If anything, even though her inner walls had contracted from the hot fluid that had just filled her, his cock glided in even more smoothly. As if to prove it, Silas intentionally drove into her slowly and deeply, pushing her to her absolute limit.
“…Ugh!”
Rachel’s back arched instinctively. Though already spent from multiple climaxes, the mere presence of him inside her kindled a fresh wave of heat through her entire body. With every breath, the heavy scent of the male permeated deep into her lungs. Silas looked down at her as she tried to endure, a soft sneer touching his lips.
“You can come as much as you want.”
Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but Silas thrust his hips upward in one swift motion. Only a choked shriek escaped her, swallowed back into her throat.
“Nhhugh, ah…! Ah! Wuuhgh!”
As if measuring how much more fluid she could secrete, Silas dragged her body down while violently thrusting upward, mirroring the fierce rhythm from her peak moments before. A tempest of raw pleasure washed over her. Trapped in his hold, there was no escape; she could only cling to the man who was thrusting with increasing violence, stirring her deeper and deeper from within.
What had begun in the morning stretched into the night. It felt endless, the passage of time blurring into obscurity.
She was granted brief reprieves for a swallow of water or a fleeting rest only when she pleaded hunger. The longest break she received was when she lost consciousness—though whether passing out could truly be called rest was another matter.
Yet, while held in Silas’s arms, though her body was thoroughly exhausted, her mind found a strange reprieve. At the very least, she was spared the constant fear of stepping on a landmine. Outside of sex, walking around him was like skating on paper-thin ice, where every step threatened to break through and plunge her into the abyss.
“Rachel, you said you were my wife, didn’t you?”
“O-of course. Are you still stuck on that?”
Predictably, Silas was the one who fractured the silence. He always took pleasure in dropping questions designed to make her heart drop.
“And I seem to recall eating a meal you made that was delicious.”
In her previous life, her culinary skills had extended only as far as instant ramen. Puzzled by his words, she suddenly recalled their initial meeting, where she had fabricated a history out of thin air just to survive.
‘You don’t remember our time together… how much you always enjoyed the meals I cooked for you…’
She could hardly deny the very words that had saved her when she was trapped in the basement. Having backed Rachel into a corner, Silas waited in quiet composure, watching to see how she would parry his thrust this time.
“Um… right.”
“Then you can make lunch today.”
“…I’m far too exhausted from everything we did until early morning.”
Rachel offered a plausible excuse to wriggle out of the situation, but Silas scoffed, instantly cutting off her retreat.
“Then rest. I’ll look forward to dinner.”
Rachel swallowed a quiet sigh and nodded. It was a genuine break after a long stretch of ordeal, yet she couldn’t enjoy a moment of it. After agonizing over what to prepare, she retrieved a few ingredients from the fridge and set out to make a simple pasta.
Had there been ramen, she would have served that without hesitation. Lacking even pre-made pasta sauce, she was forced to simmer canned tomatoes into a crude base. It was, for all intents and purposes, just boiled tomatoes over noodles.
“…I liked this?”
Just as she anticipated, after a single bite of the dish—which looked less like pasta and more like noodles floating in tomato broth—Silas’s expression turned subtle, his brow twitching. The pathetic attempt at cooking clearly displeased him.
But that was fine. She had never expected him to find it delicious anyway, nor did she expect to suddenly acquire culinary talent she didn't possess. Thus, from the moment she chose "something resembling pasta," she had already constructed her defense.
“Yes!”
“Your lie is half-hearted. You expect me to believe I enjoyed overcooked noodles swimming in terribly undercooked vegetables?”
Silas jabbed at the food with his fork, coldly listing its flaws. Expecting this exact reaction, Rachel covered her mouth with both hands, lowering her voice to an overly dramatic tone.
“Oh no! Honey…! So you were just pretending to enjoy my cooking all this time, even when it wasn't to your taste!”
Silas stared at her in utter disbelief. Rachel held her ground, continuing her barrage of theatrical declarations—‘How deeply you must love me!’, ‘This must be why I married you,’ and ‘You truly are the best husband.’
The man seemed to weigh her words for a moment before letting out a dry laugh. It appeared he had decided to let it slide.
“…Step aside. Stop doing useless things and just be ready to open your legs whenever I demand it.”
The sight of a serial killer holding a kitchen knife sent cold sweat running down her palms, but Rachel let out a quiet sigh of relief. The "gaslighting strategy" she had spent all day perfecting had worked. Her desperate effort to condition his mind—you love me, so you won't kill me, right?—had paid off. Her life had been extended for just a little while longer.
“This is so delicious… Did you really use the exact same ingredients I did?”
“Yeah.”
Unlike Rachel, who had spent two hours producing something merely resembling pasta, Silas turned out a restaurant-quality dish in just ten minutes. She had prepared herself to praise it even if it tasted vile, but to her genuine surprise, it was exquisite.
“How is it this good…?”
“I take it I wasn't much of a cook before?”
Rachel flinched. Realizing it was far too early to let her guard down, she immediately resumed her psychological conditioning.
“You must have practiced cooking in secret just so you could serve me wonderful meals even when I wasn't around! Oh, how much you must love me…! I was so surprised; it tastes even better than before. Thank you so much, honey. I’ll look forward to your cooking from now on.”
“…Fine. That works out better anyway—unless you plan on dying of malnutrition.”
Rachel’s grip on her fork tightened. She needed to put him further at ease like this, then find a way to slip away.
Now, whenever she stepped anywhere near the staircase to the first floor, Silas would materialize behind her, his intense gaze fixed on her back. He was the exact image of a killer character in a horror game.