Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1813: Father-Daughter Partners in Crime

"Mmh... Quin..."

Quinlan paid, gladly. His hands roamed the generous mounds he was holding her up by, and whenever her breath ran out she pulled back a finger’s width, amber eyes hazy, only to dive right back in before air could talk her into behaving. Whoever needed the rest here had clearly stopped being him.

The garden, meanwhile, went about its morning around them.

Rosie’s tree ruled the grounds, wide enough to shade half the estate, morning light pooling pale and gentle through its canopy.

On one of its low, broad branches sat two of the most important women of the elven world, and neither had survived the night with her dignity intact. Myrasyn’s braids had surrendered hours ago, loose strands framing a face soft with exhaustion and shining with joy.

Beside her, Isveth’s immaculate shrine maiden dress was creased in ways no devout of the faith would ever willingly permit.

Neither had slept, neither was presentable, and neither had ever looked happier.

They sat like village girls on a fence, legs swinging over open air, and between them, enthroned sideways across both women’s thighs, sat Rosie, currently receiving pats from four hands at once.

"...and when the Holy Mother raised her hand, the whole forest bowed at once," Isveth was murmuring, her fingers combing slow and reverent through the little girl’s hair. "Every branch, every root, every leaf..."

"And then? And then?!"

"Then, little one, she planted the very first seed..."

"Haah..." Myrasyn sighed from somewhere far past bliss, chin dipping, her hand never once breaking its patting rhythm. The queen of the elves looked like she had found the meaning of her reign on a tree branch.

Below them, among the roots, lay the casualties. Five elven handmaidens were scattered across the moss in various states of surrender, one still clutching a half-braided flower crown, all soundly asleep. Rosie had outlasted every last one of them. The queen and her maiden had simply refused to fall, running on devotion alone.

Then, mid-pat, Rosie’s eyes found her papa across the garden.

Quinlan’s eyes found his daughter back over a shoulder of platinum hair, his lips otherwise occupied.

A silent conference was held.

Her papa was exactly where he wanted to be. So was she, pampered from both sides by warm, dedicated, wonderful ladies who smelled like flowers and never ran out of stories. Neither position could be improved upon, and greetings would keep.

Rosie sent him a tiny smile and turned back to Isveth’s story. Quinlan’s eyes crinkled in answer, and he returned his full attention to his plump lover.

Perfect partners in crime.

...

"Pah..." When the kiss finally ended, it ended the way expensive things break: slowly, and with protest.

"No... Come back..." Aurora chased his mouth twice before accepting that air had won, and even then she stayed wrapped around him, flushed and unwilling to dismount, so Quinlan simply carried her toward the smell of fresh bread.

The breakfast table stood on the terrace at the garden’s edge looking directly toward Rosie’s tree, a comfortable arrangement of cushioned chairs around more food than three women could ever finish.

Seraphiel lounged with a teacup, smiling like she’d enjoyed the morning’s entertainment immensely.

Kaelira sat straight-backed beside her with a diplomatic amount of attention aimed at her plate.

And across from them, in full Church regalia at a villain’s breakfast table, Elisabeth Valorian was being refilled by a maid for the third time despite having announced her imminent departure twice.

"Morning, ladies." Quinlan dropped into the widest chair and arranged Aurora sideways across his thigh, where she curled up against his chest with zero scientific dignity remaining and no visible intention of recovering any.

"Morning, Quin~" Seraphiel’s grin was radiant. "I see you managed to work our alchemist up ’a bit’..."

"G-good morning," Kaelira managed, ears already pink. "And to you too, Aurora..."

"H-hey..." the platinum-haired beauty managed, still nestled against Quin.

"Wait, is ’Daddy’s Little Girl’ Aurora returning to us?" Sera asked, eyes twinkling.

Aurora, for the longest time, preferred to be treated exactly as such. It was Rosie’s arrival and consequent screeching of ’Daddy!!’ that made Aurora’s schtick harder to justify in her head, thus she stopped doing so.

"No..." Aurora whispered. "This is... ’I Love Quin Too Much’ Aurora..."

Elisabeth set down her cup with a click that said she had been rehearsing. "’Morning’? That is all you have to say? You materialized out of thin air already devouring that poor woman like a... a..." Her hand described a scandalized circle. "There are children on these grounds! Does shame simply not exist for you?"

"Rosie was born knowing more stuff than we’ll ever manage to fit into our heads because Geims pass down information between generations. So there’s no need to be ashamed, she knows perfectly well what’s up even if she might pretend otherwise," Quinlan confirmed pleasantly, reaching for the tea with one hand.

"T-that’s a weak excuse, Villain..."

"Just call me Quinlan."

"No."

"Whatever makes you happy, Elisabeth."

"I didn’t permit you to call me by my first name."

"Okay, Elisabeth."

"Grr...!!"

While a certain hypocrite was busy fuming, Quinlan’s other hand had already disappeared beneath the table.

Aurora’s breath hitched against his collarbone.

His fingers had found the hem of her dress and slipped under it without ceremony, tracing slow, idle lines up the inside of her thigh, and the family’s voice of reason responded by biting her lip and shifting her hips a quarter turn to make the road easier. Needy mode, it appeared, had not been dismissed.

The soaked fabric between her legs lost the negotiation to a single hooked finger, and then he was touching her properly, fingertips gliding through slick, drenched folds that had been waiting for him since the apothecary steps.

He took his sweet time with her, spreading her in slow strokes, circling the exact spot that made her knee bump the table’s underside.

When two fingers finally sank into her to the knuckle, the sound she made against his neck could almost have passed for a yawn.

Almost.

Two elven noses wrinkled in perfect unison.

Seraphiel’s teacup paused halfway to her lips. Her nostrils flared once, delicately, and the radiant grin evolved into pure delight as she leaned back to enjoy the show properly.

Beside her, Kaelira caught the same information on the same breeze, went rigid, and turned red enough to clash violently with her own hair, eyes boring a hole into her breakfast as though the bread might rescue her.

"Shame," Elisabeth continued, fully armored in her own righteousness and blind as a newborn kitten, "is what separates civilized society from beasts. The Goddess teaches that the flesh makes demands, and the righteous refuse them."

On the villain’s lap, Aurora was refusing nothing. Her hips had begun to move in tiny, secret rolls, riding his fingers with motions she sincerely believed were invisible, and her grip on the front of his shirt had gone white-knuckled.

"Mm. Go on." Quinlan sipped his tea and set his fingers to the same unhurried rhythm as his sips. "I hope to one day become a paragon of virtue."

"A futile dream," Elisabeth decreed without pause.

Seraphiel, meanwhile, had appointed herself a new duty.