His mouth on my breast, his fingers working me slow and deep, and I'm already climbing again—the pressure building in my core, my hips rolling against his hand. I can feel how wet I am, how ready, how every nerve in my body is tuned to his frequency. His thumb presses my clit and I gasp, my back arching off the bed.
"That's it," he murmurs against my skin. "Come for me again. Let me feel you."
I'm right there, balanced on the edge, my fingers tangled in his hair, when the knock comes.
Three sharp raps. Hard enough to rattle the door in its frame.
"Uncle Kaelen?"
Liv's voice. High and insistent. The kind of voice a six-year-old uses when she's decided something is urgent and nothing will convince her otherwise.
Kaelen goes rigid above me. His forehead drops to my collarbone, and I feel the vibration of a low curse against my skin—muffled, barely audible, but unmistakably a string of words I'm fairly sure Liv shouldn't hear.
His fingers are still inside me. Still. Not moving. I can feel his cock against my thigh, hard and aching, a pulse I can feel through the heat of his skin. He's weighing something. I can feel it in the tension of his shoulders, in the way his breath comes slow and controlled against my neck.
"Uncle Kaelen!" Louder now. A little whine creeping in at the edges. "Grandma says you have to come downstairs! She says it's important!"
I feel him take a breath. One long, deliberate inhale, like he's pulling patience from somewhere deep. Then he lifts his head, turns it toward the door, and his voice comes out rough but controlled—the same voice he used with Liv at breakfast, the one that's gentle but leaves no room for argument.
"One minute, Liv."
A pause on the other side. I can almost hear her processing, deciding whether to push. Then footsteps, retreating, fading down the hall.
The silence after is sharp. Heavy. Full of everything we were in the middle of.
Kaelen pulls his fingers out of me slowly—deliberately, like he's making a point even now—and sits up. His grey eyes find mine, and they're dark. Dark in a way I've seen before, in the study, on the set, in the kitchen when he told Amanda I was his. But there's something else now. Something sharper. Hungrier.
"Get up," he says. Not harsh. Just direct. A command, not a request.
I blink, still catching my breath, my body throbbing with the orgasm he pulled me to the edge of and didn't let me finish. "What—"
"Get up." He's already moving off the bed, reaching for his jeans, pulling them up over his hips. "We're leaving."
I push myself up on my elbows, my thighs still slick, my body still aching for the release I was three seconds from. "Kaelen—"
He turns, and the look on his face stops me cold. It's not anger. It's not frustration. It's something else—something I've never seen in him before. A kind of focused, deliberate hunger. Like he's made a decision and there's no room left for negotiation.
"I promised you tonight," he says, his voice low. "And I meant it. But I'm not doing it here. Not with them in the house, not with Liv knocking on the door, not with my mother sending messages through a six-year-old." He steps closer, reaches down, takes my wrist and pulls me upright. "Get dressed. Now."
I'm on my feet before I've fully processed the movement, my heart hammering. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere no one will find us."
He grabs my clothes from where they landed—my blouse, my skirt, my underwear—and hands them to me. His jaw is tight, his movements efficient. I pull on my underwear, my skirt, my blouse, my fingers fumbling with the buttons because my hands won't stop shaking. He watches me the whole time, those grey eyes tracking every movement, and I feel like prey being given a head start.
When I'm dressed—sort of dressed, my blouse buttoned crooked and my hair still a mess—he takes my hand and pulls me toward the door. He unlocks it, cracks it open, checks the hall. Empty. Then he's moving, me following, his grip on my wrist firm enough that I don't have a choice.
We take the back stairs. The ones that lead to the kitchen, the service entrance, the part of the house where no one lingers. He moves fast, and I stumble after him, my legs still weak from what we were doing, from what he was doing to me before the interruption.
In the kitchen, I hear voices from the other room—Elara's laugh, Soren's gruff response, Liv's high-pitched chatter. They're all still at the table, still finishing breakfast, still oblivious to the fact that I'm being dragged through the back door by her brother like a stolen prize.
The garage is cool and smells like concrete and motor oil. Kaelen's car is a black sedan, sleek and unremarkable, the kind of car that doesn't draw attention. He opens the passenger door for me—a small courtesy that feels almost mocking given the way he's handling me—and I get in without a word.
He slides into the driver's seat, starts the engine, and we're moving before the garage door is fully open.
The drive is silent. Not the uncomfortable kind—the charged kind. The kind where every second that passes is another second of pressure building, of anticipation coiling tighter in my chest. I watch the houses thin out, the road narrow, the trees close in on either side. We're heading away from the city, away from everything familiar.
"Where are we going?" I ask again, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
"Somewhere I know." He doesn't look at me. His eyes are fixed on the road, his hands on the wheel, his jaw still tight. "Somewhere no one will interrupt."
The words land in my stomach like a stone. I think about what he said in the bedroom. What he promised. And I realize I have no idea what version of Kaelen I'm going to get when we stop.
The road turns to gravel, then to dirt. We pass a gate—unlocked, rusted, barely hanging on its hinges—and then we're in a clearing. Trees on all sides, thick and old, the canopy blocking out most of the late morning light. In the center, a small pond, still and dark, reflecting the slivers of sky that break through the leaves.
He parks the car in the middle of the clearing, cuts the engine, and for a long moment neither of us moves.
Then he turns to me.
I've seen Kaelen hungry before. I've seen him possessive, commanding, barely restrained. But I've never seen him like this. His grey eyes are almost black, his pupils blown wide, his breathing slow and deliberate like he's holding himself back by a thread. He reaches over and unbuckles my seatbelt. Then his hand finds the back of my neck, pulls me toward him, and his mouth is on mine.
It's not a kiss. It's a claiming. Hard and deep, his tongue in my mouth, his hand fisting in my hair, pulling my head back so he can angle me the way he wants. I gasp against his lips and he swallows the sound, his other hand finding my thigh, pushing my skirt up, his fingers pressing into the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
"I've been holding back," he says against my mouth, his voice rough, ragged. "All morning. All week. Since the study. I've been trying to be careful with you, trying to—" He breaks off, a sound that's almost a growl. "I can't anymore."
"Then don't." The words are out before I can think, before I can weigh them, before I can decide if I mean them. But I do. God help me, I do.
His eyes meet mine, and something in them shifts. Darkens. The thread snaps.
He's out of the car, around to my side, opening my door before I can blink. He pulls me out, spins me around, presses me against the side of the car. The metal is cool against my back, the trees looming above us, and there's nothing but silence and his breath against my ear.
"You said you wanted the Animal," he murmurs, his hand sliding up my thigh, under my skirt, finding me wet and ready. "You're about to find out what that means."
His fingers push into me without warning, two of them, deep and hard, and I cry out—a sharp, broken sound that echoes off the trees. He works me fast, rough, his thumb pressing my clit in tight circles, and I'm already close, already trembling, the interrupted orgasm from the bedroom still simmering in my blood.
"Come," he commands, his voice low and dark. "Now."
And I do. My body obeys before my mind catches up, my hips grinding against his hand, my fingers gripping his shoulders as the orgasm tears through me, hard and fast and so intense I see spots behind my eyes.
He doesn't stop. He keeps working me through it, drawing it out, until I'm gasping, shaking, my legs barely holding me up. Then he pulls his fingers out, lifts them to his mouth, and licks them clean, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Get in the back seat."
I don't hesitate. I crawl into the back of the sedan, my knees pressing into the leather, my skirt rucked up around my hips. He follows, closing the door behind us, and suddenly the space feels too small, too close, the windows fogging with our breath.
He pulls me onto his lap, my legs straddling his hips, and I feel him—hard and thick, pressing against me through his jeans. His hands find my hips, grinding me against him, and I moan at the pressure, the friction, the need that's been building all morning finally finding its target.
"I'm going to fuck you," he says, his voice a low growl against my ear. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk. Until you can't think. Until the only thing you remember is my name."
His hands find the button of his jeans, and I watch him free himself—his cock springing up, thick and hard, the head glistening. I'm already wet, already aching, and when he positions me over him, when I feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, I think I might die from the anticipation.
He doesn't push in. Not yet. He holds me there, at the threshold, his eyes locked on mine, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
"Tell me you want it."
"I want it." My voice is barely a whisper, but I mean it with every cell in my body. "I want you, Kaelen. I want—"
He slams me down onto him, and I scream.
Full, deep, stretching me open in a way I didn't know I could be stretched. He fills me completely, and for a moment neither of us moves, just breathing, just feeling, just the impossible heat of him inside me.
Then he starts to move.
Hard. Fast. His hands gripping my hips, guiding my rhythm, slamming me down onto his cock with every thrust. The car rocks with the force of it, the windows fogging, my moans filling the space. I'm bracing myself against the ceiling, against the seat, my nails digging into his shoulders, and he's watching me—watching my face, my breasts bouncing, my mouth open and gasping.
"Look at you," he growls, his pace increasing. "Taking my cock like you were made for it."
I can't form words. I can only feel—the stretch, the heat, the pressure building again in my core. He's hitting something inside me, something that makes my vision blur, and I'm climbing toward another peak, fast and unstoppable.
"Come on my cock," he commands, his voice rough, desperate. "Come for me, Dagmar. Let me feel you."
His hand finds my clit, pressing hard, circling fast, and that's it—I shatter. My body convulses around him, my cunt clenching, milking him, and I feel him groan against my neck, his hips bucking up into me as he follows me over the edge, his cum flooding me hot and thick.
But he doesn't stop.
He keeps thrusting, even as I'm trembling, even as his cum leaks out around him. He flips me over, presses me face-down against the seat, my ass in the air, and he's inside me again before I can catch my breath.
"I'm not done with you," he says, his voice dark, almost feral. "Not even close."
He takes me from behind, hard and deep, his hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back as he drives into me. I'm moaning into the leather, my fingers gripping the seat, and I feel another orgasm building—too fast, too soon, but I can't stop it.
"That's it," he growls. "Come again. Come on my cock like the good little wife you are."
I do. I scream into the seat as I come, my body shuddering, and he follows seconds later, pouring himself into me again.
He pulls out, and I feel his cum leaking down my thigh, warm and wet. He turns me over, pulls me up, presses me against the car window. The glass is cool against my back, my breasts pressed flat, and he's between my legs again, his cock sliding through my slick folds.
"I want to watch you come on my cock against this window," he says, positioning himself. "I want the trees to see you. I want the whole world to know who you belong to."
He pushes in, and I'm so sensitive, so overstimulated, that I cry out—a broken sound that's half pleasure, half pain. He fucks me slow this time, deep and grinding, his mouth on my neck, his hand between us pressing my clit. I'm shaking, trembling, my legs barely holding me up, and he's murmuring against my skin—filthy, possessive words that make my cunt clench around him.
"You're mine," he breathes. "Say it."
"I'm yours," I gasp, my forehead pressed to the glass, the cool seeping into my skin.
"Again."
"I'm yours, Kaelen."
"And whose cum is leaking down your thighs?"
"Yours." The word is a sob, a prayer, a confession.
He groans, his hips slamming into me, and I feel him pulse inside me as he comes again—hot, thick, filling me until I feel it dripping onto the floor of the car.
He pulls out, but doesn't let me go. He turns me around, pushes me to my knees on the floor of the back seat, and I look up at him—his cock still hard, still glistening with my wetness and his cum.
"Open your mouth."
I do. He guides himself in, and I take him—deep, my tongue working the underside, my throat opening to accept him. He groans, his hand in my hair, guiding my rhythm, and I feel him swell against my tongue.
I want to make him come in my mouth. I want to taste him, swallow him, prove that I can take everything he gives me. I double my efforts, taking him deeper, my hand working the base of his cock, and I feel his hips start to buck.
"Fuck, Dagmar." His voice is strained, desperate. "I'm going to—"
He comes with a groan that's almost a roar, his cum flooding my mouth, hot and salty. I swallow, taking all of it, not breaking eye contact, and I see something shift in his face—something raw, something vulnerable, something that looks almost like wonder.
He pulls me up, kisses me, tasting himself on my tongue. Then he pushes me back against the seat, his mouth finding my breasts, his teeth grazing my nipple through my blouse.
"One more," he murmur. "I want to come on your tits."
He unbuttons my blouse, pushes it open, pulls down my bra. My breasts spill out, heavy and sensitive, and he takes one in his mouth, sucking hard, his hand working his cock. I'm writhing beneath him, oversensitive, overstimulated, but I don't want him to stop.
He moves between my breasts, pressing them together around his cock, and the sensation is new and strange and unbearably hot. He thrusts into the tight channel of my cleavage, his breath coming in harsh gasps, and I watch his face—the concentration, the hunger, the way his eyes are fixed on where his cock slides between my breasts.
"I want to cum all over you," he growls. "Mark you. So everyone knows."
He does. His cum spills across my chest, hot and thick, dripping down onto my stomach. He watches it, breathing hard, and then he leans down and licks a stripe up my sternum, tasting himself on my skin.
"Turn around."
I do. I'm on my hands and knees on the back seat, my body trembling, my thighs slick with his cum and mine. He positions himself behind me, and I feel him—still hard, still ready—slide into me from behind.
He fucks me slow this time. Deep. Deliberate. Each thrust a statement, a claim, a promise. I'm beyond thought, beyond speech, just a body being used, being claimed, being filled.
"I'm going to fill you so full," he whispers, his mouth against my ear. "You're going to leak my cum for days. Everyone will know. Everyone will see."
I feel another orgasm building—deep, overwhelming, like my whole body is a string pulled taut. He reaches around, his fingers finding my clit, pressing hard, and that's it—I shatter, my body convulsing around him, and I feel myself let go in a way I never have before. Liquid gushes from me, soaking the seat, streaming down my thighs, and I realize I'm squirting—my body releasing in waves I can't control, can't stop, can't even breathe through.
"Fuck yes," he groans, fucking me through it. "Yes. Let go. Let me have all of it."
My vision goes white at the edges. I hear myself making sounds I don't recognize—broken, desperate sounds—and then everything goes quiet.
I'm floating. I'm falling. I'm somewhere dark and warm and safe, and I can hear his voice, distant, calling my name, and I want to answer but I can't find the words.
I come back to myself with his hand on my face, his thumb stroking my cheek, his grey eyes dark with concern.
"Dagmar. Hey. Look at me."
I blink, focus, realize I'm lying across the back seat, my head in his lap, his cum cooling on my skin. The windows are fogged, the air thick with the smell of sex.
"You passed out," he says, his voice low. "Just for a second."
I try to speak, but all that comes out is a croak. I'm wrecked. I'm ruined. I'm his.
And he's not done.
I feel him harden beneath my cheek, and I look up at him—at the hunger still burning in his eyes, the need that hasn't been satisfied.
"I told you," he says, his voice dark, almost apologetic. "I was holding back. You wanted the Animal, Dagmar. You're getting him."
He pulls me up, positions me over him, and slides into me again. I'm too weak to resist, too empty to do anything but accept, and as he starts to move, I realize the truth of what he said.
There's no going back now.
I've woken the Animal. And he's not going back to sleep.
A flicker at the edge of the clearing. Movement where there shouldn't be movement.
My brain registers it before I can stop it—the forensic analyst's instinct, the one that catalogues anomalies. A shape. A shift in the pattern of shadows between two oak trunks. My eyes track to it even as Kaelen thrusts into me, even as my body is still reverberating from the orgasm he wrung out of me against the window.
Two shapes. Human shapes. Standing at the treeline, half-hidden by the undergrowth.
I freeze.
"Kaelen." My voice comes out strangled, caught between the pleasure he's still driving into me and the spike of cold fear in my chest. "Kaelen, stop."
He doesn't stop. His hand grips my hip, pulling me back onto his cock, his breath hot against my shoulder. "I'm not done with you."
"There's someone—" I push against his chest, my hands flat against his skin, trying to angle myself to see. "In the trees. I saw—"
He goes still. Not slow—instant. Like a switch flipped. His head turns, his grey eyes scanning the treeline with the precision of a predator who's just caught a scent.
I feel him register them. Feel the change in his body—the tension that shifts from hunger to something sharper. He doesn't pull out of me. He doesn't move to cover me. Instead, he does something I don't expect.
He smiles.
A slow, dark, predatory smile that makes my stomach drop.
"Let them watch." His voice is low, rough, threaded with something that sounds almost like satisfaction. "Let them see exactly who you belong to."
I shake my head, my heart hammering. "Kaelen—"
"They're not going to hurt you." He shifts, his hands finding my waist, turning me so my back is to his chest, my face toward the trees. "They're just enjoying the show. And I'm going to give them one they won't forget."
He presses me forward, my palms bracing against the fogged window of the car, my breasts flattening against the cool glass. I can see them now—clearly. Two men, maybe mid-twenties, dressed in hunting jackets and jeans, their faces half-shadowed. One of them has his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slow and deliberate. The other is watching with his mouth slightly open, his hand working his own erection through his open fly.
They're jerking off to me.
To us. To Kaelen fucking me against a car window in a clearing in the middle of nowhere.
The humiliation should drown me. Should make me close my legs, cover myself, scream at them to leave. But instead, something else rises—something dark and hot and shameful. The same thing that made me watch Kaelen with Amanda on that set, the same hunger that's been rotting inside me for eleven years.
They're watching me be claimed. And part of me wants them to see.
Kaelen's hand slides down my spine, presses into the small of my back, arching me. His other hand finds my hip, guiding his cock to my entrance, and I feel him position himself lower—not where he's been, but somewhere else. Somewhere I've never been touched.
"I'm going to take your ass now," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "And they're going to watch every second of it."
My breath catches. "I've never—"
"I know." His thumb circles my other hole, spreading the wetness from my cunt, preparing me. "I'm going to be careful. But I'm not going to stop."
He presses. Slow. Deliberate. The pressure builds, strange and intense, and I gasp against the glass, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface. He pushes, and I feel the stretch—impossibly tight, a burning that borders on pain—and then he's inside me, inch by inch, until I'm full in a way I've never been full before.
I cry out, the sound swallowed by the trees, by the open air, by the two men watching from the shadows.
Kaelen pauses, his hand flat on my lower belly, his breath ragged against my ear. "Okay?"
I can't speak. I nod, my forehead pressed to the glass, my body trembling around him.
He starts to move. Slow at first, shallow thrusts that let me adjust, that let the burn transform into something else—something deeper, fuller, a pleasure that's different from what I've known. His hand finds my clit, pressing, circling, drawing me up toward another peak I didn't think I had left in me.
I look at the men. They're both still watching, their hands moving faster. One of them has pushed his jacket open, baring his chest, and his free hand is toying with his nipple—pinching, rolling, his head tilted back in pleasure. The other one's eyes are locked on where Kaelen's cock disappears into my ass, and he's stroking himself with a desperate, frantic rhythm.
Kaelen fucks me harder, deeper, each thrust driving me against the window, my breasts smearing against the glass. The car rocks with the force of it, and I hear myself make sounds I don't recognize—whimpers, moans, broken fragments of his name.
One of the men—the one who was toying his nipple—makes a gesture. A crude one. He cups his hand, moves it up and down, an unmistakable milking motion. His lips move, and even though I can't hear the words, I know what he's saying: Milk her. Milk that cow.
Kaelen sees it. I feel him laugh—a low, dark sound against my neck. And then his hand slides up from my clit, over my stomach, to my breasts. He cups one, squeezes, and then his fingers find my nipple, pinching hard.
"You heard them," he murmurs. "Time to be milked."
He starts to fuck me in a rhythm—deep, steady pulls, each one drawing me out, then pushing back in. His hand works my breast in time, squeezing, tugging, and I feel myself responding, my body yielding to the rhythm, my cunt clenching around nothing while my ass takes him deeper and deeper.
I'm dripping. I feel it—his cum from earlier, mixed with my own wetness, sliding down my thighs, pooling on the leather seat beneath my knees. I'm soaked, ruined, and the men are watching, and Kaelen is fucking me like I'm a toy he's been allowed to break.
The orgasm builds without warning. A wave that crests from somewhere deep, pulled by his hand on my breast, his cock in my ass, the eyes on us from the trees. I shatter with a scream that's half sob, my body convulsing around him, my vision whiting out at the edges.
He keeps fucking me through it. Doesn't stop. Drives deeper, harder, and I feel him swell inside me, feel the pulse of his release as he comes—hot and thick, filling my ass, leaking out around him.
In the trees, the men are climaxing. I see it—the jerk of their bodies, the way their hands still, the streaks of white that catch the dappled light. One of them stumbles back, zipping his pants, tugging his jacket closed. The other follows, and within seconds they're gone, swallowed by the forest, leaving nothing but the echo of what they witnessed.
Kaelen pulls out of me slowly, and I feel his cum trickle down the back of my thigh, warm and wet. He turns me around, presses me against the car, and I look up at him—his face flushed, his chest heaving, his grey eyes still dark with hunger that hasn't been fully satisfied.
He lifts me, carries me to the hood of the car, lays me out on the warm metal. The sky is visible through the trees, patches of blue between the leaves, and I'm too exhausted to do anything but lie there, spread open, leaking his seed.
He positions himself between my legs again. His cock is still hard, still slick with my wetness and his cum, and he pushes into my cunt without preamble—deep, filling, claiming.
"One more," he says, his voice rough. "I want to fill you so full you can't walk."
He fucks me on the hood of the car, the metal cool against my back, the sky spinning above me. He's relentless, each thrust driving deeper, and I feel another orgasm approaching—distant, like an echo, but building. He leans down, bites my shoulder, and I come with a broken cry, my body arching off the hood.
He follows a moment later, his hips slamming into me, his cum flooding me so hot and thick that I feel it spill out around him, dripping down onto the metal, pooling beneath me.
He stays inside me, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to mine. I feel his cum leaking out of me, a steady trickle that doesn't stop. I'm so full. So heavy. So utterly claimed.
"I've got you," he murmurs. And then everything goes dark.
---
I wake to the feeling of weight on my chest. Heavy. Warm. Familiar.
I blink, disoriented, the ceiling above me unfamiliar for a moment—then the details resolve. The heavy crown molding. The deep blue walls. The lamp on the nightstand, still glowing with a low, amber light.
The master bedroom.
I'm in his bed. The sheets are clean, crisp, smelling of laundry detergent and something floral. My body aches—a deep, satisfied ache that reminds me of every moment in the clearing. I'm wearing one of his t-shirts, soft and worn, and nothing else.
And his arm is draped over my chest, his hand resting on my breast, his fingers curved loosely around the curve.
He's asleep. I turn my head slowly, careful not to wake him, and find his face inches from mine. His jaw is relaxed, his mouth slightly open, the perpetual tension in his brow smoothed away. He looks younger like this. Softer. Like the Animal is asleep too, and only the man remains.
I feel his cum still inside me—a wetness that's cooled but not dried, a proof of what happened. I shift, and I feel more of it seep onto the sheets beneath me.
He said he wanted me to leak for days. He wasn't lying.
His hand tightens slightly on my breast, a reflexive squeeze, and I hear him murmur something in his sleep—not a word, just a sound. I don't move. I lie there, in his bed, under his arm, full of his seed, and I feel something I haven't felt in eleven years.
Seen.
I close my eyes, let myself sink into the warmth of his body beside me, the weight of his arm across my chest, the evidence of his possession still seeping from my body into the sheets.
I don't know what happens tomorrow. I don't know what his family will think, what Amanda will try, what my father will demand when he finds out the deal has been sealed.
But right now, in this moment, I am his. And he is mine.
And the Animal is not going back to sleep.