Try Begging Novel - Chapter 93

The drunken woman swayed.

“Princess, be careful not to fall.”

He gallantly offered his hand, and the ‘princess’ chuckled.

“Because they won’t send me to the hospital even if I get hurt.”

When she added that, the woman pouted her lips, and Leon responded by offering her a bottle of liquor. Her cherry-red lips, flushed with alcohol, parted to take in the caramel-colored liquid.

“Slowly, Princess.”

The woman drinking from his hand now would think he was teasing her, calling her the princess of a rebel royal family. She would never dream that royal blood flowed through her veins.

To think your lineage is more noble than mine.

In truth, she was merely a bastard child of a collateral royal line. And a mongrel at that, mixed with commoner blood.

“Sit down.”

He grabbed the woman, who was about to stagger and wander the room again, and sat her down on the iron table. She kept losing her balance due to the weight of the shackles and chains, so he unfastened them. She was too drunk to escape anyway.

The woman couldn’t wait even that brief moment and picked up the bottle of rum, already half-empty. She tilted it too hastily, and the dark liquid overflowed past her small lips. The alcohol flowing down her chin would soon pass her neck and stain her white shirt.

Leon buried his lips in the woman’s neck. Droplets of liquid that had trickled down her skin gathered between his lips.

The aged rum, long matured in oak barrels, deepened in flavor. The sweet yet spicy scent of caramel and cinnamon naturally blended with the woman’s soft fragrance. This woman was the final secret ingredient that perfected his finest rum.

Leon licked away every droplet that rolled down towards her shirt. He detested getting his clothes dirty. Or at least, for now, that was his excuse.

“Mmm… that tickles.”

Even after the woman put down the bottle, he continued to lick her neck.

“Go away.”

The woman pushed him away, annoyed. Go away, she said. Treating him like an insect.

“Ah!”

He grabbed her breast through her shirt. The stiff, starched fabric crumpled, making a rustling sound.

He also detested crumpled clothes. But the woman’s curves imprinted on his clothes weren’t bad.

Her shirt continued to wrinkle. The rustling of the fabric mingled with the woman’s pleading moans, creating an erotic harmony.

“Hah!”

“Shirt thief.”

Once, after he had showered, the woman had shamelessly stolen and worn his shirt. He was almost impressed by how she always found new ways to break his rules.

On the other hand, the woman in his clothes was quite a sight.

“You gave it to me to wear, and now you’re framing me? Just like a pig-bastard of a monarchy that serves a schemer as king.”

The woman sneered, one shoulder exposed. At least today, he had no retort. He had been the one to take off his shirt the moment he arrived in the torture chamber.

“Mmm… stop.”

He tormented her a little, then let go. The woman jumped down from the table and immediately headed for the black iron door. Her unsteady walk, clad in a shirt too large for her, was unsettling.