Arc-2 Ch-15.5

A unique sensation of floating envelops me, my body melting, blurring the line between reality and dream. The moment my mind stirs, this fragile, half-dream, half-waking world dissolves like mist—an irreplaceable feeling.

Thanks to the perfect balance of fatigue and satisfaction, I am intoxicated with bliss. It is said that the three primal desires of living beings are sleep, hunger, and lust. Having sated both my need for rest and nourishment, I must look utterly disgraceful and slovenly now. I wouldn’t want even my husband, with whom I share a bed, to see me so vulnerable.

People praise my beauty, but the decline of such fleeting charm is indescribably ugly once it begins. As I drift on the edge of dreams and wakefulness, something stirs in my consciousness—a sensation so familiar I can’t discern if it’s a hallucination born of unbound instinct or reality itself. Opening my eyes would resolve the mystery, but my weary body resists awakening.

I shift my hand slightly, and the sensation reaches me: rough, hard, yet warm and slightly damp—a feeling I know well from even in my sleep. Peeking through one eye, I see a familiar face gently cradling my body. My beloved, my dearest—my husband, Leon Fou Bartfort.

The realization that Leon sought me out in my room fills me with unparalleled joy. During our engagement, when nightmares of the battlefield tormented him, he began seeking my warmth. It started with me holding his hand by his side, calming him just enough. Even after we became intimate, on sleepless nights, I would offer him my body. There’s no greater joy than comforting Leon as he clings to me like a child clutching a pillow in sleep.

Seeing the man the world hails as a hero so vulnerable in my arms brings profound fulfillment. I alone know this side of Leon. I alone can heal him. This joy, laced with a sense of superiority, love, and desire, is beyond description.

'If Leon ever stopped needing me, I’d carve myself into his wounds to ensure he could never escape.' Such dark possessiveness nearly surfaces—I take that much pride in being his refuge. At this point, I can’t tell who depends on whom. Leon jokes he can’t sleep without me by his side, but truthfully, I’m often the one seeking him, curling up beside him to rest.

In my current half-awake state, however, I’m free of such intense desires. I simply wish to bask in sleep, all three primal needs fulfilled. I lightly wrap my arms around Leon’s body. Let’s sleep together like a proper married couple, I think, as I try to quiet my mind and slip back into slumber.

Minutes, perhaps hours, pass. Then a jolt of pleasure courses through me, making me squirm, my breath tinged with sweetness. Lust, one of the three primal urges, begins to nudge aside sleep, pulling my consciousness toward wakefulness. It’s unwelcome. I wouldn’t mind indulging in pleasure with moderation, but I resent being touched without consent. To lay hands on a sleeping wife—that I cannot tolerate.

Opening my eyes, I find Leon with his face buried in my chest.

“Leon,” I say sharply.

“You’re awake,” he replies.

“Did you think I wouldn’t wake up?” I retort. No one could sleep through such touches.

He shrugs, feigning embarrassment, but if he truly regretted it, he wouldn’t have acted in the first place.

“I’m fine with sleeping together, but I haven’t permitted you to touch me like this,” I say firmly.

“I thought you’d forgive me if I went with the moment,” he says.

“That depends on the situation and my mood. Tonight, I’m exhausted. It wouldn’t lead to a fulfilling union.”

Intimacy with Leon is undeniably pleasurable, but it often leaves me drained. When we’re affirming our love, it’s wonderful, but when Leon’s anxieties surface, he holds me too tightly. There’s a limit to how much of his fear I can absorb. Above all, I’m pregnant with our third child—such rough embraces are entirely inappropriate.

“It’s been over a month since I last held you, Angie,” Leon says. “Even when it’s just us, you feel so distant.”

“I’m pregnant, that’s unavoidable,” I reply. “And even if we haven’t been fully intimate, I’ve still used my hands and mouth to please you.”

“That’s not the same,” he insists. “I love when you do that, Angie, but being inside you—nothing compares.”

“Don’t say such crude things,” I snap. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Despite my protests, Leon’s hands continue their caress over my nightgown, skillfully avoiding my most sensitive spots. It’s maddeningly deliberate, a touch that knows my body too well.

“The doctor said it’s generally fine during pregnancy, as long as it’s not too intense,” Leon says.

I sigh, torn between irritation and the pull of his familiar touch, my body betraying my resolve as I wrestle with the balance of love, desire, and my own boundaries.

" The issue is your intensity. You’re usually so reserved, barely able to express affection, yet in bed, you’re consumed by passion.”

“I get so excited… I can’t hold back,” he mumbles, his voice low.

“No excuses. Starting tomorrow, you’ll focus properly on your duties as a lord.”

I’m desperate to shift the conversation. If I let myself be swept away by his fervor, it’ll lead to complications I can’t afford.

Finally, Leon pauses his caresses, pulling me into a warm embrace. His sudden obedience is surprising. If we can make it through the night without incident, I’d consider it a victory.

But as our bodies press closer, my breath catches. Attempting to pull away, I feel something firm against my backside. The moment I realize it’s Leon’s arousal, a sweet ache blooms in my lower abdomen.

The passion of the man who fathered our three children still burns for me, and my body betrays my resolve, readying itself for him. Leon says nothing, but the heat and hardness pressing through my nightgown speak more eloquently than words ever could.

It would be so easy to surrender to this desire.

Then, the strength in his embrace softens. “Angie,” he whispers, my nickname , a velvet murmur in my ear. That alone sends shivers of pleasure through me.

“Is it okay?” he asks.

I don’t feign ignorance. My heart and body crave him so fiercely that words feel superfluous.

“I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to strain the baby. Can you be gentle?”

“I’ll try,” he replies. His inability to promise outright is both a flaw and part of his charm. And because I find even his imperfections endearing, I have no reason left to resist.

Leon’s hand slips beneath the hem of my nightgown, his rough, calloused fingers grazing my bare skin. Now he explores the sensitive areas he’d avoided earlier—my breasts, groin, and inner thighs. His touch molds my soft curves, reshaping them with deliberate care.

Each stroke ignites my body, leaving me trembling with pleasure. “You’re not wearing underwear,” he observes, his tone teasing.

“It’s just a coincidence. I was tired and didn’t have anything suitable.”

“Really?” His skeptical expression betrays his sharp intuition.

My room in this secondary residence is always prepared, stocked with clothes and undergarments for my visits. The door even has a lock. If I truly wanted to refuse Leon, I could have secured it before retiring for the night, ending any possibility of this encounter.

But I didn’t. I came to this residence, visited Leon at the farm. Deep down, I must have orchestrated this moment, too hesitant to initiate it openly yet creating the opportunity for him to come to me.

His fingers, still exploring beneath my nightgown, savor every inch of my body. My breasts swell, nipples hardening visibly through the fabric, and my groin grows so wet that my arousal soaks the cloth. At this rate, my nightgown will be ruined, but exhaustion and the intoxicating pleasure dull my concern.

Perhaps sensing my thoughts, or simply finding it obstructive, Leon unbuttons my nightgown and slips it off. The cool night air is a soothing contrast to my heated skin.

While I’m still dazed, Leon sheds his own clothes, reclines on the bed, and gently pulls me atop him. Am I lying on a mattress of his making, or am I the ingredient on his cutting board? Our skin presses together, his caresses unrelenting yet tender, mindful of my condition.

He licks my neck, then nips lightly. “Stop,” I murmur.

“No good?”

“It’ll leave a mark. If someone sees it, it’ll cause trouble.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if they did?” he counters, resuming his gentle assault on my neck. “If everyone knew I was mad about you, they’d stop pestering me about taking a concubine.”

“Is Father’s suggestion bothering you that much?”

“Would you be fine with me pursuing other women?”

“It would sting,” I admit. “But if my jealousy drove a wedge between us, I’d rather you took a concubine. The condition is that our children and I remain your priority.”

“I thought you’d never tolerate a concubine.”

“A man like you, aroused by a pregnant woman like me, would exhaust me entirely. If it’s a choice between breaking my body or allowing a concubine I’ve vetted, I can endure the latter.”

“Sorry for being such a deviant,” he says, though his caresses don’t falter. He’s unapologetically himself.

And I, growing wetter with every touch, am no less culpable. His caresses coax an overflow of arousal from my tightly closed core, the scent of our desire permeating the room.

Leon’s body envelops mine from below, his hands entwining with mine, his legs tangling with my own, rendering escape impossible. His hot, insistent erection presses against my groin, the veined, red

dish-black shaft straining for entry. A slight thrust of his hips would be enough for my body to yield to him entirely.

My body burned with the flames of desire, yet the frustration of unfulfilled release seared my rationality. Leon’s touch—his penis grazing my groin, my vaginal opening, and my clitoris—teased me without ever entering. He had a habit of tormenting me like this during intimacy, prolonging my anticipation for his own amusement.

 I assumed this was another of his games, but when I turned to protest, I saw his face contorted in restraint, his breaths ragged as he fought to maintain control while satisfying me.

“Can you be gentle?” I asked.

“I’ll try,” he replied, voice strained.

Leon’s effort to hold back from penetrating made him all the more dear to me. I freed my hand from his grip and guided it to his crotch, my fingers gently wrapping around his throbbing penis. A muffled groan escaped him, but I ignored it, focusing on the heat in my palm. His erection pulsed like a small, desperate creature, and despite its raw, almost grotesque form, it felt precious because it was part of him.

With one hand holding his penis and the other parting my vaginal lips, my overflowing juices coated him, mingling our fluids and soaking our groins. Slowly, I guided his glans to my entrance, leaving the next move to him. Whether he took me gently or with force, I knew I would forgive him.

His hands encircled my waist, and his hips eased forward. The sensation of his heat spreading my vagina sent shivers down my spine. For the first time in nearly two months, my body welcomed its mate.

Inch by inch, his glans parted my inner walls, the pressure igniting pleasure more intense than our fiercest couplings. Though his movements lacked ferocity, the sensation overwhelmed me. Deep within, I felt my womb stir, descending as if craving him. My instincts knew that the moment he reached my cervix, I would unravel.

Moans, primal and unrestrained, spilled from my lips, mirrored by Rion’s groans of near-agony. The friction of his hardness against the sensitive core of my womb reverberated through me. Then, a rush of heat flooded my vagina, and we both climaxed, our voiceless roars entwining.

“You tempted me, Angie,” leon teased, his voice lighter now. “If I could resist you, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“You’re the one who started it,” I shot back. “As if I could say no to you.”

Our post-coital banter lacked its usual sensuality, tinged with embarrassment at having climaxed so quickly from mere penetration after such a long abstinence. Still, we were reluctant to part. His softened penis remained inside me, our mingled fluids staining the sheets and drying in white patches on our skin.

“Can’t you go again?” I asked, half-teasing.

“Men need time to recover after finishing,” he said with a wry smile.

“So, if I stimulate you, it’ll work?”

I tightened my buttocks, clenching as if to close my anus, hoping to stir his penis within me. The subtle movement of my vaginal walls wasn’t enough to revive him, though.

“No good,” Leon muttered, resigned. “It needs a break.”

As he leaned back, I settled atop him, our bodies still entwined.

“Leon,” I said softly, “I don’t want you to take a concubine. Heirs and inheritance aside, I can’t bear the thought of you with another woman.”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured me. “I’ve told them I have no intention of taking another wife. The duke won’t bring it up again.”

“With your title as count, nobles who once saw you as their equal might start offering their sisters or daughters.”

“If there were a woman better than you, I might consider it,” he said, his tone playful. “But since there isn’t, you have nothing to fear.”

“There are countless women better than me,” I protested.

“To me, you’re the finest woman in the world,” he declared, his voice firm. “This conversation is over.”

The conviction in his words sent a tremor through me, stirring something deep within my womb.

“You’re the only one I want, Angie,” he continued, his voice softer now. “Even during the war, even in the capital, it was your body I longed for. You’ve twisted my desires, so you’d better take responsibility.”

“How does that become my fault?” I laughed, swatting at him.

“If I can’t get hard for anyone else, what am I supposed to do? You’re too perfect for me,” Leon said, a teasing edge to his voice.

“Don’t get hard when you’re angry! It’s intimidating!” I shot back, half-laughing.

The way his penis stirred with every word sent a strange mix of fear and excitement through me.

---

“Relax, I’ll be gentle,” he promised.

“You say that, but I mostly remember you being rough.”

“Maybe one out of every two times,” he countered with a grin.

“More like two out of three. Don’t rewrite history to suit yourself.”

I cut off his cheeky retort with a kiss, stealing his breath.

“If you want me to carry your child, please go easy on me,” I murmured. “I don’t want to push you away, Rion.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said sincerely.

“Promising is pointless if you don’t follow through."

As Leon lay back, I nestled my face against his broad chest. His warmth enveloped my exhausted body, lulling me toward sleep. The day’s labor—cooking, farm work, and our passionate intimacy—had drained me, and I fought to suppress a yawn. My attention drifted to the sensation inside me, where his newly erect penis pulsed fiercely against my vaginal walls.

“I’m really worn out,” I admitted. “Could you move slowly?”

“Got it,” he replied softly.

His thrusts were slow and deliberate, lacking the usual intensity. Each fold of my vaginal walls shifted sensually, almost instinctively caressing his penis. I tried to clench tighter to please him despite my fatigue, but the effort sent waves of pleasure through me, making my movements clumsy. Guilt tugged at me as Rion held me close, his hips moving gently. I wished I could offer more—perhaps let him touch my breasts or hips—but our tightly pressed bodies made it impossible.

“Does it feel good?” I asked hesitantly. “Should I try to move?”

“Just rest,” he reassured me. “It feels more than good already.”

His penis slid deep, brushing my cervix, then withdrew nearly to the point of slipping out, repeating the cycle with deliberate care. The slower pace prolonged each wave of pleasure, leaving me in a dreamlike haze. When soft moans escaped my lips, Leon silenced them with a kiss. Our tongues entwined, our bodies pressed together, our sexes rubbing in perfect harmony. The intensity of our connection overwhelmed my senses, filling my heart and body with a profound sense of completeness.

“Is it okay if I finish soon?” he asked, voice low.

“You don’t need to ask,” I whispered.

“Still, I don’t want to do anything you wouldn’t like.”

As his gentle embrace enveloped me, a warmth spread through my lower body, and I reached a soft, lingering climax. Before I could fully register that the prolonged sensation was Leon’s ejaculation, my consciousness drifted into sleep.

* * * * *

“Every time we come to the villa, you ravish me until I’m completely spent,” I said, half-accusing.

“That’s just your imagination, isn’t it?” Leon replied, smirking.

His unapologetic tone earned him a kick to the shin, though my weakened state meant it barely fazed him. By morning, I’d recovered just enough to walk, but the trek back to the mansion left me panting.

“Want me to carry you like a princess, like before?” he teased.

“Absolutely not,” I snapped.

The memory of my first time before our marriage—when my legs gave out from inexperience—still stung. Worse was the humiliation of Leon carrying me through town, gawked at by the townsfolk. I’d rather forget that moment entirely.

As I stretched, my muscles protested with sharp aches.

“Let’s hurry back to the mansion,” I said.

“Alright,” he agreed.

Was I too simple for letting Leon’s embrace dissolve my deepest anxieties? Strangely, it didn’t feel wrong. If endless worrying could yield perfect solutions, no sage or ruler would ever falter. Sometimes, pausing to reflect is enough.

The villa, our private sanctuary, would surely see frequent use in the years to come. May it remain a haven for us—a place to cherish memories, even when one of us outlives the other. With these thoughts, we set off down the bare dirt path.

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Authors Note

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This chapter is the adult-oriented scene from Chapter 28 (https://syosetu.org/novel/307038/28.html).  

While I’ve written many intimate scenes before, this one is slightly shorter due to the absence of political or other main-story elements.  

Reading the main story will provide more context for the events before and after.  

**Addendum**: The illustrations for this chapter were drawn by Ξoshiri-sama at the request of the client. Thank you very much!

Ξoshiri様 - Skeb