To My First Love, With Regret - 79

—Evelyn Fairchild, you’re mine now.

Perhaps it was because her first love, ten years ago, had whispered those exact words while greedily crushing her into his embrace in the same way. Even the tremor burning deep within her womb felt like a haunting echo of that moment.

A sinister premonition forced Eve’s eyes wide open. The climax was upon her.

—Ah, ngh, haa, no… stop….

—Why stop? You’re the one who spread your legs for me to send you off. You should be screaming in joy.

No. I’m only here to steal your seed.

So you must be the one to go. Not me.

—Ah-ugh, this isn’t… right….

Evelyn Sherwood, how can you lose your mind to pleasure while entwining yourself with a traitor?

As her vision clouded, the ‘vulgar bottom’ of her soul—the one she had feared throughout this long fall—loomed before her. Eve fought desperately not to succumb to a humiliating climax in the arms of a man who now called her an enemy rather than a wife. But the more she struggled, the tighter Ethan held her, pushing her effortlessly and breathlessly toward the edge of the precipice.

—Yes, it is. Ha, ngh, this is exactly right.

The shameful sound of flesh slamming together sounded like the crack of a merciless whip. The man’s lower body began to gallop like a stallion driven by the lash.

The blunt tip of his member relentlessly targeted only the most lethal, hidden sensitivity beside her cervix, battering it with expert precision. A battle against an enemy who knew her every secret was a game where defeat was decided from the start.

—Ah…!

A sensation of soaring, of losing all gravity, enveloped her. Eve finally slipped at the edge of the cliff of pleasure and fell headlong into the vast abyss.

The woman’s frantic cries cut off as if severed by a blade. Even her gasping breath stopped. The slender body that had been thrashing in Ethan’s arms stiffened, pulled taut like a bowstring drawn to its limit.

She had seduced him for this very moment, yet she had played the hypocrite until the end, saying it ‘wasn’t right.’ Now, finally surrendering to the ecstasy, she had stripped off her mask to reveal a face honest with desire.

Ethan gripped Eve’s jaw with one hand and turned her head toward him. He pressed his lips against her reddened ones—parted and trembling, yet unable to vent a single breath or moan.

The thrill of conquest was powerful enough to make him forget his revenge for a heartbeat, offering a kiss to his enemy as if they were lovers. Of course, it lasted only a fleeting second.

—Ugh….

Lost in the peak, the woman’s body quivered while still clamped tightly around his member. Waves of hot flesh violently eroded the anchor he had dropped into the depths of her abyss. It felt exactly like the fervent love they once shared.

Please, stop. This—this isn’t it.

That absurd familiarity surged up and swallowed him once more. Ethan was finally shipwrecked.

As his body cheered, welcoming a climax it hadn’t known in ten years, the master of that body cursed himself for becoming a slave to memory, for discarding his own pride and dignity as a human being.

To find solace in the arms of the woman who threw me away. Ethan found himself unbearably revolting.

He hadn’t fallen into Eve’s abyss. He had plummeted to the very bottom of his own pathetic heart.

—Ethan, ah, once more, more, more….

He gritted his teeth as he drove himself into her, doing exactly as the ‘vulgar Lady’ commanded.

If I were a thoughtless human like you, I would just be enjoying this.

He truly believed he was the only one suffering, fighting the ghosts of the past within this humiliating pleasure. He believed Eve was simply basking in it without a hint of pain.

That thought made Ethan agonizingly lonely—not knowing that Eve was in the same hell, cursing herself just as he was.

The battle that no one won finally ended in a climax that no one wanted.

The two bodies trembled, entwined as one. It was a bizarre, contradictory seizure—satisfied with the partner, yet disgusted with themselves.

Ethan shuddered with a loathing for the pleasure, yet he drove himself deep into Eve’s womb one last time. He hadn’t forgotten the purpose of this self-inflicted wound.

—Uugh, haaa….

The moment his glans met her cervix, a desperate urgency erupted from his loins. The fluid poured from his depths into hers, following the long-paved path.

I must give you every last drop. For my revenge.

He rolled his hips gently. Slap, squelch. The sound of the fluid echoed outside their bodies. It was no exaggeration to say her cervix was now submerged in his essence.

—Damn it….

Noticing a strange sensation, Ethan looked down at the point of contact and spat out a curse. From the gap between pink flesh and bronzed skin, a milky, clotted mixture of semen and arousal was bulging out.

He had stayed inside on purpose to prevent the seed from being pulled back out, but it was in vain. The space inside was already cramped, and with his ‘stake’ still filling it to the brim, the fluid was being pushed out naturally.

I sold my pride to feed you this. You’re not allowed to spit it out.

Ethan swept up the stray droplets of semen with his fingertips. Still keeping her opening corked with his own body, he wedged his fingers into the tight passage, pushing the fluid back inside.

—Did it feel good? How about this?

He whispered endearments he didn’t mean in a voice he found loathsome even to his own ears. Pretending it was afterplay, he fed the overflow back into her, again and again. Slowly. Deliberately.

Buying time for the seed of a lowly Fairchild to burrow like a curse into the womb of the noble Princess of Kentrell.

—Haah, haah….

—Do you like this, too?

—Mnh….

Had she lost her mind from a single climax? The woman, who by now should have realized he had spent himself inside and recoiled in horror, simply lay sprawled on the table, gasping. Perhaps she was so indifferent to his release that she hadn’t even noticed.

—Ah, nngh….

She seemed overwhelmed by the sensation of both his member and his fingers filling her at once, yet she hoisted her hips higher as if begging for more. Ethan hated this woman in heat, but he swore a bitter, venomous oath: I will love the child that comes from this body, no matter what.

Even if your cursed blood is mixed in, it will still be my child.

Eve, too, wore her mask while stealing Ethan’s seed, repeating the same oath in her mind. Along the way, the useless man’s voice kept intruding on her thoughts.

—I’ll protect you, and our child.

Ethan Fairchild had never kept a single promise.

Ten years ago, it was always Eve who had protected the fruit of their love—the price of the foolish deviance they had committed together.

And so, she would protect this child alone as well.

For the sake of conception, she endured the touch that played with her body. Like a bitter medicine, Eve stubbornly chewed over the memory of the moment this man had heartlessly abandoned her on the edge of a cliff.

Eve had thrown away everything for him. Her family, her house, even her conscience and her honor. She had burned it all to ash for a future with him, and as she ran toward Ethan, she had never doubted for a second that her lover would betray her. But Ethan Fairchild had not hesitated for a single moment to trample over their future and walk away.

That night, he had proven it.

Evelyn Sherwood did not need an Ethan Fairchild in her life.

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Owen sighed, yet he continued to climb the stairs in silence.

He could not afford to let the secret of his switched allegiance slip just yet. Thus, he was heading toward his bedroom, intending to feign the self-punishment that the disgusting ‘Fake Queen’ had commanded.

—Dr. Kallas!

Suddenly, Chantal appeared from the far end of the second-floor corridor, scurrying toward him in a frantic mess. Her lack of grace was eyesore enough, but she was also ghastly pale, paralyzed by fear. Owen barely suppressed a grimace, slipping back into the role of the obedient ‘Dr. Kallas.’

—What is the matter…?

—They’re gone. Both of them. Disappeared.

In that instant, Owen’s own mask shattered, replaced by the face of a coward staring death in the eye.

—Where on earth are they rutting?

Lady Evelyn and Ethan Fairchild…?

Was the Queen taking back her old slave? If that were true, it meant she might discard him. Cold sweat instantly pooled in Owen’s clenched fists.

—Find them. Now.

Even if the clown hadn’t ordered it, he would have searched for his Queen on his own. Owen began flinging doors open at random, hunting for her like a madman, but the cursed manor seemed to stretch endlessly as if mocking him.

—Damn it, where did they go?

It might be too late. The terror that he would lose Lady Evelyn to that gutter-thug—the one who had been eyeing his position all night—became so vivid it blinded him. Just as he was reaching his breaking point, Chantal proposed an extreme solution, deciding the two of them weren’t enough.

—I’m going to have the guards find them.

—Wait. Then everyone else will know.

—And why shouldn’t they?

Chantal, oblivious to Owen’s true thoughts, shot him a look of pure condescension.

—If they’re caught in the act and shamed for it, they’ll never dare to do it again.

Owen’s heart dropped at her words.

Don’t you dare undermine my Queen’s authority.

He had searched so hard to find and claim this perfect Queen for himself; he could not allow her reputation to be ruined by his own hand. Yet, the thought of losing her to that wolf was equally unbearable.

While he paced in indecision, his eyes landed on a door. It was a door that was usually left open, but tonight, it was firmly shut.

The game room of the late Baron Langdon.

He hadn’t checked there yet.

Asure: Challenge time! If we hit at least 10 comments on every chapter by Saturday, I’ll drop 5 bonus chapters this Sunday. I know I don’t typically post on Sundays, but that’s the point of the challenge!