Duke of the Beast and the Vicarious Bride - Chapter 81

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

And now, this husband of hers—with whom she shared the most intimate act possible between two people—she could only meet in the darkness of their bed. It was utterly unacceptable.

Fiona wished for genuine exchange with Caligo. Whether for good or ill, they were bound by fate as husband and wife. She wished to meet his gaze, not merely his body. Words were not necessary; she wished simply to converse with him. To give and receive affection.

These basic, primal desires kept urging Fiona onward. Making her long to confirm his face in the light.

In any case, the tale’s ending was not unhappy. Even the woman who lost her husband eventually followed him and reclaimed their love. Though she endured trials and hardships along the way.

“Hahkk!”

As though sensing her momentary distraction, his merciless thrusts drove into her core. At the same instant, a cry escaped her, and Fiona collapsed from the position she had barely maintained.

Burying her face in the pillow, her spine curved pliantly, cat-like. With her hips raised in this natural posture, she felt Caligo’s lower body slam into her with renewed ferocity.

“Hnngh! Nngh! Hahk……”

This position—prone, receiving him from behind—had become thoroughly familiar. These days, the moment Caligo’s rigid length plunged deep within her, she would crest a small peak.

That thick member, filling her so completely it stretched her walls to their limits, brought an indescribable satisfaction.

When that prodigious length drove deep in a single thrust and churned within her, her mind would blank with ecstasy.

She did not crave congress with other men, but she had begun to worry, absurdly, that no man less formidably endowed than Caligo could ever bring her to climax.

That was not her only concern. Whether fancy or fact she could not confirm, but Caligo’s duration seemed to be lengthening.

In the early days of their union, from their first night together, he had not required nearly so much time. She had endured the overwhelming pleasure then because she knew it would soon end.

For a while, a pattern had established itself: when Fiona’s peak came and she unconsciously clenched around him, he too would lose control and spill quickly.

But at some point—particularly after Caligo began taking the lead—that familiar rhythm had shifted.

Nowadays, even when Fiona reached her peak and cried out, nearly mindless with pleasure, he did not withdraw. Instead, he continued to stir and probe her melting, softening walls with his length, persisting until she shattered once more before finally releasing his seed.

Whether deliberate or not, this change was subtle and ambiguous from her perspective. And though she did not dislike it, she felt the limits of her stamina.

Tonight was no different. Fiona had expanded her daytime activities to combat boredom, eagerly helping with kitchen provisions and taking on hard labour. She had not missed her lessons with Page. With Caligo now refusing to release her, even her robust constitution was failing.

‘If only he would finish now….’

As if reading her thoughts, the venomous tip of Caligo’s member pressed insistently against the sensitive spot hidden deep within.

“Ahh! Ah! Aah!”

Stars burst before her eyes as climax seized her, and her startled inner walls spasmed convulsively. The slick flesh, stretched to accommodate his embedded shape, clamped down with such force it seemed to crush him. Caligo’s tempestuous movements froze instantly.

“Kkhuhh.”

A pained groan, as though he struggled to contain something, accompanied the intermittent twitching of his lower body. But regrettably, release still eluded him.

Fiona, who had already visited realms beyond consciousness three times this night, felt a strange dissonance amid the bone-melting exhaustion.

‘He is… holding back?’

Based on all her accumulated experience with him, that moment just past should have been when Caligo reached his release.

She knew now, by instinct, the unconscious habits that accompanied his climax.

At the moment of spending, Caligo would stiffen every muscle—not only his thighs, solid as stone, but his entire frame—and bury himself to the hilt, spilling his thick seed in long, pulsing jets.

Driven by the instinct to impregnate his female, he would grip her pelvis and repeat shallow thrusts, pushing his seed deeper.

That moment of stiffening, moments ago, had been precisely that. Yet for some reason, he had barely restrained himself and now merely gasped for breath.