When That Door Opens - Chapter 74

His member reached places no one else could. He bent his knees slightly, rotating his hips, sending waves of intense pleasure different from his straight thrusts.

“Verne, Verne, ah!”

She grabbed the tablecloth tightly. The dishes clattered to the floor with a loud crash. Even though people might come, there was no one who could stop Verne, focused on his task. Julieta couldn’t even think about stopping him.

Verne drove her relentlessly at a terrifying pace. Julieta’s rhythm couldn’t keep up with his speed. She let everything go, moving however he directed her. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, accompanied by the wet squelching noise of his member thrusting in and out.

Verne watched his c*ck slide in and out from Julieta’s pulsing entrance, and the sight excited him to the extreme. Pre-c*m seeped out uncontrollably.

‘Not yet, not yet.’

He clenched his jaw to stave off the urge to climax. But seeing Julieta’s muscles beautifully contract beneath her protruding shoulder blades as she lay prone made it impossible to hold back. He hurriedly pounded into her, pushing with the intent to bury even his balls inside. His heavy te**icles slapped against her inner walls, spreading her arousal.

“Hah, Verne, Verne.”

“Julieta, ah, Julieta.”

Calling out to each other desperately, they reached their peak simultaneously. But it wasn’t over. His promise to fill her completely was no bluff; his e******n showed no signs of subsiding.

When You’re Closed

Julieta returned home in the carriage Verne had arranged for her. Though she had only been gone for two and a half days, her house felt cold and unwelcoming. She needed to ventilate the place and attend to neglected chores, but her lower body felt numb. Rest had to come first.

She barely managed to move her trembling legs to the bed and threw herself onto the mattress, which creaked loudly under her weight. Lying there, she turned to gaze at the ceiling, troubled by how things had ended with Verne.

‘From now on, if you want s*x, come to me. Stop wandering into strange places.’

‘I didn’t want it! I just needed material for my writing.’

Instead of eating, she filled her belly with his c*m and lay languidly when he suddenly spoke. Julieta, without realizing it, defended herself in a tone that sounded like an excuse.

‘Whatever it is, don’t think of spreading your legs for just any man.’

Verne’s words were too harsh. Spreading her legs—there were more pleasant ways to describe s*x. His words made her feel like he was treating her like a lewd prostitute. It hurt to think that Verne saw her as nothing more than that.

‘So, you want me to spread them when you ask but not for anyone else? That sounds strange.’

‘Of course, it does. What’s strange about it? Who taught you? Who opened your eyes to s*x? It was me, wasn’t it? I can’t stand the thought of you being f*cked by some lesser guy.’

He was being unreasonable, claiming a nonsensical ownership over her. Their conversations always circled back to s*x, s*x, and more s*x. It left a gaping hole in Julieta’s heart, a big, empty void through which a cold wind blew, making her feel desolate.

‘Whoever I have s*x with, it’s none of your concern. I’ve learned all I needed, so I’ll be going.’

Verne didn’t stop her. He arranged for the carriage but didn’t see her off. Julieta cried her heart out on the way back. She didn’t know why she felt so hurt, but the sorrow and loneliness were overwhelming.

Thinking about it again brought tears to her eyes. She quickly rubbed them away, surprised by the coldness of her own hands. She was used to Verne wiping her tears with his warm hands or the rough texture of his tongue, making her miss him even more.

Her body, clueless as ever, began to heat up.

‘I must be out of my mind.’

She wanted to forget everything. Ignoring her throbbing core, she tried to sleep.

* * *

“Aren’t you writing a new piece?”

Lavo asked, having come to check on Verne, who hadn’t left his room for days. The state of the room made him frown. The room was littered with bottles of strong liquor, and there were more than five overflowing ashtrays filled with cigarette butts.

Ugh, Lavo shuddered as he navigated through the mess and approached Verne, who was slouched on the balcony.

“Aren’t you going to write a neeeew piece?”

He elongated his words, raising his voice to make sure Verne heard him.

Verne turned his head indifferently to look at Lavo. Expecting an ashtray to be thrown at him, Lavo instinctively shielded his head, feeling sheepish when nothing happened.

“I’m not writing.”

Lavo was shocked. The master of e****c novels, who also conquered the continent with his children’s books under a different pen name, who loved writing so much he left a secure future and a noble house behind, said he wasn’t writing?