Holy Night: My Husband is Definitely a Paladin - Chapter 238

‘But why?’

Right now, Michael was her strongest pillar of support.

He was someone she could rely on, someone she loved.

No matter how absurd her words might sound, he would believe her and worry with her.

Even if she told him she had traveled back in time.

Even if she said that in her past life, he had been a completely different person…

Then it would only be natural to show him the fragment immediately and figure out what it was together.

And yet, for some reason, her instincts were rejecting the idea.

Something deep inside her warned her not to tell him that she had it.

‘Then…’

Just as Irene made up her mind about what to do with the fragments and turned her head—

“Kyahhh!”

She let out an involuntary scream at the sight before her.

“You—you! What are you doing?!”

Chomp-chomp was spinning a pair of intimate underwear in its mouth as if playing with it for fun.

Irene rushed over and snatched the underwear away.

At that, Chomp-chomp deflated, its body slumping as if something had been unfairly stolen.

[I only did it because I could feel a strong presence of miasma here… It felt familiar…]

“Miasma? Here?”

[Yes. The sun in this world isn’t bad, but… I still miss the energy of home…]

As Irene wondered why there would be traces of miasma on the underwear, she quickly realized the answer.

She let out a sigh, running a hand down her face.

‘Michael’s miasma is still lingering… Of course it is.’

The underwear that had bound her wrists and ankles had restrained her body without causing pain—until she had completely surrendered.

Even though she had taken him in until she was utterly spent, Michael had still not been satisfied.

But even he must have thought it would be too cruel to embrace her any further.

“Are you exhausted?”

“Do you… even need to ask…?”

Her body, still flushed with lingering heat, trembled slightly as she struggled to speak.

Seeing her struggle, Michael looked momentarily guilty.

Then, he gently untied the underwear that had restrained her, carefully tidied her disheveled body, and took the drenched garment away.

She had wondered why he had taken it—until she heard the sound behind her.

‘Haa…’

At the sound of Michael’s suddenly ragged breathing, Irene’s eyes widened.

She turned around—

And froze.

There he was, standing firmly, his hand slowly stroking himself.

But his gaze was locked directly onto her.

During the day, whenever he looked at her, his blue eyes were always filled with tenderness.
When he held her hand, he would narrow them slightly, his emotions raw and innocent—so easily overwhelmed by even the simplest touch.

But now—his eyes burned with something else entirely.

A thick, smoldering desire.

It was heavy, consuming—almost obscene.

Faced with such a raw, unfiltered hunger, Irene swallowed dryly, staring back at him.

One would expect a man to show at least a hint of embarrassment when caught in such an act.

But when their eyes met, Michael’s gaze only softened—

As if her watching only pleased him more.

Meanwhile, his hand never stopped moving.

His veined hand ran up the glistening, swollen length, thick and twitching with need.

It looked even more menacing than usual, the veins standing out against flushed skin.

So stiff that even without his grip, it would have curved up to press against his stomach—
And coiled around it, tangled in the very same underwear that had bound her.

Michael was stroking himself while it was still wrapped around him.

The already slick fabric was now soaked through, a cloudy fluid mixing into it.

By now, it was impossible to tell what its original purpose had even been.

And as she continued to hold his gaze—she realized.

Michael didn’t want to ruin the underwear.

What he truly wanted to ruin—was her.

For a long while, he pleasured himself using the very fabric that had bound her body.

Then, with a short, shuddering groan, he released.

The thick, hot fluid spilled from his body, splattering directly onto her chest.

Seeing it, he moved closer, gripping her arm—

And stared down at the milky liquid dripping down her skin.

Then, his hand reached for her chest.

At first, it seemed like a gentle caress.

But then, his grip tightened—

His palm pressed against the curve of her b****t, slowly kneading, rubbing in circles.

“Ah…”

At the deliberate slowness of his touch, Irene gasped—realizing exactly what he was doing.

He was searching for something.

Fluid that wasn’t there to begin with.

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