Slap. Squelch. Slap.

Azriel felt her response, felt the way her entire body tightened and shook around the grip on her tail, and his smirk was audible in his exhale.

He held the tail firmly, using it as an anchor, and brought his free hand down across the fullest curve of her backside in a sharp, ringing blow.

CRACK.

"Ahh—!"

The heavy, abundant flesh of her rear shook with the impact, rippling outward from the point of contact, and he watched it with the focused attention of someone who appreciates craftsmanship.

He did it again on the other side.

CRACK.

Her moan this time had no words in it at all.

He released her tail.

The absence of that specific sensation made her gasp, relief and loss arriving simultaneously, and then his hand was moving, and she tracked it through the acute awareness of her own skin.

His palm pressed flat on her tail bone, warm and heavy, and then traced downward along the line of her spine with a slowness that was almost meditative.

Vertebra by vertebra.

Following the curve of her as she knelt before him, cataloguing her with his hand while his hips maintained their relentless, driving rhythm.

Slap. Squelch. Slap. Slap.

Down her spine.

The small of her back.

The dimples above her ass where his thumb pressed in brief, possessive punctuation before continuing.

She was shaking faintly.

She was aware of this and incapable of stopping it and no longer interested in trying.

His hand reached her lower back and stopped.

Then it moved downward, past her spine, past her shoulder blades, all the way to the base of her neck, where her hair was gathered and woven into a single, thick braid that hung down between her shoulders like a rope.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!