From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem
Chapter 64: Preparing Her!

Chapter 64: Preparing Her!

Outside, Celeste paused, her senses pricking.

The air had shifted—barely, but enough for her to notice. Being attuned to ice and all things cold, she instantly caught the subtle rise in temperature.

A scoff left her lips.

"Tch. Must be Alice again. Probably something to do with her healing process..."

She brushed it off and returned her focus to the tome laid before her, darkness magic, a field she had only recently begun to explore.

She needed power. Fast.

Not just for herself—but for the team.

Because if another disaster like two days ago happened again, they wouldn’t survive.

Not all of them.

Her teammates were trying.

She could see that. But trying wasn’t enough.

Not when one goblin had nearly wiped them out.

If it had just been her back then... maybe—just maybe—she could’ve escaped unscathed.

But the rest?

They wouldn’t be so lucky next time.

...

Back inside the tent, the temperature wasn’t the only thing climbing.

"So, Alice..."

Lyra leaned in with a coy smile, playing the friendly card.

"What’s the secret? We’re girls, right? We can share things between us..."

Her voice was syrupy sweet. The kind of sweet that hides poison underneath.

Alice met her gaze with an equally sunny smile.

"Yeah, totally. Girl to girl. No secrets."

Then... silence.

She just smiled. Didn’t say a damn thing.

Lyra blinked. Waited. Tilted her head.

And waited some more.

"...Ahem. Ahem." She cleared her throat, trying again. "You were saying?"

Alice kept smiling, sweet as pie. Like a woman who just dropped a glitter bomb in her rival’s handbag.

"Oh, I was saying something? Hmm, I must’ve forgotten~"

The temperature ticked up again.

Alex and Bryce, oblivious, were still trying to fan themselves down.

"Ab-about the massag—"

Lyra began, voice barely stable, a flicker of something beneath her tone.

But Alice didn’t let her finish.

"Ah!"

She suddenly exclaimed, her voice bright and a little too loud.

Her head bobbed in quick, exaggerated nods like she’d just remembered something extremely important.

For a second, Lyra was hopeful.

"The treatment! Yes, yes. I need to check on the healing batch. I’ll come back in an hour to look in on you, promise."

Before Lyra could respond, Alice grabbed Rae by the arm with a smile far too dazzling for comfort.

"In the meantime, Rae and I will need to concoct sooooome potions together. Urgent healer business. We’ll be right back, okay?"

And just like that, she practically dragged Rae out of the tent, her fingers gripping him like a woman on a mission.

The flap closed.

Lyra lay frozen, blinking.

Her lips parted, as if trying to find words that just refused to come out.

Her cheeks were warm—no, hot.

Her fists clenched beside her thighs, then released.

Why the hell was she this irritated?

She didn’t know.

But she was. And she didn’t like it.

...

Meanwhile, in Alice’s tent, there was actually potion work being done—kind of.

She had meant what she said, after all.

Some of the injured still needed recovery elixirs, and these specific vials required precise conditions: indirect light, stable temperature, and silence.

Silence that Rae, thankfully, didn’t disturb.

Good Rae was quiet. Good Rae didn’t poke. Didn’t tease.

He was a diligent little goblin now, fetching herbs and pouring liquids like a perfect assistant.

At least for now.

Alice worked quickly, setting up a small alchemy rack for only three vials.

It wasn’t much, but it was all she had time and resources for.

She stirred the contents gently, the room filled with the soft bubbling of simmering mixture and the earthy scent of herbs.

But despite the quiet, her mind was anything but still.

Every time Rae’s hand brushed hers while passing a vial, or every time he leaned in close to inspect the mix, she felt her heartbeat spike.

She tried to focus. Truly.

But her thoughts? They were still inside that tent.

With Lyra. With that smug little "massage" comment.

With the way Rae just nodded along to everything like a clueless sweetheart while both women silently declared war with polite smiles.

And yet here she was... dragging him into her tent.

To make potions.

But of course, Rae—being Rae—just followed her with that innocent little smile plastered on his face.

The kind of grin a cartoon villain might wear when the trap’s already set and the prey doesn’t even know it’s halfway in.

Behind those glimmering eyes, his thoughts were far from innocent.

’Good Rae doesn’t speak. Good Rae doesn’t tease.’

’Good Rae lets her stew in those "sooo good hands" Lyra talked about until she’s begging to know just how good they can be... hehehe.’

Now it was time to turn up the heat.

Subtly.

One move at a time.

An "accidental" brush here, a "helpful" graze there.

"Madame, eccuse Rae. Rae needs do bass dhrough."

He chirped softly, scooting behind her.

Except, instead of just passing like a normal goblin, he pressed against her backside.

His little face smooshed into her plump ass like it was part of the plan—which, of course, it was.

"Ahnn~!"

Alice gasped, instantly clenching around the pestle she was grinding with.

"Watch where you’re—!"

"Ah, Rae is dorry."

He said without an ounce of actual apology.

"Space doo dight."

She shot him a glare, cheeks flushed.

"Madame, smell this." h

He offered next, holding up a leaf.

But to do so, he reached from under the table—where the space was even tighter.

And as he extended, his tiny goblin fingers just so happened to brush under her loose top and flick against a sensitive, oh-so-perky nipple.

"Mmhmm~!"

She gasped again, body stiffening.

Then, just a few moments later...

"Rae, grab the herb. It’s here, just to my side."

Alice said, voice a little shaky but composed. Or at least trying to be.

Rae stood beside her, looked directly across her body, then nodded with cartoonish determination.

"Rae bill reach oud."

But instead of walking around like a sane person, Rae decided to reach around her.

His tiny green hand slid along her stomach, hesitating not an inch before grabbing a full, warm handful of her mommy milkers—firm, soft, jiggly perfection.

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