Chapter 81
Chapter 81
Translation: godsn
Matthias's grip tightened around the bundle of Leila's hair.
He wanted to shake her violently. To twist her head and force her to meet his gaze. To trample her until she wept. No—he wanted to discard her entirely. But as all those maddening desires coalesced into one, his grip, absurdly, began to slacken.
Her slender body hung limp in his grasp, as though it would submit docilely no matter what he did. Matthias pulled her back into the depths of his embrace. When he unwound her scarf and peeled off her coat, Leila held her breath in tension—yet she didn't resist his touch. With her gaze drifting aimlessly through the air, it almost felt like he was holding a doll.
Looking down at her shadowed face, Matthias removed her glasses and worn-out gloves as well. As he slowly interlaced his fingers between her pale, exposed ones, Leila startled and lifted her head. Meeting her eyes improved his mood considerably.
Sharing his warmth with her, Matthias remained like that for a long while. Leila studied him intently, then furtively averted her gaze, only to eventually tilt her head and peek at him again. The color had returned to her cheeks, fresh and vibrant.
When he finally released her hand, Leila let out a small sigh. Her lips were adorable. That's why, Matthias thought. The reason he'd begun kissing her without realizing was simply that.
In one swift motion, he swallowed her lips and traced the tender flesh. When he coiled around her tongue as it tried to flee, he felt Leila's spine jerk.
"Ah...!"
As Matthias's hand, which had been stroking the back of her head, suddenly fisted in her hair, Leila let out a faint moan. It hurt and was uncomfortable, but there seemed to be no escape.
Resigned, Leila closed her eyes and simply endured. This man. The memories that had clawed at her heart. The sensations that betrayed that heart. The self-loathing. Stubbornly. Meanwhile, her lips, roughly sucked, swelled. Heat gradually rose in her body, which had been frozen stiff enough for her bones to ache. Leila had long braced herself for the pain to come, but Matthias only continued with slow, lingering kisses.
"Is it over?"
When Matthias finally pulled his lips away after what felt like an eternity, Leila gasped out the question. As if he had no intention of doing anything further, Matthias simply gazed at her in silence.
"Then... may I go now?"
As she tried to rise, Matthias abruptly yanked her back by the waist.
"Try being as honest with me as you are with your body, Leila."
When his hand caressed her flushed cheek, Leila flinched and shrank back. She suddenly became aware of the dampness between her legs. Matthias was leisurely, as though he already knew everything. Leila hated that fact unbearably.
"T-this has nothing to do with my feelings."
Leila's movements were rough and frantic as she wiped her wet lips.
"It's just like how you huddle when you're cold or grimace when you're in pain... I know all about it. It would be the same no matter who touched me, I know that too."
"...Is that so?"
Matthias's calm retort only made Leila more agitated.
"I truly despise you. That is the most honest feeling in my heart. A feeling that will never change."
Her vision blurred, the fireplace light smearing before her eyes. The moment she had desperately clutched the money Claudine gave her resurrected within that distorted glow. Along with the sight of the Duke, who had watched that scene unfold without a care.
I can't live like this.
That fervent wish surged up alongside her resentment. The hatred and bitterness she couldn't bear to direct at poor Claudine all burst forth at once toward the Duke—toward this man who was ruining her life.
"You're not so lacking in pride as to keep holding onto a woman who hates you this much, are you?"
"Indeed not."
"Then let me go. Please!"
As if mocking her plea, Matthias stood up while still holding her.
"I told you, Leila. When you act recklessly, I find it amusing."
Looking down at Leila as he laid her on the bed, Matthias smiled.
"You're so entertaining like this—that's why I'm going mad."
Though his tone was flat and quiet, Leila found herself unable to speak, an inexplicable chill running down her spine. As Matthias began removing her sweater and unbuttoning her blouse, she actually felt relieved. If she endured, it would end, and once it ended, she could leave. Leila was accustomed to that pain now. Miserably so.
Leila turned her head to stare at the paneled decoration on the wall. Her lips were tightly sealed as she held her breath. Watching her stubborn, listless figure from above, Matthias began removing her clothes one by one. As her pale body was gradually exposed, the image of the beautiful bird from Latz rose in his mind.
Before heading to the train station, he had personally stopped by a jeweler to retrieve a custom-ordered ornament. The moment he saw the glittering crystal bird, Matthias was suddenly reminded—last year in late spring, at the Natural History Museum, the crystal bird Leila had reached out to touch had wings just like this, shimmering gold. A tiny, insignificant memory he hadn't even realized he'd retained. What did such a trivial thing even matter?
When the last of her stockings was finally peeled away, not a single thread remained on Leila's body. His gaze, which had been slowly trailing upward from her toes, lingered for a moment between her legs, now damp and pretty, before moving again—unnaturally calm for a man with a naked woman sprawled before him—until it settled on her face.
"You've grown docile, Leila."
A low voice slipped from Matthias's lips after he had spent a long while simply staring down at her. The sound of his own clothes being removed soon followed.
Bathed in the flickering firelight that danced like burning logs, the man's body was large and smooth. Leila stared blankly at the shifting shadows cast by his solid frame and finely sculpted muscles. Her chest now throbbed painfully fast with each heartbeat.
Only when Matthias had removed his socks, garters, and shoes, sitting up straight again, did Leila finally regain a sense of reality. Too late, she averted her eyes in shame—but by then, the man's bare body had already pressed down onto hers. The sensation of his bare skin against the hardened peaks of her chest made her vision spin. Stripped naked, he loomed over her, larger and more overwhelming than ever.
Resting his weight on his elbows, Matthias looked down at her. His shadow fell over the flustered Leila.
"But what a shame."
He tilted his head slightly. Helpless, Leila could only stare back at the man who filled her vision.
"You're being so obedient—yet that, too, is amusing in its own way."
His smile was both cruel and beautiful.
Say it, Leila.
As she panted hot breaths, moaning and writhing beneath him, Matthias laughed intermittently, commanding her. Go on, say it. That you hate me. That you despise me. That you'll leave. With that face of yours, chatter away—entertain me for once, Leila.
How had she responded?
Leila struggled to recall, but her mind, filled only with a murky heat, remained foggy. Even when she bit her lip hard, the whimpers and sobs that escaped mixed obscenely with the wet, squelching sounds.
It occurred to her belatedly that she had harbored something like hope.
The moment she had locked eyes with the Duke upon entering the parlor where Claudine sat, that emotion that had surged alongside overwhelming shame—that had been hope. I foolishly expected something from a man like you, didn't I?
The humiliation deepened unbearably, yet her lips continued to spill moans of their own accord. She didn't need to think to know what now drenched the hands of the man touching her. She was too horrifying—yet even then, the unbearable sounds wouldn't stop.
It felt like a brand searing into her soul. This is all you are. So insignificant you can't even be a minor stain on that noble man's life—just a woman to play with and discard.
The image flashed vividly in her mind: the Duke walking calmly to Claudine's side, Claudine slipping her arm through his as though it were the most natural thing. And herself standing before them—how wretched and pitiful she must have looked. Yet even now, Leila's hands clung desperately to Matthias's shoulders. Her body, filled and rocked by the man who repulsed her, no longer felt like her own. How can this be happening? Even if my heart has no say in this, how can I—how can I—
"Ah—!"
A sharp scream tore through her, scattering the fragmented thoughts that had barely formed. Ecstasy and self-loathing, pain and pleasure—all churned together in a chaotic whirl, swallowing Leila whole. She tried to cling to the last shreds of her dignity by shaking her head, but Matthias wouldn't even allow her that.
He gripped her chin firmly, forcing her to face him, watching intently as she panted and sobbed, her face flushed with heat and helplessness. When her usually gentle eyes twisted in distress, the tears that had pooled there finally spilled over.
Now, as if it were a habit ingrained in his body, Matthias licked away those tears and realized—during his entire time away from Arvis, it was this face he had been thinking of. Just a few days, yet he had recalled Leila in countless moments. It was unprecedented, this unfamiliar emotion.
And that wasn't all.
The sudden impulse to order absurd trinkets, the times he had opened the box just to stare at them, the strange feeling that gripped him the moment he saw Leila—summoned to the mansion to serve as Claudine's maid—all of it was equally foreign.
Why?
The unanswered question gnawed at him, leaving behind an irritation he couldn't shake. As if to wipe it away, Matthias pulled Leila's limp body tightly against him once more. The hot, damp warmth inside enveloped him smoothly.
The slick friction grew faster, mingling with the creaking of the bed. Dazed, Leila stared at her own legs trembling over the man's sweat-slicked shoulders before squeezing her eyes shut with another sob. The sound of her moans, like the cries of someone in pain, was as beautiful as a song. Drunk on it, Matthias drove into her even more violently.
By the time their prolonged coupling neared its end, Leila was too exhausted to push the Duke away or cling to him. The sounds she wished to hide tangled with the groaning bed, spilling out like sobs. The heat that surged through her now made the time she had spent shivering in the cold, her blood turning to ice, seem utterly meaningless.
Lost in the frenzy, he thrust deep—as deep as he could reach—and when the scorching sensation followed, Leila instinctively pulled him close without realizing it.
Matthias moved inside her trembling body a few more times before finally pulling away. The shame of the lukewarm wetness trickling between her thighs was unbearable, but Leila could only lie there, motionless, gasping for breath. Meanwhile, the Duke left the bed.
She expected the sound of the shower to follow, as it always did, but to her surprise, he returned to her side. Puzzled, Leila forced her heavy eyelids open. He had thrown on an unfastened robe and was carrying a silver basin filled with steaming water.
Before she could make sense of it, Matthias sat on the edge of the bed. Leila stared blankly at his large, smooth hands wringing out a cloth soaked in the water, her gaze flickering uncertainly.
"Th-that's... I can—"
"Stay still."
Pressing a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her from rising, the Duke murmured in an unusually languid voice. The warm cloth was already brushing against her cheek.
"Stay still, Leila."
In stark contrast to the frenzied man from moments ago, his touch was unbearably tender as he began wiping away the traces he had left—her tear-streaked lashes, her cheeks, the corner of her lips. Flustered, Leila tried to grab his wrist, but she was no match for his strength.
Facing him like this was so bizarre, so mortifying, that she squeezed her eyes shut. A low chuckle reached her ears before the damp cloth touched her chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The warm cloth and his large hand lingered over her pounding heart for what felt like an eternity.