My Ruin to You - Chapter 12

Her shins tangled in the crumpled sheets, the bed creaking beneath them. With every slick, rhythmic sound, his dark pubic hair grew stickier, tangled with their mingled fluids.

“Nngh, ah—hah, my ear—hah, not again…!”

This was the position where Roseline felt it most intensely. Her ears, too. Despite the way her upper lip curled in feigned displeasure, her lower body clenched greedily around him, sucking him in deeper with every thrust.

When she came apart around him, something in Valen’s mind snapped. Gripping her hips firmly, he buried himself to the hilt, driving into her as deep as possible.

“I love you, Rozi.”

“Hhk—!”

The moment that sweet voice whispered against her oversensitive ear, her inner walls convulsed, gushing hot around him. The slick, clinging pressure milked him until his flushed-red tip pulsed, spilling thick ropes of c*m inside her.

“Nngh…”

His release was long. Normally, he came a lot—but today was even more intense. With every twitch of his still-spurting c**k, Roseline, slumped against his shoulder, shuddered weakly.

“Troublesome. You can’t be worn out already.”

Valen pressed a light kiss to Roseline’s damp cheek. Outside the window, the clear autumn light poured in. Roseline closed her eyes, pretending to sleep, and thought.

Ah. I’m screwed.

◇◇◇

Yesterday’s Valen had been a brute. He’d relentlessly demanded compensation for his abstinence.

The first time, they’d been in too much of a hurry to even undress fully—but after that, he’d stripped her bare, leaving not a single thread, and licked her from head to toe. There wasn’t a spot his lips hadn’t touched. Red marks bloomed on the inside of her ankles, the nape of her neck.

By the second and third rounds, some spiteful mood had taken hold, and he’d made her sob. He’d teased only her most sensitive spots, then—just as pleasure built to unbearable heights—pulled back to shallow, agonizingly slow thrusts. Once started, there was no stopping, no pausing.

“Ah—hah, seriously, why—hnngh…!”

“Who knows?”

“Stop—nngh—playing around, just—hurry, okay?”

“Guess you only missed my c**k. How disappointing.”

Only after she’d desperately confessed how much she’d missed him, how much she loved him, did he finally let her come.

If Valen had been a brute, Roseline was trash. Who clings to someone they’re about to break up with? Apparently, her. At the time, she’d been out of her mind—but now, with clarity returned, self-loathing crashed over her.

Good gods. How could it be this easy?

How could anyone act like this unless they were completely obsessed?

To make excuses—even if yesterday’s Roseline had been the god of abstinence, she wouldn’t have been able to resist this man’s temptations. If the guilt weighing on her chest was psychological, the soreness in her sides was purely physical.

“……”

Roseline looked down at the arm constricting her. It was one of Valen’s peculiar sleeping habits. It might start as a pillow tucked under her neck, but by morning, his arm would inevitably slither down to her waist, trapping her. Even ignoring their difference in size—unless Roseline was as light as a feather, his pinned arm should’ve gone numb by now. Yet he never seemed bothered, greeting each morning like this, his body pressed flush against her back as if even a sliver of space between them was unacceptable.

She pried the arm off first—the one that had snaked around from behind to cradle her stomach. Normally, she might’ve been gentler, but not today. She needed to hurry back to the academy, and she had to check the state of her undoubtedly swollen face. Just as she stepped onto the floor, deliberately ignoring the scattered scraps of fabric—

“Why the rush?”

Valen’s voice, rough with sleep, followed the grip on her wrist.

“I have to go.”

“What if I don’t let you?”

Yesterday’s words flashed through her mind—If you want to leave, put in some effort.

“……Do you want to assassinate me?”

What more effort could I possibly give? She had no right to talk about conscience, but in a way, neither did Valen. If not for magic sustaining her, an ordinary person would’ve passed out long ago.

When her eyes conveyed what her words couldn’t, Valen—who’d been idly shaking her arm—suddenly laughed and sat up.

“Of course not. Breakfast?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t be cruel.”

Patting the shoulder of Roseline, who stood awkwardly, he reached for the robe draped over a chair. He wrapped it around her, tying the sash himself. The robe, tailored to his frame, drowned her—the shoulders slipped constantly, the sleeves swallowed her hands, but he paid no mind, tightening the knot with a tug.

“If you keep thinking about leaving the moment you wake up, I’ll misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand?”

“Whether your feelings have cooled. Something like that.”

His gaze prickled more than his words. Roseline stuttered like a broken wind-up doll, unable to reply. After watching her unnatural eyes and gnawed lips for a moment, Valen clicked his tongue.

“Take breakfast with you. You lost a lot—you need to replenish.”

Securing the robe’s sash with a firm pull, he smiled smoothly. The cold expression when he’d tightened the knot, the shadowed eyes—those were things Roseline couldn’t see.