Chapter 878 - 877- A Clothed Lady needs Undressing

Chapter 878: Chapter 877- A Clothed Lady needs Undressing

She was seated beside him. Her head was in her hands. Her fingers, which were thin and trembling, pressed against her temples. She was crying. Not loudly—the kind of crying that had been going on for so long it had become quiet, internalized, the kind of weeping that happened in the body rather than on the face. Her shoulders shook. Her husband’s hand, which was on her shoulder, squeezed.

She was thick. Not fat—thick. The way a woman who’d borne a child and lived a comfortable life would be. Her body, beneath the brown dress she wore, was soft and full in the way that years of good meals and gentle living produced. The skirt outlined hips that were wide, the fabric pulling slightly across them. The blouse, which was modest, covered breasts that were full and heavy. Her face, which was lined with stress, was a mature version of Yuki’s. The same brown eyes. The same mouth. But softer. Rounder. A face that had been beautiful and was now becoming handsome in the way that women in their forties could be if they’d been loved well.

I wanted to fuck her.

The thought was immediate. Visceral. Not a decision—a recognition. The same instinct that had driven me to Yuki drove me to her mother. The same blood. The same body type, amplified by age and childbearing. The same eyes, but filled with a different kind of desperation. Yuki’s desperation was young, romantic, tied to a boy who didn’t deserve her. Her mother’s was older, deeper, tied to survival.

Mr. Tanabe stood when he saw me. His chair scraped the floor. His wife, who had been crying, looked up. Her eyes, which were red and wet, found mine. She flinched—a small, full-body recoil.

"Lord Ktorian," Mr. Tanabe said. His voice was steady, but his hands shook. "We are honored. We did not expect you personally. Please, sit. We will bring tea."

"Sit," I said. I took the chair across from them. "We have business to discuss."

The meeting began. Two more servants arrived—confused, nervous, clearly unsure why a Ktorian was in their parlor. A carriage arrived outside, the wheels crunching on the cracked path. Men in Ktorian livery entered with documents under their arms. They laid the papers out on the desk between us, neat and precise.

The trade route dispute. The merchant guild’s suppression of the Tanabe family’s supply lines. The debt. The contracts that had been frozen. All of it, laid out in ink and seal.

Mr. Tanabe listened. His face, which had been pale, went paler with each page. "This... this is all? The Ktorian family’s grievance with us is only the trade route dispute?"

"That’s all," I said. "A misunderstanding. One that I have personally corrected."

The relief that flooded his face was painful to watch. He looked at his wife. She looked at him. The tears, which had been falling, came harder—but they were different tears now. Grateful ones. The kind that come when the thing you were most afraid of turns out to be nothing.

"Lord Ktorian," Mrs. Tanabe said. Her voice was raw, scraped clean by hours of crying. "We cannot thank you enough. We thought... we thought your family was punishing us. We did not know why."

"You don’t need to know why," I said. "You only need to know that I’ve fixed it."

I stood. "I’d like to see the garden. If you’ll excuse me."

Mr. Tanabe, who was still processing the relief, nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, of course. The garden is through the back. Please, take your time, Lord Ktorian."

He didn’t notice his wife stand. She rose slowly, her hand on the arm of the chair, and followed me toward the door. Her shawl, which had been around her shoulders, was pulled tight.

"I will bring tea," she said to her husband. Her voice was steady. Practiced. The voice of a woman who had been bringing tea to guests for twenty years.

He didn’t look up. He was reading the documents. Happy. Relieved. Free.

We walked through the hall. Through the back door. Into the garden.

The rain started.

It came sudden and heavy, the way autumn rain does—one moment the sky was grey and still, and the next, water was falling in sheets so thick you could hear it hitting the leaves like a thousand small drums. The garden, which had been dry, turned dark and wet in seconds. The soil softened. The leaves drooped under the weight.

I stood on the stone path. The rain hit my coat and ran down the fabric in streams. I didn’t move.

She stopped behind me. Her shawl, which was thin, was already soaked through. Her dress, which was brown and modest, clung to her body. The fabric, wet, outlined everything—the curve of her breasts, the width of her hips, the softness of her belly. The bra she wore beneath was visible through the wet cloth, a faint line of white against brown.

I turned. "You know why I did this to your family?"

She trembled. The rain ran down her face. Her eyes, which were brown and wet, met mine. She shook her head.

"I don’t know, Lord Ktorian."

I stepped closer. Close enough that the rain falling between us was the only barrier.

"Because I wanted to fuck you."

The words hit her like the rain. She stared. Her mouth, which had been slightly open, closed. Her body, which had been trembling, went still.

"But... you could have just..." She trailed off. Confused. Not understanding why a man would destroy a family’s livelihood to get close to a woman when he could have simply introduced himself at a dinner party.

"Hug me," I said.

She didn’t move. I didn’t wait. I pulled her to me. My arms went around her. My hands found her ass—thick, soft, heavy beneath the wet dress. I gripped. The flesh, which yielded under my fingers like dough, was warm despite the rain.

She gasped. Her body, which had been rigid, softened against mine. Her breasts, full and heavy, pressed against my chest. The fabric between us was soaked. I could feel her nipples—hard, stiff—through the layers.

Her shawl fell. It landed in a puddle on the stone with a soft splash.

"Wait," she whispered. "My husband is watching. He is right inside—"

"Silence."

I kissed her.

My mouth found hers. The kiss was not gentle. It was a claim. My lips pressed against hers, my tongue pushed in, and I tasted her. She tasted like tea and tears and rain. Her mouth, which had been closed, opened. Her tongue, which was tentative, met mine.

My hands, which had been on her ass, pulled her cheeks apart. The fabric of her dress stretched between them. I could feel the heat of her through the wet cloth. Her body, which had been trembling from cold, was trembling from something else.

I pulled back. Her eyes, which had been closed, opened. Dazed. Her lips, which had been pressed, were swollen. The lipstick she’d been wearing was smeared across her mouth.

I looked over her shoulder. Through the window. The parlor was visible. Mr. Tanabe was at the desk, reading the documents. His face, which was lit by the fire, was smiling. He was happy.

He didn’t see his wife. Didn’t see the man holding her. Didn’t see the hands on her ass.

"Walk with me," I said.

I pulled her into the garden. Off the stone path. Onto the grass, which was turning to mud beneath our feet. The rain came harder. Our bodies were soaked. Her dress, which had been brown, was dark with water. It clung to every curve.

I pushed her against the garden wall. The stone, which was old and mossy, was cold and wet against her back. She gasped. My mouth found her neck. I kissed. Bit. The skin, which was soft and warm, tasted like rain.

My hands found her breasts. I pulled the dress down. The fabric, which was wet, resisted. I tore. The sound of ripping cloth was lost in the rain. Her breasts, freed, were heavy and pale in the dim light. The nipples, dark and stiff, were hard from the cold. I took one in my mouth. Sucked. The flesh, warm and soft, filled my mouth. I bit the nipple. She cried out.

"Ah—!! Lord Ktorian—!! Please—! unnhg!"