Chapter Seventeen #3
Donghwa makes this animal noise—deep, guttural, like something primal snapping loose. His teeth sink into my shoulder, right over the bond mark, breaking skin. Sharp pain flares, grounding me even as his cock pulses, swells, the knot inflating brutal and fast at the base.
"Fuck—fuck!" I choke out, tears pricking hot at the corners of my eyes.
It stretches me wide—too wide—the pressure immense, burning through the aftershocks of my orgasm.
My rim screams around it, locked tight, no give, no escape.
Every throb shoves more of his come deep inside, flooding me full until it aches, my belly hot and heavy.
He groans into my skin, hips grinding shallow, trapped, riding it out as the knot keeps us fused. His breath heaves against my neck, ragged, sweat dripping from his temple onto my back.
I collapse face-first into the mattress, panting, wrecked. Every twitch of him inside me pulls a whimper—half pain, half filthy satisfaction.
I shudder hard as another hot pulse floods me, Donghwa's knot throbbing deep, pumping more come into my already stuffed ass.
It's too much—warm, slick pressure bloating my gut, every twitch sending aftershocks zinging up my spine.
My brain's a fried mess, hazy and blissed-out, like I've been hit by a truck made of pure sex.
What the fuck just happened? I came untouched.
Untouched. Like some needy bottom in a bad porno.
We both go still, breaths ragged in the sudden quiet.
His weight pins me, sweat-slick chest glued to my back, knot locking us tight.
For a minute, it's almost peaceful. Almost. Except for the way my hole clenches greedily around him, milking every drop, and the stupid, traitorous part of me that doesn't want him to pull out.
Then he stirs.
Fuck.
One hand snakes up, fingers curving firm around my throat—not choking, just holding, thumb pressing my pulse point like he owns the beat.
The other dives lower, wrapping my spent cock in a loose, teasing grip.
It's soft now, oversensitive, but it twitches anyway under his touch, like it forgot we just went a round.
His dick? Still rock-fucking-hard inside me, knot deflating slow but the shaft kicking like it's ready for round two. Already.
"Shit," I mutter into the sheets, voice wrecked. Am I gonna survive this rut? The guy's a machine. My ass throbs, sore and full, come leaking around his base in embarrassing dribbles, but my dick's perking up, traitorous bastard, thickening in his fist.
He nuzzles my neck, lips brushing the fresh bite—hot, possessive. "Not done," he rumbles, voice gravel-thick, hips shifting just enough to grind that fat cock deeper.
No shit, Sherlock. I bite back a moan, thighs quaking. "Give me... a goddamn minute, you animal." But even I hear the whine in it. Lie. I don't want a minute. I want him to wreck me again.
It's still dark outside, though the sky is a few shade slighter through the black curtains.
I moan—low, cracked, throat raw as sandpaper from all the screaming I did last night.
Or was it this morning? Time's a blur of sweat and slick and that endless, pounding rut rhythm.
My whole body's one giant bruise, muscles screaming in protest as I try to shift, eyelids peeling open against the grit.
Exhaustion hits first—heavy, bone-deep, like I've been run over by a truck.
Then the ache registers. Back throbbing from being bent like a pretzel.
Nipples raw, stinging like they've been sanded down.
And lower... fuck. My hole feels wrecked.
Stretched so wide and sloppy it might never snap shut again.
Every twitch sends a dull, used-up throb through me, come-crusted thighs sticking to the sheets.
I hiss, trying to roll away, but something—someone—looms over me.
Hot breath ghosts my chest, then wet suction latches onto my left nipple.
Donghwa. The bastard's got it between his teeth, tongue swirling lazy circles over the abused peak, sucking like it's his favorite candy.
It's swollen, hypersensitive from hours of him twisting, pinching, licking—turning them into shiny, red messes.
"Fuck—off," I rasp, but it comes out a wheeze. My dick—traitor—twitches anyway, raw and spent, dragging a weak spark of interest through the haze. It hurts, but the pull's there, thickening slow against my thigh.
He doesn't stop. Hums instead, vibration buzzing straight to my core, teeth grazing just sharp enough to make me arch. His cock—still hard, the insatiable fucker—nudges my thigh, hot and insistent, leaking fresh precum on my skin like a promise.
I throw an arm over my eyes, blocking out the smug asshole I know is smirking down at me.
Resigned. Because yeah, this is happening again.
Rut doesn't give a shit about "tapped out.
" My body's a live wire for him now, bond humming under my skin, whispering more.
Hole clenching feebly around nothing, ass lifting just a fraction on instinct.
Kill me now.
Hours later, sunlight finally slices through the blackout curtains like a knife, stabbing right into my corneas.
I squint, brain sludge-thick, body one massive, screaming bruise.
High-thread-count sheets—soft as sin, probably cost more than my monthly rent—twist around my legs like they’re trying to trap me here.
Every inch of me aches: thighs quivering, hole throbbing with that deep, used-up burn and leaking sticky spend, nipples raw pinpricks under the cool air.
Fresh bites litter my skin—shoulder, collarbone, neck—sharp stings that pulse with my heartbeat, marking me like a goddamn territory map.
I stare at the ceiling, counting the recessed lights to avoid thinking.
One. Two. Three. Useless. My mind replays it all in filthy HD: Donghwa’s rut turning him into a machine, pounding me raw for hours, knot after knot, until I blacked out twice just to escape the overload.
I came so many times my balls feel shriveled.
And humiliatingly, I begged for it. Whined like a bitch, clawing at him, demanding more.
A heavy arm flops across my waist, pinning me down.
Donghwa. Dead to the world, face slack in sleep, breath even against my neck.
His body heat radiates like a furnace—sweat-slick chest glued to my side, leg thrown over mine, cock soft but thick against my thigh.
That inky tiger tattoo curls possessive over his pec.
Up close, without the haze of lust, it’s even hotter. Fuck me.
No. Fuck that.
I shift, testing—his arm tightens instinctively, dragging me closer.
Our scents mingle thick in the air: his crisp winter bite laced with my spiced rum, twisted into something new, something ours.
The bond hums under my skin, content, sated.
My stomach flips—not nausea, not anymore.
Just... right. Wrong as hell, but right.
This is it. No suppressants, no surgery, no bullshit excuses. We’re locked in. Permanent. Two dominant alphas mated like some freak biological glitch. Campus king reduced to secret fucktoy for the unbothered freshman. My dick twitches at the thought—traitor—and I groan, low and pissed.