Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As Rose had hoped, he was experienced and skilled.

Once she helped him to remove his shirt, the man before her no longer resembled a gentleman in the slightest. If she had to describe him, he most closely resembled a statue of a gladiator, sculpted with painstaking care by a master artisan.

His broad hands and heated lips moved over her as if he feared she might vanish if he hesitated even a moment.

They said the first time hurt. Rose had heard that often enough. But when the moment came, the pain was far beyond anything she had imagined. She swallowed a silent scream.

And yet, it didn’t take long for that pain to transform into pleasure.

A wave of rapture, vast and overwhelming like a tide crashing from afar, swept through her entire body.

“Ah… ahh…!”

They barely knew each other.

Today was the first time they’d even held a real conversation.

They didn’t even know each other’s real names.

To think she’d end up doing this with such a man, in the Countess’s manor of all places…

If she hadn’t experienced the surreal reality of her regression, this was something she never would have even considered, much less dared to imagine.

It’s fine now.

As his movements stilled, the fullness inside her gave way to emptiness. A sudden wave of loss made her open her tightly shut eyes.

He was looking at her, his expression tinged with discomfort.

“…Mr. Dillon?”

His brow was furrowed—yet not like before, when he seemed to be enjoying himself. Now, his face was filled with guilt and dismay.

“Miss… Don’t tell me… this was your first time?”

“…Yes.”

When he saw the faint trace of red left behind, James felt the blood drain from his head.

With a rough hand, he ran his fingers through his neatly combed hair, mussing the pomade-slicked strands.

“What the hell were you thinking, doing something like this for your first time?”

She had seemed so confident, her touch so sure—it never even occurred to him that she might be a virgin. Now, his temples throbbed.

A virgin. I took her damn virginity. What the hell is wrong with me?

Then, as if to pull him from the spiral of self-loathing, her soft voice called one of the many names he used.

“Jack.”

Catching her breath, Rose slowly pushed herself up. Her flushed skin glowed with residual warmth, and she looked into his blue eyes.

“If I had to choose who to give my first time to… I thought there could be no one better than you, Jack.”

“Miss, what are you saying right now?”

“I needed my first time to be with you.”

James blinked as if struck from behind.

I needed it to be you.

Had there ever been a more powerful confession than that?

Trying to recover his composure, James felt the last thread of his reason snap.

“Mr. Dillon. You are the only one I chose…”

If she chose me like this…

Then he had a duty to respond in kind.

And if it was her first time, all the more reason to give her nothing but the best.

Before she could even finish her sentence, his lips were already crushing hers.

“Then I’ll make sure you never regret that decision.”

Once again, that overwhelming presence pressed down on her.

Bathed in waves of bliss and satisfaction, Rose slowly opened her eyes.

The lingering heat of their fiery union still clung to her skin, now wrapped in a soft bathrobe.

I don’t remember putting this on…

“You’re awake?”

James’s even voice met her ears as she fumbled at the robe in mild confusion.

“Didn’t want you catching a cold,” he added simply.

“…Thank you.”

Rose’s voice was hoarse as she expressed her gratitude. James replied with a serious look.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been taking my medicine.”

“Medicine?”

That response, in the context of her thanks, was disorienting.

“Birth control. I take it regularly. So you don’t need to worry.”

“Ah—ahh. I see!”

She had been a virgin. James had been concerned she might cry, be confused, or feel regret. But the woman before him looked completely at ease.

“It was a safe day for me too. So you can rest easy.”

She even smiled brightly. That smile filled James with an inexplicable sense of emptiness.

Right… she did say she chose me because she wanted something light, with no strings attached.

As he mulled over that vague dissatisfaction, Rose was thinking the opposite—how glad she was that she had chosen Jack Dillon, a man who was considerate to the very end.

“If you’d like, I can draw a bath for you.”

“Actually… I don’t have the strength. My body’s too sore.”

James nodded and casually lay down beside her.

“Feel free to use the tub if you change your mind. I’m not the type to leave a lady alone after such an experience.”

He pulled the blanket up to her neck and patted her gently.

Hearing each other’s breathing so close now felt oddly intimate.

Outside the room, music and laughter still echoed, as if from a world far away.

Rose suddenly grew curious—what would it feel like to look at his handsome face again now?

Earlier, they had only brushed past each other. And during their intimacy, her senses had been consumed by pleasure; she hadn’t had the chance to really see him.

She turned slightly to find him lying with his eyes closed.

Now was her only chance to study his handsome face.

His tousled golden-brown hair, his striking features made dramatic by the dim light and soft shadows—he looked like one of the heroes from the historic paintings she had seen in museums.

Feeling a flush creep up her neck, she tried to inch away—only to bump her head against the nightstand.

“Didn’t you just say you were too sore to move?”

He reached out, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.

“Ah—were you not asleep?”

Her heart jumped, as if she’d been caught doing something bad.

“Why would I sleep?”

“I thought men always fell asleep after…”

“That’s just an excuse weak men use.”

He gently stroked the back of her head, asking if she was all right. But Rose, too embarrassed, barely noticed the impact from earlier.

His warmth, his scent, the low rumble of his voice—they all wrapped around her inescapably.

She had thought it would be dry and simple. That once she wasn’t a virgin anymore, she’d feel relieved and walk away.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

He asked gently, when she’d gone silent.

“Ah—yes. I’m fine.”

“If you’re regretting it, or if you feel like crying, you can hit me if it helps.”

“N-no! I’m really happy. I feel proud, not regretful.”

“Hmm.”

“Choosing you really was the right decision. And also…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence.

Because he had suddenly rolled on top of her once more.

“Miss, you keep saying such provocative things. Are you doing that on purpose?”

His gaze bore down on her, blazing with renewed heat. Rose swallowed nervously.

She felt like a rabbit trapped before a hawk.

“Provocative? What part of that was—”

“You said you were satisfied. Satisfied with what, exactly?”

“Mmf—!”

As if he didn’t need a reply, he crushed her lips with a deep, fierce kiss.

“Damn it. This isn’t what I meant to do…”

His face contorted in a tangle of pleasure and frustration.

Her body, still sensitive from earlier, quickly heated again.

His scent, heavy with the remnants of a sultry night, stirred something deep inside her.

His intentions were unmistakable.

And Rose had no desire to resist the urge to surrender once more to that whirlwind of passion.

They came together again.

If she had said no, Jack Dillon would have withdrawn like a gentleman. But Rose chose instead to embrace him again.

For no other reason than this—

She genuinely wanted to be in his arms once more.

James Dautryche had never planned to treat his time with Miss Blavatsky as just a fleeting dalliance.

He was already considering how to handle the aftermath—what their relationship should be going forward.

But he never got the chance to enact that plan, nor even to review it.

Because James, who had mocked weaker men for collapsing after sex, found himself slipping into sleep the moment it ended.

And it wasn’t just exhaustion.

“Good. He’s completely out.”

Rose hadn’t meant to cast a sleep spell on him.

But honestly, it had become the only option.

After rolling with him in tangled limbs and sweat, after all the moans and touches and flushed gasps—Rose had opened her eyes…

And what she saw nearly made her doubt her senses.

This can’t be… why… how…?

It was so far beyond common sense, she couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

There, on the left side of his chest—on the skin of this man who should be an ordinary Logos—a faintly glowing mark had appeared.

A sigil formed of two overlapping symbols: a Möbius strip enclosed within a double circle before settling into another image.

It was…

The Mark of Bonded Mates.