Chapter 74. Another Man's Wife
Another Man's Wife
The next morning.
Lucian opened the door to his office early, as if trying to forget the awkward conversation from the night before, intending to bury himself in paperwork.
But the moment he stepped inside, he froze in place.
"What the—?"
Someone was lying on the leather sofa that should have been empty.
It was Madame Blanc—Gerard's wife.
Lucian stood there, stunned, his mouth slightly agape.
The morning sunlight streaming through the window spilled over Madame Blanc's body, illuminating her in a golden glow.
She exuded a completely different kind of beauty compared to Rimeyer, who hailed from the same family. If Rimeyer was an untouchable ice sculpture, Madame Blanc was like a soft, decadent marshmallow that would melt the moment one's tongue touched her.
Her face was both refined and undeniably sensual.
Her long, narrow eyes were closed, but their ends curled up seductively. Beside her plump, ripe-red lips, a small beauty mark drew the gaze irresistibly toward her mouth.
Her body was the epitome of a noblewoman's meticulously maintained softness—
A bust that was full without being excessive, a wide and elegant pelvis that looked perfect for bearing children, slender arms, and long, delicate legs. There wasn't a trace of muscle definition, only curves that seemed to exist solely for a man's touch.
But the most shocking thing was her attire.
She wore a sheer, see-through blouse that left nothing to the imagination.
It was obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. The shape of her heavy breasts was clearly visible beneath the thin fabric, and at their peaks, her nipples stood stiffly, tenting the blouse as if reacting to the crisp morning air.
The hem of her dress had ridden up to mid-thigh, exposing the creamy white skin of her inner thighs without a shred of defense.
"..."
Her eyes were closed, but her long lashes trembled ever so slightly.
"Madame Blanc... Why are you lying here? Are you feeling unwell?"
Lucian called out cautiously, but there was no response.
"Mmmn..."
Instead, a soft, low moan escaped her lips.
It was too deliberate to be a sleep murmur—too unmistakably a moan.
Lucian's mind spun in confusion.
Is this what Gerard meant?
But Gerard had left early that morning, saying he wanted to visit an antique shop in the territory's village. Without her husband present, what was she doing lying here in his office, dressed like this?
Lucian stepped closer to wake her.
Her foot dangled off the edge of the sofa.
Her pale, delicate ankle and the faintly pink heel caught his eye. As if entranced, he grabbed her calf and pushed it back onto the sofa, making space to sit beside her.
"...!"
The sensation of her calf against his palm.
Soft, creamy skin that yielded under his fingers like fresh cream.
Just from touching her leg, Lucian's heart began to race wildly.
At the same time, he felt heat pooling in his groin.
But this was forbidden territory. Another man's wife—his friend's wife.
"Madame Blanc."
"..."
Still no answer. But up close, her face, free of any makeup, was flushed with a faint sheen of sweat, her skin glowing with a subtle heat.
An aura of sensuality radiated from her. He had never asked her age directly, but he guessed she was somewhere in her late twenties to early thirties.
Suddenly, it struck him. Even though she wasn't that much older, there was something distinctly different about a married woman's body.
Lucian reached out to shake her awake.
But his hand didn't go for her shoulder—it went for her face.
Sssk.
His rough, large palm brushed over Madame Blanc's smooth forehead, then traced the curve of her flushed cheek before sliding down her sharp jawline.
"Isela..." (Madame Blanc's first name)
What he had intended as a call to wake her came out instead as a whisper—
Like a prince coveting a sleeping princess in the depths of the forest.
"Mnn..."
At his touch, Madame Blanc's body shivered.
Her red lips parted slightly, releasing a warm breath.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The silent office. The only sound in Lucian's ears was the thunderous pounding of his own heart.
Reason told him this was wrong, but instinct whispered that maybe—just maybe—she wanted this too. Yet his hand had already slipped beyond the control of his mind.
Lucian's fingers trailed down from her jaw to the nape of her neck.
The delicate hollow of her collarbone.
Beneath her thin skin, he could see the faint pulse of her veins. His thumb pressed into that delicate dip—damp with sweat.
Then his hand slid lower, toward forbidden territory.
The full swell of her breasts, barely concealed by the sheer blouse.
Without the restraint of a bra, they spilled naturally to the sides, made even more voluptuous by gravity.
At their center, her stiff, rosy nipples peeked through the fabric, visibly aroused from friction.
Against the pale skin of her chest, faint blue veins visible beneath, the sight was raw and obscene.
Lucian's fingers circled her nipple through the blouse.
The thin, sheer fabric clung transparently to her breast, revealing the shape of her areola like mist clearing—
"Hah..."
Lucian swallowed hard.
This was nothing like the shy pink of the maids or Rachel.
This was the mark of a mature woman—proof of nights spent beneath a man's touch.
At the center of her dazzlingly white breast, a wide, dusky-pink circle spread out, far larger than a coin.
Like a single rose petal placed delicately atop fresh milk.
Or like deep strawberry dye bleeding softly into cream.
A color both tender and indecent.
Up close, the surface of her areola wasn't entirely smooth—tiny bumps dotted the edges, adding a pleasant roughness beneath his fingertips.
And in the middle of that pale, wide pink circle, her stiff nipple stood proudly, like the crater of a volcano, demanding his touch.
That shameless, lewd color—something only an experienced married woman could possess—shone through the sheer fabric, stoking Lucian's sadistic desire to conquer.
'So this is the color you've been hiding... Isela.'
With a quiet exhale, Lucian pressed his palm against the blouse once more.
"Hnn..."
The heat of her skin against his hand. The firm little bead beneath his touch.
He rubbed it slowly with his index finger.
Squish. Squish.
"Mmmph—!"
Madame Blanc's hips twitched on the sofa.
The moan that escaped her lips was no longer a sleep murmur.
She wasn't asleep. She had been waiting for his touch, holding back her arousal as he explored her.
Now he was certain.
This wasn't a mistake or a misunderstanding. It was an open invitation.
Lucian's crimson eyes gleamed dangerously. The loyalty he owed his friend was already melting away at the tip of her nipple.
Curious how long she would keep pretending, Lucian gave her breast a light squeeze.
Before him, Madame Blanc's snow-white chest rose, her wide, dusky-pink areola swelling. Her nipple stood even stiffer, begging for attention.
'Ah, I want to suck it.'
Ignoring the pert little peak that seemed to cry out for his mouth, Lucian kneaded her breast slowly with one hand.
"Ahh... nn..."
Madame Blanc let out a moan, her hand twitching as if to reach up before she forced it back down.
The thought that he was groping his friend's wife in broad daylight, on his own office sofa, sent a jolt of tension through Lucian's body, sharpening his senses.
Reluctantly, his hand left her breast.
His rough, heated palm slid down her ribs, over the soft plane of her stomach.
This was the belly of a noblewoman—protected, pampered. A thin layer of plush fat yielded beneath his fingers, warm and supple beneath the sheer fabric.
He circled her navel slowly, and her stomach twitched in response.
His hand drifted lower.
The exposed apex of her thighs, barely hidden by the translucent skirt.
Lucian couldn't bring himself to touch his friend's wife there—not yet. The last thread of reason held his wrist back.
Instead, his hand veered to the side, gripping her thigh.
"Hah...!"
The plush fullness that filled his palm.
Her creamy, smooth thigh flesh, like freshly steamed rice cake, yielded under his fingers before bouncing back with a tantalizing firmness.
The contrast between his rough, calloused hand and her blindingly white skin was stark—and it only excited him more.
His thumb pressed into the softest part of her inner thigh, stroking downward.
Sssk.
"Nngh..."
His touch trailed down the sleek curve of her calf.
Not a single flaw in the smooth line. Her bones felt so delicate they might crumble in his grip.
Lucian wrapped his fingers around her ankle. The slender joint, the protruding bone—it fit perfectly in his hand. The thought that these fragile ankles supported such a voluptuous body stirred something dark in him.
[Images: 557-564]