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

Kafka was still staring at the closed curtain of the changing room when he heard the quick click-click-click of a crutch approaching.

June came sweeping over like a woman on a mission, her clutch tucked under her arm, eyes bright with curiosity.

She barely slowed down before giving him a sharp nudge in the shin with the edge of her clutch.

"Well? What happened?" She demanded in a hushed, urgent tone. "Come on, tell me, Kafka. Did you manage to cheer her up? What did you say? And what was her reaction?"

Her whole posture screamed I want the gossip, and I want it now.

Kafka gave her a slow smile, one corner of his mouth lifting, before letting his shoulders sag in a kind of defeated slump.

"I'd think it's pretty obvious, June. The way she just walked away should tell you everything."

June's brows shot up, but before she could prod him again, he looked at her with an amused glint.

"And you..." He said. "...shouldn't be reacting like you're watching some midday drama. This is a tragedy happening in front of you, and you're enjoying it far too much."

June's smile was pure mischief.

"Of course I am. Do you know why?" She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "Because ever since I met you, Kafka, I knew you were one hell of a playboy."

Kafka tilted his head, half-smiling, half-offended.

June continued, voice almost purring with amusement.

"When it comes to charming women and stealing their hearts, I've never seen anyone better. You're too smooth with women, it's like a craft for you. I honestly had you on a pedestal. But this…"

She gestured toward the changing room curtain with her clutch.

"…seeing this? You fumbling? Lost? This I did not expect. And I have to admit, it's adorable. Like watching a king lose his throne."

Kafka let out an incredulous chuckle. "Playboy? How can you say I'm a playboy? I'm loyal to all my women. I never go out of my way to charm anyone else."

June just gave him a dry, unimpressed stare. "Oh please."

She shifted her weight to one hip, her tone sharpening just slightly.

"When you first came in here with Abigaille, do you know what I thought? I thought you were some innocent young man who had somehow gotten himself an older girlfriend who was absolutely eating you alive. I thought Abigaille was the predator, and you were the sweet, honest one."

Her lips curved into a knowing smile.

"But after watching you two talk? Seeing the way you handled her? I realized very quickly that you weren't the prey at all. You were the one who had snared her. Completely wrapped her around your little finger."

Kafka smirked faintly but said nothing.

June tapped her clutch against her thigh. "Even then, I still thought, alright, fine, he's dominant when it comes to these things, but he's loyal to Abigaille. He's focused entirely on her."

Her smile turned sly. "And then I saw you again. And again. And every time...oh, Kafka." She shook her head in mock disappointment. "You were always flirting with someone. Always."

"Flirting?" He echoed, raising a brow.

She ticked points off on her fingers.

"That day in the restaurant, I go to the washroom for two minutes, and when I come back, you're talking to a woman in a red dress, making her blush like a schoolgirl."

"Then there was that time on the road when some poor girl was struggling to load her car, you swoop right in, help her out, and start speaking smooth as silk until she's tucking her hair behind her ear like she's in a romance novel."

Kafka exhaled through his nose, half-amused, half-exasperated.

"And don't even get me started on here last time you came here." June went on. "I turn my back for one second to talk to a client, and you've slipped away."

"I then find you chatting up one of my employees. The look on her face told me everything, she was hooked. And look…"

June tilted her head toward a display shelf nearby.

"That same employee is looking at you right now."

Kafka glanced over, and sure enough, there was a young woman peeking at him from behind a rack. The moment their eyes met, she jolted like she'd been caught stealing, ducked her head, and practically ran for the back room.

June raised her brows at him knowingly.

Kafka sighed. "June, I wasn't intentionally flirting with them. I was just talking to them normally. I didn't have any hidden agenda."

"Oh, I know."

June said, nodding. She even patted his shoulder sympathetically...but then she gave him that same dry, knowing smile.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you were making them feel closer to you. You're a natural charmer, Kafka. Even when you're not trying, you're pulling people in."

"You don't even realize your own effect on women. You're basically an incubus in disguise, showing kindness and expecting nothing in return, but accidentally planting something much more dangerous."

Kafka shook his head, smiling faintly.

"You're over-exaggerating. You're looking at this through pink-tinted glasses. Not everyone I talk to feels something for me. And even if they did, they'd quickly realize I was just helping them or being polite. Then they'd move on."

June didn't say anything for a moment, just gave him a small, wry smile.

There was something almost...wistful in her eyes.

When she finally spoke, her voice dropped to a near-whisper.

"I don't know about that. I think your charm sticks around longer than you think. Like a poison that seeps in, and no matter how much a woman tries to shake it off, it stays."

Her tone was so quiet that Kafka frowned, leaning in slightly. "What? Say that again?"

June straightened instantly, waving a hand as if to bat away the moment.

"Never mind." Her smile was back, bright and teasing. She gave his shoulder another pat. "Focus on what's in front of you."

She leaned in just a little, voice shifting into the calm, confident tone of an older sister giving advice.

"Take it from someone who's lived a little longer than you, when she comes out in that outfit, praise her. Really mean it. That's the fastest way to win her back right now."

Kafka gave June a cocky little smirk, chin tilted just enough to make it obvious.

"Of course." He said, voice dripping with self-assurance. "I already know something like that. If I didn't know something so basic, I wouldn't have been able to snag women like Abigaille and Olivia in the first place."

He crossed his arms, looking downright smug. "Leave it to me."

June rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Alright, Mister Casanova. I'll hold you to that. "

Almost as if the timing had been rehearsed, the curtain to the changing room slid open.

Olivia stepped out.

And the moment she did, June's eyes went wide instantly, her breath catching before she even realized it. She had been expecting Olivia to look good, hell, she already knew the woman was gorgeous, but this?

This was...something else.

Olivia was wearing a deep emerald set that hugged her every curve as if it had been sewn directly onto her skin.

Her breasts were so full they looked moments away from spilling over the snug cups, the perfect swell framed by delicate lace.

Her waist dipped in a dramatic curve, the kind most women would have killed for, before flaring into hips so wide and perfect it made the high-cut line of the panties look sinful.

And her ass...June had to consciously stop her eyes from lingering, because it was there, round, high, defying gravity.

The contrast of her regal, cold expression only made it worse, no, better. She wasn't smiling, she wasn't preening, she wasn't blushing like some shy girl caught in the spotlight.

She was owning it. Standing there like she was carved from marble and dipped in sensuality.

Even June, who prided herself on being hard to fluster, felt her pulse tick up.

Behind her, she heard the quiet shuffle of the other store staff, every single one of them sneaking glances, some outright staring. They were all women, and even they were blushing like schoolgirls seeing their first crush.

Kafka chuckled under his breath. He'd seen this effect before, the Olivia effect, but it still amused him every time.

Good thing this section of the boutique was for women only with him being the exception. If there had been men here, he'd probably have had to drag them out by the collars.

Then he remembered, he was supposed to praise her. Lavishly. Like June told him.

He snapped out of his quiet amusement and stepped forward, voice going loud and theatrical, as if he were trying to sell the most luxurious product in the world.

"Olive..." He said, drawing out her name like it was a toast to royalty. "I just have to say that you were already utterly breathtaking. But this?"

He made a sweeping motion toward her, as if unveiling a masterpiece.

"I don't think the dictionary even has a word for it. We'd have to invent one."

He gestured toward her chest with both hands, as though presenting fine jewels.

"I mean, jook at this fit. Perfect. Absolutely snug, not a millimeter wasted...It's like that bra was born knowing it would one day have the honor of holding you."

The corner of his mouth quirked higher as he moved on, theatrically pointing toward her hips.

"And this. This work of art right here, tell me, what mortal is supposed to look away from that? It's impossible. This set was made for you, Olive. Made to serve."

He took another step closer, lowering his voice in mock reverence.

"Honestly, you could be wearing a ragged sack, call it underwear, and still make it look like designer couture. Because it's not the fabric that makes it beautiful, it's you."

Hearing this exaggerated praise, June, actually fanned herself with her clutch. "Good lord…" She muttered, shaking her head with a grin.

Behind them, the other women in the shop were whispering in a fluster, a couple of them biting their lips like they were watching something straight out of a romance drama.

Kafka too, confident that he had hit his mark, waited for the blush, the shy smile, something.

But to his shock Olivia turned her head...and looked at June instead, completely ignoring him.

"How does it look, Miss June?" She asked flatly.

June blinked, caught mid-fan. "I-It looks good. It looks, uh, really good." She said quickly.

Olivia nodded once. "Thank you. I'll consider buying it."

Then, without even glancing back at Kafka, she turned and walked back behind the curtain to try on the next set.

Kafka stood there, frozen in place, his hand still half-lifted from his last dramatic gesture.

"…What the hell just happened?" He muttered under his breath.

June came up beside him, and for the first time since this little back-and-forth began, her expression wasn't smug amusement, it was pity. She patted his shoulder gently.

"I'll admit." She said softly. "I thought this was funny at first. But...seeing how she's reacting? You really might be in trouble, Casanova."

Kafka stared at the curtain where Olivia had vanished, her cold tone still lingering in his ears.

And, he couldn't help but agree.

He really might be in trouble right now.