"You wouldn't," I gasp, a genuine spike of fear shooting through my gut. My mind flashes to every bad movie I’ve ever seen. He’s going to whip me. He’s actually going to beat my ass in my own gym. "Donghwa, put that down, you crazy b—"
He doesn't hit me. instead, he lunges for my hands.
"Shut up," he grunts.
He grabs my wrists, his grip like iron, and yanks them violently downward. I yell, trying to jerk away, but he’s got gravity on his side. He forces my arms down past the sides of the bench, dragging them underneath the metal frame.
"Hey! Let go!"
I struggle, twisting my shoulders, but he’s fast. Too fast. He loops the leather belt around my wrists and the metal support beam of the bench in one fluid motion. I hear the buckle rattle, then the tight, constricting pull as he cinches it down.
"Stop!" I roar, bucking my hips, slamming my chest into the padding.
He ignores me, jerking the belt tighter until the leather bites into my skin, locking my wrists together underneath me. He secures it with a final, decisive tug.
I’m trapped.
I tug against the restraint, panic flaring hot and bright in my chest. It holds firm. My arms are pinned beneath the bench, leaving my upper body completely immobilized, face pressed into the vinyl.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I shout, breathless and furious. "Untie me! This isn't funny!"
Donghwa doesn't answer immediately. The weight lifts off my back, and I suck in a greedy breath, but the relief is short-lived. I look up, my eyes instinctively finding the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall in front of us.
The reflection stares back, mocking me.
I look like a wreck—face flushed red, hair a sweaty disaster, taped-up hands bound beneath the bench like a criminal. And looming over me is Donghwa. He looks infuriatingly calm, adjusting his cuffs, his dark hair barely ruffled. He stands behind me, staring at my reflection with those heavy, lidded eyes, a look of dark satisfaction on his face that makes my stomach do a traitorous flip.
"You talk too much," he says simply, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "I told you I prefer action."
"I'm going to kill you," I seethe, watching in the mirror as he steps closer to my hips. "I swear to god, Donghwa, when I get out of this—"
He cuts off my threat by gripping the waistband of my gym shorts.
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Wait. What are you—"
He doesn't wait. With a sharp, unceremonious yank, he drags my shorts and boxers down in one go.
The air conditioning hits my skin, a shocking rush of cold against the heat of my body. I gasp, my face burning as I watch the fabric pool around my knee in the mirror. I’m completely exposed. My ass is bare, pale compared to my tanned legs, sticking up in the air for him—and the mirror—to see.
Donghwa leans in without warning, his chest slamming down over my back like a weighted barbell. The sudden pressure shoves my face deeper into the vinyl, my cheek squishing against the padding. One big hand clamps onto my jaw, fingers digging into the hinge like he's prying it open for inspection. I buck once, hard, but his weight pins me solid—no give, no escape.
"I'm teaching you a lesson," he growls right against my ear, breath hot and ginseng-sharp.
Then his mouth crashes down on mine. It's not a kiss—it's a takeover. His lips bruise mine, tongue thrusting past my teeth forcefully, commanding. I snarl into it, trying to bite, but he anticipates, nipping my lower lip sharp enough to sting and draw a copper tang. His pheromones hit like a gut punch—winter bite flooding my lungs, thick and all-consuming, short-circuiting every nerve. My brain fuzzes out. My cock twitches against the bench, and I melt, opening wider, sucking on his tongue like a man starved. Heat coils low in my gut, slick want pooling despite the rage still simmering.
He pulls back abruptly, leaving me gasping, lips wet and swollen, chasing air that tastes like him.
"You're a fucking idiot," he says, voice gravel-rough, eyes locked on mine in the mirror. "You really think I give a shit about some scrawny omega when I've got an ass like this under me?"
His free hand clamps down on one cheek, squeezing hard—fingers digging into muscle, spreading me open just enough to make cool air ghost my hole. I gasp, high and involuntary, hips jerking forward on instinct. Then that hand slides up, thumb tracing the crease before a single finger circles my rim—light,teasing, barely-there pressure that sends sparks shooting up my spine.
"Fuck," I choke out, hating how it comes out needy instead of pissed. My hole clenches around nothing, body begging even as my brain screams to fight.
Donghwa's teeth graze my earlobe, a sharp little nip that sends a jolt straight down my spine. His voice rumbles right there, hot breath fanning my skin, all gravel and zero patience.
"I never approached that annoying omega," he says, low and pissed, like I'm the one wasting his time. "Didn't even know he was your ex. The only reason I couldn't tell that little limpet to fuck off was your stupid pride. If I could say I had a partner out loud, I wouldn't have to play nice with clingy try-hards wasting their pheromones on an alpha who can't even smell them anymore. Not when I've got a delicious-smelling alpha mate right in the same damn building."
His words hit like a fist to the gut—half vindication, half fresh humiliation. Mate. He actually said it. Out loud. Like it's not the most fucked-up word in the dictionary for two Alphas like us.
