His fingers moved to the waistband of the white panties.

Not the elastic this time.

The small, soft patch of dark hair visible above the cotton where the torn stockings had pulled everything slightly askew, the curls matted and glistening with the slick that had already started leaking despite her protests.

He took a small handful between two fingers, tugging the coarse, damp strands roughly.

And pulled.

"AAANGHH~!! WHAT—" Thalia’s head came up off the seat entirely. "’What are you doing’—"

"My bad." His voice was flat. "I thought it was the stockings."

"You can ’clearly tell the difference’—"

"Can I?"

A pause.

"Yeah." He released the hair. "I can."

Another pause.

"I just won’t."

His finger pushed the soaked cotton aside, the fabric clinging wetly to her swollen lips before he forced it away.

And pressed directly into her.

One long, unhurried slide that seated itself to the knuckle in one motion, her cunt offering exactly the resistance of a door left unlatched — hot, slippery, and already drooling around the intrusion like a greedy slut that had been waiting for it.

"AAHHH~!! STOP—you ’bastard’—HIIEEK~!!"

Her hips bucked backward onto the finger entirely on reflex, the motion happening below the level of her decision-making while her hands strained against the seatbelt with decreasing conviction, her pussy fluttering and sucking at the digit with filthy, wet spasms.

He curled it, scraping deliberately against that spongy, sensitive ridge inside her, forcing more slick to gush out around his knuckle.

She made a sound into the seat that she would categorically deny making later — a broken, throaty whimper that sounded far too desperate for a woman who claimed to hate him.

He pulled the finger out.

Slowly.

The drag of it on the way back registered in her spine as a specific, humiliating warmth, her inner walls clinging and rippling obscenely, trying to keep him buried.

Then he slid it back in.

PAH — soft, wet, interior, the lewd squelch echoing louder than before as her cunt made no effort to hide how soaked and sloppy it had become.

"OUNGH~!! Nngh~!! ’Stop’—"

His other hand rested flat on the small of her back, holding her hips in place, not allowing the backward scramble her body was attempting with no permission from her brain, fingers digging into her skin as her pussy continued to pulse and leak around him.

He worked the finger in a steady, shallow rhythm.

In.

Out.

In.

The wet, obscene squelching sound of it in the back seat of the car was not quiet — filthy, rhythmic, and shameless, like a cunt that was already ruined and begging for more.

"By the way."

His voice arrived between strokes.

Completely casual.

"Are you pregnant?"

The silence that followed was the specific silence of a body that has just received a shock large enough to override every other ongoing process.

Thalia went still.

Every part of her.

The straining against the seatbelt. The backward push of her hips. The string of profanities building in her chest.

All of it stopped.

"You—" Her voice came out different. Smaller. The composure from the office entirely absent. "’You’—how do you—"

"I knew." His finger resumed its movement, unhurried, as though the conversation had not changed registers, still pumping lazily through her dripping folds. "I’ve known."

"How ’much’ do you—"

"Why else," he said simply, "would the old man have handed that seat to you. For free."

His finger curled again, pressing hard against her g-spot while her pregnant cunt clenched helplessly around it.

"He wouldn’t. Not unless he was certain the true Blac heir was already inside you."

She trembled.

Full-body. From her shoulders down through her thighs.

Not from the finger.

From the words landing precisely in the centre of the thing she had been managing alone for months, the thing she had built the office and the corporation and the careful, controlled posture around.

"You." Her voice had no fury left in it. "You knew. This whole time."

"This whole time."

Her pussy clenched around his finger with a filthy, fluttering squeeze she couldn’t control, fresh slick oozing out around his digit as her body betrayed her completely.

He felt it.

Of course he felt it.

The chuckle was very low.

He tilted the finger upward, grinding against her sensitive walls.

"AAANGHH~!! HNGH~!! DON’T—"

He pulled his finger out entirely.

She felt the absence like a specific accusation, her empty cunt twitching and gaping, dripping messily onto the seat.

Then his weight shifted, his body coming forward over hers, the full breadth of him settling over her back while her face was still pressed into the seat.

"You’re heavy—" She turned her head sideways. "Get—you are ’heavy’—"

He placed two fingers against her lips.

"Your pussy is dry."

He pressed them in, forcing them past her teeth.

"Lick it."

"You—" Her voice came out muffled around his fingers. "’Bastard’—"

He pushed them deeper, coating her tongue with her own filthy juices.

She bit down.

Not hard enough to break skin. Hard enough to register a position.

He pulled his fingers back.

Looked at them, glistening and stringy with her arousal.

"Biting." A pause. "My pussy."

"What ’nonsense’—" Thalia turned her face fully to the side. "That doesn’t even make—"

She stopped.

Because she felt it.

His free hand at his waistband. The specific small sound of a zip.

And then the blunt, familiar pressure of his cockhead resting against her from behind, parting the cotton of her panties with nothing but the weight of itself — thick, heavy, and already leaking precum as it smeared her slick messily.

Rubbing.

Slowly.

Back and forth across her entrance in a lazy, unhurried drag that collected the wet from her dripping cunt and used it without apology, the fat head nudging her swollen clit and spreading her puffy lips obscenely with every pass.

"’Stop’." The word came out thin. "’Now’. I mean it."

He leaned down over her back.

His lips near her ear.

"You know what?"

His voice dropped to the low, even register that she had known for years and had spent years pretending she didn’t have a physiological response to.

"I’m really happy."

A pause.

"That you’re pregnant with my child, Thalia."

"’Stop’—don’t say that—’don’t’—"

He plunged.

All nine inches.

In one continuous, unbroken descent that pressed through her entrance and drove up through her cunt and hit her cervix at the end with a deep, resonant impact that she felt in her back teeth, her pregnant belly pressing against the seat as his thick cock stretched her walls wide and made her feel every veiny inch claiming her.

Her womb registered the pressure of him against it — the specific, full-belly sensation of something pressing from outside against the occupied space inside, a heaviness that had no equivalent in anything she had felt before she was carrying, his cockhead bullying right up against where his child grew.

"AAANGHH~!! ’CRUXIUS’~!! HIIEEK~!! OUNGH~!!"

He grabbed her skirt.

Both fists in the fabric at her hips, gathering it upward, bunching it at the small of her back so the full, bare curve of her ass was exposed in the back seat, the torn stockings hanging at her thighs like ruined rags, the white panties pushed aside to accommodate the thick cock splitting her open, her juices already coating his shaft and dripping down her thighs in shiny trails.

And then he started.

PAH! PAH! PAH!

"AAHHH~!! HIIEEK~!! OUNGH~!!"

His hips drove in a rhythm that was immediately hard and deep, no warm-up, no measured beginning, just the full weight of his body behind each stroke and her cunt taking it with the specific, tight, wet clench of a woman whose body had been trained to this exact cock — sloppy, greedy, and sucking him back in with every filthy withdrawal.

"Stop—" The words broke between thrusts. "Don’t—AAHHH~!!—you sleep with different women—OUNGH~!!—you are a ’pervert’—HIIEEK~!!—you told me to ’leave’—AAANGHH~!!"

PAH! PAH! PAH!

"NGH~!! OUNGH~!! HIIEEK~!!"

He grabbed both her wrists.

Still bound at the small of her back by the seatbelt.

He used the bound wrists as a handle, lifting them upward, which arched her spine backward and raised her hips and changed the angle of his entry to something that pressed the crown of his cock against the front wall of her cunt with every forward stroke, forcing her g-spot to grind against his thick shaft.

Her back bowed.

Her head came up.

"AAANGHH~!! ’TOO DEEP’~!! HIIEEK~!! That’s my—’don’t’—OUNGH~!!"