I traced my hands over his chest, kissed his neck, and nibbled on his nipples. My hand slid downward, barely brushing the inside of his thigh. His body shivered slightly—whether from ticklishness or arousal, I wasn’t sure. I nibbled his earlobe and whispered:
"Do you like it?"
"You’re quite naughty, aren’t you?"
"Why, thank you for the compliment."
// The author, who had been sitting at a nearby table, watching and furiously writing, suddenly stood up to cheer.
"Go for it, Trang Van! You’ve got potential!" — Author
"Get lost! My husband and I are busy here. What are you even doing in our bedroom?" — Trang Van
"Just enjoying the show." — Author
Trang Van turned off the lights.
The author fumed.
//
With the lights off, we relied on touch, voice, and breath to sense each other. Not being able to see made it a little less embarrassing. I continued seducing my husband, but he still didn’t react. Frustrated, I pouted:
"You’re so boring. At least moan a little to make it more exciting for me!"
Silence. That damn silence.
Clearly, I wasn’t giving up yet. I slipped my hands around his waist, gently massaging the inside of his waistband, and whispered:
"The lights are off, so you should squirm, moan, and just relax to enjoy it."
Instead, he grabbed my hands, flipped me over, and pinned me down.
"I think you’re confused about our roles here. You are the one who should be moaning."
As he shifted positions, my leg accidentally brushed against that part of him. Even through his underwear, it was already hard. Satisfied, I giggled and teased:
"Not bad, huh? My skills are pretty good, aren’t they?"
Before I could finish gloating, he had already pinned both my hands above my head with one hand, while the other ruthlessly stripped off my nightgown. He leaned down, capturing my lips and swallowing the rest of my words.
And of course, that entire night, I was the one moaning nonstop.
The next morning, I woke up early to shower and prepare breakfast. For some reason, last night—when he entered me for the first time—it had hurt so much. Maybe because he wasn’t experienced and was a little clumsy. Even though he was gentle and slow, even asking, “Does it hurt? If you can’t handle it, I’ll stop.”
I shook my head, wrapped my arms around his neck, and bit my lip, enduring the pain without letting him notice. At some point, tears had slipped out without me realizing. But the pain only lasted a moment before being replaced by something incredible. I felt like I could float.
It was hard to believe it was his first time. He must have researched meticulously—how to start, how to move, how to make me feel good.
Too bad I couldn’t give him my first time.
Still, as a newlywed wife, taking care of my husband was my duty. After preparing breakfast, I went back to the bedroom to wake him up.
But to my surprise, he was sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the bedsheet.
"Are you okay? Are you too tired?"
"You lied to me."
I was confused. Following his gaze, I saw… blood on the sheet. What?
//
"Author, explain this to me right now!" — Trang Van
"What? I’m still sleeping." — Author
"Why did I feel pain, and why is there blood on the sheet?" — Trang Van
"Are you dumb? This was your first time, obviously." — Author
"But there was blood last time too, and I still remember everything clearly." — Trang Van
"That was just a fake memory. And as for the blood—that’s easy to fake." — Author
"What do you mean?" — Trang Van
"Are you feeling regret? My characters aren’t as ruthless as you thought. The real wolf here is probably your husband." — Author
"Did you just call my husband a wolf? I’m going to strangle you!" — Trang Van
The author ran for her life.
//
So… that person had deceived me.
Thinking back, there were a lot of things that didn’t make sense. What kind of aphrodisiac makes someone pass out? And why didn’t I feel any pain afterward?
But why fake my memory? Why not take my first time? Why spare me?
How should I feel about that person now?
"You should have questioned what I told you," my husband said. "Someone who kept rejecting me wouldn’t have lost her virginity that early. You’re not the kind of girl who would just sleep with someone else so easily."
Of course, I hadn’t lied. That damned fake memory still haunted me. But in the end, I had truly given my first time to him. I was so happy I could cry.
"There’s something else I need to tell you," he continued. "I’m not infertile. And we’re going to have an entire soccer team of kids."
Wait. So he lied to me too?
I guess everyone who lived and studied in France had undergone advanced deception training—lying without even blinking.
But this was the best news I’d heard in years!
Before I could celebrate, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down onto the bed.
//
"Author, save me!" — Trang Van
"Lêu lêu. You’re on your own. I told you your husband was a wolf, but you wouldn’t believe me!" — Author
//
And that morning, we didn’t eat breakfast.
Neither did we for the rest of our honeymoon.
Having a perverted husband was truly such a hardship. ==