A Plea Is the Finest Music
The carriage lurched violently once more.
A dull thud, and the shock of a wheel striking a small stone climbed the whole of the frame. The tremor ran through the wrists pinned above my head, into my shoulders and chest, drawing the already taut muscles of my arms tighter still.
Cael's face was very close, looking down at me. In those red eyes I could see my own reflection slowly coloring with a flush I didn't want, my breath coming short. The gaze was so relentless that for an instant I wanted to look away, but the hand gripping my jaw would not allow it.
"……You insane bastard."
The curse left me low and rough.
Cael heard it and smiled anyway. The corner of his mouth rose slowly, thoroughly satisfied, and a short laugh slipped out—just enough to shake his shoulders.
"Yeah."
He answered. His voice was low and languid, pleasure unmistakable in it.
"Pretty much."
And then his hand began to move.
The other one—the hand that until now had gathered both my wrists and held them fast—reached forward, slowly, and without the slightest hesitation. His fingers touched the edge of the dress's neckline first. Fingertips neither cold nor warm, only the heat of a living body, caught the hem of the cloth and worked into that narrow gap.
The space between fabric and skin was so tight I could not help but feel every inch of the path those fingers took. They slid beneath my collarbone, gliding over soft skin, until at last his whole palm closed exactly around my left breast.
Soft.
The sensation was so direct that for a moment I could not breathe. No layer of cloth between us—skin sealed flush to his palm, warmth and pressure striking nerves in a way the male body of my past life had never, could never, have known.
His palm cupped the lower curve as if to lift it, then began, slowly, very slowly, to squeeze. Flesh pushed between his fingers with perfect clarity. Soft, resilient, and so blatantly being touched that my mind went white.
"…!"
I twisted on reflex. I tried to wrench my waist aside and escape the hand, but with my wrists fixed overhead and the restraints binding them, movement was almost entirely denied me. My back was already pressed flush to the plush seat, and as Cael's upper body leaned farther forward, the space to flee vanished altogether.
"What do you think you're—"
"Checking."
Cael's voice cut in, low.
His fingers began to move, unhurried. He stroked the breast upward from below, and his thumb drew slow circles around the nipple. What was still hidden inside the dress began, little by little, to be bared by those fingers, and because the motion was so slow, I felt it all the more sharply. The heat of his palm seeming to soak into my skin. The faint give of soft flesh every time a knuckle pressed down.
I clenched my teeth and stared at the ceiling. The wood grain swam, out of focus. If I looked away, I thought, I might slip even a little free of this sensation.
But Cael would not allow even that.
The hand on my jaw forced my face back toward him. Red eyes looked down at me from very near. In them I saw my own face colored with an unwanted flush and ragged breath.
It was humiliating. And at the same time, the fact that this body was reacting ahead of me was even more revolting.
"Bigger than I expected."
Cael murmured. His gaze was not on my face. It was fixed on the hand that was touching me. His fingers curled slightly, and flesh sank deeper between them.
"Still plenty of spring."
His thumb swept slowly around the nipple, found the center exactly, and pressed, light.
"The feel of it… I like it."
The stimulus climbed, sharp. A sensitivity that had never existed in the memories of my past life—keen, like a current—spread up my spine. My waist trembled faintly, and I drew a deep breath without meaning to. I felt my breast shift, just slightly, inside his palm.
Cael's eyes narrowed. The look of a man who had not missed that small reaction.
"Kindly stop appraising me."
I said it through clenched teeth. My voice was already a little hoarse.
"What you're doing right now… how rude it is, how vulgar—"
"I know."
Cael answered. He put a little more strength into his fingers. His thumb rubbed the nipple slowly, over and over, and now and then pressed it as if to twist.
"That's why I'm doing more of it."
The hand grew steadily more blatant. Palm cupping the whole breast, he worked it up and down, in circles, sometimes gripping hard and grinding. Flesh pushed out between his fingers and sank back in, again and again, and the sensation of that deformation was so vivid it did not vanish even when I closed my eyes.
The cloth began to slide down. Cael's fingers loosened the tie at the neckline, then pushed it slowly downward. My collarbones were fully bared, and beneath them the curve of my chest revealed itself, one line at a time. The moment cold air touched bare skin, I hunched my shoulders without thinking.
"……Pretty."
Low, languid, and far too honest.
Cael's gaze fixed on the exposed breast. It was nothing like the distant once-over he had given me earlier in the carriage. Now he was looking directly, from very close—close enough that his breath reached me—while his palm touched what he saw.
His fingers found the nipple again. By now the cloth had nearly fallen away. Thumb and forefinger pinched it lightly and lifted, then twisted—slowly, very slowly.
"…Ngh…!"
Breath escaped me. My waist shook. The hands bound in the restraints clenched into fists on instinct, nails biting into my palms.
I wanted out. Out of this sensation, out of this situation, away from this man. But my body did not move an inch. Cael's hands were too sure, the restraints too solid, and above all, this body was answering him before I did.
Cael did not miss the opening.
His other hand moved as well. The one that had been holding my wrists left the restraints where they were, slid down from my right shoulder, and closed around the opposite breast.
Both hands, now.
He seized both breasts at once and began to rub—slowly, relentlessly. Heat from his palms reached me from both sides at the same time, and his thumbs worked both nipples in turn, and sometimes together. Rubbing, pressing, twisting. The stimulation piled up. Disgust, a strange heat, and a sensitivity forced upon me tangled together and scrambled my head.
"The response is decent."
Cael muttered. His eyes were still fixed on his own hands. His fingers pressed the nipples hard, then let go, again and again.
"The face is still angry, though."
"Of course I'm angry."
I said it, panting. My voice would not come out properly anymore.
"A man who went so far as to start a war… what do you think you're doing right now—"
Cael answered. He put more strength into his fingers, gripped the breast hard, and forced flesh deep between them.
"I took it in a war. So I touch it myself and judge."
A thing. Spoils.
Every time those words drove into my ears, my mind seemed to go blank. Lines of Cael's I had seen in the game, in my past life, rose one by one. Back then I had written them off as the dialogue of an obsessive. Hearing them in person, they genuinely pissed me off. But at the same time, the fact that this body was responding to that touch stirred an even greater revulsion.
His hands grew rougher. Both of them ground hard against my breasts, and now and then swept upward from below so the nipples dragged between his fingers. The stimulation was nearing a threshold. My breath came short, and my chest heaved hard, up and down. The already bared breasts swayed faintly with the motion, and Cael's gaze did not miss a bit of it.
The corner of his mouth was up. As if it were amusing. As if he were satisfied.
"Your voice. Let me hear more of it."
He whispered. His lips brushed my ear. Warm breath tickled my skin.
"It sounds good."
Suddenly his fingers pinched a nipple and lifted it slightly. Then, slowly, he twisted.
"…Hah… ngh…!"
The sound escaped me properly this time. I could not stop it. My waist shook hard, and my legs twitched in a fine spasm. The hands bound in the restraints thrashed on instinct and did not move at all.
Cael watched that reaction and laughed. Very slowly. Satisfied.
"Good."
He murmured. His fingers began rubbing the nipples again, over and over. Left, right. In turn, and sometimes both at once.
"Here… already hard, are they."
His thumb pressed a nipple hard.
"The body's honest enough."
I clenched my teeth and looked up at him. Red eyes looked down at me from very near. The corner of his mouth was lifted, and in that smile possession was plain, mixed with a playfulness that found this entertaining.
His hands paused a moment, then began to move again. Lower, this time. They swept down along the undercurve of my breasts, fingers reaching toward the ribs. Then back up. Slowly. Relentlessly. A touch that seemed to be learning the feel of skin as it rubbed. I could not help but register every part of that path. From chest to abdomen, from abdomen back to chest. Again.
"Worth going to war for."
Cael murmured. His gaze was still fixed on his own hands. His fingers seized a nipple hard once more.
"Nngh…."
"This much… is enough."
But the hands did not stop. If anything, they began to move harder, more blatantly. Both palms cupping my breasts—up and down, in circles, rubbing hard. Stimulation stacked. Disgust and heat mixed until my head felt white. My breath was completely ragged, and every time my chest heaved, Cael's palms moved with it.
The carriage kept running.
Thud. Thud.
The sound of wheels rolling over the dirt road went on, regular. Trees whipped past the window, but that scenery no longer reached my eyes. In this narrow space there was only Cael's hands, his breath, his gaze, and the sensations of this body being forced awake.
You son of a bitch...
And this loathing of mine, swelling without any limit.