The Broken Ring: This Marriage Will Fail Anyway Chapter 66

Chapter 66

Tw: S*xual content

Part 6. Back to the Original Plan

'I’m so wet that I don't even feel like he’s forcing it... why the hell am I leaking so much?'

Well, of course it wasn't forced. [ʏᴜʟʜᴇʏᴜɴ] Inés glared at the mirror on the dressing table.

To be more precise, at the reflection of herself, her face still flushed, in the mirror.

'Inés… you need to take it seriously. If you keep leaking like that, all I've given you will slip out... "

'Ugh, hu-ung, aah-...!'

‘You have to have our child, I'm the one who fucks, and you're the one who gets fucked, that's your only duty.’

'Ah, ah…!'

'I'm thrusting diligently, but if you can't receive like this, then your duty is being violated.'

'Too, too hard, Cárcel, hutth…'

'You liked it rough, didn’t you? So, like this… damn it, don’t cut it all just because it is like this...'

'This is, too...'

'Too vulgar? Not looking at your face and just aiming at the bottom, ugh, I thought this was the kind of noble duty you wanted…'

'Huuung, eung… eung...!'

‘We’re just doing what we need to do.’

The rough sounds of the man's grunts in her ear, her breasts, swaying obscenely in the mirror every time he pushed into her from behind, his hand grabbing them again with a greedy hunger, his lips sucking and biting the back of her neck, leaving marks…

The memory of that night came alive in the mirror. Her own body, swaying against the dressing table, following the rhythm of his thrusts, Cárcel’s sculpted face flushed with obscenity, the shadows of night, his relentless force, her negligee, pulled down to her breasts, her skirt pushed up to her stomach, and her own face, lost in debauchery, sucking in the thick knuckles thrust into her mouth...

It had been days since she had been tortured by that memory every time she sat at the dressing table.

She couldn't help but think that she had been completely swept away.

Instead of glaring at her reflection, Inés glared at the cruel face in her memory.

That handsome face, set on tormenting her. Those brazenly spoken words, those questions, the force of his thrusts that made her incapable of thinking, the way he pressed in on her, too much, his voice pushing her to the limit, his low groans….

The fact that she had been swept up in the moment and could only moan was a thing of the past. The fact that she had been as stiff as a wooden stick, the deep disappointment in herself… was also a thing of the past.

But when she sat down at the dressing table, the feeling of defeat from that moment returned, and that was not a thing of the past.

‘I’m confused. I'm feeling this way because I like being forced, or because I’m feeling this way because I like it rough? ’

‘Hee-uck….’

‘Or is it because I just like getting f*cked from behind?’

‘Hutt, hee-uck, ah!’

‘After all, being penetrated from behind, like a dog, is the kind of classy relationship you’ve wanted since your first night.’

‘Ah, ah…! Hu-ung, ah… ‘

‘I respect you, but I don’t want to do everything the way you want, you pervert. Inés.’

Defeat… yes, this was defeat.

The feeling of defeat, that she was being swayed by his will, that he was getting what he wanted. And the defeat of continuing to dwell on that defeat. The endless cycle of defeat, constantly chewing on the feeling of defeat…

It was a feeling that was a poison to her aggressive nature.

And of all people, it was Cárcel Escalante... the innocent Escalante, the one she had bossy used since she was six, making him believe, even to the point of exhaustion, that he was hopelessly in love with her.

‘…Innocent?’

Inés asked herself, stunned.

The twilight in the mirror, his eyes looking at her as if to devour her, tilted up in a smirk. Was that innocent too?

The angelic, purely beautiful blue eyes from his childhood were gone. [ʏᴜʟʜᴇʏᴜɴ] He might still be able to pretend to be just as beautiful, but after seeing those eyes that night – and after seeing the insidious gaze of ten days ago, that night – who could believe him?

They had been together every night since then. Every single day, like another training session for Cárcel.

Cárcel, with excessive diligence, had climbed on top of her every night, and for all his talk of forcing her, he always diligently put effort into foreplay.

'With the sarcastic remark, 'This is exactly what you, a pervert, say you don't need.’

But somehow, his attitude had seemed less twisted lately. And his touch was always gentle and affectionate… What else could it be if not teasing? Inés glared at the mirror, full of competitive spirit.

Every morning, she calmly faced the mirror, filled with explicit memories, and like any other time, she resolutely went about her business before getting up from the dressing table.

This was a torture that Inés's superhuman patience or planning, which she had gained from repeating her life, could not stop, a trace of her own aggressive nature tormenting herself.

Running away from shame was losing. Continuing to remember was losing. Avoiding what came to mind meant losing irrevocably…

And it wasn’t like it could be solved just by getting away from the dressing table.

Inés suddenly looked around the narrow bedroom from where she sat. Dressing table, bed, a small couch, chair, table, sofa, console table... nothing remained truly used for its intended purpose.

She received him leaning against the headboard, rolled around in a mess on the couch, got slammed on his lap as he sat in the chair, spread her legs on the table, suffered through lewd caresses on the sofa.

Every night was more mild than the time he had pinned her face-down on the dressing table, but the fact remained: no matter how she had sex, it became one of the memories that tormented her in the morning.

It was easier to deal with all these objects in the dark of night. First, you couldn't really see anyway. Second, she was too busy worrying about when he would attack her again. And third, once they finished, she would fall asleep and sleep like a log.

The mindset of a soldier in the field, prepared for her husband’s attack at any moment, was funny to think about in the morning, but it took over her mind at night.

It was impossible to know what was easier. No matter what, she was going to end up having sex with Cárcel. Many of her possessions had already lost their innocence... Getting out of their room as quickly as possible, both in the evening and in the morning, was the only solution.

She turned her head away from the innocently erotic furniture, determined to finish fixing her hair. She ignored the memories in the mirror, the boldness of her own behavior, and even Cárcel's ambiguous gaze.

Without Juana, it was hard to do her hair in a neat bun or twist it round at the nape, as she had done before. She loosely braided half of her hair, securing it at the back, and then stared at the rest, which she had let hang long, frowning slightly.

She had tried to use all three maids in turns, but they were only good at what they were originally trained to do, and had no dexterity at all.

The sternness of her past self didn't seem to have completely returned. What was with this loose face? The blush on her cheeks was evidence of defeat.

‘I must have gone a little crazy after that night.’

She had lost all resistance to such a sense of defeat. She was simply too susceptible to that kind of thing. [ʏᴜʟʜᴇʏᴜɴ] That was why she had started getting swept up every night.

Yes, she was crazy. Inés stared expressionlessly at the mirror, as if staring at her own face would make the blush wither and disappear. But the more she stared, the more that came to mind...

‘…She must be crazy, not broken.’

She pushed the thought aside again. She examined her bare face in the mirror, and she began to think that it was not her who was crazy, but him.

Plus, the Calstera coastline was a little hotter than Mendoza, and it was hard to dress properly like she had in Mendoza. Inés's appearance from those days seemed stuffy and stifling to her, but still, there was a sense of formality to it back then.

Hair styled by a skilled lady, makeup that was at least slightly tidy, dresses in dark colors, but with beautiful designs that you could see if you took a closer look.

But it was hard to wear a black dress that absorbed all the light of the world in this house that had such beautiful light.

These days, she liked to wear dark green, dark grey, dark blue, dark brown dresses instead.

It was important to dress lightly, so delicate designs with embellishments were too much. Wide skirts were out of the question.

In other words, from a distance, you couldn’t tell a maid from the mistress. Despite this simple attire, the high-quality material and the shape that was not quite practical made her high status clear...

‘…I don’t understand.’

She really didn’t understand. What the hell was he chasing after?

Formality was minimized, she still didn’t seem to enjoy it, a plain dark outfit, no makeup, messy hair... was there something that could excite a man? And for a man like Cárcel Escalante?

She believed in her aesthetic sense, which, from the midst of a tidal wave of women, would always pick out only the best. She trusted that her aesthetic sense would filter it out for her, that it would not be able to break its habit, and that it would make a serious moral mistake…

Inés, whose pride in her role as the crown princess remained fundamentally the same, considered herself quite pretty, but she never thought of herself as a kind of beauty that stood out even without dressing up. [ʏᴜʟʜᴇʏᴜɴ] This was a very realistic judgment.

These clothes, whatever the material, were nothing more than rags in Cárcel's eyes, not to mention her neglected outward beauty.

Marriage was a virtue and a recommended duty, but no one would call constantly pawing at one's wife, like an animal in heat, a duty.

Could it be that any woman would do, really? Inés pondered, then suddenly looked out at the sea from the balcony. The sound of angry waves pounded in her ears.

Her, and him…

Maybe the sea was the problem.