My Ruin to You - Chapter 124

Even as he lapped at her b*****s, his hips never stilled. The grotesque thickness of him ground against her c**t with every thrust, dismantling her resistance piece by piece.

“Haah…”

When her walls fluttered around him, he abandoned her n****e with a wet pop, jaw clenching. His pace turned punishing—as if f*****g her senseless was the only goal.

Slap-slap. Skin smacked against skin, the sound drowning in ragged breaths.

Schlorp. Each withdrawal dragged out thick, milky strands, frothing at their joined hips.

“S-Slow—hah—!”
“Can’t let you forget already.”

“Ah—!”

“Isn’t this what you begged for?”

His voice was ragged too. The reasons—why this had started, what she’d hoped to gain by provoking him—had long since folded away behind instinct. Biting her lip to stifle moans was the only control Roseline had left.

“Ngh—!”

Creak. Creak. The sofa inched backward under their rough rhythm until, buried deep inside her, Valen came with a groan. His swollen c**k pulsed, painting her walls with thick streaks of c*m. When he dragged himself out slowly, smearing it between her folds, Roseline shuddered.

“……”

She gasped as she looked up at him. She’d known he wouldn’t stop at once—but as he pushed back in, he was already tearing open his shirt. Only a few buttons survived; the rest were ripped clean off.

After shrugging it off, he hitched her legs over his shoulders and sank into her again, his c**k stubbornly hard as if he hadn’t just spilled inside her.

The long night had only begun.

◇◇◇

“Put it in.”

Those three words had unleashed chaos. Whenever Roseline tried to protest exhaustion, he’d taunt her—You’re the one who asked for this. She lost count of shallow peaks, while his releases numbered at least four before she stopped tracking. A desperate ploy to avoid suspicion, yes—but never again. The sole upside? She was too wrecked for self-loathing.

She finally slept as dawn tinged the windows blue, only dragging herself awake near noon. Snow fell outside. Their delayed retinue had arrived; they should’ve left for the capital—but the storm trapped them.

Though the delay hardly mattered, Schnitzel weighed on her. Had she escaped the estate safely? With Valen hovering, Roseline couldn’t check with the Count’s daughter.

And this reprieve was temporary. Avoiding the topic of Schnitzel wouldn’t work forever. Silence wasn’t a shield—he’d dig for answers or bait her with what he’d uncovered. It always went that way.

“You likely already know, but Lady Schnitzel is in the county. I’d like to see her briefly. Will you permit it, Your Highness?”

“A straightforward request—yet deliberately vague.”

She was leaving it to Valen’s judgment to interpret what exactly she’d done or discussed with Schnitzel. This time, Roseline was testing him.

“Every time Your Highness torments me, the young lady treats me kindly. Is that so wrong?”

The greenhouse was thick with the scent of exotic flowers. Snow piled softly on the translucent ceiling above, while the central hearth crackled, radiating warmth. Across the wrought-iron tea table, Valen—who’d been scrutinizing her with crossed legs—suddenly laughed, sharp and incredulous, before looking away.

“Come here.”

He uncrossed his legs, patting his thigh. Still sore from last night, Roseline approached warily, the hem of her pale blue dress brushing his knees just before he yanked her into his lap.

Bracing for his notoriously low threshold for arousal, she stiffened—only for him to tighten his arms around her and murmur at her ear: “Relax. I won’t. I’d chafe raw at this point.”

Roseline scrubbed at her ear in disgust, squirming until he forcibly stilled her with a grip on her waist.

“You want to see Schnitzel?”