Chapter Thirteen #3
He switches to the other side, his mouth sealing over the second nipple, and the same thing happens.
The release of pressure, the warm trickle, the vulgar wet sounds of him sucking.
He drinks from me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one hand cradling the heavy swell of my breast to angle the nipple into his mouth, the other still buried between my thighs with his fingers pressed against my prostate, keeping me on the edge.
I come again, weakly, my cock barely twitching, the orgasm rolling through me from the inside out as his fingers press deep and his mouth pulls at my chest. I’m crying, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, not from pain but from the sheer overwhelming intensity of sensation and the humiliation and the helpless pleasure that I can’t separate from each other anymore.
When he finally releases my nipple with a wet pop and rises over me, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, I’m a wreck.
Boneless and trembling and soaked from the waist down, my belly heaving with each breath, my nipples red and swollen and leaking thin trails of fluid down the sides of my chest.
He strips his pants off and lines up behind me, spooning against my back, one arm sliding beneath my belly to support it as he lifts my top leg and drapes it over his hip.
His cock presses against my entrance, hot and thick and familiar, and when he pushes in I don’t make a sound.
I just exhale, long and shaky, and let my body open for him.
He fucks me slowly, deeply, his hips rolling in long strokes that push his cock all the way to my womb on each thrust, the head nudging past my cervix and settling inside with a pressure that makes my eyes roll back.
His mouth finds the bond mark on my neck and he presses his lips there, not biting, just holding, his breath hot against the scar tissue.
His pheromones continue to pour over me in waves, keeping me docile and warm and open, and I hate him for it even as my body sinks deeper into the pleasure, my hole gripping his cock with each withdrawal like it’s trying to keep him inside.
His knot swells and locks us together and he comes with a groan that I feel through my entire body, his cock pulsing as he fills my womb with thick, hot spurts that make my belly cramp and my hole spasm.
I come one final time around his knot, a dry, full-body shudder that leaves me gasping, and then I go limp against him, spent and furious and unable to move.
We lie there locked together, his body curved around mine, his hand resting on my belly where the baby is kicking against his palm as if protesting the disturbance.
His knot is still locked inside me, his cum sealed in my womb, his body wrapped around mine in a position that my traitorous biology finds deeply, infuriatingly comforting.
The baby kicks again and Hyunwoo’s hand shifts to follow the movement, his palm chasing the tiny foot pressing against the wall of my belly.
I close my eyes and press my face into the pillow and don’t say anything. Lulled into unwilling compliance by the heavy blanket of his pheromones pinning me down and his cock knotted in my ass.
This continues for three days straight.
Hyunwoo is stubborn, but so am I, and what unfolds between us is an ongoing battle of wills fought with wildly unequal weapons.
Every time I muster enough clarity to try to rise from the bed, to get dressed, to reach for my phone on the nightstand, to put any distance at all between my body and his, Hyunwoo releases another wave of pheromones that flattens me before I can even get my feet on the floor.
My thoughts scatter, my limbs turn to water, and the fight drains out of me so fast it’s like someone knocked me over.
I find myself beneath him again, or on my side with his chest pressed to my back and his cock buried inside me, knotted and sated and unable to remember what I was trying to do or why it mattered.
The first time I manage to sit up on my own, it’s the morning of the second day and Hyunwoo has gone to the kitchen to feed the dogs.
I hear the clink of their bowls and the click of their nails on the hardwood, and I seize the window of opportunity, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress with my heart hammering.
My phone is on the nightstand, the screen dark, and I reach for it with shaking fingers because I need to text Ye-eun, need to tell someone where I am and what’s happening, need some tether to the outside world that isn’t filtered through Hyunwoo’s overwhelming presence.
My fingers close around the phone and I’m unlocking it, squinting at the bright screen, when his scent reaches me from the doorway.
A fresh, concentrated pulse that rolls across the room and wraps around me like a fist, and my thumb goes still on the screen as my eyelids droop and my shoulders sag and the phone slips from my loosening grip onto the mattress.
“Yuggie.” His voice is soft from the doorway, almost gentle, which is worse. “Lie back down.”
I want to tell him to go fuck himself. The words are right there, formed and ready, sitting on my tongue.
But my body is already tipping backward, my spine curving toward the mattress, my legs drawing up as I curl onto my side with my belly supported by the nest of pillows he’s arranged around me.
The pheromones settle over me like warm bathwater and the anger that was sharp enough to cut just seconds ago goes blunt and soft, the edges rounding until I can’t find them anymore.
He keeps me knotted day and night. His cum at this stage of our bond has a genuine sedative effect on me.
I can feel it working every single time, a chemical reaction I’m powerless against. Each load that fills my womb releases a cascade of bonding hormones that spread through my bloodstream like ink dropped in water, making me drowsy and calm and horribly, infuriatingly compliant.
The agitation that builds during the brief windows when his knot deflates and I start to surface, the anger and the frustration clawing their way back up through the fog, gets smothered the moment he pushes back inside me and locks us together again.
His cum floods my womb and the hormones hit and I go soft, my muscles unclenching, my breathing evening out, my racing thoughts slowing to a crawl until I’m lying there blinking at the ceiling with a vague sense that I should be upset about something but unable to locate the feeling.
It’s the second evening when I rally enough fight to actually snap at him.
He’s been gone for maybe twenty minutes, long enough for the haze to thin, and I’m propped against the headboard with my arms crossed over my swollen chest, glaring at the bedroom door when he walks back in carrying a glass of water and a plate of sliced fruit.
The sight of him, casual and unhurried and completely in control while I’m trapped in this bed leaking his cum and unable to stand without my knees buckling, makes something hot and vicious surge up through the cracks in my compliance.
“You can’t keep doing this to me,” I say, my voice strong but rough from disuse and thick with emotion.
He sets the water and fruit on the nightstand and looks at me, his expression unreadable for a moment before it forms something that might be guilt if I were feeling generous enough to give him credit for it.
He opens his mouth. I can see him weighing his response, calculating whether to argue or deflect or charm his way out of it the way he always does.
“Open your mouth,” he says instead.
“Fuck you, I’m not—”
But he’s already on the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress beside my hip, and his hand cups the back of my head as he angles his cock toward my lips.
The proximity of him, the concentrated scent pouring off his skin, the bond mark on my neck pulsing hot in response to his nearness, all of it conspires against me.
My jaw goes slack, and then the head of his cock is pushing past my lips and sliding heavy and warm across my tongue, and my omega instincts take over with a completeness that makes me want to scream.
I suck. Automatically, without thought, my cheeks hollowing and my tongue pressing up against the underside of his shaft as my mouth works him with a skill my body has memorized without consulting my brain.
The taste of him spreads across my tongue, salt and musk and what my body reads as essential, as necessary, as nourishment.
I swallow around him as he pushes deeper, my throat opening to accommodate the intrusion with an ease that would have been unthinkable months ago.
Hyunwoo’s hand stays on the back of my head, his fingers threaded through my hair, not pushing but holding, guiding me as his hips rock forward in shallow thrusts. He groans above me appreciatively and says, “That’s it, Yuggie. Good. Just like that.”
The praise makes the warmth bloom in the pit of my stomach that I despise.
My cock twitches between my thighs, small and useless and responding anyway, and slick leaks from my hole onto the sheets beneath me in a fresh rush.
My body responds to his voice and his taste and his approval like a trained animal.
The anger I was holding onto thirty seconds ago is already dissolving, washed away by the hormones flooding my system as I nurse on his cock, each swallow sending a pulse of calm through my bloodstream that smooths out the jagged edges of my resistance.