NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

"We will see," she said.

"Barbarians are not the only ones who know how to wait for what they want."

She stepped back at last, the red of her gown whispering as it settled.

The loss of her body heat against his chest was immediate and sharp.

Kane’s hands stayed at his sides. His cock remained heavy, insistent, but he did not reach for her.

Slovia returned to her desk as if the last minutes had been nothing more than a polite conversation about trade routes.

She sat, smoothed the dark velvet over her thighs, and looked up at him with those same assessing eyes.

"My daughter will need stronger food than what the kitchens have been sending," she said, her tone once more that of a ruler.

"I will see that proper provisions reach your chambers by morning. And Kane—" she used his name for the first time, tasting it—

"When you decide that honor is a colder bed than the one I can offer, the door will still open."

Kane turned without answering.

He left the study the way he had entered, silent, controlled, the red of his hair catching the firelight one last time before the heavy door closed behind him.

In the corridor, the cold stone air hit him like a second skin.

He walked back toward the chamber where Misha slept, every step measured, every breath taken with deliberate care.

The ache in his body did not fade. The memory of Slovia’s soft, heavy breasts against his chest, the deliberate press of her hand, the low invitation in her voice, none of it faded.

But neither did the image of Misha curled under the furs, trusting him to return.

He found Thora and Sira still at their posts.

They looked at him once, reading whatever they needed to read in the set of his shoulders, and said nothing.

Kane entered the chamber, closed the door, and crossed to the bed.

Misha had not stirred.

He sat on the edge of the furs, pulled off his boots, and lay down beside her without waking her.

His arm settled around her waist, drawing her back against his chest.

The residual heat of his body returned to her, and she made a small sound in her sleep, pressing closer.

Kane felt the shift in her breathing before he opened his eyes.

The chamber was still dim, the first gray light of morning only beginning to filter through the high windows.

Misha had turned in his arms.

Her golden eyes were open, watching him with that quiet, measuring stillness she sometimes carried when the world felt too sharp.

"You smell like my mother."

The words were soft, almost conversational. No accusation. Just fact.

Kane did not flinch.

"I was with her."

"Mm."

A small sound. Neutral.

She did not pull away, but she did not press closer either. Her body remained warm against his, the furs tangled around their legs.

"Nothing happened," he said.

"I didn’t ask."

"I want you to know."

Misha studied his face for a long moment.

Then she opened her golden eyes wider, the sleep clearing from them completely.

There was no heat of anger there.

Only a tired sort of clarity.

"This was a marriage of convenience," she said.

"You already have multiple women. Me being jealous is stupid."

Kane’s hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

His palm was large, rough from the fights of sword and reins, but the touch was careful.

"You don’t have to be jealous," he answered.

"You are my wife."

Misha’s mouth curved, small and wry.

"Prove it."

Kane did not ask more.

He did not need to.

The invitation was clear, and the trust beneath it was clearer still.

He shifted, rising onto one knee, then the other, until his big body gently straddled her hips.

The furs slipped lower. The air was cool against bare skin, but the heat between them was already building.

"I’ll take it slow," he said.

"Okay. But take me."

His gaze dropped to the soft rise and fall of her chest.

"Your heart..."

"I’m fine. I want this."

He believed her. Or he chose to.

Either way, he did not argue.

Kane’s hands moved to the hem of the thin shirt she still wore.

He drew it upward with deliberate care, the fabric whispering over her skin until he pulled it free and cast it aside.

Her breasts were pale in the low light, nipples already tightening from the cool air and the weight of his eyes.

He lowered his head.

The first kiss landed just above her sternum, warm and unhurried.

Then lower.

He took one breast into his mouth, sucking with careful pressure, tongue circling the peak until she made a small sound.

"Ah—"

The moan was quiet, almost surprised, as if her body had answered before her mind fully caught up.

Kane switched to the other breast, giving it the same slow, thorough attention.

His teeth never pressed hard.

Only the gentle pull of lips and the wet heat of his tongue.

Misha’s hands found his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the muscle there, not pushing him away, only holding on. Her hips shifted beneath him, a restless little movement she could not quite control.

Kane’s right hand slid down her side, over the curve of her waist, across the soft plane of her stomach.

He did not rush.

When his fingers reached the edge of the trousers she still wore, he paused long enough to look up at her face.

Her golden eyes were half-lidded now, lips parted.

She gave the smallest nod.

He eased the fabric down her hips, taking her underthings with it, and discarded both.

Then he settled between her thighs, one thigh bracing her open. His fingers returned, tracing the inner skin of her thigh before finding the warm, already damp folds of her pussy.

He stirred them slowly.

Two thick fingers parted her, sliding through the slickness that had gathered while he suckled her breasts.

He didn’t push inside yet.