Chapter 9 Knight
NINE
KNIGHT
“She’s mine. My wife. Legal. Official. Mine. All mine.” The words become a mantra, replaying over and over in my head for the next three days as I do my best to impregnate my wife. Octavia Taylor. I like it. No, I love it, and so does she, even if she won’t admit it to herself.
I may not be the best judge of emotions, but in between the moments where her building love for me shines out of her, I’ve seen her doubts. And that’s okay. I’ll eradicate them and kill them all one by one until she’s as confident in us as I am.
She hasn’t mentioned the wedding again since she asked if it was legal, but I’ve made her tell me her new name over and over. I’ve made her scream it out loud a thousand times in the last thirty-six hours, and I’m confident that even if she denies it, deep down she knows exactly who she is now.
My dick—I’ve stopped referring to it as my penis, even in my own head now—is still hard, but as I part her legs, ready to push inside of her again, she moans an exhausted, pitiful sound and pushes her hand between her thighs to cover her pussy.
“No more. I can’t,” she says, her voice weak and raspy.
I’ve done what I promised her I would. I’ve fucked her so many times in the last three days that I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve filled her cunt with my cum.
Enough that the official biological vernacular I’ve used to describe both male and female genitalia my entire life until now has faded in my mind and been replaced with the filthy words she prefers.
I haven’t spent days having sexual intercourse and penetrating her vagina with my penis.
I’ve been breeding my wife’s greedy cunt with my hard cock and filling her with my cum.
She loves it when I tell her what I want to do to her.
My words make her body slick and wet, and watching her cheeks stained pink from a mixture of embarrassment and desire only makes everything better.
Glancing down at her, I take in her exhausted state.
Her eyes are half lidded, and her perfect body bears the marks of our intimacy, a map of tiny fingerprint bruises, bite marks, and scratches from my stubble and teeth.
I love the way her pale skin looks covered in brands of my ownership.
And I do own her. Just as much as she’s owned me since the moment I laid eyes on her.
We’re married. Officially. Legally. Her finger wears the ring I pushed onto it a moment after she said I do, and by now Judge Lodge will have filed our marriage license and the paperwork to change her name that she signed after she officially accepted me as her husband.
We’ve fucked so many times in the last few days, I’ve struggled to keep track of how many times I’ve made her come.
But I know there’s no way a judge would ever grant her an annulment now, so the only way out of our marriage is through divorce, which I’ll never grant her.
I’m hers and she’s mine, forever, and the only thing that will separate us now is death.
With her face scrunched into an expression of discomfort, and her hand still covering her pussy, Doll rolls to her side, a low whining noise slipping from her pink, swollen lips.
My hard dick jerks at the sound, but as much as I want to be inside of her, my desire to take care of her pushes at me harder than my need to fuck her again.
“Shall I run a bath?” I ask, pushing her messy hair away from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.
“Sleep,” she says, immediately yawning widely.
“Okay, Doll, sleep,” I whisper.
Neither of us has allowed the outside world to invade our newlywed bubble, but tomorrow we’ll need to leave the house and tell the world who we are to each other.
Several of my brothers have tried to contact me, as well as Cody Barnett, but I’ve ignored them all, more interested in my wife than my family.
But tomorrow we’ll need to reconnect with reality.
To get on with our lives outside of this house.
My doll needs that, and I’ll give her whatever she needs as long as it doesn’t require me to leave her.
Moments later, her breathing slows, and I watch as her body relaxes and melts into sleep.
For several long minutes, I watch her chest move up and down, memorizing the way she looks at her most vulnerable, when all of her walls are down and her trust in me is clear to see.
She’s not tense or rolled into a ball to hide herself.
She’s lying on her side facing me, naked, and still wet with my cum and her arousal.
Her hands are beneath her cheek, and her lips are parted.
When she starts to softly snore, I sigh, then reluctantly slip from the bed.
I don’t want to leave her, but not being able to stick to my usual PT routine in the morning has been a struggle for me.
I’ve done a revised version of my usual calisthenics workout in the bedroom while Doll has slept, but long term, I need to find a better solution.
Pulling the comforter over her nakedness, I grab my cell, then walk silently out of the bedroom and head down to my basement gym.
Opening the security app on my cell, I select the bedroom cameras from the menu, then keep the live stream of her sleeping open in my hand while I descend the stairs into the basement.
The bed I ordered for her was delivered yesterday while she was taking a nap.
After checking the camera stream on my cell, I start to open the boxes.
It takes almost an hour to build the frame and get the mattress in place.
The store I bought the bed from also sold sheets and comforters, so once I dispose of all the trash, I make the bed up with soft sheets, pillows, a comforter, and a soft, warm blanket.
I won’t be able to run outside, but at least by bringing her down here with me, I’ll be able to see her and concentrate on my routine workout without having to be apart from her.
Turning off the lights, I climb the stairs back to our bedroom and slip beneath the comforter, pulling her carefully into my arms the moment I can.
When I feel the familiar weight of her body beside mine, I relax, and my heartbeat starts to slow.
Even being downstairs was too far away from her, cementing the decision that leaving my job was the right thing to do.
There’s no way I’d be able to be away from her for four days. I doubt I could last four hours, because my only job now is to take care of my doll. Closing my eyes, I fall asleep with her ass pressed against my dick, my arm banded around her waist and her back pressed into my chest.
My body wakes up before my alarm clock can sound, the same way it has every day since I was a child. But unlike my life before Octavia, now I feel a pull to ignore my itching need to follow a schedule, and wonder if staying here and breeding my wife would feel better.
Her soft, smooth skin pressed against mine is addictive, making me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of.
I’ve always known myself to be pragmatic and rigid.
I like what I like, in the way I like it, and I know how to make my life as uncomplicated as possible.
I’ve spent thirty-eight years doing the same thing over and over because it’s what makes me feel the most… at peace.
Until her.
Now I still need the structure, routine, and patterns that I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting, but I need her too.
I need her weight beside me in bed. Her disorder and needs and noise in my home.
I need her perfect, poofy, girly clothes beside mine in the closet and her favorite things all over our home.
Simply put, in a life that until now has been dictated by doing things in exactly the same way over and over, I need her chaos. Because my doll is chaos. Utterly perfect chaos.
I don’t want to wiggle free of her warmth, but with every second that passes, I feel the need to stay on schedule gnawing at me.
Louder and louder in ever-increasing volume, my brain reminds me that I work out at 0500 hours, that today is Saturday, that I do calisthenics on Saturday, and that in three minutes, I’ll be late.
Reluctantly sliding my arm from beneath her, I press a soft kiss to her shoulder before I slip out of bed and head into the bathroom.
Once I’ve finished my morning ablutions, I take a pair of my workout shorts from my dresser and pull them on.
Finding the blanket I ordered just for this purpose, I wrap Doll up in it, then carefully lift her from the bed and into my arms.
Walking slowly so as not to jostle her, I leave our bedroom and descend the stairs into the basement. Dimming the lights so they won’t wake her, I peel back the comforter on the bed against the wall, place her onto the mattress, then cover her over, making sure she’s warm and peacefully sleeping.
As I step back, my heart hammers, then slowly settles.
I’m two minutes late, which I take a mental note to accommodate for tomorrow.
But even though the nagging feeling of being delayed claws at me, flagellating me from the inside out, I ignore it and instead start my usual workout, half my attention on exercising, half on her.
I have exactly sixteen minutes left of my workout when Doll starts to stir, her tiny body moving beneath the comforter and blanket I wrapped her in to carry her down here.
When she stretches, then pushes the comforter down and sits up, I falter, losing all concentration and swaying to the side until I have to release my hold on the push-up grips and lower my body to the mat.
“Knight,” Octavia says, her voice rough with sleep.
“Good morning, wife,” I greet her, grabbing the towel I laid out and wiping the sweat from my chest.
“Where am I?” she asks, blinking as she sits up fully and glances around the gym.
“The gym.”
“Clearly. But where are we, and why the fuck am I here?” she asks, trying to sound angry, but clearly still too sleepy to sound truly intimidating.