Chapter 2.2

Exhaling a long, hot breath, Johan undid his belt and pushed his trousers down. His massive length sprang free, the flushed head already oozing pre-cum. For a dizzying moment, Esha wondered if that too had grown larger along with the rest of him.

“Don’t…”

She whispered the word.

Johan gave no reply. Instead, he grabbed both her ankles and set them atop his shoulders. Then he pressed the swollen head of his cock against her trembling entrance and forced himself inside.

At once, cries tore from both their throats.

“Ha, relax. Are you trying to cut off my dick?”

“Ah, Johan, ahngh—”

As he began to move his hips, sharp, high-pitched mewls escaped from Esha’s lips.

She fought with all her strength to keep from moaning, but it was useless. In the end, she was nothing more than a plaything in Johan’s hands.

He gripped the bodice of her dress and gave it a violent tug. Rip— the delicate, painstaking stitches gave way, and her full breasts spilled free. Below, the tightly laced corset cinched her waist, accentuating the curve of her figure.

Johan seemed utterly indifferent to her shame as he tore the dress apart completely and tossed the shredded fabric aside.

Now all she wore were thigh-high stockings with garters, a corset, and her underwear. None of it could truly be called clothing any longer.

“How did you seduce my brother? Mmm. Was it with these big tits of yours?”

The desk shook under the force of his quickening thrusts, sending papers and various items clattering to the floor.

Esha raked her nails across the wood, then clawed at Johan’s arms, unable to keep still no matter how hard she tried.

“Stop, Johan, ahhh!”

“You say stop, but your pussy won’t stop squeezing my cock.”

He swept back the sweat-dampened hair clinging to his brow.

Just as he said, she could feel herself clinging to him. Her reddened, slick walls gripping his cock tight with every thrust.

“How does it feel to be fucked by your husband who trampled your own country?”

Between her thighs, slick fluids—hers, his, she had no clue—ran down in a slow, humiliating trickle.

She tried to stop herself from recalling the boy Johan had once been. She forced herself to believe this was a different man.

This is agony. Being joined to you like this is pure agony.

Tears spilled down Esha’s cheeks. Not from pleasure, but from hatred.

She had lived her life believing Johan was her savior. How foolish she had been, when all along she was nothing more than a pawn in his war for victory.

She drew in a deep breath, trying to exhale slowly. But unbidden, her mind drifted to that day in the garden. The first time she had taken him into her body. She wondered now, had his awkward, fumbling touches been nothing more than an act?

“Mmm.”

A low groan ripped from Johan’s throat.

Esha felt a sudden warmth bloom deep inside her, spreading through her belly.

She remembered the day her father ordered her to carry Johan’s child, and how she had clung to him in desperation just before he left for battle as a knight of Elendor.

How foolish she must have looked, bucking her hips, begging him to spill himself inside her, even though she was barren.

With heavy, lidded eyes, Esha stared up at Johan.

Even now, in the moments after release, his expression was composed. There wasn’t a trace of disarray on his face, just as unyielding as his length that still filled her completely.

If not for the faint flush across his features, no one would believe he was a man who had just finished a round of copulation.

Johan pulled out of her, his gaze lingering for a moment on her stretched entrance, slick with their fluids. Then, without warning, he sheathed himself inside her again. It was clear he had no intention of stopping until she spoke.

“Please, enough…”

Her hoarse voice broke into a trembling plea.

Slick with her juices and his own cum, his shaft slid back in more easily than the first time.

Lifted and spread like a wooden doll, Esha stared up at the face between her shaking legs and thought: This is the real Johan.

When you were younger, much younger than now, who were you really then?

When Yohan’s thrusts grew harsher, white-hot sparks exploded behind her eyelids.

A chilling sensation ran up and down her spine.

‘Oh, the boy you once were…’

⋆༺˖° ♛ °˖༻⋆

Johan left his study and made his way directly to his chambers.

His face was still expressionless, but his eyes betrayed a faint trace of disquiet.

[You traitor!]

Her scream still echoed in his ears.

Two years. The time he had spent on the battlefield, walking the knife’s edge between life and death.

In those two years, Johan had crossed a river from which there was no return, and he knew it well.

Before storming the imperial palace of Elendor, he had imagined a hundred times what expression she might wear when she saw him again.

Would she rage at me? Would she look at me with nothing but contempt?

But instead, she had looked at him as though she might cry at any moment, unable to conceal her relief.

That look on her face—like she was silently begging him to tell her it wasn’t true—made the ground drop out from beneath him.

For an instant, Johan felt an unfamiliar fear, that whether she stood before him or not, he would never be able to stop thinking about her.

As he stripped off the glove he had worn throughout their coupling, the silver ring snug around his fourth finger gleamed in the light.