Chapter 61

"Keep eating."

The woman didn’t even pretend to refuse.

Her reaction was different from when she saw the lilac. As soon as she put the almond cake in her mouth, the corners of her lips curved up softly.

It was rare for her to smile with such genuine sincerity. Usually, she only showed a fleeting smile at the end of a long session, when she had forgotten who I was.

What was so special about a mere cake? To think that a single bite could elicit a smile that took two hours of intimate contact to achieve.

The more I watched, the stranger I felt.

Her pink lips parted. The moist, fleshy insides, similar in color to the labia, revealed a red inner lining. The éclair, thickly coated with coffee cream, slid into the wet opening. As her lips pursed and bit into the burnt pastry, the milky cream burst out. The woman extended her plump tongue to lick the cream from her lips.

A vulgar woman who didn’t know how to refuse and blushed while eating a simple dessert.

When our eyes met as she pushed her wet hair behind her ear, Leon took a deep breath. The strong scent of soap wafted over.

A woman who made him want to become vulgar with her.

Leon lowered his gaze to his lower body. He was no different from a dog that drools at the sound of a bell.

"Just try it once and get it over with. Once you roll around in the dirt, it won’t be as exciting as you think."

How naive he had been to say such things in the past. He could only say that because he hadn’t tasted her addictive flavor.

Ah, he wanted to pull her in for a kiss, throw her on the bed, and taste her until he was exhausted.

'Damn it...'

Annoying sexual desire. If it weren’t for this, he would have already found out the location of her base.

'Do you know the location of the base?'

Leon barely managed to shake off his vulgar thoughts and focus on the earlier question.

The woman seemed to know less than he had expected. Perhaps the big catch he thought he had landed was just a small fish. If so, the interrogation might be a waste of time.

'But this doesn’t make sense. Why doesn’t she know the core tactics?'

Leon looked at the woman with a complex expression.

'Does her brother know the reason?'

But it wasn’t a mystery he wanted to solve by stirring up Jonathan Riddle Jr.

As long as the woman was in his hands, that was enough.

* * *

Finding the intersection between private desire and public duty wasn’t actually that difficult.

"More, more..."

The woman’s voice, barely audible, was almost drowned out by her labored breathing. Her words were so faint that he had to press his ear close to her mouth to hear them.

She clutched the hem of Leon’s shirt and scratched his back. The shirt, ironed to perfection by the maids, was now crumpled in her hands. Her face was no different from the state of the shirt at this moment.

"More..."

She squeezed and sucked his penis with her wet, slippery inner walls, urging him on.

"There’s no more in heat than a female in heat."

A sharp, mocking laugh brushed past her ear. When his dry, sinewy hand firmly gripped her soft buttocks, she let out a moan.

Her skin, sticky with sweat, clung to his hand. She clung to him with the same desperation.

Leon thrust his hips up in a grand gesture. Despite the heavy pain as he hit her cervix, she didn’t scream.

No, it was more accurate to say she couldn’t.

Grace took a deep breath as the rope loosened and her constricted throat opened. The sharp pain of a blade pierced deep into her lungs, but her body couldn’t stop gasping for air.

When the metallic sound from her lips subsided, Leon gradually released the pressure on her buttocks.

"Choke..."

As the rope around her neck tightened again, the frightened woman scratched his back with her blunt fingertips and wrapped her legs around his waist.

He bit her ear with his front teeth and pulled her brown hair back.

Her cyanotic eyes, pale with the fear of death, pleased him. Had she made the same face when she called him a dirty piglet on Abbington Beach? The young face overlapped with the one before him, and Leon pulled her head forward.

"To open your mouth so brazenly in front of a man. You truly are a whore of Blanchard."

He kissed her lips, which were gasping for breath, with a formal touch.

Unlike him, of noble blood, the woman, who had rolled in the mud, knew no manners.

Leon pulled away and licked the wound with his tongue, tasting the bitter blood. Even though she was destined to die if he let go, the foolish woman bit him like a cornered rat.

"The more blood you draw, the more excited I get. You must know that, right?"

His heart, which usually remained unaffected by any intense stimuli, now raced. This woman never gave him a chance to get bored.

The way she knew how to provoke him better than he knew himself suggested that she had thoroughly investigated her target.

How capable a spy she must be.

It was almost a pity that she was the enemy.

'I’ll gladly play along with your schemes.'

Leon gripped her tangled hair tightly and ordered.

"Pray."

"More, up."

The woman made a metallic sound through her lips, which were dry and shiny with his saliva.

"That’s not it, is it?"

"...Harder."

"Harder? Harder what?"

As she only moved her dry lips, he released the pressure on her buttocks. The rope hanging from the ceiling tightened around her neck again.

The two weak legs, which had been hanging limply, suddenly started to twitch. Her body, unable to bear its own weight, slid down his thighs. The smooth wool of the officer’s uniform hastened her death.

"Choke..."

She tried to grab the collar of his shirt, but Winston grabbed both her wrists.

"Pray properly."

In the end, the only thing Grace could cling to was his penis. When she pressed her lower abdomen hard, a wicked smile appeared on Winston’s chiseled face.

"Choke, harder, thrust, harder."

She pleaded desperately between gasps. She wanted to live so much that she was willing to beg for her life from a bloodthirsty demon.

True to his reputation as the kingdom’s best torturer, he tormented her with new and more cruel methods every day. Today, as soon as they entered the torture chamber, he looped a noose over a hook on the ceiling and placed a wooden chair underneath, ordering her to climb up.

Showing fear would only play into the demon’s hands. Grace climbed onto the gallows without resistance, chin held high.

Winston looped the noose around her neck and gently combed her hair.

"Do you remember where your fiancé’s house is?"

He asked the same obvious question every time, knowing she wouldn’t answer.

To this man, she was just an excuse to torture.

She refused to answer, but he didn’t immediately kick the chair away. Leon Winston wasn’t that conventional.

He inserted his hand between her legs. When he touched her vagina and commented on how well the torn area had healed, she wanted to slap him.

But she couldn’t resist, even as she shuddered. The old chair creaked dangerously every time she twisted her body.

Winston withdrew his hand from her vagina and immediately took off his officer’s jacket. He neatly folded it and placed it on the table where she had been tied and moaned countless times like an animal. Then he unbuckled his belt.

Soon, the torture tool that Leon Winston enjoyed using the most was revealed.

"One of my superiors said that choking is fantastic. He used to choke every prostitute, and now the madams hate him and don’t send women anymore."

He smiled calmly in front of the trembling Grace, a man who elegantly caressed his copper-colored, vein-bulging penis.

The hypocrisy made her want to vomit.

His seemingly clean, smooth hands were stained with the blood of many. A piglet of the royal regime, shiny on the outside.

"Dirty pervert, choke..."

Just as Grace was about to spit, Winston kicked one of the chair’s legs.