Chapter 366: Faelith (02)
Faelith stared at Ethan with a complex expression, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirling behind her elven eyes.
She wasn’t lying.
If Ethan didn’t look the way he did, she would have ripped his head off right then and there for daring to touch her.
If it weren’t for that strange, almost supernatural allure of his, he wouldn’t have lived long after approaching her the way he had.
Arwen, Ysara, Evelyn, Elena, Ophelia, Amelia, and even Alice and Seo-ah.
All of Ethan’s wives were proud women—women who would refuse to be touched by men unworthy of them. Evelyn, after all, had literally died fleeing from the clutches of one such man.
If Ethan didn’t possess that absurd beauty and charm, he would have been torn to pieces the very instant he dared, for example, to touch Arwen in an indecent manner.
Ethan, of course, took a certain pride in his own beauty, but he let nothing slip from his lips. His gaze simply followed every step the elf took toward him, quiet and unhurried.
The moment Faelith leaned in to settle beside him on the couch, his hands shot forward, seizing her slender waist and pulling her onto his lap instead of the upholstery.
Faelith’s full buttocks landed on his thighs with a soft, muffled thud. Her pale, generous flesh molded to the shape of his lap under her own weight, a slow ripple traveling through the plump cheeks before they finally settled, their warm softness pressing snugly against the rigid bulge already making itself known between his legs.
Her delicate hands rose at that very moment to his shoulders, seeking support by reflex.
"What? On top of making me submit, you still want me to become your concubine too?" Faelith asked, letting out a weary sigh.
"Yes," Ethan replied without a trace of shame on his face.
For a moment, Faelith blinked, her face a mask of pure disbelief. Then she threw her head back and burst into loud, crystal-clear laughter.
"Oh... fuck... what kind of Lord is this who’s come to declare himself ruler of our entire region, huh? If your people weren’t so well cared for and your wives weren’t so happy, I might even think you were one of those hedonistic pigs who sacrifice everything for pleasure, you know?" she teased, the corners of her lips curving into a smile.
Her voice sounded somewhat bitter.
"I don’t consider myself a hedonist." Ethan shook his head.
He enjoyed life’s pleasures, but he wasn’t obsessed with them.
He was capable of thinking without using his dick and didn’t let wine drive him crazy. He was far from being one of those sex-and-drug-crazed people so common on Earth—and, of course, on Estria as well.
Ethan let his hand slide down to Faelith’s exposed butt and gave it a gentle pat, his palm meeting her skin with a muffled sound that barely reached the walls of the room.
Without pulling his hand away, he slid his fingers beneath her tiny miniskirt and sank them into a generous handful of that soft, white skin.
"Ah... if I surrender myself completely to you... what will my position be in Goldenveil?" she asked, her voice now lower, almost a purr.
"And what else could it be?" Ethan teased. "Countess Faelith. Our children will bear the surnames Greenleaf and Goldenveil, and may inherit your city should you ever wish to come live with your man.
Your titles will be retained, as will your command of Greenleaf, but that command will fully adhere to the laws of Goldenveil.
Greenleaf will be protected by a Goldenveil legion, patrolled by Goldenveil soldiers, and its people—formerly the people of Greenleaf—will see themselves as citizens of Goldenveil. You will also receive Goldenveil documentation and citizenship, along with an official salary based on your profession.
Of course, as my wife, such a salary will be irrelevant."
Honestly, these terms were somewhat absurd.
First of all, the concept of citizenship wasn’t well established in Estria, nor was the idea of belonging to a nation—at least not among commoners.
Generally speaking, a person was a servant of their Lord, and their nationality was the village where they were born and lived.
Noble lords, kings, and rulers were essentially the only ones who actually had a nationality tied to a specific nation.
The people of their lands were almost the property of their Lords, just as the lands they lived on belonged to those same lords, and the crops they harvested were, for the most part, their lords’ as well.
With demigods walking the earth and the nobility consisting mostly of these transcendental beings, there was little the common people could do but accept this social order.
In Faelith’s mind, these ideas also sounded somewhat absurd, but, remembering how well the people of Goldenveil lived, she couldn’t bring herself to question them.
"Very well..." Faelith murmured, pressing both hands against Ethan’s firm chest.
With her cheeks burning, she pushed herself backward, sliding down his lap in a slow, deliberate motion.
Her full buttocks dragged along the hard bulge pulsing beneath the fabric of his pants, the plush cheeks parting softly around the thick ridge as they slipped past it, every centimeter of that descent sending a shiver crawling up her spine.
Ethan was the Lord of a city with a Tree of Life, and one of his wives was a high elf.
Faelith had no doubts; it was obvious he was worthy.
"Is this how you’d prefer me to take my oath of loyalty?" she asked, kneeling on the floor between his legs, her delicate hands sliding up to the waistband of his pants.
She already knew Ethan well enough to draw her own conclusions.
He smiled. "It’s an oath that would satisfy me greatly—just be careful with your teeth..."
Faelith nodded, her nimble fingers pulling his pants down in a single, firm motion.
The next instant, she watched that cock—long, thick, and pale, the very one that had pressed so insistently against her ass—break loose from the fabric’s grip, springing heavy and unrestrained into the open air.
The member arced upward before slapping down against the mature, delicate face of the elven beauty with a loud, wet pop.
Its warm, throbbing weight settled snugly against her soft cheek, the swollen glans leaving a glistening trail smeared across her pale skin.
For a moment, Faelith froze, her hot breath escaping in short, trembling gasps against the thick, pulsing shaft weighing heavy against her cheek.
H-how?... That was way too big!