Chapter 120 The Circling Car
Genesis's mouth fell open, hot gasps spilling out as her nails dug into his shoulders. She gripped him like her life depended on it, bouncing up and down on his cock, each movement rougher than the last.
Knight smiled, his eyes glinting in the dim lighting of the car. His hand clamped tightly around her waist as he watched her slam down onto him. He bit his lip hard, savoring the way her walls squeezed around him—tight on the way up, tighter on the way down—each motion releasing another gush of wetness.
Genesis shook her head. Her face was streaked with tears, flushed deep red—ears and all. Embarrassment bloomed across her chest. They had never done it this way before.
And it showed.
The new position hit places inside her she didn't even know existed. Her thighs burned, trembling every time she dropped down onto him again.
She froze mid-motion, breath hitching, chest heaving violently.
"Is my princess tired?" he murmured, dragging a hand between her legs. Her swollen, red lips were slick and sensitive, and she flinched when he touched them. She shook her head, but the truth lit her face on fire.
He smirked.
Without warning, he spread her legs wider, exposing their connection. Then his fingers moved to her clit, rubbing deliberately. She trembled, and her nails sank deeper into his skin. He didn't flinch. In fact, he welcomed the sting.
"My queen is soaked," he muttered. "And here I thought you didn't want me to fuck you anymore." Each word was followed by a flick of her clit.
She shook her head rapidly, wet strands of hair flinging across her face.
Knight brushed the hair away and cradled the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Her eyes drifted to his lips, and as she leaned in, her eyes fluttered shut.
So cute, he thought.
But he didn't kiss her. Instead, he pulled back just before their mouths met. Her eyes snapped open when she realized the kiss wasn't coming.
Before she could say a word, he gripped her hips and slammed her down onto him.
Her eyes widened. A silent cry tore from her throat. Her legs curled inward, caught between pleasure and pain.
Knight grunted, biting his lip harder, then lifted her again and slammed her down—twice, three times, without letting her recover.
He didn't stop.
Knight kept lifting her—slamming her down with such force that the entire car rocked on its wheels. The windows fogged, sweat smearing the glass. Her breath painted the surface in wild bursts. Her body jerked with every slam. Her thighs trembled. Tears flowed—hot, unstoppable—not from fear, but from the pleasure that consumed her whole.
Her fingernails scraped along his shoulders, her gasps broken and breathless. Her mouth parted in a soundless scream. She tried to form words, to beg, to breathe—but all that came was a silent whimper, raw and cracked.
Knight chuckled darkly, eyes glinting with rough affection.
"You're so fucking tight, sweetheart," he murmured, licking the sweat from her collarbone. "No matter how many times I fill you with my seed."
He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. His hands gripped her hips, bruising her skin. Then he dragged her down slow—agonizingly slow—making her feel every inch of him.
"You belong to me," he whispered. "This pretty little cunt? Mine. Those moans, even if they're silent? Still mine."
She nodded, frantic. Her fingers twisted into his hair, her eyes begging.
He grinned. "That's my girl."
Then he shifted, thrusting up into her—brutal, deep.
Her body jolted. Her spine arched. Her hand flew to her throat like she was trying to cry out. But nothing came—just trembling lips and shallow, shattered breath.
Knight wrapped his arm around her and held her tight as she collapsed against him.
"Go ahead and fall apart," he whispered into her ear. "Daddy's got you."
At those words, her eyes flew open—and the orgasm hit her like a freight train. She bit into his neck, hard enough to leave a deep, red mark. Her body convulsed, squeezing him tight.
Knight's eyes fluttered shut at the pressure—it bordered on pain—then his own orgasm slammed into him, and he spilled into her.
Outside the car, the men stood quietly.
The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the scene. The car rocked, the windows fogged, but the men's expressions stayed blank—stoic. Silent witnesses.
Fifteen minutes later, the car drove in silence, gliding toward the estate. Knight didn't glance at the window, didn't acknowledge the world outside. His eyes were glued to the woman in his arms—his wife—straddled over him, her body limp, her head resting against his shoulder, completely unconscious.
He was still inside her.
He hadn't pulled out.
Wouldn't.
His palm slid slowly down her sweat-damp hair, his fingers curling gently, lovingly... possessively. Her breathing was shallow, warm against his chest, her lips parted, bruised and wet from his earlier refusal to be soft. Her body twitched around him—still clenching, still reacting to him in sleep.
She was marked. His. All the way through.
"Boss... we're almost at the estate," the driver said again—his voice careful, hesitant, like even speaking too loudly might shatter the glass and unleash something feral.
Knight didn't blink. Didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Just stared at her like she was a puzzle he already solved but refused to stop obsessing over. His gaze trailed the red bite mark she'd left on his neck. He licked his lips slowly, savoring the phantom pain like a souvenir.
"Keep driving," he finally said, voice cold, clipped, final. "Don't stop until I tell you to."
The car rolled on.
Knight's hand slid lower again, trailing down her spine, over the faint bruises already forming on her hips where his fingers had held too tight. He adjusted her body—just enough to feel her clench again. Even unconscious, her body responded like it belonged to him.
Because it did.
His forehead rested against hers now, lips brushing the space between her eyes. He breathed her in like oxygen. Like she was the only thing keeping him from doing something far worse than what he'd already done.
Outside, the estate gates blurred past as the car made another slow circle.
Inside, Knight didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't soften.
He was still hard inside her.
Still buried.
Still insane.
He couldn't explain it—not to anyone. Not even himself. But there was something about this... something about her. The silence, the way she slept with his name still trembling in her throat, the way her body knew him—even now. It soothed something vile inside him.
Something dangerous.
He kissed her temple. A soft kiss. Too soft for the monster he was. Then whispered, almost reverently, like a prayer from a broken god:
"I'll carve myself so deep inside you, your soul won't know where I end and you begin."
She didn't answer. Couldn't.
But he smiled anyway.
"Mine."
The car rolled on, circling the estate again and again, as Knight sat in the backseat, holding her close, his body still buried in hers—his broken mind convincing itself that this was love.
That this was normal.
That this... was home.