Still, the idea of only one person sleeping on the floor was met with fierce resistance from those green eyes.

“If only one person can take the bed, it should naturally be you, my lady.”

“But…”

“It is unbecoming of a knight to let a lady sleep on the floor.”

“But, but you’re still not fully healed…”

The stammering woman pressed her lips tightly together. Her lips, slightly protruding like a duck’s bill, were pink. He looked at the freckled bridge of her nose. Her youthful face was clouded with turmoil. After a long moment of hesitation, the woman finally nodded.

“Then just for tonight. Tomorrow—tomorrow, Uncle will be back up here. I don’t know what’s been going on in the village these past few days that’s kept him from coming up, but…”

“I see.”

Perhaps it was because she didn’t fully trust herself for agreeing, or maybe she felt the need to justify her decision to let a stranger take her bed. The woman rambled on, her words spilling out haphazardly.

“Anyway, anyway, he’ll definitely be back tomorrow.”

“Yes,” he replied curtly.

With little enthusiasm, he picked up his spoon and ate some stew. The chunks in the stew, devoid of any real flavor, crumbled dryly in his mouth.

He suddenly found himself wondering why the woman didn’t go down to the village herself. Judging by the fact that she knew the path down to the village, she must already know where it was—and perhaps she had been there before.

Even so, she made no effort to descend to the village to look for the man called Tom, nor did she seem inclined to do anything more than wait.

The path to the village couldn’t be all that harsh if it only took thirty minutes at most. Yet, there wasn’t a soul in sight. The woman hadn’t gone down to the village, but likewise, it seemed no one from the village had come up to this place, either.

The woman, who had been anxiously glancing outside in case Tom might come by in the evening, finally stepped away from the door once night had fully fallen. They took turns using the wooden bathtub, and by the time night truly settled in, they could finally lie down to rest.

“This was the bed I used to share with my mother.”

“I see.”

“Before that, it was my mother’s bed, and her mother’s before hers.”

As they hesitated, reluctant to lie side by side, the woman, dressed in thin pajama-like sleepwear, whispered softly, her face flushed. She smoothed out the wrinkles in the mattress with a few shy pats, her nervousness palpable. Unable to meet his gaze, she bit her lip repeatedly, as if unsure of what to do.

Pretending not to notice, he laid down on the bed first. The frame creaked loudly, sinking under his weight. For a moment, he worried the wooden structure might give way entirely. But for now, he rested his head on the pillow.

Watching him, the woman trembled slightly, her lashes quivering, before nervously clutching her chest.

“G-good night,” she stammered.

“Yes,” he replied.

The woman, her face flushed all the way to her eyes, finally rested her head on the pillow and whispered softly. He gave a brief response and closed his eyes.

A faint scent reached his nose—a subtle, sweet fragrance that teased his senses and made him clench his fists.

The sound of rustling as she shifted around was accompanied by the warmth of her breath brushing against him. The soft exhalations slipping between her lips, combined with the heat of her proximity, seeped under his closed eyelids, igniting a stirring tension in his lower abdomen. His chest felt tight, as though squeezed.

Suddenly, the rustling blanket gave way to a quiet voice.

“Um…”

“……”

“Um, are you… asleep?”

He opened his eyes. In the dim outlines softened by the dark, her figure in the thin pajamas emerged faintly. Her round curves showed through the fabric, and her bare shoulder, revealed by the slipping neckline, hinted at the fullness of her chest. The pale, soft flesh seemed to shift slightly, as if alive.

“Are you… asleep…?”

When he didn’t respond, the woman cautiously reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. Instinctively, he jerked her hand away with his shoulder, sharply knocking it aside, and glared at her. Startled, her eyes widened, filled with unmistakable fear.

“…Do not touch me. Not without permission.”

“…Yes.”

Frozen in place, she stared at him without even blinking. Heat flared in his lower abdomen. Beneath the blanket covering his front, a part of him had risen halfway, the tip damp. He ground his teeth in mortification. This sensation was new to him—something he had never experienced, even in the memories of his lost past.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice curt.

“No, it’s—nothing,” she stammered, flustered.

“You seem like you have something to say.”

“I’m sorry for disturbing you. I just… by morning…”

“Speak.”

The sharpness in his tone left no room for avoidance.

The woman lowered her head, her exposed collarbone catching the flickering lamplight. He, overwhelmed by frustration, grasped her chin and lifted it. Her hand instinctively followed, clasping his hand around her jaw. When she tried to pull his hand away, he caught her wrist and pushed it down instead.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Her damp eyes were reddened and swollen. He focused on her trembling lashes and swallowed hard. The freckled bridge of her nose twitched faintly, and her lips, pressed together, betrayed the chaos of emotions beneath.

It was always the same expression. No matter how much she tried to hide it, the unspoken emotions lingered in her eyes, refusing to be extinguished.

“Why are you crying?”

He wiped the tears from under her eyes, the sudden outburst catching him off guard. It was always like this—whenever he took a step back, whenever he pushed her away, she wore this same face. A face on the verge of breaking into sobs, as if a single nudge would make the tears spill over.

“It’s… it’s nothing…”

As she shook her head, trying to break free from his grasp, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer. She stumbled forward, her wide, bewildered eyes meeting his. The crude emotions flooding his mind tightened around his throat, suffocating him. Who was truly caught in this snare, bound by invisible ropes—her or him?

“Let… let me go,” she pleaded.

He stared silently into her wavering eyes. They looked almost… appetizing. The restless stirring below was ridiculous—just the brush of skin or the faint scent of her so close was enough to make him hard. He loosened his grip on her chin but kept his hold on her shoulders firm.

“It’s just… it’s just that… I still don’t know your name…”

“I don’t remember.”

“My name, too. You—never asked for it…”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. Her face, already pale, seemed to shrink further, her trembling lips eventually stilling. She twisted under his grasp, trying to slip away from his hold on her shoulders. The tears wouldn’t stop.

His hand, almost absentmindedly, brushed against the wet skin beneath her eyes. Her instinctively hunched shoulders quivered at his touch. Slowly, her chin tilted upward. His heart pounded against his ribcage. His thumb grazed her damp lashes before pulling back.

Her reddened eyes blinked as she looked at him.

Her face was serene. But unlike before, when her expression always carried an unwilling reluctance, there was now something different. Her eyes, like embers tinged with blue fire, held a flickering intensity that seemed to writhe as though it were a living thing, impossible to fully decipher.

Her fingers trembled faintly as they gripped the blanket. Swan, who had been twisting her shoulders in an attempt to free herself, paused and instead focused on the front of her garment, barely visible under the cover. The creased fabric below was all too obvious. She quickly averted her gaze, her heart pounding anew.

“I shall ask for your name, my lady, so in return, you may grant me one.”

The low, even voice reached her ears. Turning her head away as though to shut her eyes, Swan bit her lip and stared at him. His expression, in stark contrast to the tension in his body, was dry and composed.

“That’s…”

“What is your name?”

“S-Swan,” she stammered.

She hadn’t meant to offer it so readily—she’d almost said there was no need for such formality. But the words slipped out before she could stop them. The man remained as indifferent as ever. He didn’t even try saying her name aloud, as if it were of no importance. The faint swelling in her chest from having offered it deflated with a quiet sigh.

“Your family name?”

“Ropenin. Swan Ropenin.”

Swan’s late mother’s name had been Petunia Ropenin. Her grandmother’s name was Una Ropenin. Unlike the villagers who took their father’s surname, the Ropenin family followed the maternal line. No one knew exactly when this tradition began, but Swan had been born a Ropenin. Perhaps it was because she had no father.

“Now, please give me a name as well.”

“But…”

“It’s only for the time I’ll be staying here… or until I remember my real name. Since it’s a name you’ll be using to call me, it’s only fitting that you choose it.”

She looked up at him, wondering why he had amended his reasoning midway. He spoke of using the name only while he was here, but then suddenly changed his tone, as though reconsidering. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Swan stared at him. Then, recalling her neckline was still loose, she pulled the blanket over her chest to cover herself.

“Then… how about Theo?”

“That’s fine.”

Swan smiled. The man, now named Theo, gently gripped her shoulder. Her smile faded as she gazed at him, her expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. But…”

“……”

“Um, down there…”

Swan turned her head, her gaze falling awkwardly to the side. Theo, clutching the blanket over his lower half, looked at her. The dry, burning sensation in his mouth returned to his awareness. Rising from the bed, he whispered softly.

“I’ll handle it myself. Please, just try to sleep.”

Was it the sweet fragrance that lingered in the air? As the restless night passed and dawn crept in, the dampness below him became undeniable. The fluid leaking from the tip of his arousal had soaked through his pants and even dampened the edge of the blanket.

In the rare dream he had, a woman with pale, supple br*asts appeared, her small hands shyly covering them as she rubbed her rounded shoulders against his chest. In the hazy recesses of his mind, he had embraced her slender waist, burying his nose in her neck and chest like a starved man. His lips pressed against the soft mound of her br*ast, smothering them greedily.

As he kissed her br*asts and sucked on her n*pples, the woman remained faceless—merely a “body.” Like a starved man, he kneaded her chest with one hand, his arousal pressing insistently against her. The woman let out soft sobs, burying her head in his chest, her faint cries blending with a nasal whimper.

Was it a moan or a sob? Her hips writhed instinctively, grinding against him as his rough chin brushed against her supple br*asts. But suddenly, she froze. Just as he was attempting to press himself against her thighs, trying to find his way into her, his movements stopped. He looked down at the woman clinging tightly to him.

“Lift your face,” he commanded.

The woman, who had buried her face in his chest while pressing her bare br*asts against him, reached out to touch his arm hesitantly. He gently stroked her, his hand soothing as it trailed over her body. His gaze fell to her long hair spilling over her shoulder—a vivid coral hue. The small, delicate ears hidden beneath her reddish-gold locks caught the light, and her familiar scent wafted up from her hair.

Even before she lifted her face, his heart plummeted.

Green eyes flickering like absinthe, pale milk-white skin, and slender, delicate bones.

“Ah…”

As he released the pressure of his arms holding her down, the woman pressed her soft br*asts against his chest in resistance. Panting, Theo pulled her close again, placing his hands on her b*ttocks beneath her slender waist. Then, he guided his aroused length toward the narrow opening between her legs.

The woman, whose br*asts he had been kneading, let out a short cry and burst into tears as she tried to push him away. He held her tightly, even as she squirmed and trembled against him. Her tear-streaked face shook from side to side in protest. Between her legs, the organ he had forced into her narrow opening was enveloped by the tight walls, causing it to swell even more.

“Stay still, stay still. Just stay still. Sob!“

Each time the object inserted into her v*gina was gently moved, the woman let out soft groans, twisting her pelvis. It was unclear whether she wanted me to stop or was urging me to continue. With every twist of her pelvis and accompanying groan, the object that had been moving shallowly seemed to gain intensity and grow thicker. Finally, it was thrust deeply enough that her t*sticles brushed against her v*lva.

The woman, her legs spread wide like a frog, gasped for air as she clenched around him. Each time he moved his hips back and forth, the woman, her face wet, trembled and parted her lips slightly.

“What? I can’t hear you…”

Foam spilled from her red lips. Rather than trying to make sense of the inaudible, he found it more meaningful to toy with her. He exhaled heavily, moving with intensity. With each thrust and release, moving in and out, her plump br*asts with er*ect n*pples quivered violently.

He grasped her limp arms and crossed them into an X shape. The woman quivered, her lips twisting with every twitch of her body. Each time she trembled in ecstasy, fluid spilled freely from her. Leaning in, he pressed his face close to her, capturing the fluid as it arced. He kissed her parted l*bia, teasing her gently with the tip of his tongue.

“Ah, ahhhhh! Ahh!”

The woman, who had been letting out high-pitched screams, struggled to breathe as her chest heaved. I chewed the l*bia majora, which had a faint pubic hair, and played with it by inserting my finger into the hole and rubbing the love juice. I rubbed the cl*toris left and right, and the woman got dizzy because she liked it.

I got her up to change positions. I wanted to suck her asshole more. I made her lie down properly and sit on my face to put my tongue on her v*gina, which was just lying down. The woman eventually put strength into her thighs and shook her v*gina back and forth. I licked the water splashing out of the throbbing hole and the s*men leaking out with my tongue, and I put my finger in the hole and swirled it. As I sucked her plump cl*toris until it was wet, the woman who had been shaking her v*gina and squirting squealed and slid her hand down.

He woke up after his dream, in which a woman before him was provocatively touching herself with her fingers. Looking down, he saw that the blanket, still imbued with the woman’s sweet scent, covered an er*ction so prominent it resembled the elongated phallus of a stallion. This, despite having released once already around midnight.

Fortunately, the seat beside him was empty. He looked back and forth between his lower body and the blanket with a displeased expression before getting up to glance out the window. A loquat tree and a verdant vegetable garden came into view. Judging by the carrots and cabbages already pulled up, seemingly prepared for breakfast, it appeared to be a modestly tended vegetable garden primarily for carrots and cabbages.

He lifted his gaze to focus on the colorful garden. Even along the path leading to the storage shed, the woman was nowhere to be seen. He considered stepping outside to take care of the issue but decided against it, fearing an awkward encounter. Instead, he adjusted his front. The object, as large as a stallion’s member, was not only long but also impressively thick.

He couldn’t remember if he’d ever used this in his life or when the last time might have been, as expected. The heat swelling in his chest constricted his solar plexus. He raised the blanket to his nose and inhaled deeply before spreading a towel on the bed.

Gripping the shaft, he bit his lip. The smooth, rounded tip filled his hand completely. Could hunger drive someone to such madness? Over the dark hand holding the tip, he imagined a woman’s pale, slender hand overlapping it. That hand would never be able to grasp something this thick with just one of her dainty hands. With those small hands of hers…

He imagined both hands wrapped tightly around the girth, clumsily stroking it. The thought of her fumbling, awkward hands trying to stimulate him, eventually becoming aroused and tending to herself, only made his er*ction harden further, throbbing with even greater intensity.

“Hah…”

His spine tensed and straightened, his posture rigid. He pressed his lips together tightly, his brows furrowed. Each breath, thick and heavy, filled his mouth with heat as it quickened. His chest heaved with deep inhalations as he began moving his hand back and forth rapidly. The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed, sharp and rhythmic.

His mind overflowed with nothing but the image of the woman who had once thrown herself at him. The sensation of her body pressed against his, the warmth of her skin, the heat that had radiated from her. The sweet, pleading whimpers that spilled from her lips, the tears that had dampened his jaw, and even her cries, so laden with surrender, no longer sounded like resistance but something else entirely.

Creak.

He didn’t even hear the door open. He was too lost, consumed by the memories of her body entwined with his, their stolen kisses, the way he had toyed with her softness.

It was at the moment of climax. A surge of opaque fluid spilled into his grasp, his body shuddering in release. Breathing slowly as the chill of reality crept back in, he turned his head.

“Ah…”

“……”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t…!”

She pressed her lips together tightly, her vivid green eyes trembling with agitation. Her face flushed bright red, only to turn pale again in quick succession, before she abruptly turned her head away. He hastily adjusted his front, grabbed the towel he had left on the bed, and left the room without a word.

The day passed in a blur, its course incomprehensible. After some time had passed since the man had gone outside, Swan made her way toward the ravine. Her thoughts were still a jumbled mess, but there was work to be done, regardless.

To get through the winter, she needed to gather herbs, dry and steam them as much as possible, and portion them out for sale. It was a task she usually split into two sessions a month, but this time the work had increased to three sessions.

It was all because of the guest staying in the cabin. Swan kept trying to banish the earlier scene from her mind, forcing herself to think about other things instead—like Tom, who hadn’t shown up in three days, or the cabin’s finances for surviving the winter.

But even as she thought about Tom, the image of the thick rod came unbidden to her mind. And when she considered the firewood she’d need for the winter, her thoughts shifted to the man’s back as he gripped and moved that rod.

After all, they said men were just like that. The widows who had lived with Tom as if they were playing house had sometimes whispered such things to Swan in quiet tones.