God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

Kafka slumped on the couch, his body restless, his mind a storm of confusion and lingering adrenaline. He rubbed his temples, his usual sharpness dulled by the surreal turn of events, waiting for any sign of Abigaille or Olivia to emerge from the bedroom.

Each passing minute felt like an eternity, his nerves fraying as he replayed the moment Olivia had tried to kill him, her murderous intent unmistakable yet inexplicable.

And then finally, after what seemed to be a eternity, the bedroom door creaked open, and Abigaille stepped out. Her face made it obvious that she was exhausted and and in relief, her eyes heavy as if she'd just endured a marathon of a conversation.

A wry smile tugged at her lips as she met Kafka's anxious gaze, but the weariness in her expression spoke of a deep, emotional exchange with Olivia.

Kafka shot to his feet, his voice urgent. "Mom, what's going on? Is she okay? W-Where's Mom? Is she coming out?"

Abigaille raised a hand, her tone calm but firm. "Kafi, slow down. Olivia's...she's not coming out right now. She's too guilty to face you."

"...She's even talking about running back to the city because she can't bear to look at you after what happened."

Kafka's jaw dropped, his confusion deepening.

"Guilty? What the hell does that mean? Why's she feeling guilty? What's going on, Mom?...I'm completely lost here."

Abigaille sighed, stepping closer. "I'll explain everything. Kafi, I promise...But first, I need to make sure you're okay."

She gestured for him to sit back down, and as he did, she stood over him, her eyes scanning his face with maternal worry. She grabbed his hands, turning them over carefully, inspecting his palms for any sign of injury.

"Are you alright? Did the knife cut you? D-Do we need to get you to a hospital?"

Kafka felt the warmth of her hands against his, her touch grounding him amidst the confusion. He then shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"No need, Mom. I got lucky and caught the knife clean, no scratches...I'm fine, really."

Abigaille exhaled a deep, shuddering sigh, her shoulders sagging with relief.

"Thank God." She murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I was so scared you'd been hurt. And Olivia...she was terrified she'd actually cut you. She'll be so relieved to know you're okay."

Overcome with gratitude, she lifted his hands to her lips, pressing soft, loving kisses to his knuckles, her breath warm against his skin.

Kafka's smile widened, a teasing glint in his eyes as he looked up at her.

"Well, my hands are fine, but my heart's still shaken up. Mom. I could use some comfort." He leaned back, his gaze playful but suggestive. "You know, if a beautiful woman sat on my lap and let me hug her, all that warmth might just fix me right up."

Abigaille caught the mischief in his tone, her wry smile returning as she arched an eyebrow.

"Kafi, you...We can't do that with Olivia right next door. You know how close we just came to disaster."

He patted his lap, his grin widening.

"You just said she's not coming out and it's just a hug, Mom. Nothing more...Come on, after surviving my own mom trying to stab me, I deserve a little comfort, don't I?"

Abigaille rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with amusement.

"Nothing's ever just a hug with you, Kafi...You'll take it to the next level the second I let my guard down."

But her resolve softened, her heart aching at the thought of what he'd just endured and then with a reluctant sigh, she lowered herself onto his lap, her thighs settling intimately over his, her weight warm and grounding.

Kafka's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, and to her surprise, he buried his face in her breasts, nuzzling into the soft, plump mounds with a contented hum.

She giggled, a light, playful sound, as she swatted his shoulder. "Kafi, what are you doing? Acting like a baby now?"

His voice was muffled against her chest, his face pressed deep into her cleavage.

"I need these fat milkers to calm me down, Mom. Nothing relieves stress like burying my face in your beautiful tits."

He jiggled his head, his cheeks brushing the warm, yielding flesh, savoring the plush comfort of her body.

Abigaille laughed, her fingers threading through his hair, patting his head in a loving, maternal gesture.

"You're too much."

She said, her voice warm with affection while she couldn't help but find his antics adorable, the way he clung to her like a child despite the raw, adult desire that had sparked between them moments ago.

For a moment, they were just mother and son, wrapped in a cocoon of playful intimacy.

But Kafka's muffled voice broke the moment, a teasing edge to his words.

"If Mom saw us now, you think she'd grab a hammer this time? Try to bash my head in, thinking I'm some molester again?"

Abigaille chuckled, shaking her head.

"Not anymore, Kafi. I cleared up the misunderstanding...She's not going to come after you with any more weapons."

Kafka pulled back slightly, his face still nestled in her breasts but his eyes lifting to meet hers, curiosity burning in his gaze.

"Okay, so what was that? What did you find out? Why the hell did she try to kill me? What's going on with her?"

Abigaille's wry smile returned, a hint of playful intrigue in her eyes as she leaned back, her hands resting on his shoulders. "It's...honestly, it's kind of absurd when you hear it, as the thing was she wasn't trying to kill you, Kafi."

"Just like she said, she thought you were a molester. When she walked in, the way we were positioned—your hands all over me, me looking flustered, the sounds I was making, she thought I was resisting, that you were some intruder taking advantage of me."

"...It triggered something in her, and she acted without thinking."

Kafka leaned back on the couch, Abigaille still perched on his lap, her thighs warm against his, her breasts a soft, comforting weight where his face had nestled moments ago.

His mind churned with disbelief as he processed Abigaille's explanation, his brow furrowed, his hands resting lightly on her hips.

"Okay, Mom." He said, his voice laced with incredulity. "I get that it's reasonable to freak out if you think you see a molester. I mean, sure, protect your family, fine."

"But most people would scream, call the cops, maybe throw a punch...How the hell does someone go straight to grabbing a knife and trying to kill the guy?...No hesitation, no questions?"

"...Is Mom some kind of assassin or a retired soldier or something? Who's that ready to kill without blinking?"

Abigaille giggled, the sound light and melodic, easing the tension in the room, she shook her head, her fingers brushing through his hair.

"Oh, Kafi, don't be ridiculous. Of course not. Olivia's just a businesswoman. At most she's got some martial arts training from years ago, self-defense stuff, not killing skills like you think...She learned it to protect herself, not to go around stabbing people."

Kafka raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Then why'd she go full psycho-killer on me? That wasn't just self-defense...She was out for blood."

Abigaille's smile softened, as she leaned back slightly.

"It's just who she is, Kafi. Olivia...she can't stand seeing a woman being hurt, especially not someone she loves like family. She's fierce, always has been. If she thinks someone's in danger, she doesn't think she acts. Doesn't care about the consequences."

"...There've even been times in the past, you know, where she's beaten up guys harassing women. Left them limping, no questions asked."

She chuckled, a fond glint in her eyes.

"Surprised you didn't know that."

Kafka's eyes widened, surprise and admiration flickering across his face.

"Beating up creeps is one thing, Mom, but that's a far cry from trying to murder someone. She went for my heart, then my throat. That's not just protective—that's merciless."

Abigaille sighed, her expression turning thoughtful.

"From what she told me, Kafi, she wasn't thinking at all. The second she walked in and saw us your hands on me, me looking flustered, the sounds I was making, her mind just...snapped."

"She thought I was being attacked, and her body moved before her brain could catch up. By the time she grabbed the knife, she was already in motion, acting on pure instinct."

"...It wasn't about stabbing you—it was about saving me."

Kafka shivered, a chill running down his spine as he pictured Olivia's icy, unyielding gaze.

"Damn." He muttered, shaking his head. "She's...formidable. No wonder Camila and Nina always talked about her like she was some kind of scary legend. I thought they were exaggerating, but now I get it."

Abigaille's smile widened, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Oh, she's definitely scary in her own way. That chilly face of hers, always looking like she's staring daggers with those ice-cold eyes? It's enough to make anyone freeze...And her presence, it's like the room goes silent when she walks in. Plus, she's done some wild stuff in the past without even blinking. But..."

Her voice softened, a warmth creeping in.

"Deep down, she's a sweetheart. You'd be shocked at how clumsy she can be, how much of a dork she is when you get past that tough exterior."

"...If you saw her true side, you wouldn't even recognize the scary Olivia everyone talks about."