He couldn’t name the feeling taking root inside him. Ordinary people might call it affection, but such a emotion was impossible for him.
One thing, however, was absolute: he could never let her go. She belonged by his side. She was his wife.
He couldn’t stand the thought of her smiling at someone else, serving them her wretched cooking, or dropping to her knees for another man.
And besides, if her words were to be believed, he had always loved her.
“Honey.”
The shift began with how he addressed her. He chose “honey,” discarding Rachel and Eileen altogether. Perhaps she found some sweetness in the endearment, because her body slicked with heat at the sound of it—or perhaps her breasts were simply that sensitive.
“I should have done this a long time ago if I’d known you’d enjoy it this much.”
With every word, his hot breath brushed against her nipple, making her shiver. Keeping his mouth close, he traced the tip of his tongue around her peak.
He slowly rolled his warm tongue over the hardened tip before drawing it in, sucking firmly and grazing it with his teeth. Her shoulders jerked, a sweet moan breaking from her lips.
With his left hand, he cupped her other breast, which waited pitifully for its turn, and stroked the peak with his thumb. He tormented her for a moment, lightly scraping the swollen nub with his nail until she gasped at the sharp rise in sensation.
He could have happily spent hours sucking her breasts like this, but his wife seemed to have entirely different ideas.
“Ah, ugh… H-honey.”
“Yes?”
He feigned ignorance as she rubbed her thighs together. Hadn’t he driven into her countless times already? Today, he wanted time to savor her properly.
Not just her breasts, but from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. He wanted to cover her in kiss marks—a visual ledger of his ownership.
Her chest heaved, her breast trembling in his palm. He sucked heavily on one nipple while squeezing and twisting the other between his fingers, drawing a small, choked moan from her.
“Don’t… don’t just do my breasts…”
His impatient wife was practically begging now. Pleased by her blunt demands, he obligingly slid his free right hand down her body.
She spread her legs on her own, needing no invitation. When he palm covered her burning, wet core and pressed down, her clitoris twitched beneath his touch.
“Ngh… Ah…!”
His fingertip pressed directly against the sensitive nub. The dual sensation—his lips working her nipple and his hand working her center—pushed her pleasure to a new peak.
He slid his fingers deeper, sweeping over her tight walls, and a thick heat immediately coated his hand. As his thumb rolled over her clitoris and his index and middle fingers stirred inside her, her body temperature spiked.
There was a distinct pleasure in breaking her down with just his fingers and tongue, without even using his cock. He loved watching her writhe, still unsatisfied after multiple climaxes, desperate for him to fill her.
It offered a different thrill than raw thrusting. When he finally entered her after such thorough foreplay, her response was intoxicatingly heightened.
Coming from the sheer force of insertion, sobbing for him to be gentle, drowning in her own release—it had all become their routine. Sometimes, too impatient to wait, she would climb on top of him and ride him herself.
And if he so much as met her eyes, she would let out a ragged sigh; if he lifted her, he would find her completely undone, leaving a slick trail down her skin.
Yet his anxiety remained. The realization that this woman—who couldn't even say his real name—might disappear at any second festered in a dark corner of his mind. He would track her down no matter what, but what if she managed to slip away?
So he had asked if she would stay. What would he do if she said no? The thought of her offering another man the same surrender she gave him made his stomach turn with pure malice.
It occurred to him that it might be cleaner to just kill her. So he had gathered a knife, a length of rope, and a heavy plastic bag, hiding them beneath the bed.
She had hurt him, after all. And she had to pay for hurting him.
“So, we’ll be together forever, right? Hm?”
Fortunately, his wife nodded. She said she loved him. So he decided to allow himself to be fooled a little longer.
Who knew? Perhaps the day would come when she truly loved him. A day when she couldn't live without him.
“Good. You can’t run now.”
He buried his long, thick shaft deep inside her—a force so unyielding it felt as though it would tear her delicate body open, even after a full day of endless taking.
In that moment, she wasn't the only one losing her mind.
He set a violent, punishing rhythm, driving into her so hard she couldn't even catch her breath to moan. Gripping her hips, he pinned her completely beneath his weight, plunging as deep as he could go. He wanted to drown her in a pleasure so overwhelming it made her skin burn.
“Aaah! Heuk!”
Her inner walls, already broken by multiple climaxes, overflowed with what he had left inside her. But he was far from satisfied.
Even as her body spilled over, unable to hold any more, his thrusts never slowed.
“Whether you want this or not, it’s too late.”
He made no effort to hide his absolute possessiveness. Even through the hazy, mindless daze of her ecstasy, he knew she would understand:
She would never leave his side. She shouldn't even dream of it.
If she accepted that, this comfortable life could go on forever. She wouldn't have to go back into a cage, and the sharp steel under the bed would never have to touch her skin. Everything would stay just like this.