The explanation died in her throat the moment they crossed the threshold of their bedroom. Jungkook had been silent during the car ride home, his hand clamped around her thigh like a vice, his jaw working with the effort of restraint.

She'd tried to speak—"It was just a drama, Boys Over Flowers, you know I loved him as Gu Jun-pyo when I was young, it was just that, just nostalgia"—but he'd cut her off with a look that bordered on feral.

Now he turned, locking the door with a decisive click that echoed in the master suite, and the facade shattered.

"You think that makes it better?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft as he advanced on her. "That he was your childhood fantasy? That you grew up imagining him while you touched yourself? That when you hugged him today, you were hugging the ghost of every wet dream you had before I took you?"

"Jungkook, no—"

"He looked at you like he wanted to breed you," Jungkook snarled, his composure snapping completely.

"Like he wanted to fill your womb with his children instead of mine. Like he could take what belongs to me."

He seized her dress—this one a soft pink that clung to her curves—and tore it down the middle, the fabric parting with a scream of rending silk. She gasped, stumbling back toward the bed, but he was on her, his hands rough, his mouth savage against her throat.

"Mine," he growled, pushing her onto the mattress, climbing over her with his clothes still on, his belt buckle digging into her soft stomach. "This body is mine. These tits are mine. This cunt is mine. And I'm going to fuck you until you forget he ever existed."

He freed himself with jerky, desperate movements, his cock springing free—thick and angry and already leaking, the vein along the underside throbbing with his heartbeat.

He didn't prepare her. He didn't tease. He simply gripped her hips, pulled her to the edge of the bed, and drove into her with a single brutal thrust that shoved her up the mattress, her cry swallowed by his mouth.

"Raw," he gritted out against her lips, withdrawing and slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm immediately. "All day. No protection. I'm going to fill you so many times you'll be dripping for a week. Going to fuck my seed so deep you'll taste it in your throat."

He fucked her like a man possessed, his hips snapping against hers with wet, obscene sounds that filled the room. He didn't slow, didn't gentle, his hands roaming her body with desperate possession—squeezing her breasts hard enough to bruise, gripping her waist, slapping her thighs open wider when she tried to close them.

"Look at me," he commanded, his fingers finding her jaw, forcing her eyes to his. "Eyes on me when I fuck you. Don't you dare close them. Don't you dare imagine him."

"I'm not—" she gasped, her body betraying her with pleasure despite his roughness, her cunt clenching around his driving length. "Jungkook, I'm yours, only yours—"

"Prove it," he snarled, flipping her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up until she was on her knees, face pressed into the pillows. He entered her from behind in one thrust, bottoming out, his hips flush against her ass. "Prove it by taking my cock all day. Prove it by coming on my dick until you can't walk. Prove it by begging me to stop and then begging me for more."

He rode her through her first orgasm, not slowing, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing mercilessly as she clamped down on him, her cry muffled in the bedding. He didn't wait for her to finish, didn't give her respite—he simply kept fucking, his stamina endless, his jealousy fueling him beyond normal limits.

"Feel that?" he panted, his hand fisting in her hair, pulling her head back so he could growl in her ear. "Feel how hard I am for you? How crazy you make me? I haven't slept in two days thinking about you, about keeping you safe, about keeping you mine. And then I find you in his arms. Hugging him. Letting him touch what's mine."

He pulled out suddenly, flipping her again, spreading her legs wide and driving back into her. He hooked her knees over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half, and plunged so deep she saw stars, his pelvis grinding against her clit with every thrust.

"Jungkook, please—" she sobbed, overwhelmed, her body sensitive and trembling.

"Please what?" he demanded, his pace never faltering, sweat dripping from his chin onto her heaving breasts. "Please stop? Or please fuck you harder? Please make you forget?"

"Forget," she whimpered, her hands finding his hair, pulling him down. "Make me forget. Only you. Only ever you."

He came with a roar that probably carried through the mansion, his cock jerking inside her, pulse after hot pulse filling her with his seed. He stayed there, buried to the root, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his face buried in her neck as he caught his breath.

But he didn't soften.

He remained hard, still twitching, and began to move again—slow, rolling thrusts that dragged through his own spend, making her gasp at the sensitivity.

"Again," he growled. "And again. And again."

The nanny knocked at two o'clock.

Jungkook didn't stop fucking her. He simply pulled the blanket over them, keeping himself buried inside her, and called out, "What?"

"The twins, sir," the nanny's voice came, muffled through the door. "They're asking for their mother. Hungry. Won't take bottles."

Y/n tried to move, but Jungkook's arm tightened around her waist like iron, his hips still moving in small, insistent thrusts.

"Five minutes," he gritted out, his eyes never leaving Y/n's face. "Give us five minutes."

He waited until the footsteps retreated, then flipped her onto her back again, her legs over his shoulders, and drove into her with renewed violence. "Hurry," he commanded, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing rough circles. "Come quick. Milk's probably leaking, isn't it? Heavy and full for our babies? Come so you can feed them. Come on my cock like a good mother."

The obscene words, the image of her breasts full of milk while he fucked her, sent her over the edge. She came with a cry that she muffled with her own hand, her body convulsing, her cunt milking his cock in rhythmic pulses that made him groan and spill into her again, his second load joining the first deep inside her.

He pulled out slowly, watching his seed leak from her, his expression dark with satisfaction. "Go," he said, his voice rough. "Feed them. But don't you dare wash. I want you to feel me dripping out of you while you hold them. Want you to remember who you belong to even when you're being their mother."

She stumbled to the bathroom, cleaning herself quickly, wincing at the tenderness between her legs, the swollen sensitivity of her flesh. Her breasts were heavy and aching, milk already staining her robe. When she emerged, Jungkook was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked, his cock still half-hard, his eyes following her with predatory intensity.

"Ten minutes," he said. "Then you're back here. And I'm not done with you."

She returned to find him exactly as she'd left him—sitting on the bed, stroking himself slowly, his eyes fixed on the door. The moment she crossed the threshold, he was on his feet, pulling her to him, his mouth crushing hers in a kiss that tasted of possession and desperation.

"Did you think about him while you fed them?" he asked against her lips, his hands already pushing her robe off her shoulders. "Did you remember his hands on you? His eyes?"

"Never," she gasped as he lifted her, carrying her to the bed, dropping her onto the mattress. "Thought only of you. Only ever you, Jungkook."

"Liar," he whispered, but there was less conviction now, more need. He entered her again, slower this time, savoring the wet heat of her, the way she opened for him despite the soreness, despite the hours of use.

"But I'll believe you by tonight. I'll believe you when you can't remember your own name. When the only word you know is mine."

He made love to her slowly, torturously, his hips rolling in deep, grinding thrusts that hit every sensitive spot inside her. He kissed her breasts, her neck, her mouth, whispering praises and threats in equal measure—"So beautiful, so perfect, never leave me, never look at anyone else, I'll kill him if he touches you again, I'll kill anyone who tries to take you"—until she was weeping with pleasure, her body oversensitive, every nerve ending raw.

He took her in every position—on her back, her knees pressed to her chest; on her hands and knees while he gripped her hips; on her side while he spooned her from behind, his hand covering her mouth to muffle her screams. He fucked her through three more of her orgasms, each one harder to reach, more devastating when it crashed over her.

By five o'clock, she was limp, her body covered in sweat and marks, his seed leaking from her in a constant trickle that stained the sheets. He'd come inside her four times, and still he remained hard, still he moved inside her with slow, possessive thrusts, his hands stroking her hair, her face, her breasts.

"Still mad," he murmured against her temple, his cock twitching inside her. "Still thinking about his hands on you. Still seeing it."

He pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach, spreading her legs with rough hands. She felt him position himself at her entrance again, felt the broad head pressing against her swollen, sensitive flesh.

"One more time," he growled, pushing in, making her cry out at the overstimulation. "One more time and I'll believe you. One more time and I'll forgive you. Stay still. Take it. Take my cock like you took his hug. Take it deeper."

He fucked her with a desperation that bordered on violence, his hips snapping against her ass, his hand reaching around to rub her clit in rough, demanding circles. She came one final time—a dry, painful, exquisite convulsion that made her scream into the pillow—and felt him follow her, his fifth release of the day flooding her, his roar of completion vibrating through his chest.

He collapsed over her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his cock still buried inside her, still hard enough to stay lodged in her twitching heat. He didn't pull out. Instead, he maneuvered them onto their sides, spooning her from behind, his arm heavy across her waist, his face pressed between her shoulder blades.

"Sleep," he commanded, his voice hoarse, his body trembling with exhaustion. "But don't move. Stay exactly like this. I want to wake up inside you. Want to fuck you again in an hour. And an hour after that."

She was beyond words, her body throbbing and used and claimed, his seed coating her thighs, her womb full of him, every inch of her marked by his possession. Through the haze of exhaustion, she felt his lips against her spine, felt his hand find her breast and cup it possessively.

"Mine," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly, the jealousy finally giving way to something like fear. "Please. Please be only mine."

She found his hand, her fingers interlacing with his, and squeezed. "Always," she whispered back. "Only ever yours."

He slept then, finally, his cock softening slightly but remaining inside her, his breath hot against her skin, his body wrapped around hers like armor.

Outside, the sun began to set, painting the room in gold and crimson. Inside, the jealous husband held his wife in the most primitive way possible—joined, claimed, possessed—and dreamed of ways to keep her forever.