Lady Devil - Chapter 97

#97

That night was a night without humans.

I don’t remember when I was moved to the bed after accepting him on the entrance floor. I remember Johannes’ groans as he left biting kisses all over my body and thrust himself into me, half-mad.

The moisture that fell drop by drop from his panting chin to my cheek, neck, and chest – was it his saliva, sweat, or tears? The taste of blood from an unknown source was on his tongue as it plunged in recklessly, gripping the back of my head.

“Johannes, Johannes, slowly, just a little, a little slower, no, ah.”

I sobbed. I writhed, feeling as if I was losing my mind. As if jealous of his back that remained unscathed unlike mine, I unconsciously raised my nails several times.

His skin was scratched with a slithering sound, some places seeming to be deeply gouged. I drew dozens of bright red lines on Johannes’ bare skin like that. It wasn’t intentional. It was done with a lost mind.

Every time I carved those impure lines on his body, Johannes took a deep, dark red breath. Ah, do it more. He barked at me as if expelling the breath he had swallowed. He tore off the bandages compressing my upper body as if he would devour them.

He tied my wrists together and bound them to the tall bedpost. Johannes’ fingertips trembled like aspen leaves as he blindfolded me with the remaining bandage, covering my eyes that were crying beseechingly while hanging from the ceiling like a piece of meat.

“Say it again, Inette, slower?”

His voice, despite the sandpaper-like tone, conveyed the spasms of his body and breath entirely. He was trembling so much.

I saw intermittently through the blindfold that had slipped down at some point.

His gaze habitually turning to the ceiling as if checking for imminent divine punishment. His frenzied gestures of burying and rubbing his face against my body as if to hide himself when my moans lengthened.

The voice that occasionally urged me, asking “You don’t like it? Should I stop?”, sounded like the desperate cry of someone who would crumble if rejected. And his repeated dry washing of his face looked like a child helpless in the face of disaster.

Why was that?

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