Chapter 1
On this cool night, the moon illuminated the chill of the evening breeze. In the Dunfield Courtyard, the lamps glowed brightly. Isabella Stone set down the book she was reading and picked up a gold-embroidered pair of scissors to trim the wicks of the lamps. "Catherine, is it still quiet outside?" Catherine, balancing a tray as she exited the kitchen, hurriedly nudged the door open with her elbow. "Not yet, Miss Margaret. Would you like to have some sweet rice wine to tide you over?" “No, thank you.” Isabella gently declined, reaching out to touch the warm lampshade. Catherine was concerned the rice wine might cool down too much on its way over; it was still hot to the touch. "Just leave it here. The wind is chilly outside. It will be good to warm him up when he returns." As she spoke, a commotion erupted outside, with footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night. "It must be my husband returning." Isabella sprang to her feet, gathering her outer cloak around herself and walking briskly to the door. In the moonlight, the shimmer of the lamp flickered. A figure emerged from the darkness, clutching the lamp as if it were a guiding star. Isabella could not help but smile, her left hand resting on the door frame, her right holding the hem of her dress, poised to step across the threshold. “My lord.” The newcomer was Lord Jonathan Dunfield, still in his official robe, his black hat swaying slightly even as he hurried forward, his originally furrowed brow relaxing the moment he laid eyes on Isabella. "You've come back." He tossed the lamp to a trailing servant and opened his arms to her, his expression softening like the moonlight washing over the courtyard. "Are you tipsy?" Isabella teased, catching the scent of wine on his breath. “Shouldn’t that be my line?” He wrapped one arm around her waist while holding her hands with the other. "If you say so." She chuckled at his drunken bravado, shaking her head slightly as he guided her back inside, not noticing the tense expression on Catherine's face. "Why are your hands so cold? The staff hasn’t taken care of you." Lord Jonathan frowned again, kicking the door closed behind them and gently steering Isabella to sit at the table. Isabella released his hands and reached for the bowl of sweet rice wine, her voice playful yet reproachful. "It’s clearly you that’s cold. No need to fuss. —Catherine just warmed up some sweet soup for you. After coming in from the chilly evening, you should drink some to warm up." Her words faltered as she felt a shiver run down her spine—he was so close. Lord Jonathan's grip around her waist tightened. The muscles in his arm pressed against her body, constricting her breath. His other hand wandered down to rest on her thigh, pulling her closer, as he began kissing along her neck, producing soft, intimate sounds. “Go on, keep talking.” He lavished attention on her skin, moving up and down, finally settling on her earlobe, flicking his tongue teasingly as though it were a delicate candy. Isabella's hand, still holding the bowl, trembled uncontrollably. She felt her movements stall, the bowls clinking together, producing sharp sounds in the otherwise quiet room. Here it comes again… the feeling she dreaded most.
Chapter 2
Months into their marriage, Lord Jonathan Dunfield was gentle, composed, and respectful toward Isabella Stone. He upheld a sense of integrity, never straying from his commitments. Isabella felt she should be content, yet… She bit her lip, warmth flooding her pale cheeks as she worried about the wineglass tipping over. She could only endure his advances in silence, her breath quickening as it escaped her flaring nostrils. No one had ever warned her that the marital closeness could be so overwhelming… His hand tightened around her waist, his thumb gliding along her side as if he were savoring the touch of fine silk. Then, just as quickly, it retreated slightly. Isabella let out a relieved breath, thinking it was over, but that hand crept forward again, slipping through the gap of her garment like a serpent seeking its prey. Feeling the searing heat of his palm, Isabella couldn’t hold it any longer; she loosened her grip on the soup bowl, and it clattered back onto the tray, spilling its sweet contents and filling the air with a fragrant aroma. But she couldn’t think about that now. With both hands, she pressed down on his roaming hand, her breath ragged. “You promised me, dear husband, that you wouldn’t…” “Oh? Promised? Which days did I agree to that?” Her strength was powerless against him; he yanked her closer, as if they were together battling an unseen enemy. “…” Isabella felt something was off about him tonight. Perhaps he was just drunk. She stopped arguing and focused on freeing her hands. Lord Jonathan chuckled, his warm breath tickling the back of her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Why so quiet?” he released her hands, but his touch roamed—his palm moved from her soft thigh upwards, both hands moving in sync, squeezing her sensitive curves. “Ah!” The suddenness startled Isabella, and she gasped, quickly covering her mouth upon realizing her slip. “Such a sweet sound you make… Too bad you don’t let it out more often…” Lord Jonathan’s movements became bolder, his long lashes casting shadows over his entranced gaze as he watched the fabric of her dress swell and shift with each motion. “Your figure is plush and inviting; your skin is so soft… How delightful…” He sighed, almost cruelly squeezing her tender flesh, his strong legs tightening around hers, making her keenly aware of a heat brewing deep within. She lowered her head, desperately trying to thwart his hands, but her eyes grew heavy with need. Here it came again… that overpowering sensation beyond her control… Feeling drained, she found herself entwined around Lord Jonathan, surrendering to the thrill… And tonight, he was far rougher than she remembered. The unfamiliarity of his touch sent waves of unease through Isabella. Previously, even during intimate moments, Lord Jonathan never pushed her if she resisted. Though part of her wanted to reject him completely, seeing the disappointment flicker in his eyes whenever she did made it hard to refuse him time and again. But tonight… He turned her towards him, his lips trailing along her cheek before finding her soft mouth, capturing her lower lip for a teasing taste. “Hmm…” Isabella turned her head away, tears brimming in her eyes. “Zacharias, please… I don’t like it when you act this way.” Her voice trembled, but she managed to continue, “You promised me that during these days, we wouldn’t… cross any lines.”
Chapter 3
Lord Jonathan Dunfield's body froze as he cupped Isabella's face in his hands, slowly yet firmly turning her chin toward him. He leaned in closer, their noses almost touching, his breath warm against her lips as he spoke, “If you don’t like me this way, then who do you prefer?” He captured her lips with a deep kiss, leaving no space for her to object as he skillfully pried her mouth open with his tongue, desperately drinking in her essence like a thirsty man in the desert. William Vance? Who was William Vance? Isabella Stone couldn't react in time; all she knew was that this version of Lord Jonathan Dunfield repulsed her. With her slender hands pushing against his chest, she began to struggle violently. But her resistance seemed to ignite a different fire within Lord Jonathan. No longer gentle, he gripped the back of her head and neck, biting down on her lips with a ferocity that sent a metallic taste of blood into her mouth, making her gag. What was even more terrifying was how his hands began to wander, slipping beneath her loose nightgown, seeking the beloved honey-colored fabric beneath. Even when he had been merely touching her through the material, she'd felt overwhelmed; now this invasion was unbearable. Feeling him squeeze her intimately, she instinctively clamped her legs shut, her body going limp in his grasp. “No…” she breathed out, a slight gasp escaping her lips. Despite her rising anger, her voice came out soft and sultry, almost like a seductive tease. She was angry at Lord Jonathan for his shamelessness, but even more furious at herself for her response. “Lord Jonathan Dunfield.” The chastising tone felt like a splash of cold water to him, causing him to stop his actions. Confusion washed over his face, as if he was momentarily unsure of what he had just done. “Yes, I shouldn’t be so reckless… otherwise, he...” He murmured something incoherently, and though Isabella could not catch all his words, she was grateful when he finally eased his grip. Quickly, she slipped out of his embrace. “It seems you’ve had too much to drink tonight. You’re not yourself, Lord. Perhaps it would be best if you went to your room and rested," she declared coldly. Her chest was already in disarray, and she numbly straightened her clothes, ignoring him completely as she retreated to the smaller room, drawing the curtains shut, and lay down on the bed, facing the wall. Tears finally spilled down her cheeks. Why… was this really his true nature? A man who acted so frivolously, who disrespected his wife and presented a façade that was nothing but a lie. For a while, Lord Jonathan sat there in stunned silence before he finally stood up and stumbled off toward the partition to gather himself. He quietly blew out the candles, cloaking himself in darkness as he crept into his own space in the bed chamber.
Chapter 4
In the dead of night, Isabella Stone was jolted awake by an intense heat. “Ugh...” She opened her eyes, groaning involuntarily. Why was her lower abdomen so hot... White flashes danced before her eyes. She tried to move her hands, only to find them bound to the headboard. “Ah... so tight and so warm... makes me want to...” Jonathan Dunfield let out a breathy whisper, slowly withdrawing before plunging back in, speaking in broken sentences, “...makes me want to die inside you...” Isabella Stone wasn’t certain if she was dreaming. All her senses seemed to concentrate on the union between her and him, numb and burning. Jonathan looped her slender, white legs over his arm, rhythmically thrusting in and out. Despite his efforts, her legs kept slipping, frustrating him. He didn’t stop. Seeing her awake, he freed her hands. “You’re awake. Help me hold your legs, will you?” His voice was coaxing, as if he were asking her to do something mundane. Isabella, still groggy, obediently reached out, looping her arms under her knees to hold them. “Good girl...” he chuckled lowly, the vibration passing through their joined points and making her shiver, her inner walls clenching. “Ah...” he groaned, using his newly freed hand to give her behind a firm smack, “You're going to squeeze me to death...” But the smack only made Isabella tense more, her muscles gripping him even tighter, causing sweat to break out on his forehead. “Hah... I wanted to be gentle, but you seem to prefer it fast...” he muttered, thrusting with renewed vigor. He usually took things slow, mindful of their differences. Even when fully inside, he refrained from going all out. Every time, it was like savoring a fine delicacy, taking his time until she was utterly spent, eyes rolling, body trembling before he reluctantly stopped. But this time, as he spoke nonsense, his movements were unrestrained and relentless. Isabella clutched her own legs tightly, her head knocking against the headboard. The slight pain finally brought clarity. This wasn’t a dream. It was really happening... Jonathan Dunfield was forcing himself on her while she slept, without her consent... How could he...? Isabella’s eyes, half-lidded from pleasure, opened in pain, tears of distress trailing down her temples. She tried to move her stiff, weak legs to push against his shoulders. “G-get... off...” her voice wavered with his movements, her attempt to push him away only fueling his drive. “Off? Ha... where do you think you can go?” Her strength was nothing to him. He caught her delicate ankles, kissing and biting them lovingly before folding her legs back over one shoulder, watching her breasts bounce in the dim moonlight. “Foolish girl, this is my dream, so you have to do whatever I want you to.” With that, he pounded into her without hesitation, her thigh pressing down on his chest, squashing her breast. Feeling a pang of pity, he rescued her breast from the pressure, eagerly sucking on its tender pink tip.
Chapter 5
The first time I saw him, I thought, "This man’s arrogance is overwhelming. Tasting it would be the ultimate test…” He spoke through gritted teeth, his words muffled but still clear in the dimly lit room. "Let go...ah...I…" Isabella Stone struggled, her fingernails digging into the soft pillow beside her as she raised it to strike him. "Hmm…." Though her strength couldn't really hurt him, Lord Jonathan Dunfield paused, lifting the pillow and slowly raising his head, eyes piercing the darkness like a predator stalking its prey. Even in her dreams, her disdain for him was palpable. Yes, he was despicable and evil, plotting relentlessly and causing the pure-hearted William Vance to be exiled to a remote corner of the Empire. There was no way she could ever like him. Lord Jonathan Dunfield's lashes trembled slightly, like the wings of a moth. But what did that matter? She could only belong to him. In the shadows, Lord Jonathan Dunfield's face broke into a deranged smile. "Do you want me to let you go?" He pressed her hand to her lower abdomen, making her feel the agonizing pleasure of his slow withdrawal. "Uh..." His deep thrusts caused Isabella Stone's back to arch in pain. She clenched her fingers, feeling the outline of him inside her through the tight skin of her belly. "No...don't..." She grimaced in agony, shaking her head. "Why do you always refuse me? What's so wrong with me compared to others?" He finally pulled out. With a wet pop, a thick liquid started streaming from between her legs, like an ongoing stream. Isabella Stone squeezed her legs together in sheer humiliation, desperately wanting to escape this place and this terrifying man. She turned away, using her elbow to push herself up. Oblivious to how the motion made her firm breasts ripple enticingly, her flushed nipples trembling with each movement. Even though they had already been through one round, Lord Jonathan Dunfield's desire showed no signs of abating. He grasped her waist, pulling her closer. Without any hesitation, he thrusted back inside with the same urgency. "Ah!" He penetrated deep, and Isabella Stone moaned, the pain mingling with unwanted pleasure. "That's right, scream. Let me hear your voice….” He bit her tender shoulder hard, leaving red marks before gently licking the skin. "Why, why does somebody as manly as Thomas Stone have to stifle their voice when they're being taken? It's such a beautiful sound…" He lifted her leg with one hand, forcefully tearing her hand away from her chest and roughly kneading one breast. Isabella Stone had been caught off guard earlier, but now she clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. She bit her index finger hard. "So disobedient…" Lord Jonathan Dunfield's thrusts became louder and more intense. He let go of her leg, grabbed her chin, and forced his thumb into her mouth, stirring fiercely. "Mmm…" Isabella Stone gagged, her throat emitting a strangled sound. She bit down hard. "Hsss…" Lord Jonathan Dunfield withdrew his thumb, licking the blood off it before narrowing his eyes dangerously. "It seems you don't like this…." He shoved deep, making Isabella Stone feel like her soul was being ripped from her body. "Then let's try something else." With one hand on each of her pert breasts and his legs stabilized, he forced Isabella Stone into a kneeling position. This angle allowed for deeper penetration. Isabella Stone felt as if he was pushing up into her stomach. To be dominated like an animal... Isabella Stone's eyes widened, her pupils fixed as she clawed at the bed sheets, her teeth gritting in disbelief. "Ah…” The position had Lord Jonathan Dunfield at the height of satisfaction. Despite being married for months, he had respected Isabella's nature and restrained his actions, only finding solace in dreams now. He felt himself touch a spot he had never reached before, causing a burst of intense excitement. Grabbing her breasts for one final squeeze, he withdrew his hands, placed them on her lower back, then roughly pulled her waist down, positioning her hips for urgent thrusts. Isabella Stone's breath came in ragged gasps. She couldn’t believe the man behind her was the same dignified husband she knew in public. He was unrelenting… Only beasts would act like this. With relentless thrusts, that intimate space finally gave way, trembling and opening wide. Lord Jonathan Dunfield, like a triumphant general, forced himself in. "Ah…" This invasion was too much. Overwhelmed by a mix of rage and shame, Isabella Stone passed out.
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