Chapter 2

A month later, my husband finally received the right "material" for him.

After the surgery, I took care of him meticulously for two months before he was discharged.

On the way home, he was so happy he looked like he’d won the lottery, his grin so wide it couldn’t be contained. I couldn’t help teasing him.

"What, got a transplant?"

He laughed, unable to hide his delight.

"Try it when we get home, and you’ll see."

Hearing that, a sudden itch stirred inside me. It had been almost a year since the accident, a year without any pleasure.

Sometimes, when the need grew unbearable, I’d sneak off to a hotel with a toy, careful to hide it from him.

I never dared let him know, afraid of hurting his pride.

But now, finally, everything was fixed. I could let go without restraint.

The thought made me press harder on the gas, eager to get home.

Long drought meets sweet rain.

The moment we stepped inside, he pulled me into the bedroom, impatient to "test" it.

When he tore my clothes off, my legs gave way beneath me.

I never expected the transplant to work this well. Every penny was worth it.

Even my husband seemed different—no longer "compact and efficient," but relentless, drawing screams from me.

Afterward, I lay limp on the bed, marveling at how far technology had come. Even synthetic parts could feel this good.

My husband only smiled, refusing to rest, gripping my waist and starting all over again.

His energy was unbelievable, as if he’d become a different person.

Even back when we were dating, he’d never been this insatiable.

But aside from that change, something else felt off.

The transplanted area was unnaturally cold—nothing like the usual heat, not even close to normal body temperature.

Instead, it felt icy, almost metallic, like something fresh out of a freezer.

Confused, I tried to take a closer look.

But he guarded it jealously, giving me no chance to inspect it. The moment we finished, he threw on his pajamas and hurried to the shower.