8
He made a low sound of approval and kept touching her.
Two fingers slid through her folds and found her already slick.
He pushed them inside in a single slow stroke, feeling how soft and open she still was from everything he had given her the day before.
The wet sound was quiet and filthy in the morning stillness.
He curled them against the front wall, watching her face, then pulled free and replaced his fingers with the thick head of his cock.
Chase pushed into her face-to-face, one long, deep thrust that buried him to the hilt.
Jody’s mouth fell open on a broken moan.
He filled her completely—hot, hard, the head pressing against her cervix.
He held still for a moment, forehead against hers, letting her feel every ridge and vein, then started to move in slow, rolling strokes.
The wet sound of her cunt taking him filled the bedroom.
Daylight caught every piece of his ink on her body: the flowers on her arm, the vine on her ribs, the bold work across her hip, the inner-thigh pieces that flexed with every thrust, and the final delicate lines that framed her pussy like a permanent claim.
Chase kept his eyes on hers and on the way her body opened for him.
“I’ve already drawn the next ones,” he said, voice low and rough.
His hips kept the same deep, deliberate rhythm.
“Small. Precise. One right here—” he reached down and traced the soft crease where thigh met body, just outside the newest work—“so I can watch it move every time I sink into you. Another higher on your mound. Close enough that I can lick it while I suck your clit.
You’re coming back in ten days for the first of them.”
He fucked her deeper, grinding against her clit on every downstroke.
One hand slid under her lower back to tilt her hips; the other braced beside her head so he could keep watching her face.
The dual sensation built steadily. Jody’s orgasm rolled through her in heavy, trembling waves, her pussy clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses that milked his cock.
Chase followed her over the edge with a low groan, burying himself to the root and flooding her in thick, hot pulses.
He kept thrusting through it, short and deep, working every drop into her until she felt overfull and the excess began to leak out around his shaft onto the sheets.
He stayed inside her afterward, softening only slightly, and kept giving her lazy, shallow thrusts while they both caught their breath. His hand stroked up and down her side, tracing every raised line he could reach.
“Ten days for the next mark,” he said against her mouth. “But you’re going to be in this bed much sooner than that. I want you here tomorrow night. And the night after if I decide I need to fill you again. This cunt stays mine. These marks stay mine. Clear?”
“Clear,” she whispered.
He kissed her slow and deep, still buried inside her, then finally pulled out. A thick rush of cum followed. He watched it for a long second, scooped some onto his fingers, and pushed it back inside her with a thorough, deliberate stroke—exactly the way he had from the very first night in the shop.
An hour later he drove her home.
Jody sat in the passenger seat of his truck wearing another of his T-shirts and her own leggings, no underwear, the soft fabric already damp between her thighs from the slow leak of him.
Every bump in the road reminded her how full she still was.
Chase drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting high on her thigh, thumb stroking over the edge of the newest bandage.
At a red light he glanced over at her.
“Next small piece is already on paper,” he said.
“Ten days. But I expect you in my bed tomorrow night after work. Wear what you want on the drive over. You’re taking it off the second you’re inside. I’m going to check every mark, then I’m going to put you on your back and fill you again while I decide where the one after that goes. Understood?”
Jody’s pulse kicked hard between her legs. “Understood.”
Chase’s mouth curved. He squeezed her thigh once, proprietary and sure, and turned his eyes back to the road.
The shop, the needle, the ink, the way he had claimed her one piece at a time—it had all led here. Every mark on her body now belonged to him. And so did the cunt they all framed.
She was already wet again by the time he parked in front of her place.
He kissed her once more in the truck—slow, deep, tasting like ownership—then watched her walk to her door with his cum still inside her and every line of his work warm under her clothes.
She would be back in his bed tomorrow night.
And under his needle in ten days.
And however many times he decided he needed to mark her, or fill her, after that.
The path was finished.
The claim was permanent.