Try Begging Novel - Chapter 84

The Black Chandelier.

The memory of the man summoning her late at night to clean the chandelier suddenly returned. This very desk was where he had first attempted to violate Grace.

He must have wanted to tear her clothes off even then. He finally got his wish. She had tried every trick to avoid this, yet here she was. A hollow laugh escaped her. If it had happened right here that night, she would have been furious. Now, it was just absurd.

Winston looked up from between her spread legs. A slanted smile was etched on his face as he unbuckled his belt.

She soon understood why he was smiling. “Hngh…” The moment his erection emerged, it pressed against her opening. The hot mass of flesh parted her soft folds and slid upward. The tip, which had grazed her deeply hidden clitoris and now bounced against her lower belly, was drenched in clear fluid. It was proof that Grace was aroused. ‘So what am I supposed to do about it?’

Grace glared at him for a moment before turning her head to the side. Her eyes widened when her gaze landed on the ashtray in front of the telephone. What was piled high in the ashtray wasn’t ash. It was small wads of crumpled paper—stamps. A snicker escaped Grace’s lips as she stared at the stamps, used for some bizarre game and then discarded. ‘Good heavens. I’m laughing now, of all times.’ “Ah, hngh…”

The laughter stopped instantly. The tip of him smeared the copious amount of arousal fluid it had gathered, rubbing against her clitoris. Each time the blunt flesh mashed the nodule, a sharp, piercing sensation, like being stabbed by hot ice shards, shot up her spine and spread throughout her body.

Grace, whose lower body had been twitching, suddenly arched her back. The long piece of flesh unexpectedly parted her folds and plunged deep into her cervix. “Ah! Mmmph…”

“Quiet.” A hand, as hot as the organ inside her, clamped over her mouth. The thought that there might be soldiers standing outside the door made her cheeks burn beneath his large palm.

Winston slowly withdrew the organ that had been buried deep inside and commanded, “Take it off.”

Grace began to unfasten the buttons of her fully-buttoned blouse, starting from her neck. The buttons were small and round. They kept slipping from her fingertips as her body shook. She had managed to undo three with difficulty and was grappling with the button in the middle of her brassiere when the man, having run out of patience, grabbed the lapels of her blouse and ripped it open. Thud-thud-thud. The torn buttons flew everywhere. Her brassiere was instantly pushed up to her collarbone, and a thick tongue covered the peak rising in the center of the heaving mounds of flesh. “Hmpf…”

Grace had to cover her mouth with her hand. But her own hand was not enough. The fiercer his fondling and thrusting became, the more blatant her cries of pleasure leaked through the gap in her weakening grip. Finally, Grace begged, “The radio, ah, hngh, turn it on…”

“Hah, wouldn’t it be easier if you just didn’t make noise?” His lips fell away from her nipple, and a sharp breath snickered past her wet skin.

“Haa, ah, don’t.” Her hands, which had been covering her mouth, were now captured. Winston interlaced her fingers, pinning them to the desk, and quickened the pace of his thrusts. “Heeugh…” Her lower lip, pressed by her teeth, trembled. The more she tried to hold back her cries, the rougher the man drove into her. “Ung, stop…”

The man, who had been watching her increasingly distressed face with a strange look in his eyes, lowered his head. His wet lips briefly touched the bridge of her nose, then pulled away. After that, only light kisses continued, like birds touching beaks. ‘How unfitting.’

But the moment she couldn’t endure the deep penetration and the sensation of him hitting her nerve point, letting a moan slip into his conveniently available mouth, Grace realized his intention. Only this man’s mouth was permitted to silence her.

A human whose mind was uniquely developed for cruelty. Grace glared at him and tilted her head sideways. Their lips sealed together as tightly as her thighs had been. Like a chick taking regurgitated food from its mother, the man sweetly accepted and swallowed the moans Grace released.

Her breathing grew rougher, but his gaze softened. It was unlike the night a few days ago, when her body was hot but her heart was cold. Perhaps it was because they were meeting eyes in the bright light. Through the loosely opened window of their hearts amidst the physical pleasure, each other’s warmth seeped in. Maybe that was why he hadn’t turned on the light that night.

Suddenly, Grace realized she was unconsciously smiling, intoxicated by the sense of fullness that filled an empty space.

The instant she snapped back to reality, the man’s smile also broke. The thrusting stopped, and a silence, as if time itself had paused, began. Frozen as if splashed with cold water, the two stared at each other with confused eyes, then suddenly clenched their teeth. ‘This woman’s feelings…’ ‘This man’s feelings…’ ‘I don’t need them.’

The man pulled his body away like someone waking from a dream, seized the rattling leash, and warned fiercely, “You are my dog. Don’t forget who your master is.”

“Isn’t the one who barks loudest when scared the real dog?”

The two terrified dogs snarled at each other as if they would tear each other apart, coupling as if they would die without the other.

Humans are social animals. They feel anxiety if they do not interact with other humans in society. Grace sought a temporary fix—relief—by making contact with the only human existing in her tiny ‘society.’ And the short-lived effectiveness of the medicine was followed by the long-lasting side effect of self-loathing.

Grace stood before the mirror in the washroom attached to the office, silently reprimanding her pathetic self. ‘Why do I seek relief from the man who makes me anxious? Why do I seek intimacy from the man who made me lonely?’ She stared at her reflection with eyes full of resentment, then squeezed them shut. ‘It’s futile.’

She splashed cold water on her face to wash away the thick emotional residue, which was as messy as the fluid running between her legs. Wiping the water from her face, Grace picked up the silk handkerchief she had tossed onto the sink floor. She didn’t want to touch the handkerchief, soaked wet with bodily fluid, but it would be terrible for a maid to see the traces of their lovemaking. She wiped away the traces roughly, wrung out the handkerchief, and draped it over the basket for used towels. Wiping herself once more between the legs with a dry towel, Grace fastened the collar of her blouse, which kept gaping below her chest, and walked out.

Winston was sitting at his desk, resting his chin on his hand. She wondered if he was going back to work as if nothing had happened, but his free hand was rolling something small. As she approached, Grace frowned. The small object Winston was fidgeting with was a button that had torn off her blouse.

She held out her hand to ask for it, but the man merely tilted his head, which was propped up by his knuckles, and stared at her intently.

“Read it.” He gestured toward the floor. Following his gaze, she saw a yellow file folder lying in the spot where Grace had been.

[Copy: Regarding the Illegally Amassed Wealth and Confiscation of Hidden Assets of the Blanchard Family after the Revolution]

The title at the top caught her eye, and Grace gave Winston a pointed look. That was a report written by the Treasury Department. The reason he was telling an anti-government activist to read a government secret was obvious just from the title. ‘Hidden assets, my foot…’ It was a ploy to shake Grace’s trust.

“That’s your job for today.” ‘While I handle the business ordered by your distant relatives.’

As the woman reluctantly picked up the report, Leon opened the envelope for the Sinclair case. Scanning the thick investigation record—about the thickness of a thumb—he pulled out a blank sheet of paper and began writing the investigative report he would send to the ‘Honored Guest.’ The investigation was sufficient. He decided to stop at a point that adequately demonstrated his sincerity and competence, yet left no room for him to be implicated in any difficult matter.

Of course, the King would have expected Leon to fabricate something, so he might accuse him of lacking sincerity or competence. But he had no intention of being excessively loyal in such a way. If a problem arose because of it, the royal family would undoubtedly sever the tail, and that tail was clearly the Winston family.

Leon, who was writing the report strictly based on facts, excluding opinion and interpretation, suddenly felt it was too quiet and turned his gaze sideways. ‘How unbelievable.’ The woman was lying curled up, asleep, holding the report after barely turning a few pages. The hem of her blouse had slipped down, exposing her pale skin and small navel. He wondered if he should cover her with his jacket, but the sun seemed quite warm, and the woman had a pleasant smile on her lips.

Leon picked up a cushion from under the desk. “I’m being harassed day and night by your family members, and you’re taking a carefree nap. I’m utterly envious.” He sneered at the woman who couldn’t hear him and propped the cushion against her stomach. Gazing at her sleeping face, he recalled the seventh definition of this woman: A descendant born by taking the life of her family’s leader. How perfectly ideal it would be if she were to someday take the life of the leader of his own faction as well.

The reason the rebel leaders wanted to eliminate the royal family woman—that is, the reason this woman might turn her back on the rebels—he had found it in a completely unexpected place. Luck was clearly on his side.

Leon smiled, brushing the hair away from her pretty face. Grace. Poor Grace. “You will personally put the noose around the neck of the fiancé who betrayed you. You will collapse your own world with your own hands for revenge.”

“I will make sure that happens.”

It was the moment he leaned in for a kiss of vow.

“Captain.” Campbell knocked on the door, calling out his name in an urgent voice from outside. The woman woke up with a start and, without even finding out what was happening, hid under the desk.

“What is it?” He stood up to ask, and the door burst open, revealing a visibly flustered Campbell who exclaimed, “The Inspector General has arrived.”