Chapter 85
The terrace, firmly locked, was certain to remain private. Though it jutted from the building and felt open, its design prevented anyone from peeking in. Besides, they were husband and wife. Even if someone caught this brief dalliance, it might be embarrassing, but certainly not immoral.
Having convinced herself, excitement began to fill Beatrice’s body in place of tension. At a time when she was not used to such things, even sharing a kiss here would have taken great courage, but now she felt considerably bolder.
“Beatrice?”
Caesar called her name as he felt his wife’s body relax and her tongue actively entwine with his.
“May I take this as your consent?”
Beatrice nodded slightly. What had started as a tease half-meant was now impossible to restrain. Her body had been aflame ever since.
As soon as he heard her answer, Caesar hurriedly lifted her skirt. The mere fact that Beatrice was granting herself to him here sent a thrilling heat coursing up the back of his neck.
His lips, which had been stealing her breath, were already pressed against the soft skin of her throat, nipping gently. With one hand he tugged down her neckline, while with the other he carefully lifted her undergarments.
Noticing with his fingertips how wet she already was, Caesar was seized by the impulse to plunge himself into her at once. He gathered Beatrice’s slight frame into his arms and swung her legs around his waist.
“Ah— Caesar…!”
Suspended between the wall and her husband, lifted into the air, Beatrice floated between exhilaration and dizzying suspense.
Her bodice flung open, her b*****s bared, Caesar buried his face there. Like a young beast searching for the source of milk, his lips found her hardened n****e and clamped down on the sensitive flesh.
“Ugh!”
Beatrice, her arms locked around his head and her chin tilted skyward, bit her lip in an effort to withstand the sudden surge of pleasure.
“Haa… Beatrice…”
Yet Caesar’s lascivious thrusts, grinding like an enraged bull, were beyond endurance. Pressing her flesh tight against his solid length—vividly perceptible even through fabric—her hips jerked with e****c anticipation.
Caesar too could no longer hold back. The rapid pace of her excitement threatened to shatter his senses. Fumbling to open his trousers, he impaled himself on her velvety, slick warmth in one fierce plunge.
“Haah!”
Beatrice gasped as he sank home to the hilt. Both were beyond arousal, and the cool summer air stood no chance to cool their fire.
Caesar withdrew slowly from her dripping length, then drove back in. The climax was near. After several violent thrusts, Beatrice arching her back, her body trembled.
With one eye squeezed shut, Caesar also shot his o****m.
“Huh… haah… Caesar…”
Still clutching his neck tightly, Beatrice exhaled raggedly. It had been nothing less than a storm of passion.
He’d done it in broad daylight with the city visible beyond the terrace. Madness, and yet, because it was her husband, she felt a reassuring sense that it was somehow right. She might not have been entirely sane, but in that moment she found herself laughing with pure delight.
They had everything they could ever wish for. Temporary mischief from the goddess of fortune forgotten, Beatrice felt happiness restored. All she hoped now was that this joy would never end.
“Have you kept the promise you made about our anniversary?”
She asked, her breath calmer now. All the while, Caesar’s hard arousal remained buried inside her, stroking slowly. He was, at moments like this, utterly shameless.
“I have indeed…”
Caesar’s gaze burned as he admired her. Their first anniversary delight had been a grand adventure for her, and it seemed he was already preparing for a second. Even amid her bemusement, her body warmed at his touch.
“I still am not entirely certain it’s all right,” he confessed.
Beatrice’s request had been that he stop taking his contraceptive pills.
“It’ll be fine. I’m certain of it. We’re both so healthy, you know? Soon a child, our child, will make their way into my womb.”
As Beatrice replied, his length twitched, swelling further within her.
“Caesar… wait, why—?”
“Do you want a child?” he asked.
“Nnngh… yes… and you?”
He paused mid-thrust, considering. Then, to her surprise, he answered,
“The very thought… terrifies me.”
Beatrice hesitated for a moment, but her mind soon whirled anew. She realized she’d grown somewhat immune to Caesar’s blunt manner. Even a reply that might sound harsh now felt possible to take in stride: her husband was broken—but lovably so.
“Caesar…” she said, warningly, and he flinched before launching into an impromptu explanation.
“During my mercenary days, I saw many mothers lost in childbirth. Imagining you enduring that pain… and then having another fragile life I’d have to risk yours for… it’s horrifying, I’m just… anxious.”
“Understood. From now on, please explain things just like that. It leaves no room for misunderstanding.”
Beatrice wrapped him in a firm embrace, as if to reassure the worried shoulders of the man who, after their last scare, had firmly vowed they would ask and answer each other without hesitation whenever doubt arose. Happily, they’d honored that promise quite well.
Perhaps a better approach would occur to them someday, but for now, this honest exchange was the wisest way Beatrice had found to confirm her husband’s true feelings.
—The End.
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