UL Chapter 3

 

“…….”

 

“I let you have it when you wanted.”

Yeonha took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling sharply before biting down on her lower lip. Then, in her mind, she repeated the worst curse she could muster.

That damned night.

The night when fury had nearly burst her heart. The night when, not drunk but driven solely by that wretched, festering anger, she had climbed on top of a sleeping Baek Ijae and ridden him.

Why did it have to be that night?

She could have done what she always did—clutch at her chest, accept the suffocating weight of her emotions like death itself, and let herself fall asleep, slowly and silently.

Or she could have spent the night awake, crying and raging until morning.

Why hadn’t she just endured for that one night?

The patience that Choi Yeonha had once prided herself on had long since eroded, worn down to nothing by time.

A long finger slipped between her teeth, gently prying her lip free from where she had been gnawing it in regret. At the same time, something hot and rigid ground against the cleft of her ass.

In a slow, coaxing voice, Baek Ijae murmured, half whispering, half seducing.

“I want to let it out too. What’s stopping us? We’re just a pair of people who only meet when we need to fuck.”

“…Baek Ijae.”

“What? Am I wrong?” He chuckled darkly. “The only time you need me is when you want this cock inside you. And the only time I need you is when I want to spread your legs and fuck that cunt of yours.”

“…Ah.”

As if something had just occurred to him, Ijae let out a deliberately exaggerated exclamation. The smooth curve of his lips twisted into a smirk, sharp and mocking.

“Oh, right. You also need me when you’re rummaging through my pockets for spare change like a little thief.”

Heat flared up her face in an instant.

When Baek Ijae spoke of a “thief who rummages for spare change,” he hadn’t been referring to himself.

Had her humiliation pleased him? He lowered his voice, murmuring as if to shift the mood. The words were intimate, teasing—like a secret whispered between lovers.

“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. You don’t know?”

A simple statement, yet laden with meaning.

It was a reminder that their relationship amounted to nothing more than mutual convenience—sex, and nothing else. A recollection of the unspoken contract that governed them, filled with countless clauses that bound them together.

His already-thin patience seemed to wear even thinner as he clicked his tongue and spoke, irritation creeping into his tone.

“Making me wait with a hard-on like this. Do I ever make you wait?”

Yeonha let out a small, almost self-mocking laugh.

No, you don’t. The moment I climbed onto that bed, you were already hard. As if you had predicted I would break that night. As if you had been ready all along.

Feeling the twitch of his cock, eager to bury itself inside her, Yeonha recalled the document they had signed eight years ago.

Three full pages of clauses, yet all of them boiled down to one thing—an unwritten Hammurabi Code between the two of them.

Retribution. A simple rule: whatever was given must be repaid in equal measure.

She had been the one to propose it.

Yeonha murmured under her breath.

“…Just hurry up and finish.”

“We’ll see.”

A wet kiss landed on her cheek, his lips pressing against her skin before pulling away with a soft pop.

Now that she had given—not permission, but the closest thing to it—Ijae wasted no time.

Her underwear was yanked down in one swift motion, barely making it past her thighs before he grew impatient and left it bunched around her knees.

The cotton dress she had been wearing slipped over her head and fell to the floor, discarded carelessly. His large hands pushed her bra up in a hurry, cupping her soft, heavy breasts as if he intended to crush them in his grip.

He kneaded, pinched at her nipples, rolling them between his thumbs and fingers. His touch traveled down her body, playing her like an instrument as he pressed her up against him.

Slipping his cock between the plush curve of her ass, he groped her breasts again—his hands shameless, kneading the flesh greedily through the tight fabric of her bra.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Yeonha refused to answer.

This morning, she hoped sex would be as silent and mechanical as possible—quick, unprovocative, and devoid of any real sensation.

Like a scene from a film where the female lead remains impassive beneath a man she feels nothing for, her body merely going through the motions. That was the mise-en-scène Yeonha wished for. She clenched her teeth.

“It’s a miracle you don’t get sick from carrying these around,” Ijae muttered, kneading her breasts roughly. “With how big they are. Though I guess I don’t get sick from having a big cock either. Unless it’s because of you.”

He chuckled at his own words. His hand slid down from her stomach, slipping between her thighs.

Despite her resistance, his fingers pried between the soft folds, pressing against the opening that had been twitching in anticipation. The moment he touched it, wetness pooled out, betraying her. Her body was frustrating—mindlessly reacting to a sensation it had grown too used to.

Schlick. Schlick. The lewd, damp sound of flesh rubbing against flesh filled the air. Ijae held his fingers up in front of her face, spreading them apart.

A thin, glistening string of moisture stretched between them, sticky like a spider’s web. Humiliation burned her cheeks. So did the shameful thrill that came with it.

“If you’re going to get wet, do it properly,” Ijae muttered, displeased.

This wasn’t nearly enough. Clicking his tongue, he leaned in, whispering low in her ear. The vibration of his voice made her thighs press together, a ticklish warmth settling in her lower belly.

Yeonha knew this feeling all too well.

She knew where it would lead—that soon, she would be making a fool of herself in his arms, letting out filthy noises that didn’t feel like her own. That she would end up doing things even more humiliating than this.

“Just—hurry—”

She had been about to tell him to cut the nonsense and get it over with when suddenly, her feet left the ground.

For a brief moment, she was weightless before her heels landed unsteadily atop the kitchen island. The precariousness of the position made her breath hitch.

“Let’s get you off first.”

She couldn’t even snap at him for saying something so crude.

The cold marble against her bare skin made her shudder. Her posture, now completely reliant on Ijae for support, filled her with unease.

“Shh… relax,” he murmured, as if trying to soothe her.

But it was meaningless—he was the one who put her in this position in the first place.

“You think I want this for your sake?” he scoffed. “The hell, you want me to shove it into a dry hole and scrape my cock raw?”

He reached down, spreading her apart with a casual possessiveness.

The moment he did, her legs parted instinctively, leaving her fully exposed.

Beyond the edge of the island, she could see the half-sorted grocery bags and the fridge, standing wide open where the housekeeper had left it.

Ijae exhaled a quiet chuckle.

“Maybe I should’ve told her to stay. Let her watch you come right here.”

Heat flared across Yeonha’s face.

“Stop saying shit like that. Every time you do, whatever affection I had for you just dies.”

“Hah. I guess you would’ve liked it better if I got hard for that woman earlier instead, huh?”

“…….”

“That’s why you hired her, isn’t it? So I’d get turned on?”

Baek Ijae knew. He knew exactly why she had chosen a young, pretty housekeeper.

Her mouth felt dry.

“Fuck, if you’re going to dangle something in front of me, at least make it worth it. We’ve been fucking for ten years, and this is all it takes?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, a sharp moan escaped instead.

Without warning, his long middle finger split apart the folds of her pussy. Like someone who knew exactly where to touch, he rolled the round, swollen nub of her clit in slow circles.

“Ah, ugh… mmh!”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to hold back the sounds, but it was useless. His fingers rubbed rhythmically, adjusting pressure with precision, before pinching the sensitive bud between his fingertips and rolling it like a clip.

Compared to before, the flood of heat pooling between her legs was something else entirely. Wetness gushed out in waves.

“Ah! Baek Ijae!”

“Yeah, Choi Yeonha. It’s me.”

A shiver ran through her body like a hailstorm, scattering sharp sparks of sensation.

Her hips, which had been barely clinging to the edge of the kitchen island, began to rock.

“If you want to turn me on, don’t bother with those naked women I wouldn’t even look twice at. Bring me Choi Yeonha, fully dressed, top to bottom—I’d gladly fuck her.”

“Ah… ngh!”

A sharp splatter of liquid arced through the air, hitting the fridge.

A clear trickle dripped onto the grocery bags with an audible patter.

For a moment, she even let out a short burst of urination, the intensity of her release overriding any sense of control. There wasn’t even time to process the humiliation.

When Ijae finally set her legs down on the floor, they trembled like those of a newborn foal.

He held her up with his thigh, deftly unclasping and pulling off the bra that had been in the way.

Droplets of liquid, still glistening, fell one by one from between her thighs, staining the floor.

“I told you—I hate this!”

Yeonha despised losing control like this during sex.

And she hated even more the way Ijae enjoyed it. The way he loved seeing her lose herself, watching her embarrassment bloom as she helplessly reacted to him.

He lived for it. To humiliate her, to make her face burn with shame, to strip away every last inch of her pride.

This time was no different.

His smug smile told her everything.

Like he was proud of her—for being his 29-year-old wife who had just pissed herself from pleasure.