Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1831: Big Sister’s Generosity

What followed was not quick, because Kaelira had never once rushed a piece she cared about.

The frantic edge burned off and she settled in, unhurried and rhythmic, learning him one slow pass at a time, and what replaced the massacre was far worse for him: a devoted, wet, thorough patience that was utterly unembarrassed by its own sounds, exactly as instructed.

*Mm... schlop... mmh~*

And she watched him the entire time. Big, happy, violet elven eyes stayed mashed into his and never once let go, shining up along his body with open delight at every hitch of breath she managed to cause, and Sera’s most devastating technique turned out to require no technique at all when the eyes doing it meant everything they said.

The forest kept them company. The light-columns between the trunks slid by slow degrees, the birds came back one wary branch at a time and resumed their afternoon arguments, and the little sun over the bower crackled softly to itself while the Primordial’s lover worshipped at her own pace.

Sera stayed at the hollow’s edge with her bare feet dangling into the air, toes swinging in small absent arcs while she watched, chin on her palms, her whole face gone soft. Somewhere along the way she’d started humming, an old elven melody, pretty and wandering, and it wove itself beneath the sounds of the work as if it had always belonged there.

Now and then her hand drifted over to pet Kaelira’s hair, smoothing it back from her working cheeks, tucking a strand behind one crimson ear, and Kaelira leaned into each touch without ever breaking stride or eye contact.

"Look at you," the blue-eyed elf murmured, to one of them, or both, or neither. Nobody asked her to clarify.

He lasted a long time, because upgrades or not, the stamina that came with the Primordial Breeding Physique had never gone anywhere. But that only gave her more time to practice, and by the end his hands were weakening around her ears, the most ominous creature on the continent coming apart by inches under a rookie’s devotion.

"Kaelira." Gravel had come into his voice, and his hands tightened around her ears exactly as steady as she’d asked for. "It’s coming."

Violet eyes flew wide, then darted sideways to her self-appointed big sis, asking for guidance with everything a face could ask while her mouth was this full.

Sera had never looked smugger in her life. Chin on her palms, bare feet swinging merrily, she delivered the final lesson like it was a nursery rhyme. "Keep your tongue moving diligently around the shaft~ And then it’s just gulp~ gulp~ gulp~"

The last three words came with a little roll of her throat that was somehow the lewdest thing anyone had said all day, and Kaelira went scarlet from hairline to shoulders without surrendering a single centimeter of her work.

"Aww~" Sera’s grin softened at the edges. "Want big sis to hold your hand?"

A weak nod, tiny and instant and entirely without shame left to spend.

Sera’s hand slid into hers and squeezed, and that settled that.

Kaelira answered him with a hum, her free hand digging into his hip, anchoring the way she anchored against a pour gone violent. Then he pulsed hot against her tongue and gave his newest lover her first load, thick and generous and shamelessly primordial in volume.

"Mmph!?"

She struggled with it. Her throat worked in long, laboring swallows, one bead escaped the corner of her mouth and was chased back in with a knuckle.

*Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.*

Exactly as taught, she stayed planted, resolute, drinking him down swallow after stubborn swallow and refusing to surrender a single drop of her first commission.

Then, chest heaving and eyes glassy, she sat back on her heels, looked him dead in the eye, and opened her mouth wide to show him her hard work: empty, finished, signed.

Quinlan’s heart skipped a beat. Genuinely skipped, the same heart that had kept perfect time through duels and wars and the collapse of kingdoms stumbling once, hard, because a shy smith with blazing ears had just presented her work for his inspection.

"...I didn’t teach her that part," Sera whispered, somewhere between religious awe and career concern.

"Well?" Kaelira rasped, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, ears incandescent and gaze unwavering. "Did I pass?"

He answered by hauling her up his body and kissing her, deep and unhurried. By the time she surfaced, she could feel the answer pressed against her stomach, as ready as if the last few minutes had been a warm-up stretch. His bottomless stamina was not a rumor. The day would run out before he did.

He laid her back into the deep moss of the bower, the little sun burning low above them, and settled between her thighs, and the forest went soft around them as if it knew: the birdsong easing, the light-columns leaning, the warmth of the earth rising to meet her spine.

Her heels found the backs of his legs. Her hands gripped his shoulders like a haft she was testing for balance. He waited, one last time, asking with nothing but the stillness.

"Quin. Thank you for being so considerate, but..." Kaelira looked up at him, violet eyes enormous and clear. "I really am ready. Move, please. Make me yours..."

He nodded and pressed into her, slow and inexorable, opening her around him one held breath at a time, and her nails bit crescents into his shoulders as her breath tore on the sharp sting of a threshold crossed and gone.

"...Hah... ahh..."

He stopped there, buried to the hilt in her heat, holding his weight off her on his forearms, giving her the stillness. Her breath came in ragged pulls. Her thighs trembled once against his hips, then steadied.

Then he saw them: twin lines of wet sliding from the corners of her eyes, back toward her crimson ears, catching the light.

Everything in him went still at once, his voice dropping soft and urgent. "K-"

"I did it!" It came out wet and it came out laughing, both at once.

She caught his face in both hands so he could see it plainly: she was crying, and underneath the tears she was grinning like her whole soul had come loose. "I’m not hurt, you enormous idiot. I’m happy. I finally lost it. Finally. FINALLY." A hiccup of a laugh escaped her, and her voice cracked and dropped to almost nothing. "And so much more importantly than that... I lost it to you."

For a few seconds Quinlan didn’t move at all.

Then he came down off his forearms, slid his arms under her back and around her shoulders, and hugged her, tight and complete, her face pressed into his neck, his buried in her hair, holding his smith like the world outside the bower had been cancelled. He didn’t move and he didn’t speak, just held on, hard, while she shook once against him and clung right back with all the strength her forge had ever built into her.

Because it had never really been about the milestone. Her whole life had been things taken out of her hands: her craft made criminal, her future sentenced into a conscript wave, her first forge hidden in a cellar like a shame.

This one thing she had kept, guarded, and given away herself, on a day she judged worthy, to the man she had chosen. Nobody had taken it from her. She had handed it over, and it had been received like treasure.

"You’re far too precious..." he said into her hair, rough.

"Hehe..." Her arms cinched tighter around his neck. "...I assume we don’t just lie here like this until you finish, right?" she asked, but her voice was pure eagerness, ready to take the full package and experience everything being with this man entailed.

"Right." Quinlan laughed, and moved.

The afternoon stopped being gentle by increments. She caught his rhythm faster than any book had promised and then began answering it, hips rolling up to meet him, forge-built strength giving as good as it got, and there was laughter at first, hers, breathless and disbelieving at how good it was.

"Ah...! Ahn... mm... that’s..." Every moan out of her sounded like a discovery, cute and blunt at once, exactly like her.

"Harder." It came out exactly like her forge instructions, blunt and certain even with her voice shaking at the edges. "I’m not made of glass. I have one real advantage over the others, and I intend to make full use of it..."

He grinned into the crook of her neck, low and delighted. "It’s not a competition, but..."

He gave her precisely what she’d ordered, and it kept getting better. An arm hooked under the small of her back to lift her into every stroke, moss tearing under her grip, his name breaking in her mouth in a register no forge had ever heard. Her hands left his shoulders for his back, holding on with everything the anvil had ever built into her. When she felt him grin against her throat at the strength of it, she dug in harder on purpose, marking what was hers.

"Hie!? Ah! Ahn... Quin...!" Her yelps chased each other up the trunks, climbing higher with every stroke.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Sera’s hand found hers in the moss and laced through, and Kaelira gripped it without ever opening her eyes, and neither elf said a word about it.

And the forest answered them.

Neither of them noticed it begin. The moss of the bower deepened and went lush under her clawing hands, and the light-columns leaned closer.