Chapter Thirteen
Iwake up sore and groggy, the morning light cutting harshly against my eyelids, and for a few disoriented seconds I don’t know where I am or what day it is.
My mind is still foggy, wrapped in a thick cotton haze that makes it hard to string thoughts together, and my body feels like it’s been taken apart and reassembled wrong, every joint stiff, every muscle throbbing with a deep bone-level ache that tells me I was used thoroughly and without mercy.
My lower back is the worst of it, a dull grinding pain that flares when I try to shift my hips, and between my legs the soreness is so acute that even the brush of the sheets against my inner thighs makes me flinch.
But I’m alone in the bed. There’s an absence of Hongjoong’s body heat against my back, the missing weight of his arm across my waist. The sheets beside me are cold, which means he’s been up for a while.
I lie still and let my head clear enough to take stock of how thoroughly fucked I am, in every sense of the word.
Hongjoong kept me knotted all night. Every time the swelling deflated enough for him to pull out he would simply start fucking me all over again, rolling me into a new position and driving back in with that same relentless, punishing intensity, like he was trying to fuck years of anger and betrayal into my body.
I have no idea how many times he knotted me.
Each one longer and more brutal than the last, his teeth finding the fresh bond mark on my neck over and over, biting down until I screamed, reopening the wound and licking the blood away before sinking in again.
Eventually I fell asleep or passed out, I’m honestly not sure which, with Hongjoong’s cock still knotted tight inside my ass and his arm locked around my chest like a vise.
I can feel the sheer volume of cum inside me now, heavy and warm and sloshing faintly when I breathe, my stomach cramping slightly from the fullness of it.
He came so many times and so deep that my body couldn’t expel it all even between rounds, and now it sits in me like a weight, pressing against my insides, making my belly feel distended and tender.
At the exact moment I start to roll over onto my back, the bed dips beside me, and Hongjoong’s hands grip my hips and hold me still, rolling me firmly onto my belly instead.
“Get your knees under you,” he says from behind me, his voice low and flat, carrying no warmth whatsoever. “Put your ass up.”
The command is punctuated with a deliberate pulse of pheromones that rolls through my body like a wave, sinking into my muscles and my bones, and the deepest recesses of my omega brain.
It leaves no room for disobedience, even if I wanted to try.
My body moves, my knees drawing up under me, my hips lifting, presenting my ass in the air with my chest still flat against the mattress and my face turned to the side on the pillow.
I can feel the cool air against my swollen hole and the slow trickle of cum that leaks out of me with the position change, sliding warm down my taint.
I hear Hongjoong shifting behind me, and I crane my neck just enough to see what’s in his hand.
My stomach drops. It’s a butt plug, silicone, matte black, and it’s even bigger than the one from the racetrack, the bulbous end thick and imposing enough that my sore hole clenches involuntarily at the sight of it.
Hongjoong doesn’t waste time or offer explanation.
He swirls the rounded tip of the plug through the slick and cum already leaking from my swollen hole, coating it thoroughly, and then presses it to my rim and pushes.
My breath is forced from my lungs in a stuttered exhale as the plug stretches me open, my sore abused rim protesting the intrusion with a sharp sting that makes my fingers curl into the sheets.
The widest part forces me wider and wider, my body fighting it, my hole clenching uselessly against the unyielding silicone as I gasp and bite down on the pillow, and then it slides past the thickest point and my hole swallows the rest in one greedy pull, the flared base seating firmly against my rim and plugging me up completely.
I shudder hard, a full-body tremor, as the plug settles deep inside me and traps the massive volume of Hongjoong’s cum in my ass, sealing it in with nowhere to go.
“You’re going to leave that in until I take it out myself,” Hongjoong says, his voice even and calm, which is almost more frightening. “If you try to remove it or empty yourself out, I’m going to put you over my lap and spank you until you’re in tears. Do you understand me?”
He grips my face, his fingers pressing into my jaw, and turns it toward him so I have no choice but to look up at him.
I can see him take in the discomfort pinching my features, the way my brow is creased and my lips are pressed tight against the sheer size of the plug and the fullness inside me, and his expression doesn’t soften even a fraction.
“You’re going to wear my scent on you and in you from now on,” he says, his thumb pressing into the hinge of my jaw. “Everyone who comes near you needs to know immediately that you are mine. My scent stays on you at all times. My cum stays inside of you. Do you understand?”
I nod, my eyes averted, unable to hold his gaze. Hongjoong releases my face and straightens up, and I hear him move away from the bed as he says over his shoulder, “Get up. We’re going to have a family day.”
I move gingerly, every shift of my body making the plug press deeper and the cum slosh uncomfortably inside me, my stomach cramping in protest, my legs and back aching from the night’s abuse.
Getting upright takes real effort, my arms shaking as I push myself to sitting, and when I finally stand the change in gravity makes the plug settle heavier inside me, the weight of it and the fullness of all that trapped cum pulling at my insides, making me press a hand to my lower belly and breathe through my nose until the nausea passes.
I shower, but it doesn’t do much to make me feel clean since I’m not allowed to wash Hongjoong’s scent off.
The musk of alpha clings to my skin and my hair and saturates every pore no matter how much soap I use, and the bond mark on my neck throbs steadily under the hot water, the freshly reopened wound stinging when the spray hits it.
I dry off carefully and dress in loose pants that won’t press against the base of the plug, a soft shirt that covers the bite mark, and I keep quiet and reserved as I emerge from the bedroom and find Hongjoong and Sungyoon already in the living room, Sungyoon in a hoodie and sneakers looking bright-eyed and eager while Hongjoong jangles his car keys.
I trail behind them as we all get into Hongjoong’s car, taking the backseat without being told because Sungyoon is already in the passenger seat and neither of them looks back to check if I’m following.
Hongjoong drives us to the racetrack, and I walk several paces behind as he leads Sungyoon through the facility, an arm slung casually over the boy’s shoulder in a gesture so natural it looks like they’ve been doing it for years instead of days.
Sungyoon is thrilled, his eyes wide as he takes in the garages and the pit lanes and the sleek cars lined up in the paddock, asking Hongjoong rapid-fire questions about tire compounds and downforce and qualifying times that Hongjoong answers with patience and obvious enjoyment, his whole demeanor shifting into warmth and animation that he hasn’t shown me in days.
Hongjoong takes him to sit in the racing cars, lets him grip the steering wheel and examine the cockpit, explains the gear systems and the safety features while Sungyoon listens with rapt attention, his dimple cutting deep every time Hongjoong says something that impresses him.
The two of them are getting along effortlessly, falling into a dynamic that looks like it’s been there waiting for them all along, father and son clicking into place with an ease that makes my throat tight.
I’m grateful to watch it unfold, genuinely grateful, because this is what Sungyoon deserved all along and what I denied him.
But the sadness and guilt of all the years they missed together makes my chest ache as I stand off to the side with my arms crossed, watching them from a distance that feels much larger than the few meters of concrete between us.
A lifetime of this that I took from both of them.
Every first that Hongjoong should have been there for, every milestone, every scraped knee and school play and birthday candle, all of it gone and irretrievable and entirely my fault.
“I’ll teach you to drive if you want,” Hongjoong tells Sungyoon as they climb out of the last car, and Sungyoon’s face lights up like I haven’t seen since he was small.
Unguarded childlike joy that teenagers usually work so hard to suppress breaking through his careful fifteen-year-old facade.
He looks at Hongjoong like Hongjoong hung the moon, and I have to look away because the expression on my son’s face is both the most beautiful and the most painful thing I’ve ever seen.