Knotty Business
Knotty Business
~Lyra~
Because he looked so satisfied.
So smug.
So calm.
Like this was all part of his evil little masterplan.
Like he was already planning what desk to bend me over when I started online classes.
“You’re smiling,” I hissed, my whole body trembling from where I was still stretched around his c**k. “Why are you smiling? This is not a smiling situation.
“This is a ‘call the police‘ situation. This is a ‘burn the house down and flee to Cuba‘ situation. This is not the time for that sexy, arrogant mafia smirk thing you do when you know you’ve won..oh my God you think you’ve
won.
His hand slid across my ass, slow, heavy, possessive.
“I have won,” he said calmly. “You’re not leaving.”
My breath caught.
I shook my head so hard it made the pillow shift.
“No. No no no. I still have options. I can run. I can get a job. I can join a convent. Or pretend to be possessed.
Or fake a coma. Or jump out the window and let Jesus take the wheel. I’m not staying here.”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Because his hips rolled forward..slow, deep, f*****g deliberate..and his knot dragged inside me like he was
proving I couldn’t even finish a sentence without moaning anymore.
“I hate you,” I whimpered, gripping the sheets like they could save me?
“No you don’t,” he murmured.
“I hate how you feel,” I cried. “I hate how full I am. I hate that you didn’t even ask. I hate that my mum thinks
you’re respectable.”
His lips brushed my neck.
“I love that she does.”
I gasped.
“Oh my God, you’re evil,” I hissed, my voice cracked and trembling and way too high–pitched to sound intimidating.
“You’re not just evil. You’re like evil with a capital E. Like if Lucifer had a c**k and a mansion and a f*****g six–pack and ruined girls for fun while their mums were on speakerphone thinking he was a God–sent father figure..that’s you.
“That’s who you are. You’re the reason I’m going to hell. You’re the reason I’m going to wake up tomorrow with a cross carved into my thighs and no hymen and a permanent tremor in my legs.”
He just smirked behind me like he was proud.
“I mean seriously,” I kept going, because apparently I had no self–control and also no brain cells left, “who does that? Who ruins a girl this hard while her mother is still on the line? Who knots a virgin and f***s her stupid until she moans into the pillow and then goes ‘I’ll take care of your daughter‘ like he’s applying for a babysitting job?”
He didn’t say a word.
Just slowly, deeply, rolled his hips forward again like my entire speech was an invitation to stretch me wider.
I gasped.
Full–body tremble.
My toes curled so hard I think I caught a cramp but I didn’t care. My p***y pulsed so tightly around his knot I nearly sobbed.
“You think this is funny,” I whimpered. “You think this is so f*****g funny. I’m stuck in this house with you. You. The man who calls himself Daddy when he’s wrecking me and makes me beg and says things like good girl in that voice that makes my brain leak out of my ears. You literally fingered me while I was on the phone
Forever.” with my mother and now she wants me to stay. Here. With you.
His mouth brushed my shoulder again, that calm, smug monster of a man still buried inside me like he was never planning to leave.
“She called you stable,” I cried, writhing under him like my body couldn’t decide if it wanted to cry or climax.” My mother called you a stable male influence. Do you know what that means? That means she thinks you’re a safe adult. A trustworthy guardian.
“A mentor. She thinks you’re the kind of man who gives speeches about boundaries and consent and safety. When really you’re the kind of man who makes girls cry while calling them his personal cumslut–oh my God, I am your personal cumslut.”
He groaned low at that.
I slapped my hand over my mouth.
“Oh my God. I said that out loud. I actually said that. I admitted it. This is it. This is how I die. My soul is going to detach from my body and float to purgatory and the angels are going to gag when they pull up my file and see what’s currently stuffed inside me. I’m going to have to fight for entrance into heaven while walking bowlegged from your cock.”
I buried my face in the sheets, screaming into them.
“I used to be normal,” I mumbled into the fabric. “I used to be a virgin who drank iced coffee and watched
rom–coms and cried about failing Chemistry. And now I’m just… your little s*x doll with no brain and too much c*m in her uterus.”
He finally spoke
“You love it,” Damon growled.
And my p***y clenched.
Because I did.
God help me. I did..
“Lies! I do not love it,” I snapped.
And then immediately gasped. Because my p***y betrayed me again. It clenched around his knot like it was clapping. Like it was proud. Like it wanted to scream yes she f*****g does in Morse code through my cervix.
“Okay fine,” I hissed, burying my face deeper into the sheets. “Maybe I like it a little. Like a very small microscopic amount. Like the size of a grain of rice. Or a flea. Or a dust particle that got lost in a hurricane and accidentally landed in my frontal lobe and made me say that.
“Because obviously I don’t love being used like a personal fuckdoll by my best friend’s father while my mum is out here planning my permanent relocation like this is the f*****g Sims.”
He rolled his hips again and I moaned so loud it sounded illegal.
“I’m not okay,” I whined. “I’m genuinely not. Like I don’t even know who I am anymore. What’s my name? What year is it? How do I walk? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve rearranged my organs and I’ll have to pee out of my
throat from now on.”
His hand curved around my hip, pulling me back harder onto his c**k like I was made for it.
“You broke me,” I whispered. “No actually. You shattered me. You stuffed me full of your c**k and now I can’t even think about bananas without picturing your d**k. I can’t hear the word ‘discipline‘ without getting wet.
“I can’t talk to my mother without dripping all over the sheets like some desperate little nympho who needs to be gagged before she confesses everything.”
I gasped again. Because I was still leaking.
So much.
I could feel it.
His c*m was sliding down the insides of my thighs like it belonged there.
“And the worst part?” I whispered into the sheets. “The worst part is that I know you’re going to do it again. You’re not done. You haven’t even started. You’re going to keep me here, and make me call you Daddy, and f**k me so many times I forget what daylight looks like. You’re going to ruin me and then smile when I thank you for it.”
He groaned again, deeper this time, and I felt his knot twitch.
My p***y clenched again.
“I’m eighteen,” I whimpered. “I’m supposed to be applying to universities and having existential crises and drinking boba tea while crying over boys who don’t know I exist. Not… this. Not getting bred by my best friend’s dad while my uterus sings the f*****g Hallelujah chorus because your c**k hasn’t moved in thirty
seconds.”
I turned my head and looked back at him, my cheeks burning, my hair stuck to my face, my entire body trembling with every tiny movement of his hips.
“You’re going to break me,” I whispered. “Aren’t you?”
3/6
< Knotty Business
He smirked.
Then he pulled back.
And started f*****g me again. f**k yes!!
He was still inside me.
Still thick.
Still twitching.
Still buried so deep it felt like I could feel his c**k in my f*****g throat.
But slowly, finally, I felt it. The pressure starting to ease. The knot beginning to shrink. My poor p***y was still pulsing around him, raw and overstretched and full of so much c*m I was pretty sure I could drown a toddler, but his grip on my hips loosened.
And then.
He pulled out.
My whole body flinched.
c*m spilled down my thighs immediately. So much. It slid down to the backs of my knees and pooled onto the sheets beneath me like a f*****g crime scene.
Damon didn’t say anything at first. Just reached for the edge of the blanket, dragged it up with one hand, and wiped the inside of my thighs like I was something fragile. Or his.
Then he leaned down.
Pressed a kiss to my shoulder.
And whispered, “Better clean up before Tasha walks in and asks why her room smells like a porn studio.”
I choked.
I literally choked on my own spit.
“You’re disgusting,” I croaked, half dead, face still buried in the pillow, body twitching like I’d been hit by a
truck.
He stood up, stretched like the predator he was, and walked toward the door butt–naked, not even pretending
to be ashamed.
Before leaving, he paused at the doorway, looked over his shoulder at my dripping, sprawled, broken body on Tasha’s bed, and smirked.
“Next time,” he said casually, “you’re riding me.”
Then he walked out.
Just like that.
Naked.
Smirking.
Swinging.
Leaving a trail of corruption and c*m in his wake like a walking felony.
I laid there..
Silent.
Sticky.
Staring at the ceiling like it could explain to me how my life had imploded in less than seventy–two hours.
“Oh my God,” I whispered to myself. “I’m going to hell. I’m genuinely going to hell. With VIP access. Jesus is going to slam the pearly gates shut when he sees my browser history. I need therapy. And holy water. And a f*****g exorcism.”
I was mid–spiral, still breathing like I’d just survived an earthquake, when my phone buzzed beside me.
I blinked at it.
Still on my side.
Still nude.
Still leaking like a cracked pipe.
The screen lit up: Unknown number.
I frowned.
“Who the hell?”
I picked it up and pressed it to my ear, still panting.
“Hello?” I said cautiously.
“Lyra,” a voice said on the other end, smooth and familiar and full of smug, undeserved confidence, “how are you doing?”
I froze.
No.
No no no no no no no.
It couldn’t be.
It f*****g was.
“Marcus?” I hissed. “You f*****g prick./How the f**k did you get my number?”
My voice cracked halfway through the insult.
Because of course this would happen now.
Because of course the boy who once called me useless for not letting him break my virginity would call me now after it had been broken, shattered, absolutely annihilated by a man three times filthier and ten times
thicker.
Because the universe hated me.
And Marcus?
Marcus was about to find out just how not useless I’d become.
