TSBIRBV Ch 158(NSFW)

Chapter 158 An Offer That Cannot Be Refused (4) (NSFW)

Several times fainting, several times waking again—his mind felt worn to nothing.

At first, he realized he was still trembling. His entrance, loosened far past recovery, still swallowed and expelled that burdensome shaft with ease.

“You’re awake.”

A breath, heavy with desire, brushed his ear. Yegyeol blinked a few times. Why is it so dark?—a foolish thought, until he remembered the blindfold still tied over his eyes. He nodded blankly.

The pleasure that had scrambled his thoughts like a bird without landfall only kept mounting, never descending.

His cheeks were wet.

Haryang licked the tears that had traced down his face and whispered:

“Now, you must open your eyes.”

But Yegyeol shook his head, lids squeezed shut. He could feel the blindfold still on—why urge him to open his eyes like this? It was nothing but ominous.

The beast that had worn human skin so well bent over the body he had toyed with all through the night. Handprints not yet faded, faint red like buds before bloom, colored his flesh. Knowing exactly how such marks would flower, thirst rose within him again.

“Open your eyes. This is your only chance to flee.”

Haryang pressed his disciple.

“Ahhhk! Uhhhn!”

Each brutal thrust drove moans from Yegyeol’s lips.

“You think if you keep your eyes closed, it will all end someday.”

Laying his palm over Yegyeol’s hand, he whispered hotly against his ear:

“What if I chose never to let you rise from this bed again?”

The words, twined with the shuddering sensations, made his spine prickle with dread.

Unthinkingly, Yegyeol clenched tighter on the blade still in his grasp.

Yet Haryang’s hands, ignoring the tension beneath the wrinkled sheets, only drew him close with gentle familiarity. Only the touch was tender—nothing else.

“Ahh, haaah, nnnh!”

Any pretense of feigning sleep dissolved into shameless cries.

“Perhaps this is your last chance to escape.”

He urged flight, yet pressed his weight harder, devouring Yegyeol’s body with all abandon. Awake, his disciple’s reactions were sharper, more vivid, shattering his last reins of self-control.

And so, Yegyeol yielded, his voice drenched with pleasure, until two climaxes left him fainting.

When he woke again, the first thought that came was absurd:

If this were Korea, professors would coin some term like ‘Guiding Overflow,’ get research funding, and write papers on espers fainting from overguiding. Then they’d shove all the responsibility on the seniors at the Center.

Smirking at his own nonsense, Yegyeol let Haryang’s hand stroke his cheek, then felt his thighs parted. The semen poured into him dribbled down between his legs.

The bedding beneath was softer now—he must have been moved, while unconscious, from the office chamber to a bedchamber.

“The trade association…?”

His voice cracked dry. After such relentless cries and without even a sip of water, it was natural.

Something cool pressed to his lips.

“Water.”

He gulped hastily, choked, and coughed. A muttered tch followed, and his back was patted. Once the coughing eased, Haryang kissed him—ah, so that was why. His lips, wet with water, passed it mouth to mouth.

This time, Yegyeol drained it all without incident. Haryang finally answered his question:

“You’ve good men under you.”

Thinking of Samrang, who must have cursed him inwardly yet ran about tirelessly in his absence, made him laugh. Had Yegyeol commanded him, he’d have ignored half of it—but under Haryang’s orders, he surely worked like an ox.

Dozing and waking, Yegyeol let himself be washed. Haryang had always bathed him from time to time, but now his skill showed. Where once he’d fumbled, compensating with sheer strength, now he supported Yegyeol’s limp body with ease, even lathering his hair deftly.

I wasn’t the only one sharing pleasure… but isn’t Senior Brother doing all the work?

It couldn’t be helped. Other guides couldn’t keep up with espers’ stamina—but Haryang, as a martial artist, overpowered even him. Yegyeol could only faint.

A hand slipped between his thighs, and he flinched. Laughter rumbled.

“Not today. I’ll leave you be.”

Relieved, he leaned against him. Haryang carried him to a warm bath, washing him tenderly. Blindfolded, limbs weak, Yegyeol felt like a newborn lamb.

No…

Even lambs could stand at once. He could not.

Toweled dry and clean, he was laid in bed.

“Sleep more.”

Night must have fallen.

When he woke again, darkness filled the world—not only from the blindfold. Haryang had left it loose, and it slipped down his face. His heart lurched.

So close, he could hear his breath.

Unprotected, steady breathing—sleeping beside him, sharing the same quilt.

Yegyeol held his breath, reaching gingerly for the hand around him. Smooth, scarless skin.

Senior Brother…

If he opened his eyes now, he would see the Black Ghost’s true face.

But his eyelids did not stir. The longer he stayed in darkness, the sharper Haryang’s presence pressed upon him—the warmth of skin against skin, the weight of his arm, the brush of tangled hair, the faint scent like fallen snow.

So this is what Psyche felt.

Offered to a monster, yet cherished tenderly, her husband came only in darkness, granting her every wish save one: never to see his face.

So like them—except Psyche, tricked by her sisters, lit the lamp.

Back then, I thought she was a fool.

But now he knew.

She had not been driven by fear or doubt, but by love—by the agony of wanting to know, to be closer.

But I will never look.

Psyche’s spilled wax awoke Eros, who fled not from betrayal but perhaps from terror—terror of being discovered after deceiving her.

Yegyeol pressed his cheek to Haryang’s hand.

Then, through the night, a quiet voice cut the silence.

“…This time, you didn’t seek out that man.”

Yegyeol flinched.

He was awake.

The veil of darkness gave them an excuse, a fragile honesty within a lie.

“What are you afraid of?”

The soft murmur, dropping like sweat down his back, pressed on him. Too awake, too close—their breaths betrayed them.

Knowing he could not hide the tension in his breath, Yegyeol whispered at last:

“That… desire might become reality.”

Haryang was silent.

To admit, before him, that he desired him—it felt shameful. Yet hiding lust was far harder than hiding truth.

Reality…

The word unsettled him.

He had teased Yegyeol harshly, curious why he still surrendered to the Black Ghost even after the bathhouse.

I thought he would refuse.

Yet, at the word “debt,” he had flown into his arms. That surrender brought both joy and dread—for even after yielding, Yegyeol could still slip away.

So he pressed harder, wanting to know: why cling again to the hand he had once shaken off?

Now the answer was clear.

He feared my approach.

A bitter laugh rose. Even when asking if he might still call him “Senior Brother,” even when yielding to another mask, Yegyeol’s heart was fixed only on him.

If you want this bond unbroken…

Scars welled across the hand winding around Yegyeol. His frame shrank, lean muscles clinging taut—fierce as a beast that could wrestle tigers.

Then I’ll give you the Black Ghost.

Retrieving the face-mask he had set aside with telekinetic skill, Haryang donned it and whispered:

“You think this desire yours alone? Foolish.”

His hand strayed downward, pressing meaningfully.

“Seeing you bloom and drip beneath me—any man would hunger for you.”

“…I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

He tried to push him away, but the Black Ghost seized his hand and drew him into his arms.

Held as if imprisoned, Yegyeol felt both suffocated and secure.

“Come to me.”