On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 15 (M)

“If we’re going to be enjoying ourselves for a long time, wouldn’t it be boring to always use the same positions?”

“It’s not the same at all!”

Layla fiercely denied his absurd statement, her voice filled with indignation.

Blake raised a brow, his expression practically shouting, What are you talking about?

To him, all the passionate nights they had spent together felt more or less the same.

“When two cultures are different, you have to adapt to each other,” he said matter-of-factly.

Layla was speechless. He had done whatever he pleased up until now, and now he wanted to talk about adapting?

The truth was, Blake had been adjusting for her all along—something that would likely shock her if she ever found out.

As he spoke, he deftly stripped her dress away. For him, undressing her was as effortless as peeling the skin off a ripe peach.

His touch was swift yet precise—her outer dress slid over her arms and was tossed to the floor, followed closely by her corset, which came undone with ease.

Ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks, Layla instinctively clutched the neckline of her chemise. It wasn’t much of a defense, but grasping the thin fabric gave her a small sense of security.

“To make our married life even more enjoyable, wouldn’t it be fun to try something different?” Blake mused. “I was thinking… how about choosing a word to use when things get too heated?”

“W-why would we need something like that?”

“Hmm? It’s the same as always. I put it in, finish, and that’s it.”

“If it’s really the same, then we wouldn’t need a word like that in the first place!”

“Oh? So you’re saying there won’t be a need to use it? You must not actually hate it as much as you claim.”

“I do hate it! I meant what I said!”

Layla knew the truth—once Blake set his mind on something, no one could stop him.

But when she thought about it, his suggestion wasn’t entirely a bad one for her. Not that she believed for a second that he was doing this for her.

If there was even the slightest chance, she wanted to escape from having to share his bed altogether.

Just as Layla steeled herself to respond, her throat went dry, and the words died on her lips.

Blake had stripped off his pants right in front of her. His shirt? Already tossed from the bed in one swift motion.

He knew no shame, no hesitation—standing there with the confidence of an emperor, utterly unrestrained. His body, powerful and statuesque like a sun god, was fully exposed before her.

And then there was his cock—impossible to ignore, commanding attention with its sheer presence.

Layla was overwhelmed. A rush of heat pooled between her legs, and before she could stop it, her undergarments dampened. Her body, betraying her will, responded instinctively, slick arousal spreading as if preparing to accept him.

No matter how much she resisted, after spending several nights with Blake, Layla’s body had begun to respond to him before her mind could catch up.

Their eyes met.

Blake gazed down at her, fully aware of the state she was in. He could see it—sense it.

Then, suddenly, an idea struck her. A clever glint flashed in Layla’s eyes.

“…If I say the word, you’ll really stop? No matter what you’re doing?”

“Of course. I tend to keep my promises.”

Layla hesitated, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

“Just what exactly are you planning to do…?”

Layla wasn’t sure if she could really trust his words. Even if she didn’t agree, he was the type of man who would do as he pleased.

Still, if she had no choice but to be at his mercy, she wanted to avoid being completely helpless.

Blake leaned down over her, his powerful frame filling her vision. The overwhelming presence of his body made her instinctively recoil, and before she knew it, she had fallen back onto the bed in retreat. His hands planted firmly beside her shoulders, caging her in beneath the weight of his arms.

She was trapped.

A hot penis pressed against her hollow mound. Even though she was wearing a chemise and underwear, he rubbed at the crack of her throbbing mound as if it would break through at any moment. Layla brought her knees up desperately, fighting the heat rising from the inside of her lower belly.

“What word are we using?” Layla asked cautiously.

“‘I don’t want to.’ Since you say it so often,” Blake replied with a teasing lilt to his voice. “And if my eager wife ever wants me to stop, I’ll say ‘enough.’”

He was laughing, fully aware that the idea of Layla ever being the one to throw herself at him was impossible.

With him now so close their breaths mingled, Layla pressed her hands against his chest, pushing back just enough to speak clearly.

“Fine,” she said firmly. “Then I’m using it right now. I don’t want to—not tonight.”

Blake’s eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn’t expected her to call his bluff so quickly.

The brief satisfaction of catching him off guard didn’t last long. He was, after all, a tyrant. And when things didn’t go his way, he simply changed the rules.

“…Words aren’t enough,” he mused. “Show me. If you really want to stop, then kiss me first.”

“That’s not fair!”

So if she wanted him to stop… she had to kiss him first?

Layla desperately wished he would just leave her alone, but now he was making it impossible.

Seeing her outrage, Blake’s lips curled into a mischievous smirk. He always enjoyed her resistance—her frustration only seemed to amuse him more.

“Hmm, if it’s too easy, it wouldn’t mean anything, would it?” he mused. “You kiss me, and I’ll stop.”

“The whole point of choosing a word was to respect my wishes!” Layla snapped.

“No,” Blake corrected smoothly. “It’s for both of us.”

“Ugh.”

He lowered his hips and pressed between Layla’s recessed legs. His hips moved slowly as he spread her legs apart with his stiffly erect cock.

Layla sucked in a sharp breath and turned her head. She turned, but she was still in Blake’s arms. He wrapped his arms around her back, holding her close. His cock pressed against the underside of her hip.

Layla gasped, startled by the unexpected contact with her hole.

Scooping Layla into his arms, Blake pulled up her chemise. His knees dug in between her legs, pressing hot flesh against her inner thighs. The more the chemise was pulled down, the more he was in contact with her, and the harder his cock pressed against her thin underwear.

Blake rested his chin on Layla’s shoulder and gently cupped her breast. His other hand parted her underwear and skimmed her mound, finding her clit.

“If my dear wife isn’t feeling well, then let’s do things differently tonight—something that will satisfy both of us.”

“…You mean you will be satisfied.”

“I’m serious,” Blake said smoothly. “You don’t have to do a thing. Just lie there. I’ll take care of everything.”

“As if that’s any different from usual—! Ah!”

He moved his fingers, rolling her clit between them like a ball of beads. Layla curled her lips and bit them to keep from moaning. Her eyes widened at the stinging sensation that exploded beneath her. She felt her shoulders slump.

Suddenly, a deep sorrow welled up inside her.

She had never truly loved the crown prince, but he had been a worthy fiancé, someone she had at least felt a sense of fondness toward. Even if he would never love only her, she had still envisioned a future where she could find some happiness within his world.

But that future had been ripped away.

Her reputation had crumbled, false accusations had been thrown at her, and now she was bound in marriage to a man she had never even known.

Saying she was sore had been a lie—an excuse, a desperate attempt to avoid this moment. And yet, even with that plea, he showed no consideration for her. There was no warmth, no tenderness—nothing that even resembled affection.

Tears welled in her eyes, fueled not just by this moment, but by all the injustice and grief that had been building inside her.

Layla had done nothing, yet the world had condemned her.

Forced to admit to crimes she never committed, coerced into apologizing just to satisfy the royal family, and now used as a pawn in marriage—paraded back into the public eye whenever it suited them.

Hadn’t they used her enough? Couldn’t they just let her go?

Anger, sorrow, and helplessness twisted inside her like a storm.

“…Can’t you just leave me alone?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“And what would you do if I did?” Blake shot back. “Hide away in the bedroom, never coming out, acting like I don’t exist?”

“T-That’s not…” Layla faltered, but she couldn’t deny it. Because that was exactly what she would have done.

After all, she had done the same back in the Edgestone household.

“You made a promise,” Blake reminded her, his voice unreadable. “You swore you’d be an obedient wife.”

He finally let go of her, pulling away as he sat up. His gaze lowered to where she lay, tears silently slipping down her cheeks.

There was no sympathy in his eyes. No pity. No hesitation.

People had hated her, reviled her, seethed with betrayal and disgust.

Among them were those who had once admired her—who had wished for her to become the future crown princess—now looking upon her downfall with pity rather than anger.

Blake, however, was neither of those things.

He did not see her as a villain, nor did he see her as a victim.

To him, she was simply a woman.

“I’m not going to force myself on you,” he murmured. “My wife is stubborn enough to hold out, after all.”

Even as he spoke, he stripped away her chemise, the delicate undergarment tearing from her body with ease.

“If I really did as I pleased,” he continued with a sharp, amused grin, “you wouldn’t even be able to stand. It wouldn’t end at just twice. In fact, I’d already be inside you by now.”

He pulled her against him from behind, his warmth engulfing her chilled body.

Layla trembled, not just from the sorrow that still clung to her like a second skin, but from the contrast between them—her body cold, his burning hot.

The cruel irony of it all only made the ache inside her worse.

And yet, despite everything, that same heat offered her an unspoken comfort, one that made it harder to resist the quiet pull toward him.

“Come here, I can’t hold back anymore. If you really don’t want me inside, then squeeze your thighs together.”

Blake pressed Layla’s legs together with his knees, pushing his penis between them.

“Ah!”

The hot penis slid across her thighs.

Blake didn’t go all the way in. Instead, he just grazed her wet labia and moved his hips to rub his penis against her thigh flesh.

He didn’t enter, but the erotic heat began to heat Layla’s body.

“This should be fine, right?”

Layla had always thought Blake incapable of consideration, yet in his own way, this was him holding back. If he truly cared about her well-being, he wouldn’t have stripped her in the first place—but compared to everything he had done before, this restraint was almost surprising.

“Haa… If even this is too much for you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin, “then kiss me.”

As he said that, Blake himself first lifted Layla’s chin and kissed her. His heavy frame pressed down on her back, pushing his penis deeper between her thighs.

Blake lowered the hand that held her chin to press down on her mound, and the glans that had been pressing against her thighs touched her clit.

“Hngh! Ah…!”

“Let’s enjoy this together.”

Blake’s cock moved as he brushed her labia. His knees tightened around Layla’s legs and he bucked his hips, slapping her ass flesh. It was no different than any other night, except that he didn’t come in.

Layla bit her lip in embarrassment. She was nervous that a moan would escape her teeth. A thick, wet squelch began to come out.

Layla’s pussy was wet.