Damien's lips curled upward into a smug smirk as he walked down the narrow hallway leading to the sitting room, his steps unhurried.
His mind replayed Nora's flushed expression, the way her body had trembled against his chest, her voice faltering as she tried to push him away while her body screamed the exact opposite.
'Soon enough…' he thought, his eyes gleaming with amusement. 'You'll completely fall into my trap.'
He had no intentions of rushing it with her. Not with Nora. He had already taken Claire by storm, plunging her into his world of lust and pleasure without hesitation, but Nora was different.
She was stubborn, fiery, the kind who would fight tooth and nail against her own desires.
Breaking her wouldn't come from a single night of lust.
No—it would come from slowly, carefully unraveling her defenses, one by one, until the moment she could no longer resist.
Until she would beg for him.
Until she would beg for his cock, her pride shattered, her composure lost, her mind and body enslaved by pleasure.
The thought sent a thrill through him, a dark satisfaction curling in his chest.
That will be the perfect plan… instead of just rushing things with [Lust fingers].
A smirk tugged wider at his lips.
'Besides… it'll be more fun for me this way.' He thought, chuckling under his breath.
*
A few minutes later, the three of them sat together on the floor of the sitting room.
A wooden bowl of plain rice rested between them, steam faintly rising from it.
They had no proper dining table, no polished furniture to host a meal—just the bare floorboards beneath their legs and the two worn-out chairs pushed to the side of the room.
The sitting room itself was stark in its simplicity.
Cracks lined parts of the wall, the old plaster showing signs of wear.
A single curtain, frayed at the edges, hung loosely over the window, barely keeping the morning light at bay.
The air inside was still, quiet, holding that lingering smell of boiled rice.
It was the reflection of their lives—poor, modest, stripped of any luxury.
Chairs that sagged with age, a bare floor instead of a table, bowls worn down from use. They couldn't afford better. They never could.
Awkwardness thickened in the air as they sat there, legs crossed, each of them taking small bites of the simple meal.
It wasn't spoken aloud, but the tension between them was undeniable. Especially between Nora and Claire.
Nora kept her gaze fixed stubbornly on the bowl, her spoon moving mechanically, as though if she focused hard enough on the plain grains of rice, she could ignore the memory of Damien's touch still burning against her skin.
Her cheeks were faintly pink, though she tried her best to mask it with an impassive expression.
Claire, on the other hand, was a mess of emotions.
She moved slower than both of them, barely eating, her hand pausing halfway with each bite.
Her thoughts were too noisy to allow her to eat comfortably.
Damien's face, Damien's voice, Damien's body pressed against hers—every detail of last night replayed mercilessly in her mind.
'How could I do that…?' she whispered inwardly, her hand trembling faintly. 'I'm his mother… I should be ashamed of myself…'
She could still feel him—his hard cock sliding into her, filling her completely, making her lose control again and again until she collapsed.
Her body remembered it vividly, the lingering soreness between her legs proof of what had transpired.
The memory made her lips part faintly, her chest rising faster, but then guilt surged to smother the embers of that heat.
'I shouldn't have let it happen… I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have let him penetrate me with that huge c-cock of his…'. she mumbled inwardly, her thoughts somehow drifting towards the more perverted route no matter what she did.
Damien, the center of this heavy awkwardness, didn't seem bothered in the slightest.
If anything, he appeared perfectly at ease, eating casually as if nothing at all weighed on his mind.
His expression was calm, his focus on the rice before him. No guilt, no hesitation. Just calm certainty, like someone who knew the world would bend to his pace.
Unlike him, Claire and Nora's thoughts churned in chaos.
Their emotions collided, tangled in guilt, temptation, shame, and unspoken desire.
Minutes passed in this suffocating silence until the bowls were finally emptied.
Nora shook her head lightly, trying to organize her scattered thoughts. She drew in a small breath, her voice breaking the silence at last.
"I just… I just wish we could eat meat for once," she muttered with a small, forced chuckle, as if trying to lighten the atmosphere with a half-joke.
The words seemed harmless enough, but Claire's shoulders dipped slightly.
A shadow passed over her expression, her lips pressing together.
The comment struck at their reality, at the truth of their poverty. They rarely had meat; plain rice and scraps were their usual meals.
It was a reminder of the kind of life they had been forced to live—one that was never enough.
Damien, however, didn't let the mood sour.
He set down his bowl and glanced at the two of them, his lips curving into a warm smile.
For a brief moment, the heaviness in the air seemed to ease at that simple, confident look.
Then his voice cut through, calm and resolute.
"Don't worry," he said suddenly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "This will be the last time we'll eat any food without meat."
Nora's eyes widened slightly at Damien's words, her heart giving an involuntary skip when she caught the confident smile on his face.
For a second, she simply stared at him, that smile drawing her in before she quickly averted her gaze.
Her lips parted as if to say something, but what came out instead was a small, shaky chuckle.
"And how…" she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with a mix of curiosity and disbelief, "…do you plan on making that happen…? With your job at the chief's house?"