Lady Class - Chapter 43

Resting one arm on the back of the sofa, Kahn placed one knee beside her thigh. Rackley looked up at him in shock.

From his vantage point, her chest appeared even more prominent.

Right in front of her, he deliberately let his gaze drop to the bulge in his trousers, trailing his hand over it in an intentionally crude motion. When he made his desire blatantly obvious, Rackley bit her lower lip and averted her gaze.

“I have an appointment.”

She rejected him.

‘Is it because she has a fiancé?’

Before any other thought could take root, that was the first thing that came to mind.

His mood soured instantly. He wanted to grab her, kiss her—he knew her weakness, knew that pleasure alone would make her legs give out beneath her.

But just as he battled his own impulses, Rackley struck first.

“From now on, ignore me. No matter what happens, act like you don’t know me.”

He had never met a woman like this.

Just days ago, she had writhed in pleasure beneath him, but the moment she got engaged, she changed completely.

Kahn’s patience snapped.

“If this is some kind of tactic, then congratulations. It’s working.”

“…What?”

Before she could react, Kahn slid a hand behind her head, gripping her hair, and crushed his lips against hers.

A wet sound filled the air. The moment she gasped in shock, he deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue past her parted lips, locking her in place. A shiver ran down his spine. His entire body tensed from the electrifying sensation.

It had only been a week.

There had been other women before, some he had shared nights with more than once. But never had he felt this kind of thrill upon meeting them again.

He sucked on her lips, tangled their tongues, let his mouth devour hers. The fragrance of her skin, the hesitant way she reacted, still clumsy in her responses—it all ignited something primal within him.

Like a cat whose hunting instincts stirred at the sight of prey, his body moved before he could stop himself.

“Hnn… Kahn…”

Hearing her breathy moan, he swiftly slid his hand under the hem of her dress.

His fingertips traced the smooth curve of her pale thigh, moving instinctively, effortlessly slipping beneath the fabric of her undergarments.

Then—

A sudden push.

“Stop! Stop it, Kahn. Please…”

She shoved him away, panting, her face flushed with both distress and lingering heat.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

A single tear trailed down her cheek.

At the sight of her tear-streaked face, the wild pounding of his heart crumpled into silence.

“…We don’t know each other anymore. I… I have a fiancé.”

Her delicate arms barely had any strength, yet somehow, his body yielded like paper.

She refused to look at him.

Staring at the wet trail of her tears, Kahn clenched his jaw. She turned her head further away, refusing to meet his gaze.

Wordlessly, he picked up a discarded black cloak and draped it over her shoulders.

He tied the fastenings at the front, securing it over her chest. A few strands of her fine hair tangled at his fingertips before slipping away.

“I’ll borrow it—no, I’ll take it.”

If she only borrowed it, she would have to return it. That would mean another meeting.

But she didn’t even allow that.

Not even a meaningless farewell. She pressed her lips together, a ghost of a smile on her face, and walked out of the room.

Kahn sat frozen, watching her leave.

Then, sinking into the sofa, he dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

This was the worst.

“You brought this on yourself.”

At some point, Melinda had appeared, leaning against the doorway, her lips pursed in disapproval.

“Whatever happened in here, it’s obviously your fault.”

“…What do you know?”

Kahn growled, his hand still tangled in his hair.

“A sweet noble lady ran out of here in tears. Of course, it’s your fault.”

“…She cried?”

Only then did Kahn lift his head. A bitter feeling spread through his chest.

His eyes, filled with deep regret, soon gleamed with something cruel.

“Find out where Bowil Solomon is right now.”

“That bastard who’s engaged to Lady Winner?”

“Do I need to say it twice?”

Kahn’s voice was so cold it felt like it could freeze the air. Straightening her posture, Melinda dipped her head gracefully.

“I’ll find out immediately.”

***

The gathering at Club Undertale was supposedly for business discussions, but in reality, it was an excuse for drinking, women, and boasting about their latest conquests.

Tonight’s center of attention was none other than Bowil Solomon, the newly engaged man.

“The real winner among us is Bowil Solomon. Out of nowhere, he gets engaged to Lady Winner? I was completely shocked. There wasn’t even a hint of it before.”

Up until now, the conversation had been cautious, with everyone testing the waters. But once one person took the lead and asked, curiosity erupted.

“No matter how much engagements are arranged between families, the fact that the engagement was announced right after rumors about Lady Winner started spreading—there’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

“Exactly. Come on, tell us. Every time someone brought up Lady Winner before, you always complained she was boring, that she wouldn’t be any fun, that there was nothing to see under her dress. So? Did you lift the dress and take a look?”

“You think I wouldn’t have? This is Bowil we’re talking about.”

At the lewd question, the six men gathered burst into low, knowing laughter. Bowil, too, chuckled, reveling in their attention as he leaned back, spreading his legs wider and adjusting the bulge in his trousers.

“She was quite good.”

“Knew it! So the rumors about the two of you having fun at the southern villa were true?”

“Rumors?”

“Oh, right, we have a country bumpkin here who hasn’t caught up yet. You need to come to the capital more often.”

The others jeered at the latecomer, laughing as they filled their glasses.

“So, what does Lady Winner like? Hm? She was always so prim and proper, she must’ve been boring in bed. Did she just lie there like a lifeless doll?”

“She was practically starving for it.”

A few weeks ago, at a social gathering, there had been a discussion about which unmarried noble ladies were the most chaste.

Rackley Winner’s name had been at the top of the list.

Of course, almost every noblewoman’s name had been mentioned at some point in their little club.

“You just need to be big enough.”

Bowil scanned the eager, hungry faces around him and grinned victoriously.

“The moment she saw it, she couldn’t take her eyes off it. I swear, she was drooling to suck it. The first time I shoved it in, she went crazy—after that, she was the one climbing on top, begging for more.”

“Forget bragging about yourself—tell us about the lady. Worth the effort?”

“How’d you manage to break that fortress down?”

“So? How was it? Virgins are usually stiff and dull, aren’t they? But was she at least tight?”

“Never mind that—start from the beginning. How did you even get her to the villa?”

“You left the card game so suddenly that night. If something this fun was going on, you should’ve invited us, too.”

Among men who regularly swapped partners and spent entire nights indulging in their desires, there was no such thing as respecting a friend’s future wife.

And Bowil?

He didn’t care either.

“Oh, please, all women are the same. The only difference between a ‘chaste’ lady and a whore is that one just hasn’t tasted it yet. Once they do, they all become the same.”

“So? How did you break through that fortress? Come on, tell us.”

Bowil let out a low chuckle, fueling the curiosity of those around him. He enjoyed the attention before finally speaking.

“A while ago, Count Winner brought in his mistress—the one who had been raising his illegitimate son—and made her his wife. I was sent to the Winner estate on an errand for my father, and I found Lady Winner waiting in the carriage.”

At the start of his story, someone gulped audibly, while another tried to hide their anticipation by taking a sip of wine.

“She was a kite with a broken string—cast aside. Count Winner wanted to get rid of her and asked my father to find her a suitable fiancé. You think she didn’t know? The moment I opened the carriage door, she lifted her dress herself and asked me to make her my fiancée.”

“Aah…”

“That prim and proper lady?”

The men leaned in, completely absorbed. The story had barely begun, yet some had already grown hard beneath their trousers.

After all, hearing about a courtesan undressing was one thing—but a woman difficult to strip down? That was what truly stirred a man’s hunger.

“So I told her, ‘Even when buying something, one has to consider its worth and whether it’s even worth sampling. Why should I accept your request without knowing if you have any value?’”

“Oh, you bastard!”

“To say such things to a desperate lady!”

They mockingly chastised Bowil, yet their laughter filled the air. They were too entertained to even drink their wine.

“Quiet, quiet! So what happened next?”

“She started tearing up, asking me what she should do. So, I climbed into the carriage and unzipped my trousers.”

The room fell completely silent.

“It must have been her first time seeing a man’s cock, because her eyes went wide as saucers. So I told her—”

Bowil knew how to build anticipation. He licked his lips, letting the tension stretch before delivering the line.

“Suck it. If your mouth is any good, I might consider it.”

SPLASH.

Bowil Solomon was drenched in red.

A club attendant, carrying a bowl of fruit punch, had “accidentally” spilled it all over him.

Bowil shot to his feet, his rage instant.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“S-Sir! I sincerely apologize! I—”

The manager rushed in, horrified.

“Apologize properly! This morning, you already looked like shit, and now you’re embarrassing the club?!”

“I—I’m truly sorry!”

“Oh, so sorry just makes everything better?! Punch? What the hell were you bringing punch for?! This isn’t some banquet!”

“The weather has been warm, so we thought to offer a complimentary refreshment… It was truly an accident, Sir.”

The entire room was frozen, jaws slack at the unexpected turn of events.

Bowil, completely soaked, stood there, stunned, before he exploded into a storm of curses.

The commotion had drawn out the club owner himself.

“My deepest apologies, Sir. This was a mistake on our employee’s part. Please, allow me to personally make amends. Would you come with me?”

“How the fuck do you train your staff?!”

“For the next month, all drinks at your gatherings will be covered by our club. We will also prepare a change of clothes. Please, allow me to properly apologize.”

The owner, bowing low, spoke with utmost deference.

Still fuming, Bowil clicked his tongue in irritation before begrudgingly following him to another room.

A woman, curvy in all the right places, approached him, her dress emphasizing her ample chest.

“Oh my, what an unfortunate mishap. You must be so upset, Sir.”

“We’re truly sorry for the offense. We are terribly ashamed.”

“Are you just saying that? Or do you really mean it?”

“We have gravely offended an important guest. No amount of apologies could be enough… However…”

The woman lowered herself onto her knees between his legs, a towel in hand, gently pressing against his thighs and groin.

Bowil’s gaze finally shifted, focusing on her with interest.

The club owner sealed the deal.

“By the way… there is an important guest in one of the private rooms right now.”

“Who?”

“The Duke of Lascarton.”