Volume 6 Chapter 9 Apology Sex
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”I’m sorry. Seriously, I just couldn’t help it.”
His voice cracked around the edges, a half-swallowed laugh trying to cover for guilt that ran deeper.
”…sigh.”
The sound escaped her like steam from a lidded kettle, quiet but unmistakable. Her whole body exhaled with it.
”I said I was all about Suzette, right? But then, sis—”
”Is that so?” she murmured, cool as slate.
Without glancing at him, she pivoted her face away. He leaned forward anyway, hopeful, like someone pressing a hand to a locked door just in case it opened. Their lips met—hesitant, seeking. Not heat, but permission.
”Come on, cheer up, Suzette~” he coaxed, the words airy, like he was trying to lift her by voice alone.
”I don’t know,” she said flatly. “Please just finish it.”
When their mouths parted, she turned again, cutting off even that threadbare connection. Her cheeks were tinged with color, but her expression was a blank slate—no blame, no forgiveness, just absence.
The forest around them whispered in green and gold. Morning light spilled through the canopy like something consecrated. Birds sang like they believed in new beginnings. But Suzette leaned against the thick trunk of a tree, her blouse unbuttoned, her skirt bunched high, limbs slack in the posture of someone letting the moment pass through her without resistance. Her body lay open, not in invitation, but in relinquishment.
Klock stood before her, bare to the waist, shame etched into every line of his face. Their bodies met at the hips, joined without harmony. What should have been intimate now felt misaligned—like music with the beat just slightly off.
”…I was thinking of looking for a job when we get to Boorinel,” he offered, his voice half hope, half strategy. “If it seems like I can work, how about moving over there?”
”That sounds good,” she replied, unblinking.
”If we move over there, we should live in a bigger house. With a fireplace. And let’s make sure we can have an indoor bath too.”
”That sounds good.”
”…Once we move over there, I’ll stop doing this kind of thing with other girls. I mean, no matter how you look at it, that’s just wrong, right? So—”
”That sounds good.”
Each reply was a pebble dropped into a bottomless well. Her gaze stayed fixed somewhere beyond his shoulder. He moved inside her, as if rhythm could pull meaning from her silence, but she didn’t even flinch.
She was angry. No, sulking. And not in the way that welcomed coaxing or charm—this was deeper, colder. Like a lake gone still under ice.
Last night, she’d said she wanted to talk.
Afraid of the conversation that might follow—breakup, confession, unraveling—Klock had acted first. That morning, he’d caught her just as she rose, apologies tumbling from his lips like loose change he hoped would add up to something. She hadn’t even looked at him.
And still, when he reached for her, she let him. He pulled her into the quiet veil of the forest, and when he kissed her, stripped away the barriers of fabric, she only said:
”Do as you please.”
And so, they did something they hadn’t planned—bodies seeking each other like a habit more than a hunger.
His face was tight with contrition. Hers was a mask of quiet dismissal. But their bodies… their bodies knew the choreography by heart. The slide and press, the slow grind of friction and heat. Her hips arched just slightly to meet him; his breath caught when he entered her.
Only the body remembered what the heart had paused.
In the past, Suzette would yield eventually, even if she started off annoyed. Pleasure had always found its way in, pulling sound from her throat like a tide drawing breath from the shore.
But now… now she was still. And quiet.
A woman doesn’t always melt, no matter how practiced the hands or generous the endowment. Emotion wields its own veto power. After three months, even Klock’s well-worn rhythm couldn’t reach her when her mind stayed miles away.
”Sorry, Suzette. Let’s kiss again—for reconciliation,” he murmured, curling toward her.
She didn’t answer. He tilted her chin, met her mouth. She let him in this time, tongue and all, but didn’t offer anything back. Her softness yielded without engagement.
He tasted her again and again, trying to stir something. When she didn’t respond, he reluctantly drew away. A slender thread of saliva stretched between them—fragile, clinging—then snapped.
Still, she said nothing. Still, she wouldn’t look at him.
This is a sulk, he told himself. Not the end. He knew this rhythm. He’d danced it before, with women who had every reason to walk away but didn’t.
They weren’t through. Not yet.
Suzette wasn’t the type to rage. She collapsed inward, slowly. That was her warning signal. If she truly wanted to break up, she wouldn’t have let him touch her at all. She’d have left bruises—on his chest, on his pride. She had the strength to flatten him if she wanted.
But she didn’t.
That meant she was still listening. Or at least willing to be convinced.
Klock stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. When he pulled gently, her body tipped back into the arc he made of her. Her breasts lifted, pale against the sun-dappled green. He lowered his mouth and closed his lips around one taut peak, brushing his tongue in slow, reverent circles.
She twitched in surprise—barely. He kept going.
This wasn’t just sex, he reminded himself. Not anymore. He moved the way someone does when trying to prove something with their whole body—intentional, unhurried, like every stroke of his mouth and hand meant more than release.
His fingers found her, gentle at first, then focused, mapping the shape of her want even if she wouldn’t name it. He massaged her tenderly, skillfully, coaxing her body to respond where her voice would not. His hips moved with a languid rhythm, not forceful—just persistent. Persuasive.
As he touched her—her waist, her thighs, her stomach—he felt her begin to tremble. A subtle shift in breath. A catch in her throat. Her jaw clenched like someone enduring too much and not enough at once.
Now. This was the moment. If he was going to mean it, it had to be now.
He kissed her again, deep and searching, as he moved inside her with something closer to grace than apology. And when he felt the first tremor ripple through her—when she clenched around him in sudden, startled release—he let go too, spilling into her with something almost like reverence.
Vyuu, vyuu, vyururu.
The air cracked with the quiet percussion of climax, muffled but resonant—like velvet thunder.
Suzette shuddered in his arms, and he held her through it, breath tangled, lips still sealed over hers. Her body gripped him tightly, echoing with the rhythm they had finally found again.
This wasn’t luck.
This was knowledge. Timing. The stubborn, aching kind of intimacy that comes not from perfection, but from trying again.
An apology had led them here.
But what followed wasn’t penance. It was something raw and quiet and strangely whole.
The seamless flow between them felt like a persuasive argument made without words—a negotiation of breath and skin, of friction and surrender.
He drank in her kiss like a man half-starved, the slick heat of her mouth flooding into his. She met him with a quickening breath and a small, deliberate flick of her tongue against his.
Perhaps, in her way, she was offering forgiveness. Or the possibility of it. He became distantly aware of her hand inside his own. It pulsed faintly—a squeeze.
Just a little.
”You’re truly an animal,” she said, voice rough at the edges, still tinged with the aftermath. She twisted away from him, her breath drying into something more acerbic. “We agreed—no sex during the journey. And yet here you are, trying to get your rocks off. Are you seriously planning to keep me soaked in your lust for an entire week? What are you, some kind of monkey’s errand boy?”
She struck out with the sharp point of her tongue, just like she always did after they’d fallen back into each other.
Typical Suzette. She hadn’t said she forgave him, but Klock exhaled like a man reprieved.
”My apologies,” he offered, quietly, like laying down a card in a game he knew he’d already lost.
There was no point in saying, I told you to do as you pleased.
Better to lean into the role he played best: the fool, the villain, the ever-wronged instigator.
He laughed—his usual disarming bark, no sign of guilt. “Hah hah hah.”
Suzette narrowed her eyes, but let it go. For now.
The silence folded in for a moment, padded and fragile, as she dressed with terse efficiency.
”We should head back,” he murmured, voice clearing. “The Flame General’s probably waking up.”
As they walked toward the carriage, Suzette’s voice floated back, sharp as ever. “Wait a moment. Where exactly do you think you’re going?”
He paused. “Eh?”
She turned on him like a sudden breeze. “Are you planning to stroll up to Lady Gildegant with that stinking thing still swinging between your legs? Gonna try seducing her again?”
Seduction. So that’s how she’d framed it.
To be fair, Gildegant had presented herself with the pride of a woman desperately fishing for praise. But Suzette had her own lens, and she rarely put it down.
Klock hesitated.
This wasn’t the time to defend himself. Not right after—that. She deserved a little grace. Still, her accusations were off-base. If anything, he was terrified of Gildegant.
He scratched at his temple, fumbling for the right approach.
Time kept moving. And Suzette, never one to let momentum die, stepped closer. Her glare pinned him with the weight of a story she was writing all on her own—where he was the treacherous seducer, the unfaithful lover.
Without warning, her hand moved to his groin, tugging him free of the warmth of his clothes and into the raw morning air.
”How vile,” she muttered, tone like vinegar. “What exactly are you hoping to achieve—letting her smell this?”
That escalated quickly.
He hadn’t said anything about scent.
Klock opened his mouth—then closed it again. This was classic Suzette. Preemptive. Sharp. Always two moves ahead.
And just like that, she crouched down—fluid, unhesitating—and took him into her mouth as if she hadn’t just accused him of betrayal.
The initial pressure was soft, deliberate. Then she deepened her pace, as if erasing every prior kiss with the heat and insistence of her tongue.
A warm, wet tension coiled through him. Her mouth moved rhythmically, enveloping him, the velvet drag of her tongue painting along the sensitive underside.
Chuu… zuzzu…—the sounds were barely audible, more suggestion than speech, but they curled around his spine all the same.
She wasn’t tentative now. Her focus was clinical, exacting—draining him of guilt, of proof, of accusation.
He should have felt vindicated. He only felt undone.
Despite everything, his body stirred again. It always did, summoned by the familiar heat of her mouth, the memory of earlier pleasure still echoing.
But then—
Her lips pulled away with a soft parting sound, a delicate snap of suction breaking like the end of a song. The sudden chill in the air hit him harder than it should have.
She stood and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
”What’s with that expression?” she said, blinking quickly, already pulling away. “It’s over. You’re clean now.”
That pout—it was practiced. Perfected. Infuriating.
”Well, I mean…”
His hand hung awkwardly by his side, unsure what to do with the still-standing evidence of her handiwork. On another day, he’d ask for a rematch. Today, he let her win.
There was, after all, still the matter of the general.
He reached down, preparing to tuck himself away. She glanced at him from beneath half-lowered lashes, her stare both unimpressed and amused.
”How long do you plan to keep it up? Put it away already. You’re not meeting Lady Gildegant with that thing still saluting the sky.”
She shot him a look that was more command than request.
”Well,” he began, “if you could maybe help me… calm it down…”
”I decline.”
”…Then what?”
Was she expecting him to just stand there, wait for the wind to knock some sense into it?
Fine. If that’s what it took. He’d wait. But what about Gildegant?
”Hmph. You’re such a pain,” she said with a toss of her hair, already turning away.
Then, by the tree she’d leaned against earlier, she lifted the hem of her skirt.
Her bare skin caught the morning light—soft, round, gleaming faintly with evidence of their earlier union. A single, deliberate bead of moisture slid down, tracing a path lower, almost lazy in its descent.
”What are you doing?” he asked, voice lower now. “We should go. Lady Gildegant’s probably going to be pissed.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Her silence was laced with want—the kind that apologies couldn’t fix, the kind that had nothing to do with forgiveness.
She hadn’t felt it yet—the completion. The confirmation. The connection.
And neither had he.
Klock exhaled slowly, then stepped in behind her, pressing forward with a gentleness that belied his size.
”…… Mmm♡”
She turned her face to the side, her breath catching, that soft sound slipping out like a secret she hadn’t meant to share.
That was answer enough.
”Sorry about this, Suzette,” he whispered. “You’re a big help.”
”Y-Yeah! Without me, you’re useless!”
He pressed deeper, sliding easily into the warmth that had already welcomed him once today. Her body received him greedily, the heat between them flaring as he filled her again.
”You’re useless at working, can’t cook, don’t clean or wash either,” she snapped, voice trembling. “If I’d left you, you’d have been hanged by now—for theft or worse. You do know that, right?!”
She leaned forward, hands bracing against the tree, her hips pushing back against him as though her body didn’t believe a word of her rebuke. He caught her hand as she reached behind her—clutching it, grounding them both.
”You keep blaming Roper’s poison, but all you do is—this! You’ve got no job, no future, and you sleep with everyone! You cheat on me, and still… still no one but me would ever put up with a disaster like you!”
Her body shuddered around him, clutching tight, the slick friction creating a rhythmic, wet cadence as they moved.
Soft flesh met firm grip. Heat spiraled. The damp air pulsed with breath and body.
The warmth between her legs bloomed outward, wrapping them both in a cocoon of sensation. Their joined hands tightened. His hips met her curves with steady pressure, imprinting his apology in every movement.
”Any other woman would have run screaming. Might’ve even stabbed you,” she bit out, tears catching in the corners of her eyes. “Even Adelina couldn’t take your crap! Do you get that?!”
”Y-Yeah. I do.”
He reached his free hand around and patted her gently, grounding her.
”You’re seriously beyond help,” she muttered. “No one but me would stay.”
Her grip on his hand tightened, nails biting into skin.
Her whole body shook then—sharp, sudden, unrestrained.
Her inner muscles gripped around him, tightening, convulsing, as if her body were trying to draw out the last ounce of what he owed her.
And he gave it.
The release took him fast.
A low, rising thrum pulsed through him—
A thick, guttural swell of warmth surged outward—
He let her pull him deeper, let the sound and heat of their union linger in the trees like a forgotten prayer.
Simultaneously—effortlessly, as if choreographed by memory more than motion—the years of knowing each other’s bodies converged in a single, electric moment. Her body answered him without hesitation, as though it had been waiting for exactly this rhythm, this pressure, this unraveling.
Still gripping her hand, he guided her hips back with the other, a tender insistence in the gesture. He pushed deeper into her from behind, the motion fluid, inevitable. A low, velvet sound bloomed between them as their bodies met—close, complete.
A sharp gasp tore from her lips, feathered with pleasure.
”Nn! Fuuuh!~” she exhaled, voice catching like a match on dry tinder.
Suzette tightened her grip in return, palm to palm, fingers interlaced with quiet desperation. Her muscles fluttered around him, a whispering cadence of invitation. With a practiced confidence, she moved against him—deliberate, coaxing, knowing exactly how to draw the pulse of pleasure higher.
His hand found the gentle curve of her belly, lingering there in an absent-minded reverence, as if imagining what might come.
Suzette, overwhelmed, let go of the tree she’d been bracing against and leaned back into him, her spine arching slightly in surrender. He caught her easily, folding his arms around her from behind, their connection holding fast as he reached his limit. A low groan, deep and private, thrummed against her neck as he spilled into her—heat flooding heat.
She glanced over her shoulder, lips parted, eyes heavy with something like amusement and hunger both. The kiss she seemed to ask for didn’t quite find its path—but he brought his hand up instead, offering a finger. She took it between her teeth with a playful snap, eyes never leaving his.
Even as she mouthed him—slow, greedy, unbothered—he remained locked in place, every sense tangled in her: the tight give of her body, the radiant heat at their seam, the near-audible hush of shared breath and unspoken ache. He pulsed again, and again, emptied completely.
They stayed like that for a long while—still and held, wrapped in the cooling hush of the woods. The mattress of moss beneath their feet, the occasional creak of a branch overhead, the hush of wind moving through leaf and bark: the world gave them privacy without silence.
Suzette didn’t move. Didn’t want to.
When she finally did, easing herself forward and away from him, the absence was almost painful. A damp warmth trailed down her thighs, and she didn’t bother hiding it. Her spine straightened. Her eyes sharpened. The steel of the Suzette the world knew slid back into place like armor.
She turned, one brow lifting with pointed grace.
”Wait a moment,” she said coolly, bending slightly. A silken thread clung to her skin, catching light like a secret. “I distinctly remember telling you not to appear before Lady Gildegant with your nasty erect still out.”
Without warning, she lowered herself again, slow and deliberate, and took him back into her mouth—utterly calm, as if she were buttoning a coat.
By the time they returned to the carriage, Gildegant was waiting with the brittle patience of a man forced to endure far too much. His glare landed on Klock like a blade.
Inside the carriage, Suzette sat without flinching beneath his scrutiny. Gildegant loomed just beyond the open door, imposing and silent.
She said nothing. Her expression was the portrait of composure as she ladled soup into a wooden bowl and sliced a piece of bread clean in half.
Why wasn’t he saying anything?
Suzette’s eyes flicked to Klock’s briefly, but her face gave away nothing.
She had gotten what she wanted. This was what she had asked for.
And yet, some thin thread of disquiet hummed beneath her breastbone. Satisfaction didn’t sit where she thought it would.
The second day of their journey began.
Notes:
• Suzette – The older maid from Viscount Fennec. The head maid at the Viscount Fennec’s villa. She is confident, clear-spoken, and professional.
• Boorinel – A town east of Ryzan, where Lord Cattleya’s manor is located; said to be a long journey from Ryzan.
• Gildegant – One of the Four Generals of the Demon Lord. Flame General.
• Adelina – The slave girl.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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