Chapter 21
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: A Chaste Wife's Custom
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“A chaste wife… gulp… never puts anything in her mouth before her husband picks up his utensils.”
‘Delivery has arrived.’
The alert chimed.
“It’s here!”
Elma shot to her feet.
“I’ll get it.”
“Hurry! Before it gets cold!”
I headed for the entrance.
No outsiders could come all the way down here.
Whirr—
A moment later.
First floor.
Two heavy bags.
Chicken.
And a dessert box.
“This is a workout.”
I got back on the elevator.
Crispy crunch.
Oily aroma leaking from the gaps in the boxes.
Elma’s gonna love this.
I opened the front door.
“I’m back.”
Patpatpat—!
Frantic footsteps.
Elma rushed out to greet me.
Or rather, the chicken and macarons in my hands.
“Welcome home! No, hand it over quick!”
Her hand shot out to snatch them.
But it was too short.
A mischievous urge struck.
I held the bags high overhead.
“Huh…?”
Elma’s hand sliced through empty air.
Roll.
Roll.
Her almond eyes followed the bags.
“Can’t reach, huh?”
“Don’t tease! Give it here!”
Elma started stomping her feet.
Hop.
Hop.
“My chicken! My macarons!”
“Jump a bit higher. You’re almost there.”
“Ugh! If you’re gonna give it, just hand it over nicely!”
Whoosh whoosh.
Short arms flailing as she bounced like a bean.
An excited puppy at snack time.
Spot on.
Though she only reached my solar plexus at best.
“Ugh…”
Tired out, Elma stopped.
She looked up at me.
Lips pursed.
Hmph.
Cheeks puffed out round.
Her already round face got even rounder.
A sulky hamster.
“That’s mean.”
“……”
“Teasing me for being short? Bad husband.”
She crossed her arms, shooting me a glare.
Was she mad, or showing off her cuteness?
Tease her more and she might cry.
“Alright, I’ll stop.”
“Hmph. Just you wait. I’ll get revenge in bed.”
Elma wrinkled her nose.
Talk big all you want.
I chuckled and moved on.
“Hurry! Hurry! Before it gets cold!”
With Elma’s urging as background music, I unpacked.
She seemed awfully desperate.
Rustle.
Bright red saucy chicken.
Next to it, colorful macarons.
“Waaah…”
Elma’s eyes sparkled.
Tear tracks.
Grief.
Melancholy.
All evaporated clean away.
Along with the chicken scent.
Drool pooled at Elma’s lips.
Gulp.
“Dig in.”
“Mm!”
I dusted off my hands and stood.
“I’ll wash up quick.”
“Hurry back.”
I soaped up and glanced in the mirror.
A smile came unbidden.
She was moping just moments ago.
Who knew she’d perk up like this.
Food really is the best.
I dried my hands and stepped out.
“Elma, how’s it ta—…”
…ste?
I froze mid-sentence.
“……?”
At the table.
Elma sat stock still.
Hands untouched by food.
“You haven’t eaten?”
I approached.
Checked her out.
Hands politely on her lap.
But her eyes bored holes in the chicken.
Drool dripped from her mouth, plip plop.
Gulp.
“Why wait when you’re starving?”
“……”
Elma turned her head with effort.
Pupils quaking.
“It’s a dwarf woman’s custom…”
“Custom?”
“A chaste wife… gulp… never puts anything in her mouth before her husband picks up his utensils.”
Her eyes alone made her a monk.
Solemn as could be.
“What is this, Joseon era?”
“Not Joseon, dwarf etiquette! Respect for the head of household!”
Good grief.
She lazes around all day otherwise.
Only conservative when it suits her.
But I didn’t hate it.
She fought her hunger to wait for me.
Cute.
“Got it. Let’s eat together.”
I sat down.
The moment I grabbed a fork.
Whoosh—!
Sound of cutting wind.
Elma’s hand left an afterimage.
Snatch.
Chicken legs in each hand.
“……”
“……”
Our eyes met.
Naturally, none left in the box.
“Hey, Elma.”
“Hm? Nyam?”
“There’s only two legs on a chicken.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“What am I supposed to do if you take both?”
Elma blinked shamelessly.
“Why? Good stuff’s for stealing, not sharing.”
“What about respect for the head of household?”
“Th-this is… for my health! I used too much stamina earlier. Need protein stat!”
“Legs have more fat than pro—”
“Ugh! You got a PhD? I do! Says this undergrad leg!”
“Yes. Yes.”
Elma brandished both legs like trophies.
What a glutton.
“Haha…”
Laughter burst out.
Fine, eat it all.
Watching you eat fills me up… yeah, right.
I grabbed a wing.
“Give me the wings then?”
“Sure!”
Elma opened wide.
Just as she went to tear in.
Rattle rattle—.
Her hands shook.
No, trembled.
Obvious acting to anyone.
Drop.
The leg hit her plate.
“Ah…”
Short sigh.
She clutched her wrist.
“What’s wrong? Hurt?”
“What do I do? No strength in my hand.”
Teary eyes.
“Guess I took too much shock earlier. Aftereffects. Can’t even twitch a finger…”
Obvious lie.
Where’d that grip strength go?
But I’d play along.
I knew what she wanted.
“So?”
“Aaah—.”
Elma gaped wide.
Like a baby bird.
Tongue out.
“Feed me.”
Brazen baby talk.
Irresistible cuteness.
“Haa…”
I sighed for show.
Picked up the leg from the plate.
“Here.”
“Debone it too.”
High maintenance.
I stripped the meat.
Juicy innards, crispy batter.
Dipped heavy in sauce.
“Aaah—.”
“Aaaang!”
Elma stretched her neck to chomp.
Chomp chomp.
Cheeks ballooned.
“Good?”
“Mm! Sho good!”
She flashed double thumbs while chewing.
Those powerless fingers?
Stiff as boards.
Nyam. Smack smack.
Swallowed and opened wide again.
“More.”
“Hold on. Deboming.”
“Hurrrry—! I’m dizzy.”
She inhaled it.
Tiny black hole.
“Husband needs to eat too.”
Elma mumbled through a full mouth.
“I’m fine.”
“No. Couples share even a single bean. Here, aaah—.”
Elma offered a picked-clean bone.
Just scraps and cartilage dangling.
…This?
“You ate all the meat and give me bone.”
“Cartilage is good for you! Collagen? Skin gets tight!”
Ridiculous. I laughed.
Bit the bone she held out.
Crunch. Crinch.
Not bad.
And so one chicken vanished.
Mostly into Elma’s belly.
My share: two wings, one thigh,
and a few bones.
“Burp—.”
Satisfied belch.
“Stomach full?”
“Nah. Still got dessert.”
Her gaze locked on the macaron box.
Colorful macarons.
Thick cream, topping overload.
“Separate dessert stomach, huh.”
“Gotta eat plenty to use my brain!”
Elma pointed at the strawberry macaron.
“Grab that one.”
“Hand better now?”
“Still shaky. See?”
She waved it in the air.
Perfectly fine, overflowing energy.
Eh, might as well serve till the end.
I picked up the macaron.
“Here.”
“Aaaang—.”
Held to her lips, she snapped it up.
Crunch.
Shell shattering.
Chewy texture.
“Mmm—!”
Elma closed her eyes, savoring.
Blissful face.
The problem came next.
Squish.
Bit off too much?
Cream exploded out.
Over lips, smearing cheeks.
“Uh…”
“Hm? What?”
Elma opened her eyes.
Lips caked in pink cream.
Like she face-planted in cake.
“Cream on your face.”
“Really?”
She stuck out her tongue to lick.
Couldn’t reach.
“Hold still. I’ll wipe it.”
Reached for tissue.
Thud.
Elma grabbed my wrist.
“……?”
Her eyes changed.
Playfulness gone.
Sultry, sticky gaze.
“Wiping with tissue’s a waste.”
“Wet wipe then…”
“No.”
She leaned in.
Hand on table, torso thrust forward.
Sweet strawberry scent.
And her body odor hit.
Wet forest smell.
Nutty aroma.
“Lick it off with your mouth.”
“……Pardon?”
“With husband’s mouth.”
Temptation.
She half-lidded her eyes.
“It’s expensive. Can’t waste.”
“Elma.”
“Hurrrry—!”
Lips pursed forward.
Pink cream-glossed lips.
Dessert itself.
Any reason to refuse?
I leaned down.
“Then, bon appétit.”
Cupped her cheeks.
Lips met.
Lick.
First, cream on her cheek with my tongue.
“Hnn…”
Elma’s body twitched.
Sweet, rich flavor.
Now lips.
Skin touched.
Smack, slurp.
Sucked up the cream.
My tongue slipped between her lips.
“Mm… slurp…”
Elma wrapped arms around my neck.
Tongues entwined.
Macaron bits from her mouth.
Sweet, chewy.
Squelch.
Saliva and cream mixed.
Breathy gasps.
“Haa…”
Lips parted slightly.
Transparent strand connected, snapped.
But Elma had no patience.
“……”
Almond eyes shook.
Regret.
Thirst.
Protest: that all?
“Where you—”
Thwack.
Small hand smacked my neck.
Pulled me in desperately.
“More.”
Lips crashed again.
Slurp! Smack!
Rougher, stickier kiss.
Cream flavor faded.
Elma’s taste intensified.
“Haup… mm…!”
Till breath ran out.
She sucked, rolled, ground my tongue.
Like nothing tastier.
Long squelching sounds.
Finally, Elma released me.
“Haa… haa…”
Lips separated.
Elma’s eyes glazed.
Cream gone.
Lips glossy with saliva.
“Tasty?”
“Yeah. Incredibly.”
“Better than chicken? Macarons?”
“No comparison.”
I grinned.
Elma’s face flushed bright.
Yet she smiled shyly, not hating it.
Elma grabbed a chocolate macaron herself.
“Now I’ll feed you.”
She climbed onto my lap.
Familiar weight.
Warm, plush butt pressing my thigh.
“Aaah, husband.”
I opened.
Rich chocolate.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
She bit the bitten side.
Indirect kiss.
Fresh after the last, but cute.
Chomp chomp.
Lazy snack time.
Melancholy fully evaporated.
“So happyyy—.”
Elma murmured against my chest.
“Yummy food, kisses with husband.”
“Simple pleasures, huh.”
“Simple? What?”
“I mean pure.”
I stroked her hair.
Soft locks.
Warmth radiating.
Nutty scent.
“Yeah. Living for this taste.”
Elma closed her eyes.
School humiliation, sorrow lost power.
At least for this moment.