"Exactly. No one to hear you scream for Daddy." I capture her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her gasp.
My hands are everywhere—under her shirt, cupping her breasts, squeezing that perfect ass. I'm too worked up for finesse. The animal in me needs to claim, to mark.
"Stand up," I growl against her mouth. When she looks confused, I clarify, "On the seat. Need to get these jeans off."
It's awkward in the confines of the truck cab, but we manage. Soon she's naked from the waist down, and I've freed my cock from my jeans. I pull her back down onto my lap, guiding her onto my length in one smooth thrust.
"Fuck," I groan as she envelops me. So tight. So perfect. "That's it, little girl. Take Daddy's cock like you were made for it."
She moans, head falling back as I fill her completely. The position gives her no leverage—she's impaled on me, completely at my mercy.
"Look at you," I praise, watching her face as I begin to thrust upward. "Taking me so deep. Such a good girl for Daddy."
"Vance," she whimpers, trying to move, to set the pace.
I grip her hips harder, controlling her completely. "No. You take what I give you. How I give it."
The truck rocks with the force of my thrusts, her body bouncing on my lap. Through the windshield, stars are beginning to appear in the darkening sky, witnesses to our claiming.
"Gonna breed you right here under the stars," I growl, feeling my orgasm building. "Fill this sweet pussy with my seed."
Her inner walls clench around me at the words, telling me exactly how much they affect her.
"You like that?" I push harder, deeper. “Say what you want, Wynter, but you love my cock deep inside you. Love how I fuck you hard and dirty and spew filth in your ear while I do it. That’s cause I know what you need, baby girl. What you want.”
"I can't—" she gasps, trembling on the edge.
"You can. You will." I slide one hand between us, finding her clit. "Come for Daddy. Let me feel that tight little pussy milk my cock."
She shatters with a cry that echoes through the cab, her body convulsing around mine. I follow immediately, erupting inside her with a roar, holding her down firmly to make sure every drop stays deep where it belongs.
We stay joined as our breathing slows, her forehead resting against mine. I stroke her back, suddenly gentle now that the feral need has been momentarily sated.
"Why do you say those things?" she whispers. "About…breeding me?"
I cup her face, making her meet my gaze. "Because I mean them," I say simply. "You're mine now. In every way. And I want to see you round with my child. Want to mark you inside and out so everyone knows it."
A shiver runs through her, but it's not disgust. Not fear. It's something deeper, more primal. Recognition, maybe. Of what we are to each other.
"You're crazy," she murmurs, but there's less conviction than before.
"Crazy about you." I kiss her again, softer this time. "Now let's get you dressed. Still got miles to go before you see your new home."
As we pull back onto the highway, my hand returns to her thigh, possessive and protective. The animal in me is temporarily satisfied, but I know it's only the beginning. By the time we reach the compound, there won't be a single doubt in her mind—or anyone else's—about who she belongs to.
five
. . .
Wynter
The compound risesout of the desert like some kind of dystopian fortress. Chain-link fence topped with razor wire surrounds a cluster of buildings—a large central structure flanked by smaller ones, all looking industrial and unwelcoming. Motorcycles line the gravel lot, chrome glinting in the harsh sun like weapons on display. My throat tightens as Vance's truck rumbles through the gate, which closes behind us with an ominous clang. This isn't just another world from my quiet small-town life—it's another planet entirely. And apparently, it's my new home.
"We're here," Vance announces unnecessarily, cutting the engine. He looks over at me, expression softening slightly. "Don't be scared, baby doll. No one here will touch you. They know better."
That's not exactly reassuring.
Men emerge from the main building as we pull up—big men with hard eyes and harder expressions, most sporting beards and tattoos. They're all cut from the same cloth as Vance, though none quite match his imposing size. They regard the truck with curious eyes, clearly wondering who I am.
