I open my mouth to fire back—something vicious about his inflated ego or how he’s still full of shit—but then his fingersmove. Two of them now, thick and relentless, sinking deep into my hole with zero warning. They curl inside me, pressing up against that spot with intent, like he memorized the exact angle from last time and saved it for future reference.
A broken moan tears out of me before I can choke it back, my hips jerking forward like they’ve got a mind of their own. My cock’s trapped under me, crushed against the vinyl bench, every pulse sending a fresh wave of frustrated need through me. Precum’s already slicking the padding beneath me, the rough friction just shy of unbearable. Pleasure spikes through me, sharp and white-hot, short-circuiting every thought exceptmore, fuck, more.
I bite down on the bench to muffle another pathetic sound, but it’s useless. My body’s arching into his touch like some desperate omega in heat. And the worst part is Ilikeit. I like how he doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate—just takes, like he knows exactly what I need even when I’m too stubborn to admit it.
God, Ihatehim.
(And maybe that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told myself.)
"Sh-shut up," I gasp, but it comes out wrecked, my voice cracking on the edges. My hole clenches around his fingers, greedy despite myself, pulling him in deeper. Sweat drips from my temple, stinging my eyes, and all I can smell is him—winter bite drowning out everything else.
I finally drag in a ragged breath, the vinyl sticking to my cheek like glue. My head's spinning, every nerve lit up from his fingers working me open like he owns the place. But that doesn't stop the venom bubbling up my throat. I twist my head just enough to glare at him in the mirror, my voice coming out hoarse and pissed.
"You like it," I rasp, hating how breathy it sounds. "You fuckinglikemaking me jealous. Admit it, you prick. Gets you off, doesn't it? Watching me lose my shit over some omega trash."
Donghwa stills. His fingers flex inside me one last time—deliberate, twisting just enough to make my toes curl—before he blows out a heavy breath against my neck. It's warm, frustrated, like I'm the biggest pain in his ass. Which, fair, considering where his hand currently is.
"Fine," he mutters, voice low and edged with warning. "That's enough mouth from you. We'll do this the hard way then."
He yanks his fingers free in one smooth pull. The sudden emptiness hits—my hole clenching around nothing, aching and slick, a pathetic whine slipping past my lips before I can bite it back. I watch him in the mirror, heart slamming against my ribslike a trapped animal. He leans back on his heels, casual as hell, and grabs the hem of his shirt.
Time slows. The black fabric peels up slow, inch by inch, revealing that lean swimmer's build—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, every ridge of muscle cut sharp and functional. No bulk like mine, just pure, leveraged power. And then the tattoos. Fuck. That massive ink sprawl explodes into view: the snarling tiger curling over his pec, the demon mask glaring from his shoulder, plum blossoms twisting dark and aggressive up his arms. It's gangster poetry, raw and hidden, like he inked rebellion right into his skin.
My mouth goes dry. My cock throbs against the bench, and I can't tear my eyes away. He tosses the shirt aside like it's nothing, silver rings catching the light on his fingers.
He shifts forward again, knees bracketing my thighs, and those big hands land on my ass. Kneading. Rough palms digging into the muscle, spreading me open wide enough that cool air teases my hole. Preparation. Like I'm meat on a cutting board.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I blurt, nerves twisting sharp in my gut. My voice cracks—half demand, half plea. Bound like this, ass up and helpless, every survival instinct's screaming while my dick leaks like a faucet.
Donghwa meets my eyes dead-on in the mirror. That evil grin splits his face—slow, predatory, all teeth and promise. Before I can process it, he purses his lips andspits. A thick, wet glob lands heavy in his palm. He rubs his hands together deliberately, the slick sound obscene in the quiet gym, coating his palms.
My heart stutters. Oh shit.
"You need to get this through your thick skull," Donghwa says, voice low and even, like he's explaining basic math to a toddler. "Your jealousy bullshit is irrational. Sejun's a non-issue. A gnat. You're acting like a possessive asshole over nothing."
I twist my head, glaring at him in the mirror, my cheek still mashed into the vinyl. "Fuck you. Untie me, and we'll—"
He cuts me off with a sigh, heavy and disappointed, like I'm the one testing his patience. His right hand lifts high, palm open and flat, fingers splayed. The overhead lights catch the silver rings, making them glint like tiny warnings.
"I'll go easy on you this time," he says.
His palm cracks down on my left cheek. Hard.
The sound rips through the gym—sharp, meatythwackechoing off the mirrors and weights. Fire explodes across my skin, a white-hot sting that radiates deep into muscle. I yelp, high and undignified, my whole body jerking forward into the bench. My hole clenches on nothing, cock trapped and throbbing harder against the padding.
"What thefuckwas that for?" I snarl, bucking my hips, trying to twist away. The belt bites into my wrists, holding me merciless.
Donghwa's hand settles on the stinging spot, kneading lightly, the pressure almost soothing against the burn. "That," he says calmly, "was for peeking at my phone like a nosy little shit."
Before I can spit back, his hand lifts again. Higher this time. It comes down on my right cheek—crack—even sharper, the jolt shooting straight up my spine like electricity. I cry out, louder, my toes curling against the mat, ass muscle spasming under the impact.
"That was for ignoring my calls," he continues, voice steady as a metronome. No heat, just fact.
Crack.Left cheek again, overlapping the first welt. I buck wildly, thighs trembling, sweat slicking my back. "For making me track your dramatic ass down here."
Crack.Right side, lower, right where thigh meets ass. The pain layers on, building into a throbbing inferno. I writhe, hips grinding involuntarily against the bench for friction, cockleaking a steady drip now. "For not telling me about your clingy ex in the first place."
Crack. Crack.Two quick ones in the center, rapid-fire, the slaps blending into one continuous burn. he keeps going, alternating, flesh striking flesh over and over, building on top of each smack. My ass is on fire, skin hot and swollen, every nerve screaming. I thrash, legs kicking uselessly, voice cracking into a whine. "Stop—fuck,stop! Donghwa, please—"
