Chapter 33
“…….”
Sylvia’s face burned as if it might burst into flames.
It wasn’t only because the hard length pressed against her soft belly felt so vividly real, but because the instant Owen let out that groan, his face had gone so helplessly vulnerable—far more so than anything she had ever seen on him before.
The usual Owen only ever showed the parts of himself he allowed others to see, yet now it felt as though, if she made just a little more effort, she might be able to reach beyond that and take hold of something deeper.
“Owen.”
Maybe because she had been mesmerized by that strange feeling, even her call to get a grip sounded like an encouragement. Sylvia shut her eyes tight, then opened them again as if she had slapped herself and said, “Get a hold of yourself. What if someone sees us doing this in a place this cramped?”
She sounded so desperate that she even grabbed for one of Owen’s arms, stretched out along the floor. Owen frowned slightly and opened his mouth to speak. His voice, by then, had dropped even lower, to the point that it made gooseflesh rise along her skin.
“I’m a little tired right now. I don’t even have the strength to hold back.”
So all this time, he had been holding back with energy to spare? Sylvia felt that her bad habit of making everything worse whenever she panicked was about to kick in again, but she couldn’t help it. Her sharpened senses kept stabbing at her nerves without mercy.
It was already suffocatingly hot in this cramped space with the two of them pressed together like this, and then he let out a moan thick with heat. Unlike Owen, who was lying there comfortably, Sylvia was sprawled over his body. Sweat prickled the back of her neck. Staying perfectly still was uncomfortable, and the atmosphere was stifling.
And above all else—
“Hah….”
“Uh—”
The problem was that he had started moving his hips again, little by little. The veins in the arms wrapped around her back stood out red, and Sylvia found herself crushed so tightly in his embrace that breathing became difficult. Her breasts, soft as kneaded dough, were pressed against his abdomen and flattened there, while Owen slowly rubbed the hard length of himself against her before pressing it up and down as though he were about to drive it in.
Am I insane?
In a sudden panic, Sylvia found herself thinking something even more hopeless: that if a man and a woman were pinned together like this with no room to spare, then maybe—just like sweat flowing when it was hot—arousal, that is, physical arousal, could simply happen by accident.
No. Just like you wipe sweat away when it’s hot, if you get aroused, maybe you can… rub it a little.
“No. Owen. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
In the end, she grabbed his shifting hips. “Grabbed” was putting it generously; she had no real strength behind it, so it was hardly more than resting her hands there.
Owen desperately wished he could put a hand to his throbbing head, but the hunger of rising, unsatisfied pleasure drove him to jerk his hips instead.
“P-please, just… can’t you stay still, like a blanket?”
Because if I think of you as a person, I’m going to want to fuck you stupid.
The words came out in broken syllables between clenched teeth. Sylvia looked like she wanted to die on the spot, utterly at a loss, and pressed her forehead against Owen’s chest. The pounding of his heart hammered loud in her ears, and behind her, his arms were wrapped tightly around her. Sylvia felt horribly exposed, and yet for some reason, she didn’t feel repelled by it.
Shit. My legs…
But in response to Owen’s desperate plea, Sylvia realized that tensing up and fumbling around only made things worse for him. No—she’d known that from the start, but it was too hard to simply let herself be at the mercy of his arousal.
Let’s just listen to his heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Separate from the fact that Sylvia’s face felt ready to explode, once she let the tension drain from her body, Owen was able to rein in the frantic swell of desire a little as well. More than anything, he didn’t want to spend the rest of the time after finishing like this. He had only ever intended to give that dried-up desire just a sip of water and then cover it back up on his own.
He could feel the strain gathering all through Owen’s body. Only then did Sylvia finally understand how he could say, with such a weary tone, that he couldn’t bear it anymore.
So that’s how it is. Holding back takes an incredible amount of strength.
It felt as though hot iron beads were being swallowed one by one; tension gathered and tightened in every part of Owen’s body. Sylvia lay there quietly like a blanket, just as he had wanted, and felt all of it with fresh wonder. How long had it been? At last, Owen let out a low sigh.
“There.”
The heat had receded somewhat, and with it, the exhaustion had doubled. Sylvia marveled at how the flesh that had been jutting up insistently beneath her stomach had lost that edge, though its presence was still unmistakable; it was just that its size had been reduced. Which, somehow, was even more astonishing.
“That’s kind of amazing.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them, and Owen lifted a brow at the awkward silence.
“What is?”
“No, nothing. Just… I was thinking it’s really straightforward.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes, but she didn’t bother saying what exactly she found straightforward. With their bodies pressed together like this, there was no need to say it; the slightest twitch of muscle gave everything away.
“What, so you think women’s bodies aren’t like that?”
“Of course not. Compared to men’s, I mean… well, there’s nothing obvious to see.”
She wasn’t trying to make some point; she was simply saying it in the most innocent way she could, but he seemed unable to accept that answer. The way the corner of Owen’s lips tilted upward felt vaguely ominous.
“I wasn’t going to say anything because I felt bad about getting hard first, but…”
He drew out the end of the sentence lazily. Sylvia wanted to tell him then and there to just not finish it, but the look he gave her from above was so brazenly wicked that for a moment she couldn’t say a word. While she was distracted, his hand found her waist.
Three knuckles, like a slow, small snake, slipped beneath the waistband of her trousers.
“Owen!”
Sylvia grabbed his hand, but he slid inside with such ease that it was as though there had been no resistance at all. He pushed aside her underpants, tapped teasingly over the thin fabric beneath, and stopped. If he moved just a little farther down, it felt as if the damp cloth would cling to the tips of his fingers.
Her face flushed again, this time with humiliation and anger, and Owen looked down at her languidly, as if he expected her to admit defeat. But Sylvia lifted her chin and said stubbornly, “I said there was nothing obvious to see.”
“Right. But I thought there’d be something obvious to touch.”
“Are you going to pull your hand out or not? This is harassment, you know.”
“I was trying to help you. Just like you helped me a moment ago.”
In an instant, he changed both his tone and expression, blinking at her like an innocent boy. What a fox of a bastard. That was obvious enough from the way he then laughed lightly and withdrew his hand as if nothing had happened.
He spends all his time drinking at parties and wasting it like a good-for-nothing noble.
He knew exactly when to push someone just far enough and then let go. He stopped at the perfect point—right where she was torn between wanting to hit him and not wanting to.
Just how many people has he been flirting with like this?
Of course, she had never seen anyone in the knight order bragging about sleeping with Owen, but if he was always as kind and passionate in bed as he had been with Sylvia, then the women probably kept their mouths shut on their own.
Wanting to keep a special memory secret was, after all, a woman’s instinct.
“Looks like sunrise is still a long way off.”
He said it while looking up at the vent-like opening above them.
“In that case, why don’t you sing something? Then I’ll behave myself and just sleep without touching you for the rest of the time.”
“Am I your servant? Telling me to sing like that.”
“You probably make your servants sing for you all the time. As expected of a duke’s daughter.”
“I don’t. I don’t even know any songs.”
“Surely you know a lullaby.”
“A lullaby? Like ‘Tilly Tilly Bom’ or something?”
When she named the most famous lullaby she knew, Owen turned to look at her with a blank expression.
“No, I mean the one that goes, Child, close your eyes. Don’t you hear the birds outside? Starlight is flowing after you… don’t you know that one?”
Owen only shook his head.
“Then how about this one. You are my baby. Now close your eyes. Still the corners of your mouth, and let yourself sink into the curtain of darkness…”
She tried three or four more after that, but Owen seemed not to know a single one. Belatedly, Sylvia wondered if he might have pretended not to know anything on purpose, just to keep her singing for him.
“You did that on purpose.”
Owen had apparently decided to ignore her completely, because he had closed his eyes and was pretending to sleep. Sylvia pouted, then suddenly remembered what he had said—that he had grown up without being properly loved.
Come to think of it, Myshenka Bronovich had died at over seventy, and people said he had been terribly eccentric even in his younger years. He didn’t seem like the sort of man who would sit a son younger than his own grandchildren on his lap and sing lullabies to him. But surely there had been a nursemaid, hadn’t there? Or had he grown up abandoned like that, all by himself?
Looking at his face with those smooth eyes closed, Sylvia sang the lullaby all the way through, from beginning to end, for real this time.
Follow the pale ripples of the moon.
That tiny, tiny whirlpool where the fierce waves crash.
Pour in flower petals and let it grow quiet.
For I will give only you a sacred and beautiful love.
So close your eyes and sway softly, knowing nothing of the world.
Fearing that someone outside might hear, she kept her voice to a whisper, letting the song brush only against his ear.