If I Disobey the Duke

Playing With Hands (5)

Lily slowly opened her eyes, feeling the morning sun pouring down her face.

She was the only one on the bed again.

Her mind felt refreshed, but her body ached everywhere. From her memories of last night, it was no surprise that that was the case.

The sheets, ruined by all kinds of fluids, were now magically clean. Her outfit had also been changed into something soft and warm.

Lily blinked slowly.

To be honest, it felt good.

She couldn’t remember what happened in the middle, but the feeling was definitely there.

But… he didn’t put it in again this time.

Maybe it was because she complained about the pain, something she had never done before since her first marriage.

Just like her first day here, Lily enjoyed the activities at a leisurely pace.

But again this time, it was only her who was a sobbing mess until the very end of their deed.

Lily bit her lower lip, holding her arms up above her and murmuring, “Wrist… I should’ve just put up with it.”

He was so strong that handprints remained even with the shortest of grips. Almost half of her forearms were red due to the size of his hands.

Lily shivered and threw her arms down on the bed.

Like a hound with a leash over its neck, he had stopped right away when she told him to.

Even if her wrist was broken, she must endure it. Then, she would be able to have penetrative sex next time.

Although his size could really tear her apart, that was something she must tolerate. What mattered was that she gave birth to a child.

“How painful would it be? It’s a little… No, it was huge but…”

The thing she touched was too big to… To find a suitable comparison, her forearm was the closest.

Her toes curled involuntarily as she vividly recalled the sensation—or rather, the lack of it—in her legs as he touched her.

Lily shook her head as if trying to shake off her thoughts, burying her face in a pillow. “…Will it hurt a lot?”

As if to prepare her heart, she recalled the painful sex she had with her ex-husbands.

The number of consummations with her second husband could be counted on one hand.

Her relationship with him was closer to that of a patient and a caregiver. He couldn’t keep it up for long, and so, there was no pain as he penetrated her.

What hurt was the abuse and accusations that came from her not being able to arouse him sufficiently.

The first husband, on the other hand, was small. To be honest, it was right to compare it with Vlad’s finger, or maybe even her own.

It hurt quite a bit when she was dry, but the size made it tolerable.

Thinking of her two ex-husbands made her depressed.

“You probably don’t want to put it in me, Vlad…”

Even though he lost his cool yesterday, it was clear that he endured it.

Lily tossed and turned with a sigh.

Two bereavements made her a cursed woman.

But it was strange. It was Vlad himself who knew all that and proposed a marriage.

If so, why are you doing this?

No matter how hard she tried, Lily couldn’t find a good answer. She just wondered if it had something to do with not wanting to show his face.

Could it be that he’s really, really ugly, as rumored?

“If that’s the case, I don’t mind.”

It was okay if he had scars on his face or dull skin.

Lily already liked this place.

Unlike in her previous marriage, she liked that the maids didn’t pay any attention to her background.

She was thankful to Talin for not being conscious of her status as a commoner. The same went for the priest with a mean personality.

That alone made her want to stay here for a long time.

To her, it really didn’t matter if her husband was ugly.

***

Vladislav de Winter.

His features were terrifyingly perfect.

The beautiful structure of his face exuded a distinct masculine beauty, shadowing his eyes. His nose was sharp, and his firmly closed lips drew an arrogant, attractive curve.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that some people would fail to avoid his blade due to how mesmerizing his appearance was.

Unfortunately, he always wore his blood-stained armor.

Thanks to that, the only thing known about his appearance was that he was a demon on the battlefield.

His obsessive habit of concealing his face gave the rumors more credibility.

He stood leaning against the doorway of the chapel, in his shirt and military trousers, soaking wet.

“You’re here, my lord.”

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At the voice of an old woman, Vlad’s cool gray eyes turned to the old priest kneeling in front of the altar.

The priest slowly rose to her feet. She was a blind, old woman who couldn’t even straighten her back properly. “The worship service is over. Please feel free to come in.”

Boots strode across the path between the chairs on both sides of the chapel. Water dripped onto the marble floor. The wet shirt left none of his tight, sculpted muscles to the imagination.

With his broad shoulders and long limbs, sharply defined bones, slim waist and thick chest, his body was a work of art.

He sat on a chair right in front of the altar, long legs sprawled out.