The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Chapter 38: Chapter 38: It Was Perfect

By the time the heavy silk curtains filtered a deeper, amber hue across the messy bed, it was already around four in the afternoon.

They had slept deeply for nearly three hours.

Rosalind was already awake.

She lay perfectly still on her back, resting her head against the plush pillows while looking down at Azriel with a soft, mesmerized smile.

He was still dead to the world, snoring softly, his face entirely buried in the deep, heavy valley of her soft breasts.

He looked as if he were resting in the absolute center of heaven.

And realistically, he was.

Her slender fingers moved lazily through his long, pitch-black hair, gently combing out the messy tangles.

Every time her fingertips brushed over his scalp, his black, panther ears gave a cute, involuntary twitch in his sleep, making her smile widen.

He looked so incredibly peaceful.

Stripped of his cocky, playboy armor, his godly facial features were soft and ethereal.

Looking at him like this, a warm, overwhelming wave of possessive love swelled deep within Rosalind’s chest.

She wanted nothing more than to freeze time and keep him hidden away in this room forever.

But as her gaze drifted lower, trailing down the elegant slope of his neck, her smile faltered.

Her golden eyes grew profoundly sad as they locked onto the dark, intricate magical ink etched into his skin, the slave tattoo.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

It wasn’t that she lacked the power to break the seal, as a GrandMaster, stripping away a common slave curse was entirely within her capabilities.

The true problem lay in his terrifying, unprecedented potential.

In the hyper-matriarchal society of Tartarus, a woman displaying such explosive talent would be idolized, courted, and elevated to the heavens as a prodigy.

But for a man, the story was entirely different.

A male possessing combat potential and genetic compatibility that outperformed 99% of the female population wouldn’t be celebrated, he would be viewed as an existential threat to the established hierarchy.

Right now, the world was still blind to his true gifts.

Only she knew what he was truly capable of.

But Rosalind was a Duchess, countless eyes, both internal rivals and foreign spies, watched her every move.

Eventually, details of his rapid growth would leak through the cracks.

When that happened, assassination attempts and political plots would inevitably follow.

Keeping that slave brand on his neck was a calculated, necessary cruelty.

If the worse came to worst and the people demanded answers, she could shield him by playing the matriarchal card, claiming he was merely a highly cooperative asset under her absolute, unyielding control.

It would give the high-ranking women of the empire a false sense of comfort, knowing that no matter how monstrous his potential was, he was still just a slave bound to a woman’s whim.

Of course, there would be greedy matriarchs who might try to challenge her to possess him for themselves, but Rosalind’s golden eyes flashed with a brief, icy coldness at the thought.

Let them try.

She was a powerhouse in her own right, she could effortlessly crush anyone who dared try to steal what was hers.

Sighing gently once more, she raised her hand and lightly traced the inked lines of the slave brand with the tip of her finger, her touch filled with a silent, protective apology.

The slight friction on his neck caused Azriel’s eyelids to flutter.

He blinked his violet eyes groggy, his vision clearing as he looked up, up into her beautiful face.

Realizing he was still comfortably cushioned between her heavy, soft breasts, a lazy, satisfied smile spread across his lips.

He leaned his head up slightly, bridging the small gap between them to give her a soft, lingering peck on her lips.

"Mmm..." Azriel murmured, his voice thick with sleep as he nuzzled back into her comforting warmth.

"How was the sleep, Rose?"

Rosalind’s golden eyes softened completely as she caught his kiss, her fingers tracing a gentle line down his cheek to hook behind his head, lightly pulling him closer.

The heavy, dark thoughts of politics and assassination risks instantly evaporated into the warm, silk-scented air of the bedroom.

"It was perfect," she murmured, her voice carrying a rare, gentle vulnerability.

She lightly squeezed his shoulder, anchoring him right where he was against her chest as if she never wanted him to move.

"I cannot remember the last time I slept past dawn, let alone until the evening. You are a terrible influence on me, Azriel."

"Thanks for the praise," Azriel chuckled softly, his voice still thick and gravelly from the deep sleep.

He deliberately shifted his weight, rubbing his face into her soft, fragrant skin with a lazy grin.

Rosalind looked down at him, her heart swelling as she carded her fingers through his hair one last time.

"Shall we take a bath?"

"Sure," he replied.

Azriel slid out from beneath the covers and stood up, his bare skin catching the amber evening light.

Before Rosalind could even reach for a robe, he leaned down, slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, and effortlessly scooped her up into a firm princess carry.

Instead of freezing up or complaining about his boldness like she had yesterday, Rosalind simply let out a soft gasp and naturally wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder.

In just two days and two nights, Azriel was able to somewhat change her perspective, melting away the rigid walls of the untouchable Crimson Duchess when they were behind closed doors.

Stepping into the lavish, marble-tiled bathroom, the steam from the hot water quickly enveloped them.

This time, there was no frantic rush or raw, animalistic friction.

They washed each other slowly, their touches carrying very little lust but a profound, lingering warmth and affection.

It was an intimate, quiet space where they simply enjoyed each other’s presence.

An hour later, they finally stepped out of the bathroom, refreshed and dressed in casual lounge attire.

Rosalind had changed into a simple white tank top and a pair of fitted black shorts.

The minimal clothing accentuated her tall, athletic frame, making her long, toned legs look incredibly appealing to Azriel’s wandering eyes.

Her white-and-black striped tail swayed behind her with a relaxed, lazy rhythm.

Azriel, on the other hand, wore a loose white shirt and a pair of oversized, comfortable black trousers.

Right on cue, breaking the quiet serenity of the afternoon, Azriel’s stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl.

Rosalind stopped, looking over at him with a highly amused smirk.

Her golden eyes danced with affection as she asked, "What do you want to eat, my hungry little monster?"