Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Jerald
The "threat" was nothing—just a goddamn plaster reproduction that fell from a hook in the Renaissance wing.
Should've been secured better. I'll report it to maintenance when we get out of this lockdown.
But the rush of protective rage that hit me when I thought someone might hurt her…
Christ. I've never felt anything like it.
The thought of another man even looking at Tatianna now that I've claimed her makes me want to tear throats out with my bare hands.
I stalk back to the break room, knocking our code—two quick taps, pause, one more—so she knows it's me.
When the door opens and I see her standing there in nothing but my uniform shirt that hangs to her knees, hair mussed from my hands, lips swollen from my kisses, I know I need to have her again. Right fucking now.
"Everything okay?" she asks, those big innocent eyes searching my face.
"Just a fallen display," I tell her, stepping inside and locking the door behind me. "Nothing to worry about."
Relief washes over her features, quickly replaced by shyness as she notices my heated gaze. She tugs at the hem of my shirt, trying to pull it lower on her thighs, as if I haven't already seen, touched, and tasted every inch of her.
"Come here," I command softly.
She hesitates only a moment before moving toward me, her bare feet silent on the break room floor. When she's close enough, I reach out, running my hands down her sides, feeling her delicate curves beneath the fabric of my shirt.
"Mine," I murmur, more to myself than to her.
"Yours," she agrees softly, sending a fresh surge of possessiveness through me.
Without warning, I bend and scoop her into my arms. She lets out a startled squeak, arms automatically wrapping around my neck for balance.
"What are you doing?" she asks as I carry her toward the door.
"Taking you somewhere special." I shift her weight easily with one arm so I can unlock and open the door. "Hold tight."
The emergency lighting bathes the corridor in that eerie red glow again as I stride through the museum, my precious cargo cradled against my chest. Her weight is nothing to me—like carrying a child rather than a grown woman.
The contrast between her small frame and my bulk only feeds the fire raging inside me.
"Where are we going?" she whispers, her breath warm against my neck.
"You'll see."
I navigate the familiar halls with confidence, even in the dim light. Every inch of this museum is mapped in my head—all the cameras, all the blind spots, all the places I've imagined bending Tatianna over and claiming her during the long nights of my shifts.
We reach the Mesopotamian gallery—the one with all those fertility statues that had her blushing earlier. In the center sits a replica of an ancient stone altar, used for ceremonial offerings to fertility goddesses thousands of years ago. The perfect height. The perfect symbolism.
"Here," I say, placing her gently on the smooth stone surface. The altar is a large rectangular block, cool to the touch but not uncomfortable, elevated about three feet off the ground.
She looks around, recognition dawning as she realizes where we are. "The fertility exhibit?"
"Seemed fitting." I step between her knees, pushing them apart with firm hands.
My shirt rides up her thighs as I do, revealing her pussy—still pink and slightly swollen from our first time, traces of my cum visible on her inner thighs.
The sight makes my cock strain painfully against my uniform pants.
"We can't," she protests weakly, even as she allows me to position her. "This is a museum display. It's—"
"It's a replica," I correct her, hands sliding up her thighs, pushing the shirt higher. "And right now, it's ours."
Her breathing quickens as I run my thumbs along the creases where thigh meets pussy, so close to where I know she wants me to touch but not quite there.
"Open those pretty thighs for Daddy, little girl."
Her lips part on a soft gasp, but she obeys, legs spreading wider on the stone altar. The emergency lighting casts her in red shadows, making her look like some ancient sacrifice to a primal god. My god, I think, unbuckling my pants with deliberate slowness, watching her eyes follow my movements.
"Do you know what they did here?" I ask, freeing my cock from the confines of my uniform. It juts out thick and hard, already leaking pre-cum at the tip. "Ancient people made offerings to fertility goddesses on altars like this."
She swallows hard, her academic mind clearly wrestling with the impropriety even as her body responds. "I know," she whispers. "I helped research this exhibit."
"Then you know they believed fucking on sacred altars would ensure conception." I step closer, running the head of my cock through her folds, finding her already wet for me. "Picture it, our baby growing right here, tying you to me forever."
Her eyes widen at my words, but she doesn't protest, doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans back slightly on her hands, opening herself further to me.
I line myself up and push forward, more confident now that I've already claimed her once.
She's still incredibly tight, her body resisting the intrusion of my size, but wetter now, more prepared.
I watch her face as I sink into her inch by inch, the way her lips part, the flutter of her eyelashes, the mixture of pain and pleasure that transforms her features.
"So fucking tight," I growl, gripping her hips to pull her closer to the edge of the altar, allowing me to push deeper. "Perfect for Daddy to breed."
The position is ideal—her ass at the edge of the stone surface, me standing between her spread thighs, able to control the depth and power of each thrust. I start slow, letting her adjust again to my size, watching where our bodies join.
"Look at that," I demand, one hand moving to the back of her neck, forcing her to look down at where I'm disappearing inside her. "Look how perfectly you take me. Made for this cock. Made for me to fill you up."
She whimpers, eyes fixed on our joining, her inner walls clenching around me at the visual stimulation. I begin to move in earnest then, no longer worried about hurting her, confident in her body's ability to accommodate me now.
The stone altar is rock-solid beneath her, allowing me to thrust with full force without worrying about furniture collapsing. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the empty gallery, mixing with her increasingly vocal moans and my own grunts of pleasure.
"That's it," I encourage as she falls back fully onto the altar, her body arching as I hit somewhere deep inside her. "Take every fucking inch. Show Daddy how good you are."
Her hands scrabble for purchase on the smooth stone, finding nothing to grip. I capture her wrists, pinning them above her head with one large hand, using the other to hike her leg higher around my waist.
The new angle lets me drive even deeper, and she cries out—a sound of surprise and pleasure that echoes off the vaulted ceilings. The ancient fertility statues watch us from their displays, timeless witnesses to this primal act.
"Can you feel that?" I growl, maintaining the punishing pace. "Feel how deep Daddy is? Gonna flood you until it takes."
Her eyes meet mine, glazed with pleasure, pupils blown wide. "Please," she gasps, though I doubt she even knows what she's begging for. She probably thinks this is just dirty talk, but I’m dead fucking serious. I want her pregnant by the end of the night.
I know. I want to plant my seed so deep inside her it has no choice but to take root. Want to see her belly swell with my child. Want every person who looks at her to know she's been thoroughly claimed, thoroughly bred.
"Gonna get you pregnant right here," I promise, the words pouring out uncensored now. "Right on this altar where women have been bred for thousands of years. Fitting, isn't it? My little historian taking cock where ancient priestesses once spread their legs for fertility rites."
The academic reference mixed with filth seems to push her further into pleasure. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around me, her breathing becoming erratic.
"You're going to come for me," I tell her, not a question but a command. "Come around Daddy's cock while I breed you."
The altar is hard beneath her, unforgiving stone that will leave marks on her delicate skin. The thought of her carrying those impressions—temporary brands from our coupling—drives me wilder. I slam into her harder, my restraint evaporating with each thrust.
"Mine," I grunt, feeling my climax approaching rapidly. "Fucking mine."
Her body suddenly goes rigid beneath me, back arching impossibly high as she comes with a broken cry that bounces off the ancient artifacts surrounding us. Her pussy grips me like a vise, milking my cock, demanding my seed.
I give it to her, driving in to the hilt and letting go with a roar that would terrify anyone within earshot—if there were anyone else here.
My release pumps into her in hot spurts, filling her womb, painting her insides with my cum.
The primal satisfaction of breeding her on this ancient altar is overwhelming.
"That's it," I praise as I empty myself completely inside her. "Taking Daddy's cum so perfectly. Such a good girl."
She lies beneath me, dazed and trembling, her body limp with satisfaction. I remain buried inside her, unwilling to break our connection yet, enjoying the aftershocks that still ripple through her tight channel.
Looking down at her spread across the stone altar—my shirt rucked up around her waist, her hair a wild tangle, my cum already leaking out around my still-hard cock—I've never seen anything more perfect.
This is what she was made for. What I was made for.
To claim. To possess. To breed.
And I'm nowhere near done with her yet.