"Donghwa, wait—shit—"
My pants are yanked down to my knees in one brutal tug. Cool air hits my skin, and I shiver, thighs quaking. I buck back, trying to twist free—fuck his games, fuck his smirk—but he's faster. His chest blankets my back, heavy and scorching, one arm banding my waist like iron while his free hand grips my hip, nails biting crescents into flesh.
No warning. No lube-slick tease. Just the fat head of his cock nudging my rim—hot, blunt, insistent—before he snaps his hips forward.
I cry out, sharp and broken, the stretch ripping through me like fire. Too much, too fast—burns so good my vision whites out, cock jerking untouched against the couch edge. He's huge,splitting me wide, every thick inch forcing its way in until his balls slap my ass and I'm stuffed full, pinned, owned.
"Fuck—fuck—you're—" Words die as he pulls back halfway, then slams home again. The couch creaks under us, leather groaning like it's got opinions. I claw at it, knuckles white, teeth grinding as he sets a brutal rhythm—deep, punishing thrusts that jolt my whole body forward, prostate nailed on every drag.
His breath ghosts my ear, ragged and smug. "Like that, don't you? You love that feeling of my cock in your ass, wrecking your hole."
Indignation flares hot in my gut, twisting with the pleasure coiling low. "Shut—ah—shut your mouth." But my hips rock back anyway, chasing the drag, the fullness. His free hand snakes around, fisting my leaking cock, thumb smearing pre-cum over the head in rough circles.
He laughs, low and filthy, pounding harder. The slap of skin echoes off the penthouse walls, his scent thickening the air until it's all I can breathe—winter bite choking out every thought of vanilla-sweet bullshit. My balls draw tight, release barreling down like a freight train.
"Come on," he growls, teeth grazing my bonding mark, nipping just enough to spark electricity up my spine. "Show me who you belong to."
I lie there boneless in the middle of Donghwa's bed, a sweaty, sticky mess with come leaking down my thighs and my chest heaving like I just sprinted a marathon. My ass throbs—raw,stretched,used—and every muscle feels like jelly. The sheets are wrecked, twisted around my legs, and the room reeks of sex and that crisp winter bite of his scent clinging to my skin. My eyes are heavy, lids drooping, but I force them open when the mattress dips.
Donghwa sits up beside me, all lazy satisfaction, like he didn't just rail me into next week. His hair's a mess, tattoos gleaming under a sheen of sweat, cock still half-hard and glistening between his thighs.
"I'm gonna beat your ass when I remember how to walk," I rasp, voice wrecked from all the moaning I swore I wouldn't do. "This was basically crying wolf, you dick. No rut. Just you horny for no goddamn reason."
He arches a brow, that smug tilt to his mouth making me want to deck him. Or suck him off again. Fuck, the bond's frying my brain. "Perfectly in line with our arrangement, hyung." He stretches, arms flexing—asshole knows what that does to me. "I wanted sex. You provided. All private. Completely within bounds."
I snort, wincing as the movement tugs at my sore hole. "You're making loopholes. Big ones. This is supposed to be ruts only, not you snapping your fingers whenever you get a stiffy."
He laughs—low, rough, the sound vibrating straight to my gut—and shifts closer. "No loopholes." His hand lands on my thigh, casual, like he owns the territory. "I already have the perfect hole right here."
Before I can snap back, his fingers—two thick ones—slide between my cheeks, pushing right into my raw, come-slick hole. No resistance. Just a wet squelch as he sinks in knuckle-deep, curling them against my walls.
I yelp, high and undignified, swinging my fist wild. It clips the edge of Donghwa's jaw—not hard enough to bruise, but enoughto snap his head back. He topples off the bed laughing, that deep, rumbling sound that makes my spent dick twitch despite itself.
"Fuck off!" I growl, propping up on my elbows, thighs still quivering from his fingers. Come—hiscome—leaks out of me in a fresh gush, sticky and warm down my crack. "Watch it, you prick. Now go get me a towel. You've turned me into a goddamn slip-n-slide."
Donghwa rolls to his feet, grinning like the cat that ate the canary—and the cream, and my dignity. He's buck-naked, tattoos flexing over his chest and arms as he saunters toward the bathroom, cock swinging heavy between his legs like he owns the fucking world. No shame. No towel for himself. Just that lazy, predatory sway in his hips that I hate how much it turns me on.
Asshole.
I flop back against the pillows, ass still clenching around the phantom stretch of Donghwa's fingers, a low throb pulsing through my thighs like a bad hangover. The sheets stick to my skin, tacky with sweat and come—mostly his, leaking out of me in lazy dribbles that make me feel like a used-up fucktoy. My dick gives a half-hearted twitch at the thought, traitor that it is, but I'm too wrecked to chase it. Donghwa's in the bathroom, probably jerking off to the mirror or some shit, leaving me here marinating in his scent like a goddamn steak.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. I ignore it at first—probably one of those freshman omegas begging for scraps. But it lights up again, screen glaring face-up in the dim light.
I glance over, casual as hell. Curiosity, right? No big deal.
Then my blood turns to battery acid.
It's a photo. Sejun. That little shit. Propped up on what looks like a dorm bed, shirt rucked up to his nipples, one hand shoved down his unbuttoned jeans, lips parted in that fake "come hither" pout he weaponizes like a nuke. The text bubble above it:Missed you at coffee. Thought you'd like a preview? Come get the full show. ??
My vision tunnels. A roar builds in my chest, hot and feral, slamming through the bond like a runaway truck. Mine.Mine. The word loops, vicious, irrational—fuck the "ruts only" bullshit, fuck our deal. That vanilla-scented gremlin doesn't get to slide intohisDMs. Doesn't get to flash his goods at the same alpha whose come is currently dripping out of my aching body.
Jealousy claws up my throat, territorial as a rabid dog. I snatch the phone before I can think better of it, thumb smashing the screen to kill the notification. But the preview lingers, burned into my retinas, and my free hand fists the sheets so hard my knuckles crack.
Donghwa strolls out of the bathroom like he owns the goddamn universe, towel slung low on his hips, droplets still clinging to his chest hair and tracing lazy paths over those stupid tattoos that make my mouth water even when I'm pissed. He's rubbing the back of his neck with another towel, smirking like he didn't just finger-fuck me into oblivion and leave me leaking on his Egyptian cotton sheets. The casual flex of his arms as he tosses the towel to me hits me like a cheap shot, but I'm too busy boiling to let it derail me.
I sit up sharper than my sore ass wants, clutching his phone like it's a live grenade. "What the fuck are you doing with Sejun?"
He pauses mid-step, brow quirking up in that infuriating way, like I've just asked him why the sky's blue. Water drips from his hair onto the hardwood, one fat plop after another, punctuating the silence. "Sejun? Who's—"
