Chapter 7

Why does he keep asking the same question?

Does he think I’m not fully understanding the situation?

He shouldn’t be that unaware of how I think.

Besides, if that were the case, there’d be no need for him to be this desperate.

I recalled what Riorem had said before.

This back-and-forth would only end once I figured out what he truly wanted from me.

Fortunately, the answer came to me quickly—because I’d been in similar situations a few times before.

I lifted my head and met Riorem’s eyes.

He had clearly lost his composure, so I asked him in the gentlest voice I could muster.

“Did you want me to be jealous of Teumesia?”

Men often scorn women as creatures of jealousy, yet they get angry if that jealousy isn’t directed at them.

Maybe Riorem wanted something like that too.

At my words, Riorem let out a cold, bitter laugh.

“Ha.”

He buried his face in his hands.

Then, as if washing it dry, he rubbed his face with his palms.

“That’s right… that’s what I wanted. Ah, from the very beginning.”

His dry voice crumbled and scattered, as if dissolving into his hands.

As if the situation weighed heavily on him, Riorem’s voice was quieter than usual, subdued.

“Just one more question.”

Then suddenly, he locked eyes with me.

“What else are you curious about, Riorem?”

“Do you really feel nothing, thinking back on what happened last night?”

It was a much more direct question.

This time, I immediately understood what Riorem wanted.

He wanted me to be upset about what had happened.

He wants me to feel hurt about being left alone, especially because he only cared about another woman.

It wasn’t something I couldn’t say.

I had always been the one to tolerate many things about Riorem.

Even now, when he had destroyed my country and dragged me into his bedroom, that hadn’t changed.

But—

“Nothing happened that was special enough to feel strongly about, don’t you think?”

I shrugged lightly, as if genuinely regretful.

What I truly felt was more akin to pity.

It was closer to a master teaching a slave how to pleasure herself.

The way Riorem had lost control and lunged at me was intriguing, but it wasn’t thrilling or enjoyable enough to be called anything more.

“I see.”

His response was unexpectedly dry.

Riorem slowly climbed onto the bed.

Creak, creak.

Each step he took made the frame groan precariously.

Before long, a hot hand grabbed my chin.

“Now I understand. It was because I never made your place clear to you that you’ve become this arrogant.”

“What are you—”

“Fine, then. Let me make it clear.”

Crack.

His grip on my chin tightened.

The man who had silenced me rose to his feet.

His broad, sturdy shoulders blocked the sunlight pouring through the window, casting a deep shadow across my chest.

In a dry whisper, he said:

“What I couldn’t do properly yesterday…”

Riorem knew he was overreacting.

He was aware that he was wasting energy on something that didn’t warrant this much emotion.

But he couldn’t stop.

No matter how deeply he breathed, the rage that had surged to his throat refused to subside.

On the contrary, it felt like it was tightening around his neck—like fingers clenching with heat.

“Huh… mm… aaah!”

As he stirred his fingers, sweet moans escaped me.

It was always like this whenever Riorem moved his wrist.

Even his clumsy exploration inside me, or when he rubbed my clit with his thumb—it didn’t matter.

The woman in his arms always reacted to the slightest stimulus.

That raw, honest response—perhaps that was what made Riorem feel the most wretched.

It really did feel like being strangled.

He had expected this, in a way.

Chernéa didn’t like people.

A woman like that, who would endure the hassle just to keep seeing a man—he had figured that maybe this act did bring her some pleasure.

Eventually, he started to imagine things.

Chernéa, writhing in pleasure.

Her precious body taking in a man, crying out beneath him.

He had imagined it so vividly, so many times, that now he could get hard just by picturing her lying in bed.

Even now, it’s the same.

Riorem ground his teeth.

Truthfully, he didn’t even fully understand what he wanted from her.

It was a side effect of having lived his entire life as a slave.

He had never had the right to think for himself, so now he couldn’t even identify his own desires.

But there was one thing he was sure of.

Riorem wanted Chernéa to feel hurt.

To be upset that he had left after they shared a moment of ecstasy.

But Chernéa felt nothing.

She had merely watched as he talked to another woman—and even defended Teumesia.

It wasn’t fair.

He was being tormented by so many memories, while she wasn’t even swayed by the man standing right in front of her.

Even when dressed in humiliating clothes, bound to a bed.

Even when another woman entered the bedroom.

That was what made it all so wretched.

I wasn’t expecting anything in particular.

He was my master. as he did to my master, Chernea.

Riorem slid another finger in.

The callused, gnarled finger slipped in, and the hole gaped open tightly.

It was brief.

The inner walls cringed, and then, in a flash, warm, wet heat oozed out.

The fluid quickly soaked Riorem’s fingers.

Chernea let out a low sigh.

Her vaginal walls clamped down on his two fingers, as if she’d always struggled with his penetration.

By then, her juices were dripping down the back of his hand.

Juices dripped down the back of his hand.

Riorem looked down at the sight.

Chernea’s nightgown covered the mound.

But the fabric was so thin.

He could see her fingering her pussy as if it were a tasty treat.

I can’t believe you were left alone in the bedroom all night in such a defenceless state.

‘It’s purely because of Teumesia that no one has been in the bedroom since dawn, isn’t it? Because you
just walked out.

Chernea’s words came back to him.

Lorem had fled from the bedroom as soon as Chernea had lost consciousness.

It wasn’t like he could order anyone to stay out of the bedroom.

His head didn’t even roll that far.

His head didn’t even roll.

In the first place, she hadn’t even been able to keep her eyes open.

Last night, I was out of my mind.

I was so intoxicated by the fact that this woman was in my bed.

I was half out of it before I even opened my bedroom door.

It didn’t take me long to let go of the remaining string.

She was wrapped like a gift and lying on her own bed.

She graciously offered me to let me climb onto her bed.

How could I just stare at that, something I’d coveted my whole life?

My stomach twisted at the thought.

Something swells in the back of my throat that I don’t know if it’s anger or resentment.

I don’t know, but something simmered in the pit of my stomach.

After all that happened yesterday, why are you still here, unmoved and untouched?

Why aren’t you still there?

The question rose to the back of his throat.

But Riorem wouldn’t let any of it come out of his mouth. I had to be serious.

Only a canned, emotionless answer would come back.

‘Well, you’ve lost your mind… or something like that.

Grunt.

His molars grinded together with a heavy sound.

Riorem wrapped his left arm around Chernea’s waist.

Holding her lower body tightly against his.

Holding her lower half firmly, he drove his fingers deep inside.

His fingers jabbed roughly inside.

There was a popping sound.

‘Aaaah!’

A sharp squeal echoed through the room.

Squeak, squeak.

The water splashed back and forth, making lustful noises.

But then, Chernea let out a moan that was more like a scream.

‘Aaaaang……!’

On that cue, her vaginal walls began to wriggle and spasm.

Wack.

Her juices spurted out like fruit on the floor.

The pressure squeezed Riorem’s fingers.

Rock joint, engulfing it completely.

Chernea shuddered violently. Her beautiful face contorted into a mess.

As if holding on to avoid being swept away by something.

Riorem swallowed hard.

It was a strange feeling.

A mere finger, not made to feel sexual, touching this thing.

A mere finger, not made to feel sexual.

In the face of pleasure, Chernea was so helpless.

Maybe it wasn’t even him.

Is the only weakness of a strong woman.

That fact gave Riorem a certain sense of superiority.

‘And all you did was snap your fingers?’