My Husband Couldn’t Touch Me After Birth—Then His Father Stepped In

Chapter 3

When I'm with Ryan, I can still control myself—fake the orgasms, manage my expression, lock my real desires deep inside. But now, standing next to his father, the walls I built to protect myself are slowly crumbling.

He doesn't say a word. He just rips my dress off in one motion. I'm facing away from him, wearing nothing but my panties, completely bare from the waist up. I lean against the cold wall, but my n*****s are burning.

I close my eyes for a brief moment.

The next second, a harsh slap lands on my ass.

I wasn't expecting it. The sound is so loud it's humiliating. "Mmph—!" The moan escapes before I can stop it, even startling myself. My skin is on fire—a mix of pain and some unspeakable heat that shoots from the base of my spine straight to my head.

"Nice ass," he says, amused.

I bite my lip and don't move.

Another slap. Harder than before. My body slams against the hard wall, my n*****s grinding against the rough surface, sending shivers through me. His hand is large, rough—every finger a declaration of ownership. He's clearly punishing me—but why does this punishment feel so good? The insides of my thighs grow hot, slick. I'm dying of shame, but my body is opening up.

"You like this… you're dripping."

His thumb traces slowly along the curve of my ass c***k. A bolt of electricity arcs through my body. I can't stop trembling.

"Talk."

"…No… I don't like it." My face feels hot. My voice sounds like it's being squeezed from the back of my throat.

"Little liar."

He roughly pries one of my legs open and shoves his knee between my thighs.

I gasp. He pins me against the wall. He presses close—the hardness of his chest against my bare back through his clothes, his lips almost grazing my ear. "You're wet."

I want to shake my head, to deny it. But his fingers have already slipped under the waistband of my panties, finding that wetness without any obstacle. He lets out a low, amused chuckle.

"You think this is about revenge on Ryan?" he says. His fingertip circles lazily at my entrance, never going in.

I squeeze my thighs shut—but all I do is trap his hand.

"Answer me."

"I… I don't know…" I'm about to cry. But my body betrays me, arching back on its own, rubbing against the bulge in his pants. I can feel the hardness even through the fabric. I hate myself. I want him.

"Did Ryan ever touch you here?" Two fingers suddenly push inside—no transition, no warning.

I scream.

"I asked you a question." He starts pumping. His rough fingertips grind against every sensitive spot inside me.

"No… he never… he only ever wanted to get himself off…" I say, haltingly. The tears finally fall.

He pulls his fingers out. There's a wet, obscene sound. Then I hear the clink of his belt buckle.

"Turn around," he says.

I turn to face him, trembling. My gaze drops down—and freezes. He hasn't even fully unzipped his pants. Just pulled the zipper down. And that thing is already half-exposed—so thick I instinctively step back.

He grabs my waist and pulls me back.

He rubs the head of his c**k against my entrance. The friction sends goosebumps crawling over my skin. He keeps rubbing until my legs start shaking.

"Look at me." He grips my chin and forces my head up. "Mm… you're soaked. Is it because of the punishment? Or have you wanted me for a long time?"

His thumb pries open my lips and presses against the thick head of his c**k.

"Suck."

I close my eyes and take it in.