Chapter 7: the road won’t stop me
The city slid by the windows, a blur of neon and shadow. The engine’s hum was a low, steady pulse beneath the tense silence in the car. Weeks had passed since that night, since the vibrations and the desperate sobs into his pillow. The marks had faded from purple to yellow to nothing, but the memory lived in the way she moved around him now—a little slower, a little more aware, like an animal that knows the precise weight of the chain.
Jiahao drove with a relaxed lethality, one hand draped at the bottom of the steering wheel. The other rested high on Caitlyn’s thigh, his fingers splayed possessively over the black fabric of her dress. It was a short, revealing thing, the hem riding up with every shift of her legs. His thumb began to move, a slow, idle stroke against her inner leg.
She watched his hand. The streetlights flashed over his knuckles, his long fingers, the clean line of his wrist disappearing under his cuff. They were pretty hands. Deceptive. Capable of reducing her to a begging, writhing mess.
“See something you like?” His voice was a calm, dark amusement in the confined space.
“Your hands,” she admitted, her own voice quieter than she intended.
“Yeah?” His thumb stroked higher, dipping beneath the hem of her dress. The touch was electric on her bare skin. “What about them?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her breath hitched as his hand slid further, his palm burning a path up her thigh. His touch was a claim, a casual review of territory he owned. His fingers reached the lace edge of her dress
“oh fuck, Hao,” she whispered, her head falling back against the seat.
The car slowed as they hit a red light. He turned his head to look at her. The light bathed his face in red, then green, his expression unreadable. “Try again.”
Her core clenched, empty and aching. The memory of being filled, of being used until she shook, was a live wire in her gut. “Daddy,” she breathed.
A satisfied smirk touched his lips. His fingers didn’t hesitate. They pushed past the lace, into the hot, slick fold of her. He didn’t tease. He plunged two fingers into her with a slow, relentless depth that stole the air from her lungs.
She cried out, a sharp, unfiltered sound that echoed in the car. Her hips bucked off the seat, impaling herself further on his hand. “Oh, god… Daddy…”
He worked her with a brutal, knowing rhythm, his fingers curling inside her, finding that perfect, devastating spot with unerring accuracy. His eyes were on the road again, his profile cool and composed as he drove, as he fucked her with his hand. The dissonance was paralyzing. The normalcy of the passing sidewalks, the grocery stores, the people—all while his fingers were buried inside her, stretching her, making a filthy, wet sound with every thrust.
“You’re dripping all over my fingers,” he observed, his voice conversational. “Like a little slut. Anyone looks in this window, they’d see your pretty face all fucked out and my hand up your dress.”
The image, the risk, sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through her. It coiled with the pleasure, tightening the spring in her belly. Another car pulled up beside them at a light. She froze, a whimper caught in her throat, her eyes wide with panic and a dark, shameful excitement.
“They can’t see,” he murmured, twisting his fingers. “But you wish they could, don’t you? Wish they could see how good you take it.”
“Pull over,” she gasped, the words tearing from her. Her hand clamped over his wrist, not to pull him away, but to grind herself harder onto him. “Jiahao, please, pull the car over. Now.”
He glanced at her, saw the desperate, wild look in her eyes, the sweat beading at her temples. With a soft, dark chuckle, he signaled and turned the wheel, guiding the car into a dimly lit alley. Graffiti stained the brick walls. The only light came from a single, buzzing fixture above a back door twenty yards away. He shifted into park, killed the engine.
The silence was absolute, and within it, the sound of her ragged breathing was obscene.
Before he could move, she was on him. She unbuckled her seatbelt with a frantic click, then his, scrambling across the center console. The dress rode up to her hips as she straddled him, her knees on either side of his thighs on the driver’s seat. The confined space forced her into a deep, intimate arch over him.
“I can’t take it,” she panted, her hands framing his face, her eyes blazing down at him. “I need you. I need you hao. right now. Not your fingers. You.”
Something in him snapped. The cool control evaporated, replaced by a predatory hunger. His hands came up, gripped the neckline of her flimsy dress, and pulled. The fabric tore with a sharp, satisfying ripsound, baring her breasts to the cool air of the car. She didn’t flinch. She moaned, pushing her chest forward into his face.
He took her, his mouth hot and demanding on her nipple, sucking hard, biting just enough to make her cry out. One hand smacked down on her cunt, the sharp crack of palm on wet lace making her jolt. The sting was immediate, bright, a brand through the fabric. He did it again, on the other side, then gripped the bare flesh of her ass, his fingers digging in, surely leaving bruises.
“Off,” she demanded, her fingers tugging of his shirt. “Get this off daddy.” She was frantic, yanking the fabric from his skin. She needed skin. She needed to see the definition of his abdomen, the proof of his strength. She shoved the material apart and her mouth was on his chest, his stomach, licking, sucking, leaving wet, possessive marks on his torso. The taste of him, salt and clean sweat and him, was an intoxicant.
Headlights swept across the alley mouth. A car passed slowly. The beam illuminated them for a split second—a tangle of limbs, her pale back arched, his hands dark against her skin. The idea that they could have been seen, clearly, indecently, sent a violent tremor through her. She moaned against his skin, her hips grinding down on the hard ridge of his length.
“They saw,” she whispered, horrified, thrilled.
He seized her hair, pulling her head back to look at him. His eyes were black in the gloom. “Let them see,” he growled. “Let them see who you belong to. I’ll keep my needy baby safe. Now get it out.”
She obeyed. She rose up on her knees, positioned herself, and sank down onto him in one agonizing, perfect slide. They both gasped, the sound merging in the quiet car. The stretch was glorious, a burning fullness that settled a desperate, screaming emptiness inside her.
She began to move, riding him with a frantic, clumsy rhythm born of pure need. The seat creaked in protest. Her head fell back, her torn dress hanging from her shoulders, her breasts bouncing with each descent. Every impact drove a broken sound from her lips.
“Daddy… oh fuck, Daddy right there…”
He let her set the pace for a moment, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her, then slapping her ass in a sharp rhythm. The slaps weren’t playful. They were possessive, marking, each one a reminder of his control even as she rode him.
“No one,” he grunted, his own composure fracturing as he thrust up to meet her. “No one can fuck you like this, can they? Tell me.”
“No,” she sobbed, her rhythm breaking as sensation overwhelmed her. “Only you.”
“No one touches this cunt.” His voice was a raw, brutal scrape. He wrapped one hand around her throat, not squeezing, just holding. A claim. “No one makes you come. No one gets to hear these sounds. This is mine. Say it.”
“Yours!” she screamed, the word tearing from her as the coil inside her snapped. The orgasm was a convulsive, mind-wrecking wave, slamming through her with no grace, only a savage, taking force. Her internal muscles clamped around him, pulsing wildly, milking him.
He waited until the last shudder rippled through her before pulling out, leaving her slick and gaping. she trembled atop him, still tight, her skin radiating a feverish heat. a needy twitch pulsed between her legs the moment her climax’s filter faded.He saw it. “Backseat, baby,” he ordered. His voice was low, a rumble of restrained force. The command severed the last of her haze
Without a word, she climbed over the center console, movements clumsy with the boneless satisfaction that still thrummed through her nerves. The torn fabric of her dress caught on the gear shift.
He slid into the seat and was on her. His body covered hers, his chest a heavy, welcome weight against her back. One large hand pinned both of her wrists above her head, pressing them into the cool, pebbled leather of the seat.
He was still huge and hard and she felt the smooth, blunt head of him nudge against her swollen, dripping entrance from behind.
“Legs on my shoulders, princess,” he instructed into the nape of her neck, his breath hot and damp.
She strained. “I can’t—the seat’s too close…”
He solved it. His free hand groped, and squeezed. His fingertips sank with possessive intent into the upper, untouched skin of her inner thighs.
A sharp, shocked yelp broke from her lips. The pleasure was immediate and blinding—a raw, electric bolt that made her whole body go rigid in his grasp. It was shocking, a cluster of nerves he hadn’t known existed, laid bare by his grip.
“You like that?” he murmured. He squeezed again, his fingertips making her shiver into the leather. There was no answer she could give.
He gripped her there and hauled, hiking her legs up and over his broad shoulders like they were nothing. The bend in her spine was tight, borderline painful, forcing her hips high and angling her body for him to own completely.
But now his mouth was on the skin of her thighs where his fingers had pressed. hot, wet sucking followed, each pull on her nerve-spiked skin threatening to unravel her again. He marked one side, then moved to the other. Each possessive leave a violent, blossoming bruise where his earlier grip had electrified her.
Each possessive suck left a violent, blossoming bruise where his earlier grip had electrified her. He alternated between the tender, abused skin of her inner thighs. The rhythm was unpredictable: a harsh bite that made her sob, followed by a soft, apologetic kiss on the same exact spot, then a stinging slap that echoed in the closed space. The slaps weren't theatrical; they were fast, crisp impacts that left her flesh tingling and hot.
"Fuck, you're so sensitive here, baby," he breathed against her damp skin, his voice thick with discovery and a new, specific hunger. "Every little touch. You shake."
She couldn't deny it. Every point of contact—the scrape of his teeth, the flat of his tongue, the sudden sting of his palm—rippled through her like a stone dropped into still water. A high, thin moan escaped her with each one, a helpless, vocal reaction she couldn't suppress. Her hips twisted, seeking friction, seeking him, but he held her pinned and open, her legs splayed wide over his shoulders, entirely at the mercy of this focused torture.
She was a raw nerve. The ache between her legs was a throbbing, secondary heartbeat, but this new attention to her thighs was a fresh, consuming fire. Her earlier climax felt like a distant memory, an appetizer for this main course of overwhelming sensation.
He worked higher. His mouth was at the crease where her thigh met her body, his tongue tracing the very edge of her. He was so close. The anticipation was a physical pain. "Please," she whimpered, the word dissolving into another choked cry as he bit down on the soft flesh there, a warning and a promise. "Hao, please, I need—"
He pulled back. He released her wrists, his hands sliding down to grip her bruised hips.
"Ass up."
The command was a low, guttural sound. She obeyed instantly, scrambling in the confined space, her movements clumsy with urgency. She turned onto her hands and knees on the cool leather, presenting herself to him. The position was profoundly vulnerable, her back arched, her head down, the torn remains of her dress a puddle around her waist.
He didn't make her wait. One hand came down in a sharp, possessive smack across her ass, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet car. The sting bloomed, sharp and bright. Then he positioned himself, the blunt head nudging against her slick, swollen entrance. He didn't ask. He drove into her, a single, deep, claiming stroke that buried him to the hilt.
The force of it slammed her forward, her palms squeaking against the leather. The air left her lungs in a punched-out grunt. He was deeper than before, the angle ruthless, filling a hollow space she hadn't known was empty. He withdrew almost entirely, then slammed back in, setting a brutal, piston-like rhythm that rocked the entire car on its suspension.
"hao.. right there!" Her voice was a broken thing, muffled by the seat. Each powerful thrust jarred her bones, a delicious, punishing fusion of pleasure and surrender. The soreness from earlier was gone, burned away by a newer, more hiimmediate need.
He leaned over her, his chest to her sweaty back, one arm hooking around her waist to hold her steady. His other hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back, arching her spine even more. "Louder," he growled into her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "I want to hear you. I want the whole fucking alley to know whose cunt this is."
She complied. Her moans became screams, raw and unfiltered, each one torn from her by the punishing pace of his hips. The thought of someone in the surrounding buildings hearing, of a passerby pausing in the alley mouth, only made her clench around him tighter, her own depravity fueling the fire.
"That's it," he snarled, his control fraying at the edges."Take it. You can take all of it. This is what you needed, wasn't it? Not a gentle fuck. Not a few fingers in a car. You needed to be ruined."
"Y-yes," she sobbed, her vision blurring. The pleasure was a cresting wave, massive and terrifying."Only you. No one else. Ever."
.”The word hung in the humid air of the car, a final, shuddering truth. It echoed in the space between his thrusts. He stilled inside her, buried to the hilt, his body a tense statue molded against her back. Her admission, raw and ripped from her throat, seemed to change the quality of the silence. It was no longer just about friction, or release. It was a surrender of a different color
He released her hair. His hand, slick with her sweat, slid down the slope of her spine. It was a touch almost gentle in its possession. “Again,” he commanded, his voice a low vibration against her skin.
“I’m only yours,” she repeated, the words softer now, muffled by the leather seat. “This is only yours. Always.”
A low, approving sound rumbled in his chest. He began to move again, but the rhythm had changed. It was slower, deeper, each withdrawal a deliberate torture, each forward stroke a penetrating claim. He was no longer just fucking her. He was sealing the pact her words had made. One hand anchored on her hip, fingers pressing into the fresh bruises there. The other snaked around her waist, his palm flattening against her lower belly as if he could feel himself inside her from the outside.
“You feel that?” he grunted, driving into her with a deep, rolling motion. “You feel how deep that goes.”
She did feel it. Each measured stroke shifted something fundamental inside her, a rearranging of her very core around his presence. Pleasure was a continuous, low-grade current now, humming just beneath the overwhelming sense of being owned. Her arms trembled, struggling to keep her up. Her back arched, presenting herself for his use, an offering on the altar of the backseat.
The coil of another climax began to tighten, a distant, inevitable quake building from the epicenter he’d created. Her mind fogged, her world narrowing to the slap of skin, the creak of leather, the guttural sound of his breathing. Desperate for more friction, for anything to tip her over the edge, her hand crept down from where it braced against the seat.
Her fingers brushed through her own wetness, seeking the swollen bud of her clit. The contact was a spark. A whimper of pure need escaped her.
His hand was a blur. It cracked down on the back of her thigh, a stinging, precise warning. Before her fingers could even curl, his own seized her wrist in a vice-like grip, wrenching her hand away and pinning it high against her own back, beside its twin.
“No, no, princess,” he growled, his voice dangerously soft. His hips never stopped their deep, rhythmic work. “You don’t touch. Only Daddy touches.” He squeezed her captured wrist until the bones ached. “I know this body better than you do now. I know what it needs. You ask. You beg. You don’t take.”
He shifted his angle minutely, a fractional tilt of his hips, and the head ground against a spot so deep and perfect it blinded her. Caitlyn’s moan was a shattered, broken thing, torn from a place of pure, animal sensation. Her head dropped, her forehead pressing into the cool leather as her body convulsed around the new, devastating point of contact.
“See?” he hissed, triumph and dark affection lacing the word. He maintained the angle, that perfect, ruinous pressure, and began a series of shallow, relentless drives aimed solely at that one glittering nerve. “You couldn’t find that if you tried for a year. I own it. I know it.”
Caitlyn’s moans and whines were pornographic. They were raw, unfiltered sounds of a woman being unmade and remade to his specifications. Each shallow, precise thrust ripped another guttural cry from her throat. She was babbling, a stream of “yes” and “right there” and “Daddy, please, Daddy,” that dissolved into wordless sobs.
He was hitting every spot so good it transcended pleasure. It felt like truth. It felt like the only thing that had ever been real was him inside her, his hand on her wrist, his breath in her ear. The world outside the fogged windows ceased to exist. There was only the car, the smell of sex and leather, and the devastating skill of his hips.
“You gonna come like this?” he demanded, his own breath starting to fray. “Just from this? From me telling you no and fucking this one spot? No fingers for you, baby. No toy. Just me. Just me claiming what’s mine. Can you do it?”
She couldn’t speak. She could only keen, a high, desperate sound as the pressure built to an impossible peak. Her body was taut as a bowstring, every muscle clenched, her cunt gripping him in frantic, rhythmic pulses. She was poised on a knife-edge, balanced perfectly between overwhelming sensation and shattering release.
He leaned in, his lips against the shell of her ear. His voice was the final thread that snapped her.
“Come for me. Now.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a commandment written directly into her nervous system.
It was a commandment written directly into her nervous system.
Her body obeyed.
The orgasm didn't crest; it detonated. A raw, seismic shiver ripped up her spine, contorting her back into a sharp arch. Her internal muscles clamped around him in vicious, rhythmic spasms, a silken vise milking his length. A shattered scream tore from her throat, morphing into choked sobs that hitched with every pulse of her climax. Her vision whited out, the graffiti-scarred brick wall beyond the windshield dissolving into a blur of meaningless color.
He rode her through it, his own control fracturing. His thrusts lost their measured precision, turning into short, savage jerks. His groans were guttural, animal things against the back of her sweat-slicked neck. The slapping sound of skin on skin, the wet suction of her body taking him, filled the hot, confined space. The air grew thick, stale, saturated with the scent of sex and leather and their own exertion.
It was too much. The heat, the intensity, the overwhelming press of his body covering hers—it choked her. As the final waves of her release began to ebb, leaving her trembling and hollowed out, a frantic need for oxygen clawed at her lungs.
Her hand shot out, blind and desperate. Her fingers fumbled for the window control on the door panel. She found it. With a weak, gasping push, she pressed the button.
The electric whirr was shockingly loud. The window descended with a smooth, mechanical purr, letting in a rush of damp, cool night air. It washed over her feverish skin, a sudden shock against the heat of her flushed face and chest. She gulped it in, her head falling forward, strands of her hair sticking to her damp forehead.
The moment stretched, filled only by the sound of her ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city.
Then his voice cut through it, cold and sharp as a shard of glass.
“You just had to do that, didn’t you?”
His hips stilled, buried deep inside her. One hand, which had been braced on the seat beside her head, came up and grasped her jaw, forcing her face towards the open window. “Had to get some air? Or did you want someone to hear?”
The cool air now felt like a judgment. She tried to shake her head, but his grip was iron. “N-no…”
“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed, his breath hot on her ear. The previous tenderness was gone, burned away by a sudden, icy fury. “You’re such a fucking slut. You’re getting fucked senseless in an alley, and you’re thinking about an audience? You want the whole world to know how good this dick feels?”
He punctuated the question with a brutal, single thrust that made her cry out. The sound, sharp and clear, echoed into the night.
“There,” he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. “That’s what you wanted, right? For everyone to hear you getting ruined. You want them to know you’re just a desperate little whore who needs to be filled up in a dirty car? That your ‘Daddy’ fucks you so well you can’t even breathe right?”
The degradation, laced with the undeniable truth of her earlier thrill at being seen, sent a fresh, shameful bolt of arousal straight to her core. She clenched around him involuntarily, a traitorous pulse that he felt instantly.
He laughed, a low, dark sound devoid of humor. “You are. God, you’re fucking pathetic. You love it. You love the idea of being seen like this, used like this.” His hand left her jaw and snaked around her throat, not squeezing, just holding. A branding touch. “My dirty, desperate fucking whore.”
“Let them hear,” he growled, his own breath coming in ragged pants now. “Let them all hear what you are. Let them hear you take it.” His voice dropped to a shattered whisper, raw and exposed just for her. “Let them hear you take all of me.”
His control shattered. His movements became erratic, a final, desperate chase for his own release. The hand on her throat tightened just enough to constrict her airway, a fleeting, terrifying pressure that sent sparks across her vision. His other arm locked around her waist, crushing her to him as he buried himself to the hilt one last time.
A broken roar was torn from his chest, a raw, unfiltered sound that seemed to shake the very frame of the car.