To My First Love, With Regret - 28

And then, his voice in her ear, his tongue in her mouth. Etching himself into every soft spot he could reach, he pushed himself as deeply as possible, thrusting and thrusting again, until he finally pulled the woman’s hips and slammed her against himself, driving into her. At this point, he was out of his mind.

The woman, who was accepting his passion, suddenly went rigid and held her breath. Did I hurt her in my sexual frenzy? He immediately stopped moving, but Eve remained stiff with her hips raised, and her inner flesh began to tremble violently.

It was a climax.

A woman’s climax is not simple like a man’s. It’s a complex enigma. So he had heard.

It’s difficult to reach climax through penetration, and countless women supposedly live and die never feeling satisfaction, let alone climax, this way. And there are quite a few pathetic men who get abandoned because of it.

Given that, he hadn’t expected Eve to climax from penetration on her first try.

I’m pretty good, aren’t I?

In truth, he’d just been thrusting to his own pleasure, without a clue. Whether it was due to his innate talent or their innate compatibility as a pair, it was a joyful thing.

Ethan, intoxicated with a feeling of triumph, let go of the reins below his waist. The groan that sounded in his throat as he climaxed while holding his lover was closer to a heartfelt sob.

That I am making love to you.

My long curse, which began the moment I fell in love with you, is now broken. Because we will be together until death separates us.

As if comforting the boy who had sunk into himself, consumed by an unachievable love, Eve’s hand gently stroked Ethan’s back.

Within her affection, Ethan filled Eve’s inside with himself, dreaming of the day their love’s fruition would take hold in her womb.

With the feeling of liberation, a sense of responsibility surged in like the tide. It was the first time that taking responsibility for someone felt as welcome as a reward.

—I will protect you, and I will protect our child.

Even after they made love until exhaustion naturally closed their eyes, the lazy summer sun showed no sign of departing. Dust motes floated in the light seeping through the curtains, like the remnants of their oxidizing ecstasy, and the languid whispers of the lovers, lying naked and pressed together in their sweat, drifted in the air.

The ring fingers of the couple, sharing the same ring, intertwined.

—We are husband and wife.

Ethan guaranteed that no matter what dreams he might dream in the future, they could never be sweeter than this moment.

Cradled in each other’s arms, with the sound of their hearts as a lullaby, the two finally sank into the most perfect stillness, like a ship that had completed its long voyage.

In the shadow cast by the approaching darkness.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Even on her sixth morning in Montfleury, Eve predictably awoke from her cozy sleep to the chirping of tits. Although Ethan was not visible when she opened her eyes, she felt him all over her body.

On their first night, the man had barely managed to put an arm around her, too timid to wrap a leg, but lately, the sense of distance between them had all but vanished. Though the posture they fell asleep in was always different from the one they woke up in, he consistently held her, clinging to her as if to ensnare her.

His warm breath tickling her neck was slow and regular, indicating he hadn’t fully woken up yet. She cautiously turned her head. The sight she had grown to love over the past few days came into view.

If she were asked to paint ‘Peace’ for an art school entrance exam, Eve would paint Ethan’s sleeping face and surely fail.

The lines were rugged yet delicate, bold yet harmonious. As she scrutinized every corner of his perfect face with the eye of a lover disguised as an artist, his neatly settled eyelashes fluttered, and the painting opened its eyes.

The moment their eyes met, his sleep-heavy gaze curved languidly.

—Good morning, Mrs. Fairchild.

Could being my wife make him this happy?

Ethan called her Mrs. Fairchild every chance he got. Eve, who found it quite adorable and always responded with a kiss, was equally hopeless.

He loved it just as much when Eve called him her husband in front of others.

Like that morning when they went grocery shopping.

—I’d like one whole chicken, please.

—How many people are you feeding? What are you going to use it for?

At the butcher’s shop, Ethan placed the order, yet the proprietress kept questioning and explaining things to Eve. But she soon realized the young wife had never cooked before, and her questions changed.

—Do you know how to chop up a chicken?

—My husband will know.

The butcher shook her head knowingly. A man who married a wife who can’t do anything and yet keeps showering her with loving kisses!

After buying the chicken, they went to the produce stand. The only vegetables needed for dinner were potatoes and onions, but Eve had no interest whatsoever, so while Ethan was choosing, she filled her basket only with fruit.

Grapes, pears, peaches—only still life suitable for the background of a painting. But she hadn’t realized fruit was so expensive. She had inadvertently blown the budget.

I’ll just buy one of each and fill in the rest with imagination.

As she tried to take some items out of the basket, Ethan stopped her and spoke to the owner. She thought he was going to haggle. But after a seemingly unrelated chat….

—Just pay for the fruit. You can take the vegetables for free.

Ethan’s charm transcended language.

The next destination, hand-in-hand, was the bakery. As they bought bread for the next morning’s breakfast, Eve pointed to the sandwiches on display and asked,

—Isn’t that what you ate on our first date?

—It’s a different one, but….

In any case, the obvious realization that the night at the tavern had been a —date— to Eve gave him another thrill.

—I actually wanted to try that.

He was surprised; he thought she’d never touch it, considering it poor-quality food for the lower classes.

—Then why did you refuse?

—Because you have to open your mouth wide to eat it.

—Ah, the vulgar mannerisms unbecoming of a noble lady….

—Because I didn’t want to look unrefined in your eyes.

—…What?

Ethan immediately had to bury his face in his hands. He tried to suppress the idiotic smile that broke through anyway, but it was no use.

My God, Lady Evelyn wanted to look pretty for me.

How was he supposed to contain himself?

—Why would you worry about that? You’d look beautiful even if you were holding a chicken leg and gnawing on it.

—…I’ll never do that, no matter how beautiful I look.

They needed lunch anyway. Eve bought a thick sandwich layered with thinly sliced ham and ate it, sitting on a public bench by the street where people walked by.

As a lady, eating food in public with her mouth wide open was embarrassing at first. But no one frowned at Eve. They weren’t even looking at her in the first place.

The only spectator who couldn’t take his eyes off her was the man who would never frown at her, no matter how vulgar her actions.

—Somehow, I feel like I can breathe.

Being born the Duchess of Cantrell meant having to play the role of the perfect duchess under the suffocating scrutiny of people who evaluated her every move, all her life. Like an actress on a stage living someone else’s life. Eve felt as though she had been reborn as a human being, finally taking her first breath only after escaping that gaze.

Freedom is the air that love breathes. Without air, even the hottest passion suffocates.

Ethan was ready to give the woman he loved any freedom, so it pained him to see her find freedom in merely a sandwich. She had everything others wanted, but lacked the very things she desired herself.

She was born to live freely.

Like her mother. Recalling the tragic end of the Duchess, whose freedom had been repressed, Ethan shared in Eve’s small moments of freedom and wished fervently:

May my reckless gamble save you.

The menu Eve had requested for dinner that night was Lavinia-style chicken stew. They borrowed the recipe, a secret handed down through the innkeeper’s family.

Eve stood in front of the counter and read the notes Ethan had taken after hearing them from the grandmother.

—Cut chicken, onions, and herbs, pour in red wine to marinate, then reduce the wine, and then brown the chicken in a pot….

She was flustered from the very first line.

—That’s incredibly complicated….

If she had known the dish required so much work, she wouldn’t have mentioned wanting to eat it.

—What should I do?

She asked Ethan, who was taking the chicken they bought from the butcher out and placing it on the cutting board. What a simple question. He stared intently at the recipe notes and pondered for a long time, then gestured toward the herb garden outside the window.

—Could you pick some thyme and bay leaves?

That was all Eve had to do. She was grateful that Ethan took over the tasks she had never done and found difficult, like chopping the chicken and uncorking the wine bottle.

But was peeling onions really a task that required high-level dexterity? She was annoyed that he wouldn’t let her touch them, peeling them all by himself.

—If you do everything, how will I learn to cook?

—Why do you need to learn to cook?

—Well….

—Cooking is what the chef does.

—…….

Eve was utterly speechless.

—Using something I said when I was little…. That’s cowardly.

She must have been about seven. Becky and Ethan were playing house in the garden when Eve came to watch and asked to join.

—I’ll be the mommy, Ethan will be the daddy, and Becky will be the baby.

Ethan only realized that a noble lady’s playing house wasn’t ordinary when he —came home— from —work.