Don't Endure It in Silence

Who else could it be? James Parnel, my former husband.

But at this point in time I hadn't so much as met him—I barely even knew his name—so I couldn't tell the truth.

Ian let out a small sigh and tugged at the blanket covering me, trying to pull it away.

No!

If he drew it off, all that would be left on me was one flimsy, suggestive slip whose very purpose was suspect. I clutched the blanket tight. He frowned faintly and looked back at me. The backs of my hands had gone white from how hard I was gripping.

"I—I don't want a baby. I'm afraid of having one."

I stammered it out, and only after the words had left me did I realize again that this fear lived inside me. Two births that had wrecked my body remained a vivid terror, even now that time had been turned back.

With a grave look, Ian took in my trembling shoulders and the rigid backs of my hands. Then he kissed my forehead once more.

Unlike his stiff face, the kiss was endlessly tender. He stroked my hair gently, as if to ease the tension out of me. I blinked rapidly and let out a shallow sigh.

Strange, how the strength drained from my fists as if by magic. And that was the moment.

"Ah!"

The fox of a man didn't miss the opening. He flung the blanket aside. I sat up on reflex to grab it back, and Ian caught me hard around the waist.

Heat.

The slip might as well not have been there. Ian's warmth reached me with not so much as a layer in the way. The instant I registered how closely we were pressed together, my shoulders locked rigid.

Drawing me in as though to haul me closer still, he said,

"You drank the contraceptive tea, so don't worry. I don't need a child either. That's why I never bothered to correct them when they stuck me with the label of impotence."

Pulled along by his arms, I ended up with him holding me from behind. His breath, scattering against the back of my neck, felt far too vivid. His long fingers seemed to sweep my silver hair aside, and then, with a soft sound, he pressed his mouth to my nape and set his teeth there, biting lightly.

"A woman who says she doesn't need a baby walked in of her own accord. And she happens to be exactly my type?"

Ian tightened the arm around my waist and drew me back. With his other hand he slid over my thigh, smooth as a snake, and in a voice threaded with a sigh he whispered my name at my ear.

"Olivia."

A shiver.

Face blazing, I hunched my shoulders. This time his canine caught the rounded curve of my shoulder and nipped it. I shook my head and seized his fingers so they couldn't wander over me, and he simply lifted me by the waist and set me down on his lap.

But. But what was this?

If I'd had no experience, I might not have known. I might not have—

There's no way not to know!

"Eek!"

The instant I felt something jab against my backside, I shrieked and tumbled forward in a scramble to escape. I fled so nimbly that Ian stared at me, dumbfounded.

"Well. I wouldn't have guessed your reflexes were that good."

Was my athleticism the issue right now?!

I threw a hand over my eyes and shook my head like a child.

"I—I can't! I can't do it!"

My face crumpled on its own. I lowered my hand just enough to try to meet his eyes, and yelled.

"Why are you walking around with a thing like that!"

Yes. What had poked my backside was his member—the very thing the whole world had always believed was soft.

How did everyone fall for that rumor? When he's this vigorous?!

Only now did everything make sense. Why the Emperor had forgotten his dignity in front of me and gone on about a magnificent specimen. Why everyone had lamented what a waste it was, hearing he was impotent.

But unlike me, lost in panic, Ian was the picture of ease. He glanced down at himself—and, horribly, his robe had come loose and it (?) had lifted its head!—then shrugged as if it were nothing and asked,

"You're asking me that?"

Was it my imagination, or did he seem shamelessly pleased with himself?

I covered both eyes and turned away so I wouldn't have to look it in the face. You can stare at my back.

"I'll die if that goes in. I can't!"

"My, my."

At my antics he laughed, low in his throat. It was a warm, easy sound, like sunlight breaking apart.

He's laughing?

Until now I had only ever seen him twist his mouth into a faint smile. I had never heard him laugh out loud like this, so comfortably.

What expression is he wearing?

I wanted to see that face. Little by little I turned—just enough for his face to come into view. Only a little. And that was when.

"Kyaa!"

I didn't know when he had closed the distance. He swept me into his arms from behind again, both hands wrapping my waist. Trapped helplessly against him, I tipped my head back and met his face.

A smile bright as a child's had spread across the whole of it. His softly curved eyes were sweet as cream.

"Didn't I tell you? You're a woman who takes a great deal of handling."

"What did I even do!"

"And yet."

This time he pecked the bridge of my nose. He flicked his tongue out as if to lick, tapped me with it, and laughed again, soft and low.

"I don't mind it."

His fingers slowly left my face. My eyes were closed. In truth, I was too flustered to know what expression I ought to wear if I looked at him.

"Good girl."

His praising voice seemed to drift away from my face—and then, like a spider binding its prey, he tightened his arms and held me fast. A strange sense of safety made me blink.

What a strange man.

I was dying of embarrassment, so why did he feel this comfortable, this trustworthy? I fidgeted with his forearm. There was almost no give to it, packed tight with muscle, hard as stone—hard enough that my nails couldn't have scratched him. As I touched his skin, he laughed under his breath and whispered,

"You seemed shy. Are you hurrying me along?"

As if! But what left my mouth wasn't a shout. It was a gasp.

"Ah!"

One of his hands rose from my waist and closed firmly over my breast through the slip, then rubbed it in a slow circle.

I should have just torn the wretched thing off! The cloth was so soft and slick that when he kneaded me like that, a crawling shiver raced up my spine. I grabbed his hand on reflex.

"D-don't."

"Shh."

Soothing my whining, he kept working my breast—pressing with the sharp tip of a nail, pinching it between his fingers and rubbing. When the unfamiliar sensation made me squirm, he nipped the shell of my ear from behind.

"You're embarrassed. Not unwilling. Isn't that right?"

The keen stimulus at my ear made me hunch my shoulders. No one had ever touched my skin like this, and embarrassment outweighed any pleasure.

I feel as if I'm becoming strange.

The marital relations I knew were nothing like this. I turned in his arms until I was facing him.

Loosening his hold but still toying with my breast, Ian met my eyes. Those handsome eyes slid half-shut beneath his lids, and then his straight mouth came closer. He licked my lips gently, and his tongue pushed into my mouth.

It was a kiss tender enough to melt me. The kind lovers might share. If this went on, I was going to start believing we were something special.

We're nothing to each other.

After wandering my mouth for a long while, he slowly drew his lips away, giving me room to breathe—I was panting from the tension. When my chest heaved as I caught my breath, he brought his mouth to mine again. I stopped his lips with my palm.

"W-wait a moment."

He frowned.

"D-don't lick!!"

He had licked my palm and slipped my fingers into his mouth. I yanked my hand free in horror and clutched it to my chest, then scooted my hips back to put a little distance between us and lay down neatly where I was.

He looked at me as if to ask what on earth I was doing. Scarlet-faced, I said,

"If we absolutely have to, then just do it. Fine. I'll lie here quietly."

If we kept sharing warmth like this, I was afraid some strange feeling would take root. Some absurd delusion that he loved me.

Better to finish quickly, the way James did.

I squeezed my eyes shut on that thought. He let out a short, hollow laugh, and when he spoke, his voice had gone a little cold.

"……Are you trying to turn me into trash?"

"What?"

Why was this trash? I opened my eyes round again and looked at Ian.

"What's trash about it? Isn't that how marital relations always are?"

"I'm growing very curious about whoever taught you that. The slipper remark, too."

Both were the same person. He wouldn't believe me if I said so.

For ten years, every single day, that was what marital relations had been. Painful stretches of time I only wanted over, wondering what anyone could possibly like about them.

But Ian was nothing like that. He caught the front of his robe in his fingers. The tie came undone with a soft slither, like a snake passing—a suggestive, dangerous sound. Fully naked, he came toward me, kissed the corner of my eye, and whispered, tenderly,

"Marital relations are a conversation, Olivia. And I have no intention of doing all the talking."

I blinked, not understanding. The slight hardness at the corner of his mouth softened again.

"So don't endure it. Make a sound."

"What if I'm embarrassed?"

His large palm covered my eyes. The dark came on suddenly, and yet the warmth of his hand kept it from being frightening.

"Then close your eyes and pretend you're getting a massage. It's much the same in practice, so there's no need to be tense."

I gazed at him, my eyes trembling. He laughed, his voice gentle. His large hand closed around my calf. My leg tensed on reflex. And he spoke, low.