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Stop Calling Me "Mate"! I Only Defeated You Once, Not Married You! (Web Novel) - Volume 9, Chapter 9: A Married Man's Bloody Lessons
Volume 9, Chapter 9: A Married Man's Bloody Lessons
This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl
Again and again, one after another.Just as Kaiser had said, this mirror really was well made; even with Rosvisser gripping it in both hands, the surface wouldn’t crush.
But as the count kept climbing, more and more unknown fluids spattered across the glass.
That didn’t make the couple stop. On the contrary, it became a blade Leon used to shame Rosvisser even further.
He would press Rosvisser’s head, force her to look at the lower part of the mirror, and ask her why the mirror was dirty—and who had dirtied it.
Every word—every sentence—was like a sharp needle pricking Rosvisser’s heart.
It hurt, and yet she sank into it, unable to pull free.
Because what the needle injected was a flood of hormones born of fallenness and taboo.
After only a little over thirty rounds, Rosvisser’s stamina shifted from quantity to a qualitative change.
Only then did the two of them pause.
She’d been bending at the waist before the mirror for a long time, tiptoeing besides; for Rosvisser, it wasn’t exactly comfortable.
They had switched up their stance several times in between, but having tasted an even more exquisite climax earlier tonight, she still preferred watching the Rosvisser in the mirror being conquered and ravaged by Leon.
So even when they shifted to other positions, after a brief rest she would tug Leon’s hand and bring him back to the mirror.
When the pitched battle ended, the two of them lay flat on the bed. Leon gathered the fainted Rosvisser into his arms, and together they stared in silence at the ceiling.
As the heat of her skin ebbed from burning to cool, Leon held her a little tighter.
Then he pressed a light kiss to Rosvisser’s brow, damp with sweat and water.
“—Ah, damn!”
Leon moved, as usual, to soothe his wife’s spent body and mind—only to be booted clean off the bed without warning.
He almost went out the window.
“What was that for, love? One-second heel-turn, zero time to react?”
Rosvisser sat up against the headboard, clutching the quilt to her chest. By the pale moonlight, Leon could still see the flush in her cheeks.
“You—mind your own business!”
She ground her teeth. “You did that to me and I’m not allowed to kick you?”
“Huh?”
A beat later, Leon understood why she’d suddenly flipped.
The anger meter had filled—Leon got it.
In that deep exchange just now, Rosvisser had savored the pleasure of complete surrender.
It felt like, over the last few hours, her dignity and pride had been ground utterly to dust; all that remained was the Rosvisser in the mirror—disgusted with herself and still begging for more.
How could she not feel guilty?
But the guilt had been crushed under lust, crushed flat.
Like water sealed in a bottle, not a drop leaking out.
And now?
It was over. The dragon-marks dimmed. No more heady rush, no more primal drive running her body—so the water in the bottle burst out all at once.
The guilt snapped back and, without warning, she’d punted the “culprit” off the bed.
“Damn fool... I hate you!”
Clutching one corner of the quilt, cheeks flaming, she scolded him.
“And I hate that stupid mirror! Move it to the corner! Now!”
“Tomorrow, love...”
“No!!! Now. Right. Now!” She pouted, all aggrieved big girl.
Leon chuckled; there was nothing for it. He got up and moved the mirror to a spot where it couldn’t be seen.
Just as he turned away, the corner of his eye caught the bottom edge of the glass—still not wiped clean. He curled his lip and said on purpose,
“Oh wow, all those weird little splashes on the mirror—when am I supposed to—ow!!”
Before he finished, a pillow flew and smacked him square in the face.
“Say one more word... one more and you’re on the couch for a week!”
If not for heat-sense vision, Leon figured what he’d be seeing now was a red-necked phantom on the bed with steam coming off her head.
He scrubbed his hair and came back to sit.
As he drew near, Rosvisser, predictably, extended a long leg in disdain and set her jade-pale foot to his waist.
“Don’t come close, you stinking man!”
You had to hear a woman’s words the other way round.
If Leon actually backed off now, that would be the real disaster.
He took Rosvisser’s small foot and set it to his chest.
She made a token struggle, then obediently let him hold it.
“See? With women, you hear it in reverse.”
He leaned in alongside her and tried to wrap her up.
At first she squirmed her shoulders and said, with lofty disgust:
“Don’t touch me. I hate you—I hate you, hate you!”
“Mm-hmm, hate me, hate me. I’m the worst.”
His mouth said one thing, but Rosvisser’s body told the truth: in no time she was nestled honestly in his arms.
Her bare chest laid to his—endless safety—and more than half the guilt in her heart dissolved.
Women were miraculous creatures; they could flare into baffling tempers and calm just as bafflingly.
But no matter the antics, they wanted one thing:
A sense of safety.
Whatever the source of their feelings—guilt or hurt—as long as you gave that safety, they would slowly soften.
Leon’s first love and first wife were one and the same she-dragon, but when it came to reading a woman’s heart, he was an authority—all learned the hard way, from being banished to the couch on countless nights. Bloody lessons!
After a couple of shared sighs, Rosvisser quieted, curled in Leon’s arms like a good little cat.
“Love,” Leon prodded softly.
“Mm?”
Married Man’s Survival Rule No. 1:
That “Mm?” is just one syllable, but better than “What?” or “Don’t call me”—it means the line is open.
“I feel like you’ve got something to say. Go on.”
Married Man’s Survival Rule No. 2:
Never make your wife keep leading the topic. You never know which word will land you writing a self-criticism.
Sure enough, Rosvisser lifted her eyes.
“This... this mirror is just too shameful... I need a long time after to come down from it.”
Her voice was soft and sticky; clearly she still hadn’t fully settled—just less turbulence for now.
Leon thought a moment. “Then from now on... we won’t use the mirror.”
“That won’t do!”
Leon: “?”
Rosvisser: “(#^.^#)”
“Ahhh—hate you, hate you, hate you!”
The queen raised her fists and pounded his chest left-right-left. Leon took it all without a hint of resistance.
They romped on the bed like that until the horizon paled. Only as dawn neared did they finally drift into sleep.
