Stop the Kidnapping Marriage!
A dark, snug little space, its wooden walls so freshly built that the scent of new timber still tickled the nose.
There were no lamps; only moonlight spilling through the gap beneath the door lit the room. And there, in the dead of night, a man and a woman lay tangled together, moans and ragged breaths spilling from them both.
It should have been a sweet hour belonging to the two of them alone.
They should have been confirming their love for one another.
If only the woman writhing and struggling to break free between those moans weren't me.
Vincent.
The strongest hero in all of history.
His talent — the gift granted to him as the fated adversary of the Demon King who would drag the world to ruin — I had, it seems, taken far too lightly.
No. Perhaps the reason he now showed an obsession terrifying enough to chill the blood was that I had underestimated not only his talent, but his heart as well.
He seized both my wrists and pinned them down, and as he leaned in to kiss me like a beast about to devour its prey, that hard body settled over me like a prison closing shut.
All those years he had turned away the countless women who threw themselves at him — all in the name of saving himself for me — had left him clumsy, and that clumsiness offered me the barest sliver of a chance.
"Stop it. Stop this, Vincent."
I tried to reach him with words, but he seemed to have no interest in conversation; instead of an answer, he tried to push inside me.
Every time that rigid, massive thing — grotesquely engorged with heat — moved to skewer me, I twisted my body away, and every time, my line of retreat was cut off, as if to prove the title of Demon-King-slaying hero was no empty ornament. And the more his efforts failed, the more frantic he grew, devouring the lovely girl in his arms with eyes and hands alike.
"Hah?! Don't! You crazy bastard! Mmph—!!"
My wrists were pinned, but by crossing my legs, by wrenching my hips aside, I was just barely keeping him out. Vincent, watching me do it, suddenly began licking the nape of my neck, and I tried to hurl a curse at him in protest at the scalding drool —
My mistake was opening my mouth to meet his eyes, the way I always had.
He had been waiting for exactly that. His lips sealed over mine, his tongue shoved into my mouth, and he began to taste me.
I couldn't just lie there and take it, so I bit down on that tongue with everything I had — and a flood of liquid poured into my mouth.
Yet there wasn't the faintest tang of blood in it.
Of course there wasn't.
If I could have crippled him that easily, I would never have ended up in this place, facing the ruin of my chastity.
This was the man who had beaten the Demon King to death with his own two hands — and then made the Demon King's power his own.
The reason chewing on his tongue left not so much as a scratch was a fragment of that very power: under the Demon King's blessing, no one who does not himself bear the hero's blessing can inflict so much as a wound.
Biting him had been nothing more than my way of saying I despised it — despised the way his tongue moved into my mouth like it owned the place, sampling my breath as though it were his due.
"Hahh, hahk... w-wai—!"
The heat blazing off him left me unable to breathe through my nose alone.
My breath, I could hold.
But set against Vincent's body — a body that had transcended mortal limits — mine was nothing more than a frail girl's.
In other words: I could hold my breath.
No amount of training erases the body's limits — not when the thing you're struggling against is something beyond human.
My lungs burned. My breath was being stolen from me.
Saliva passed between us. His spilled into my mouth.
I had to breathe. Now. The limit was closing in.
I swallowed.
It was filthy.
Who on earth would want to swallow another person's spit? A man's, no less.
Every instinct screamed at me to beat him to death, and the despair of knowing I couldn't even do that brought tears welling into my eyes.
Even with my breathing under his control, the prison of muscle caging me kept shrinking, winding around me tighter and tighter — and at some point he had pried apart the legs I'd pressed together and settled himself between my thighs.
Which is to say: I was now lying legs spread, precious place and all, offered up to this damned bastard.
Every card of resistance I held had already been played.
Perhaps that had been the point all along — to strip me of the leisure to think.
The tongue that had been ravaging my mouth withdrew at last, lingering, almost reluctant, tormenting my own tongue until the final moment, and my lungs — as if they owed a debt for all the breath I'd missed — scrambled to repay it in a frantic rush.
"Kahk— kuhk... Vincent, you— cough— you bastard!!"
At last, when I spat his name out like something I was chewing on, glare fixed on his face, Vincent opened his mouth.
"Adela."
A low, heavy resonance rolled through my whole body, and gooseflesh crawled up my arms.
His eyes, meeting mine as he loomed over me on the bed — no, as he assaulted me, propped above on his forearms — burned with adoring lust and a sticky obsession, and beneath it all a faint relief, as though I had finally lost every last means of escape.
The weight of him, crushing me full-length, skin to skin, seemed to say it all: I could never run from him again — but he could make me feel good.
When my soft, springy breasts were flattened against his chest, we both groaned — mine squeezed out of me by the pressure, his drawn out as he rubbed himself against me everywhere, savoring the feel of my body with his whole skin.
What worried me most, though, was the thing pressing its presence against my mound.
That far-too-massive organ pulsed rigid with blood, radiating heat against me as if determined to prove that its turn had come.
"Vincent, what is this? Where even am I?"
"Adela. It's been a while."
Kidnapping — and violating — the teacher he hadn't seen in years. Was this my failure? Had I truly taught him nothing of virtue?
"You crazy bastard, answer me properly! What do you think you're doing!"
"You look like you've been well. As you can see, I've come to collect my reward."
"Reward? What reward? What does that have to do with any of this! Do you even understand what you're doing right now? And why are you calling me by my name like that?!"
Still the same self-absorbed lunatic.
Before the hero's revelation, back when I was teaching him, I could never tell what went on in his head — but he had been a boy of cold, level judgment.
What could have driven him to this desperation?
A thousand guesses and theories came swarming. I emptied my mind. I had to focus.
Because while I'd been thinking, the damned bastard had already taken aim — cock welling and glistening with pre-cum — and was trying to push inside.
By sheer luck, he kept slipping on our sweat and failing — but even that failure teased my senses, each aborted thrust grinding steadily away at my reason.
Every time he pushed and slid, that monstrous pillar of heat dragged across my clitoris, and I clutched at my evaporating sanity the way a man in a desert clutches at a heat haze.
"Vin...cent, hnnghh. You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? Wait— hah, wait! Just listen to me! And why is my body acting like this?!"
Something was wrong with my sensitivity.
It had never been like this before.
"What did you do to me!"
"Well, it's your first time too, Adela. I wanted your first experience to be painless. The whole journey here, I kept giving you acupressure. Sensual massage."
"What? You— you insane bastard!! Hahk!"
I had to make him stop, whatever it took. So I reached for the one weapon I had left: words.
"Vincent...!! Let's just talk. Just a moment. One moment, that's all I'm asking—"
Fortunately, it seemed to land. Vincent stopped mid-thrust and slowly pushed himself up to look down at me.
"Yes — Vincent, be reasonable. We're teacher and student. Where I come from, we taught that the lord, the teacher, and the father are one — that the grace owed to each is the same. If you do this to me, you're betraying all three at once!"
I gulped down air between phrases without even room to gasp, and Vincent gazed at me with those detestable eyes — gazed as if I were something adorable.
Goosebumps rippled across my skin.
Reminded, once again, that this lunatic had room in his head for nothing but devouring me, I pressed on for my life.
"Ah — right! Remember? I told you I was a man in my past life. The night before I left. A secret I told you and no one else."
Back then, lonely and aching, I had drunk alcohol for the first time since my rebirth and let something like a drunken confession slip out.
I couldn't recall the exact words, but it was true — I had said something like that.
"Think, Vincent. You're the hero who felled the Demon King. Go to the Empire and the Emperor himself would offer you an imperial princess. Why are you doing this to me — a black-hearted old man on the inside?"
"Adela. You're the one who said it. If I ever grew stronger than you, you'd grant me one wish."
He was gnawing on my earlobe as he said it — hahhh. Focus. Pull yourself together.
"So this is your wish? You killed the Demon King himself, and the one thing you want is to disgrace your own teacher?"
Vincent, who had been tormenting the rim of my ear all this while, suddenly lifted his head and met my eyes.
This was the protocol he and I had agreed on long ago.
When the matter was grave and important, we spoke looking into each other's eyes.
From this moment on, every word out of Vincent's mouth would carry the force of a vow.
Before, he had merely been serious.
Now he was the hero who had brought down the Demon King — and whatever he said next would become my future.
"Adela. My wish isn't to disgrace my teacher. It was never this. My wish is to make you, Adela, wholly and completely my woman."
"Wish denied, you lunatic! There are limits!"
"Your right to refuse was revoked the moment you threw down your authority as my teacher and tried to run from me."
"That's bullshit! So what, if I'd stayed put and refused, you'd have taken me by force under your hero's authority anyway?!"
The sins of the past wound themselves around my throat.
Idiot. Stupid fool.
If I was going to drink, I should have drunk with some grace — instead I'd babbled something stupid and handed that madman his pretext.
No. Would it have made any difference if I hadn't?
Even as I cursed my past self for making so reckless a promise, Vincent — who had been pressing in without a shred of mercy — drew back from me, just slightly.
A gap opened in the prison of muscle. I had been watching for exactly this, angling for any chance to bolt, and my instincts screamed the truth at me:
Stalling was over. It was already too late.
The heavy weight I felt below delivered its report:
The monstrosity pinning me down had found the well it meant to plow.
"Adela. I love you."
There was nowhere left to run.
So grovel. Grovel for your life.
"Vincent, can't you let it go, just this once? Please? I'm begging you — see? Like this. I was wrong— hahk?!"
It pushed in.
Into a cave far too narrow, one no one had ever been permitted to enter, a pillar of flesh forced its way, stretching me wide.
Even flooded and overflowing with arousal from his massage and his accursed acupressure, taking that monster — a thing beyond any scale — was another matter entirely.
The sheer, overwhelming girth brought a pain like being torn open, and my breath snagged in my throat.
"Let... go of me... you son of a bitch...!!"
I thrashed and flailed against a pain I had never once felt in my life.
Vincent let go of my wrists — only to gather me up into his arms and bind me there, locked fast against him.
The position people call face-to-face, seated.
"Haah... Adela, your insides feel incredible."
Held fast, he pushed deeper — my flesh spread, split, threatening to crack, and my mouth fell open with it, desperate to drag in even one more breath.
Then, just as the head of him slid in by wet, reluctant inches, an obstacle rose before it.
He knew what it was. So did I, gasping there beneath him.
My hymen.
Once that tore, nothing in the world would be left to hinder Vincent from taking his fill of me.
We had both noticed it in the same instant. We looked at each other, and each of us tried, one last time, to persuade the other.
"Vincent— hnn, come to your senses, please...!"
"I love you, Adela."
He brushed aside the hands shoving at his chest, pressed his whole body flush against mine as if to feel every inch of me at once, and bound me completely in his embrace.
One hand swept up my spine and gripped the back of my neck.
The other slid down the curve of my hip and seized my rear.
My hands, still feebly pushing at him, were knocked aside without effort — so I dug my nails into his back instead, if only to tear him off me.
And as if to swallow even the scream leaking from my throat, he kissed me again and drove deep.
Slick with sweat and arousal, clinging to him because there was nothing else left to do, I lost my first to a single snap of Vincent's hips.
The heavy, crushing pain strangled my scream in my throat; moans spilled out of me instead as I raked my nails down his back.
To him — the man not even a wound could touch — it must have felt like nothing more than a pleasant little rebellion.
"Mmph— mmgh— aahk—"
Virgin blood trickled down, mingled with my tears.
The night on which my first was stolen had only just begun.