Lady Class - Chapter 40

Sunlight streamed through the curtains. It reached the decorations on the floor, the dresses, shoes, and hats. Shafts of reflected light dazzled Rackley’s sleeping eyes.

Her mouth opened first. She spat out a hot breath.

A tickling sensation down below sent a gasp up her chest. Something wet licked the inner labia between her spread legs. Her scratchy pubic hair was stroked and wet, hot breath on her sensitive flesh.

“Ah…….”

She parted them and soft flesh touched.

It was lips. A hard, slippery tongue probed the flesh, rubbing against the mucous membrane. It pressed coldly against the thin lining, the entrance to the tiny hole.

Hot.

Her knees trembled sweetly with the sensation of incontinence. It wouldn’t come at will.

As her lips parted in a tiny sucking motion, she felt the inner flesh slip away, and Rackley involuntarily squeezed her hole shut, then released.

A tongue flicked over the small protruding clit, like a young animal licking its mother’s milk. Instead of sucking, it ran its saliva over it. Pressing against her pubic hair, it rubbed the cracked flesh again, expecting it to make a dry sound, but instead it made a squeaky wet sound.

The tip of his nose tickled the skin, and he moved upward.

Inside the thin chemise.

“You like that, my lady?”

“Hmm, Ka…….”

His longing voice, the mere sound of it, made the inside of her lower belly heat up like an educated dog.

His lips touched her lower belly, wandered around her navel, then moved higher. He pulled her close, tightened his grip on her back, and licked her breast through the chemise.

“Ah!”

“Good sensitivity. Your nipples are already erect.”

His lips nibbled at her nipples, stimulating them to eruption. Shadows fell across her face as he stood up.

Her chemise was pulled up, exposing her breasts. He cupped one breast. It tingled with the force of his inconsiderate grip.

“How many men have sucked on these?”

“Hmm?”

A crude question.

Rackley woke up with a strange sensation.

Despite his roughness, Kahn’s touch had always been affectionate, but this was different. She could feel it in his rough fingertips, in the way he looked at her, the way he treated her.

Rackley rolled her shoulders.

“Ugh, why…….”

“Huh? Why, you slut.”

She opened her eyes, startled.

The blond Bowil Solomon was staring down at her. One hand clutched at Rackley’s chest.

“You awake?”

Despite the soft smile, Bowil’s hand rolled across her chest. He squeezed her nipple between his fingertips, ungracefully and vulgarly.

Before she could think, her hand moved first.

Slap!

Rackley’s palm struck Bowil’s cheek, making his head snap slightly to the side.

She hurriedly sat up, pulling the blanket over her chest. Thankfully, she was still covered by the sheets. Unlike in her dream, her chemise hadn’t ridden up to expose her bare skin.

“What do you think you’re doing?! Entering a lady’s bedroom without permission?!”

Bowil rubbed his reddened cheek, smirking. There was no hint of remorse or even anger at being struck.

“I figured my fiancée wanted me to wake her up since she was still sleeping.”

“You—!”

“I’ll be waiting downstairs. I’ll be speaking with the Count, so don’t keep me waiting too long.”

A one-sided arrogance.

The mention of the Count made Rackley bite her parted lips. She glared at Bowil until he finally left, and only when the door closed did she exhale the breath she had been holding.

The vulgar sensation of his hand squeezing her chest lingered, sending a shiver down her spine. She pressed her palm firmly over the spot as if trying to erase the memory.

She had always known that Bowil Solomon was frivolous, but she had never imagined he could be so utterly devoid of manners. Entering a lady’s bedroom and touching her so brazenly—!

Had she only dreamed of him calling her a filthy woman, or had Bowil actually said it?

Her eyes burned with frustration.

“I don’t even have any appointments today.”

Trying to steady her shaken nerves, Rackley got out of bed and washed her face. She didn’t care whether Bowil Solomon waited or not, but the Winner Count was involved as well. That meant she couldn’t simply ignore them.

The day after she had agreed to the engagement, Sir Solomon had personally come to visit. After a long discussion in the Count’s study, both men had emerged wearing pleased smiles.

Marriage was, after all, a contract between families.

The rigid-minded Winner Count had long held a subtle disdain for Sir Solomon, a man of gentry status. However, his own lack of business acumen had led to a series of failed independent investments, whereas the ventures recommended by Sir Solomon had yielded profits. Slowly but surely, he had started to rely on the man.

In the process, the debts owed to Sir Solomon had piled up significantly.

Recently, after making a sizable profit from an investment in a trading company, the Winner Count’s confidence had soared. With that money as collateral, he had poured further investments into a merchant fleet that Sir Solomon was backing.

As a wedding gift for his future daughter-in-law, Sir Solomon’s family had agreed to extend the repayment period on the Count’s loans and even reduce the interest.

That was what finally solidified the Winner Count’s decision.

Freed from the burden of his debts, the Count’s demeanor brightened considerably. Even Rowinda had become noticeably kinder—she now treated Rackley as if she were truly a sister or even a daughter.

“Ah…”

Rackley sighed as her foot nudged a pile of objects strewn across the floor.

The engagement gifts from the Solomon family lay scattered, still unpacked. They had arrived yesterday along with the engagement contract. Rowinda had been practically giddy as she unwrapped them, celebrating as if it were her own engagement.

With just one signed document, Rackley had become engaged to Bowil Solomon.

***

Dressed appropriately, ensuring she was neither too formal nor too casual, Rackley stepped into the drawing room. As soon as she entered, her eyes met Bowil’s.

His gaze swept down to her chest.

Even with a guest present, the Winner Count did not bother to hide his displeasure toward her.

“Why were you so slow to come down when your fiancé is here? I’m starting to worry you’ll be just as sluggish when you move into the Solomon estate after marriage.”

“Rackley must have taken extra time to get ready because she wanted to look good for her fiancé,” Bowil commented smoothly.

“I didn’t realize you were so generous, Bowil. It seems I’ve misjudged you,” the Count chuckled, satisfied. “Rackley, sit down.”

“Yes, Father.”

Rackley intended to sit next to Rowinda, but as Rowinda adjusted her skirts with a deliberate sweep, she left no space. That forced Rackley to sit on the sofa where Bowil Solomon was.

She positioned herself as far from him as possible.

“Oh my, she’s acting shy,” Rowinda observed playfully.

Despite only wearing a simple indoor dress with her hair loosely tied over one shoulder, it was now being interpreted as dressing up for her fiancé. Lowering her gaze to avoid eye contact was not discomfort—it was a maiden’s bashfulness.

If she mentioned the disrespect Bowil had shown in her bedroom, it would only be romanticized as a passionate lover’s enthusiasm.

The Winner Count, pleased with the display, beamed.

“You two look wonderful together. I can’t believe I left you alone for so long, not realizing how well you suited each other.”

“You’ve been busy,” Rowinda said, her voice soothing.

“I’m glad we are engaged at last. I have always admired such a modest young lady,” Bowil added with a smirk.

“Hmm, indeed. You have a generous heart—you’ll make a fine husband.”

“I appreciate your kind words, Count.”

The conversation carried on between them, as if she were nothing more than a decoration sitting between them. Even dolls were treated with more regard.

A fleeting thought of her aunt crossed her mind.

And then—Kahn.

She knew she could not run. But just for this moment, she wished for it.

If she could just escape this, she wouldn’t even mind living as her aunt had.

“Rackley.”

“…Yes, Father.”

At the Winner Count’s call, she quietly responded.

“Now that you’re engaged, you might as well be married. Even if you have a child before the wedding, it will not be a disgrace. Make sure to give the Solomon family plenty of sons.”

“Oh, Count, you’re rushing things. But with how passionate they are, I’m sure it will happen naturally,” Rowinda teased.

“Hmm, you’re right.”

Humiliation. Disgust.

She understood that producing an heir was expected of her. But to hear it spoken so openly—as if she were livestock—burned her eyes with unshed tears.

Just as she struggled to suppress the overwhelming emotions rising within her, Bowil stood up.

“Since the young lady is ready, we’ll be taking our leave.”

“Of course. Send my regards to Sir Solomon, and thank him for his generosity.”

“It was merely a small gesture,” Bowil said smoothly. Then, looking at Rackley, he added, “You only need to put on a coat. You’ll have to change out of your dress once we arrive anyway.”

The look in his eyes made her stomach churn.

Rackley stiffened. She had heard nothing of this.

Her gaze darted between Bowil and the Winner Count.

“…I am going out as well?”

“Of course. Your fiancé has come all this way—go enjoy a pleasant time together in town. I hear he’s even buying you a dress?”

“Yes. She will be standing beside me now, so naturally, I should take care of her.”

“Haha, excellent. You’re lucky, Rackley. It’s rare for a husband to think of his wife’s wardrobe like this.”

There wasn’t even a chance to refuse. A maid brought out a coat that didn’t match her indoor dress, and before she could protest, the Winner Count and Bowil were already heading toward the entrance.

Rackley had no choice. She was powerless.

Thankfully, Rowinda also needed to visit town, so she was spared from riding alone with Bowil in the carriage.

Rowinda, speaking in a playful and flirtatious tone with Bowil the entire way, only left after ensuring they had entered the dress boutique.

The boutique’s madame briefly hesitated when she noticed Rackley wearing an autumn coat despite the warm weather, but she swiftly masked her surprise and guided her inside.

“You know my taste, don’t you?” Bowil asked smoothly.

“Of course. Your taste is consistent—it makes designing much easier. Your choices always highlight a lady’s beauty.”

“Exactly. That’s why I always order from you.”

Bowil chatted easily with the boutique madame, making no effort to hide how often he had been there before.

Rackley had never visited a boutique in person. For both autumn and spring, a tailor from the boutique had always come to the estate to take her measurements and deliver finished gowns.

“You must be the young lady, Rackley Winner. I am Madame Billy. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“Yes, pleased to meet you. May I see the design book?”

“The young master has very particular tastes, so most of his designs are quite similar. Why don’t you try this red one?”

“…Excuse me?”

Madame Billy was assertive. She didn’t even give Rackley time to protest before swiftly undressing her.

“Tighter.”

She pulled the corset strings even more, cinching Rackley’s waist to an extreme. Her chest was pushed up unnaturally high, to the point that if she moved wrong, her nipples might be exposed.

“Kyaa—!”

“He doesn’t like waiting, so we must hurry.”

The madame whispered into Rackley’s ear with an urgent expression.