On Rational Marital Life - Chapter 35 (M)

A single thrust into her hot vaginal walls, the tightening pressure sending tingles down the back of his head. His entire body was tingling.

It was a thrill that rivaled the exhilaration of a battlefield victory.

A shiver of pleasure ran through him, accompanied by an overwhelming visual stimulation that held him captive.

Though her body’s reactions already conveyed enough, it was Layla’s face—her expression—that utterly seized Blake’s attention, leaving him incapable of thinking of anything else.

Her wide, startled eyes, frozen in shock. Her slightly parted lips, unable to release even a sound. The way her face tensed at the sudden physical intrusion.

And then, as the initial impact faded, the slow, inevitable shift—the way her features gradually changed as sensation crept in.

The trembling, the rolling of her eyes, the humiliation of not being able to accept what she was feeling, of denying it but feeling it anyway. Layla averted her gaze, helpless, and bit her lip to muffle the sound.

The corners of her eyes are damp and reddened.

The woman was so beautiful, so tinged with pleasure despite her mental resistance.

Blake moistened his dry lips as he felt his throat tighten.

“Ah!”

A gasp erupted from her muffled mouth.

That was the beginning of the end for Blake. Much to Layla’s chagrin.

Sex was like a battle on a ship in that it involved intense body movements and heightened emotions. He connected with the other person’s ship, then penetrated, revealing his presence and advancing continuously. He repeated retreat and advancement to gain more pleasure and induced surrender.

“Ah, ah… B-Blake, s-slow down… It’s too much…! Ah!”

Layla’s voice broke with each forceful thrust of his hips.

Blake, wearing a deep, satisfied smile, only became rougher, relentlessly overwhelming the stubborn and resolute woman beneath him.

Her wrists were pinned beneath his hands, holding her down as he conquered her completely. And yet, despite having her entirely trapped—captured in his grasp—Blake still couldn’t fully revel in the satisfaction of possessing her.

Everyone knew she was his wife. Layla’s body belonged to him, her nights were his alone.

And yet, the more he had her, the greater his thirst grew—like a man unable to resist swallowing mouthfuls of seawater despite knowing it would never quench his thirst.

It felt as if he were chasing a mirage.

It was right in front of him—visible, within reach—yet no matter how much he walked toward it, he could never quite arrive at his destination.

Blake had always preferred straightforward women. He didn’t enjoy games of push and pull. And yet, Layla constantly provoked him, drawing him in again and again.

Smack!

“Hiiik… Ah, ah, no… It’s too deep… Hngh, ah… I… like it… Ahh…”

Layla’s moans spilled out, her voice breaking as though it might snap.

Wrapped in an overwhelming, pounding pleasure, she was barely aware of the words tumbling from her lips—lost in the storm of sensation, she could do nothing but whimper and gasp.

“Blake, ah… ahng… there… not there… ahng!”

Their hearts pounded feverishly, but his emotions burned even hotter.

Even as he gasped for breath, moving violently against her, the fierce smirk never left his lips.

The more Layla writhed beneath him, the more satisfaction Blake felt.

She had once hated him enough to take her own life—even while carrying his child.

Perhaps, even in her final moments, her visit to his estate had been a means to deepen his guilt.

Seeing her then—frail, her body skeletal except for the swell of her stomach—had made her death all the more of a shock.

Countless people had despised him before. He had lost track of how many had hired assassins or attempted to kill him with their own hands.

But Layla had been different.

She was not just another enemy—she had been his wife, even if only for a short while.

They had been bound by marriage, by shared nights, by a fleeting illusion of family.

She was Blake Burman’s wife.

Even after their divorce, she had still been his wife.

She had never been affectionate, but she had been there—by his side, however distant.

He had never truly considered her family during their marriage, yet when he heard of her death and saw her pale, lifeless body with his own eyes, the shock hit him harder than he had expected.

And it wasn’t just one life lost—but two.

That sight had shaken him more violently than any curse or hatred ever could.

Smack, squelch, smack!

“Ah… ahh… a-ang… hngh… ahhng!”

The wet sound of flesh meeting flesh grew louder, echoing in the room.

The climax was near.

From the small mouth that had been spitting out random words, only a gasping moan came out. To him, Layla’s face was more stimulating than the inside walls that were sucking his cock. Blake was also in a hurry to ejaculate.

“Ah, ah, ah!”

He slammed into her once more, thrusting deeply. He rubbed his body hard against Layla’s pussy as if his cock would break. As if that weren’t enough, he slammed his hips again, crushing her wet cunt.

Not only his penis, but even his scrotum was completely wrapped in her wet flesh. At that moment, Layla, who was tightening her body and squeezing his cock, dug her nails into Blake’s forearm. The sharp pain turned into pleasure. It put an end to the pleasure that had been building up.

Blake’s muscles tightened, hot and sweaty. He was cumming.

“Ngh!”

“Ahhhh… … .”

Semen poured into her uterus. The inner walls, which had become extremely sensitive, trembled and narrowed due to the hot ejaculation.

Layla also reached her climax and cried out in tears.

Blake did not take his eyes off her. The corners of his eyes, which had been flushed red from ejaculation, were distorted by the excitement that was rising again.

It was not enough.

I will make this woman cry and cling to me.

I will make Layla Edgestone despair.

“Layla.”

Layla, having reached her peak, barely managed to open her eyes, though her mind had yet to return to her.

Blake cradled the back of her limp neck and pressed his lips to hers.

“Mmng…”

Her breath hitched in resistance, but soon, her tongue yielded, wrapping around his in quiet submission.

Like a strand of seaweed drifting in the water, it followed his lead, twining and moving wherever he guided it.

The gentle motion felt like delicate fingers threading through his hair, stroking with a whisper-soft touch.

Having just ejaculated, Blake swirled his cock around her wet hole and draped one of Layla’s legs over his shoulder. Then he peeled off the shirt that wrapped around her body.

He lifted Layla’s upper body and pulled her into him. Sitting on top of Blake, her breasts pressed against him. The bond deepened with the added weight.

“Whew, let’s do it right.”

“Ahh, ahh, hhhhh… … .”

Layla shuddered. Beneath her, Blake’s cock was swelling, stretching her inner walls. Her whole body began to burn hot again.

* * *

“We’ve managed to dig up dirt on two members of Club Goldburn so far.”

“Only two?”

Blake glanced at the first page of the documents Whaler had handed him. Club Goldburn had a total of twenty members.

“As you’ll see, some are foreigners, and most are either royalty or highly esteemed nobles. There’s even the Red Admiral among them. Half of them aren’t currently in the capital, and most have spotless reputations. Frankly, finding leverage on two of them in such a short time was pure luck.”

“A Royal Academy professor rumored to have an illegitimate child and the Royal Bank director’s secret gatherings?”

Blake suddenly recalled something from his past life.

After his divorce from Layla, he had been betrayed by the Strover princess and returned to Greymers, where he had spent his time with his reckless, degenerate friends. Even among that mess, the major scandals of Greymers had been a frequent topic of discussion.

“The Royal Bank director got tangled up in some weird cult and started handing out loans without proper collateral?!”

“If he had given that money to me, I could have turned it into ten times the profit!”

Whaler relayed the information he had received from Carson.

“Yes, the bank director is involved in some suspicious gatherings. We’re still investigating, but he’s definitely vulnerable to blackmail. The professor’s illegitimate child, however, isn’t anything extraordinary.”

“Wait… the Royal Academy of Arts professor—Benjamin Collinter? Ha, this guy?”

Blake let out a laugh, unable to hide his amusement. He had expected Club Goldburn to be something impressive, but in the end, it was nothing special. Even this so-called distinguished professor turned out to be no different.

Whaler, puzzled by Blake’s reaction, asked,

“…Do you know him? An illegitimate child isn’t much of a scandal at this level. A man of his standing is practically expected to have one or two.”

“Did you track the professor when he visited his son?”

“Yes, the child lives not far from the professor’s home. There was no woman—only a nanny who seemed to be raising him.”

“Forget the bank director. Focus on the professor. This is much more useful to me.”

Whaler hesitated, unable to understand the reasoning.

Among nobles and high society figures, having illegitimate children wasn’t considered a major issue unless it involved inheritance disputes. Most people turned a blind eye to it.

For such a matter to make headlines, the person involved would have to be someone of extreme significance—someone whose scandal would shake Greymers to its core.

“Huh? But it’s just an illegitimate child.”

“Investigate the woman who gave birth to the child. Find proof. We need solid evidence to use for leverage.”

“The woman? Have you heard something? If this is common knowledge even among the outcasts of high society, then won’t that make it useless for blackmail?”

It was a logical point, and Blake’s expression darkened because he knew it to be true.

“Shut up and just find her.”

‘I was going to tell you outright, but fine—struggle and figure it out yourself.’

This was not just any scandal. This was something that could shake an entire nation.

‘And these so-called noblemen act all righteous while screwing around like the rest.’

That was Blake’s first thought when he had originally heard about it.

A knock sounded at the door.

Only two people in the mansion bothered with formalities like this—Marisa and Layla.

“Blake, may I come in?”

It was Layla.

She had arranged to have Whaler oversee the transition of household management to her.

Hearing this, Whaler glanced at the opening door and whispered just loud enough for Blake to hear,

“Are you really going to entrust Lady Layla with managing the estate?”

“If she wants to do it, I should let her. I did make her earn it last night.”

“…I’d really rather not hear about your nightly activities, sir. I just hope this doesn’t turn into more trouble…”

Even in Strover, Whaler had been responsible for managing most of the internal finances, and everything had run smoothly under his system. Now, with Layla stepping in, it felt like unnecessary interference.

Layla approached Blake, the exhaustion from the previous night still visible around her eyes.

When their eyes met, she quickly averted her gaze, unable to look at him directly.

Blake, on the other hand, watched her with obvious satisfaction.

“Whaler, from now on, my wife will be overseeing the entire household.”

And then, Layla spoke.

With just a few words, Blake suddenly found himself the biggest bastard in the room.