Duke of the Beast and the Vicarious Bride - Chapter 80

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※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

She wondered, briefly, why Jayden was so intent on keeping Caligo’s face from her. But then, since when had the wretch’s behaviour ever been anything but peculiar? He would likely have a fit if he knew of this impertinent scheme—but even if he did, she would at least have seen her husband’s face, and that would make the whole affair less unjust.

‘I am only going to sneak a look. There is no risk of discovery.’

With even this small goal before her, an unfamiliar motivation stirred.

This was a heaven-sent opportunity. Jayden’s efforts to blind her and block her path were now rendered meaningless.

Nearly half a year had passed since she set foot in the north. Finally, she would lay eyes upon her husband’s face.

The thought filled her with a gratifying sense of release.

* * *

That night, the nocturnal routine—now as familiar as her daytime occupations—arrived like a task to be completed.

“Hnngh, nngh……”

Trapped beneath his burning, feverish bulk, Fiona bit her lip and stifled her moans.

Over the past weeks, they had performed this act nearly every night, excepting the days of her monthly bleeding.

Though the pretext remained Jayden’s command, Fiona had begun to suspect that this was no longer the whole truth.

The truth was, she did not dislike the heat that passed between their bodies when they joined. To be more honest, her body was nearing a state of addiction to the pleasure he bestowed.

Whether through sheer repetition, the sensation of being impaled from behind now thrilled rather than pained her.

“Uunngh! Hnngh!”

The thick head raked like a talon across the bumpy folds of her passage, stretched to its limits, then plunged deep within.

That alone brought her to a small peak; her body twitched and spasmed, and fresh moisture gushed from their union.

Since the oil had run out, preparing herself beforehand remained Fiona’s task. Yet in a mere few weeks, she had quite forgotten the need for it.

These days, merely thinking of coupling with Caligo left her embarrassingly wet, like a dog salivating at the sound of a bell. She was clearly conditioned beyond redemption. Of course, Caligo, who grew wildly excited at the scent of her profuse moisture, was equally beyond help.

Her body had grown so thoroughly accustomed, yet some remnant of modesty lingered in her mind. She bit her lip and clutched the sheets, striving to suppress her cries, but the effort proved futile.

“Ahnn! Nngh!”

Each time his sturdy pelvic bone struck her pale, rounded b******s with a solid thud, a keen sweetness tingled through her entire frame.

At her involuntary cries, the muscular form clinging to her back seemed to stiffen, and his thrusts quickened. The rhythm turned fierce, the slap of flesh against flesh resounding lewdly—and she relished even that.

Still, they remained in darkness, unable to glimpse so much as a hair of one another. Perhaps because she was joined with an invisible partner, a strange fancy intruded upon her thoughts. It was a tale she recalled, of a woman wed to a husband whose face she must never see.

As such stories went, the woman broke the taboo, lighting a candle to behold her husband’s countenance. Whereupon the husband, enraged, departed to a place she could never reach.

Fiona now understood perfectly the heart of that seemingly foolish woman. To carry unslaked curiosity through a lifetime—better, surely, to face whatever hardship came.

Whether curiosity about the man called Beast, or about the one who shared her bed each night—her desire to see his face stemmed from a single source. Fiona wished to know what manner of person Caligo was.

True, she had been deeply wounded by his rough treatment, yet somehow she could not bring herself to truly hate him.

Perhaps it was because he had begun to utter a new word here and there, making him seem a creature capable of communication. Or perhaps this was what they called physical attachment. Whatever the cause, Fiona was by nature a certain way.

She had doubtless changed in some respects as she grew, but her fundamental character remained warm. Since taking up the butcher’s trade, she had never kept an animal, never named one and grown attached—because she knew herself. She was someone who could not easily sever an attachment once formed.