Knock Knock– It's Me, The Runaway Female Lead - Chapter 3
However, as a mere maid, I wasn’t in a position to simply ignore the young master’s requests. I had to at least make the effort to wring out a response, however forced.
“Um… From start to finish, it was really so good I could’ve passed out, Young Master. Yes, really. The best part was definitely the penetration. I liked the pace when you were going back and forth, and the intensity felt just right too. The time it took to reach climax seemed pretty appropriate as well. It might be better to shorten the duration a bit though… No, I don’t mean I didn’t like it. That’s not it. There’s nothing that needs improving, really. But next time, how about coming when I’m actually awake? No, I mean, because I want to see your face while I’m fully conscious.”
As I carefully gauged his mood and chose my words, the whole thing ended up sounding like some paid promotional copy, artificial and stiff. But for now, it looked like that level of flattery was enough to satisfy the ‘client’.
That’s not to say I was lying through my teeth. It just sounded a little formulaic because it was embarrassing to say out loud. Even without this kind of follow-up questioning, sleeping with him was always incredible.
Of course, I didn’t have anything to compare it to, so I couldn’t confidently say that, but still. Good is good, objectively speaking.
As I reached that thought, a sudden question came to mind. If I really felt this way because I lacked experience…
Would it be just as good with someone else?
The fact that there were always at least one or two people sneaking out of their rooms—or sneaking into others’—every night, suggested that s*x with someone else could also be just as…
“Don’t even think about it.”
Ah, crap. That startled me.
As if he’d read my thoughts exactly, Claude’s voice came sharp as a blade.
“If you’re even considering trying it with another man for comparison, don’t.”
Our Young Master… could it be that you could read minds?
I’d thought it often before, but he really did have an animal-like intuition. Well, I suppose it made sense. His whole livelihood depended on that, after all.
The Virol Empire had many legends tied to its founding. One of the most well-known was about the three knights who remained by the first Emperor’s side to the very end during a desperate conquest campaign.
One of those three knights was the progenitor of House Clausewitz. The heirs of the ducal line, said to have inherited that legacy, were all raised with the destiny of a knight.
The thing is, that so-called ‘knight’ wasn’t the kind of shining figure we usually imagine, clad in silver armor on a white horse…
‘But more like the Emperor’s black knight who handled all the dirty work no one else would touch.’
Anyone in the Empire, or honestly anyone on the continent, knew about the Black Bear Knights.
The commander of that elite force, a lethal unit that acted as the Emperor’s hammer and erased any and all threats in total silence—assassination, espionage, infiltration, sabotage—was none other than the man lying in my arms right now, and the true face of the Clausewitz Duchy.
The emblem of the Black Bear, so dreaded that even crying children would fall silent, was a symbol of doom and fear, even among grown adults.
Treason, insurrection, rebellion, conspiracy.
If the slightest trace of disloyalty toward the Imperial Family was detected, the Black Bears would descend without fail.
Whether individuals or entire factions, the targets would vanish without a trace overnight. In the Empire, a Black Bear crest was no different than the Grim Reaper’s scythe.
In short… because of the hereditary role and duty passed down through the generations, Claude was appointed as the Young Duke and inheriting the position of commander of the Black Bear Knights, and he had honed not only his five senses but even a near-supernatural sixth sense.
That was the kind of ghost-story-like man he was.
“If you ever, even out of curiosity, sleep with another bastard, I’ll tear his c**k into four pieces—north, south, east, and west.”
“What an awful thing to say! I don’t even want to make eye contact with anyone who isn’t you, Young Master.”
His chilly voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I scrambled to say something sweet, but the damage was already done.
Maybe just the thought of it had already ruined his mood. Now that he’d imagined a hypothetical rival, our Young Master was off charging toward his most difficult mode.
In other words, he had officially started whining.
Oh, I’m screwed. Claude’s ‘whining’ was, to put it nicely, a tantrum. But in reality, it was more like the world’s most savage insult contest.
Even his casual complaints could turn anyone’s face pale once filtered through that tongue of his. So when he really got going, it was like he was dancing with knives.
