"I could even haveyou," I threaten, the words tumbling out before I can filter them. "If I wanted to. I could use my pheromones to force you down right here. I could make you submit just to prove a point."
The silence that follows is heavy, thick with tension and the clashing scents of two Alphas who want to tear each other apart.
Donghwa stares at me. For a second, I think I’ve actually shocked him. I think I’ve won.
Then, he laughs.
It’s a dark, breathy sound. "I bet you couldn't."
My grip tightens on his coat. "Is that a challenge?"
"It's a fact," Donghwa says, his eyes boring into mine, dark pits of ink. "You're all talk, Sihwan. You'd probably just be... disappointing."
He tilts his head, exposing the column of his throat in a mocking gesture of submission that is anything but submissive.
"I doubt you even have the nerve to try."
Something inside me breaks. The rational part of my brain—the part that cares about consequences and social standing—shuts off completely. All that’s left is the instinct, the roar of a challenged Alpha, and the desperate, burning need to wipe that smug look off his face.
"Watch me," I breathe.
I shove him back against the drywall, the impact rattling the frame of the window. I don't give him time to react. I don't give him time to breathe. I flood the space with my scent, pushing it to the max, demanding obedience, demanding submission.
I grab his jaw, my fingers digging into his cheeks, and I crash my mouth onto his.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a collision. It’s an attack. I press into him, grinding my lips against his, trying to use the sheer force of my will to crush him, to make him buckle, to make him realize exactly who he’s messing with. I want him to freeze. I want him to panic. I want to feel him crumble.
I expect violence. I expect a fist to the gut, a knee to the groin, or at the very least, for him to shove me off and laugh in my face again. I’m bracing for impact, my muscles coiled tight, ready to fight him off when he inevitably snaps.
But he doesn't snap.
Donghwa doesn't pull away. He doesn't freeze. Instead, he makes a low sound in his throat—something between a growl and a hum—and opens his mouth.
It throws me off balance. I stumble, my weight pitching forward, and suddenly the aggression I was pouring into this kiss has nowhere to go but deeper. I fall right into him.
And god, he tastes...good.
He shouldn't. He’s an Alpha. He’s my rival. He’s the most annoying person on this entire campus. He should taste like ego and cheap beer. But he tastes like mint and dark coffee.
Then the scent washes over me.
It’s not the polite, contained whiff I got earlier. Being this close, with his mouth open against mine, it’s a deluge. That smell of cold winter air and wet ink floods my senses, washing away the cloying sweetness of the party, the stale alcohol, and even my own spiced rum scent. It’s crisp. It’s heavy. It fills my lungs and makes my head spin, dizzying and intoxicating in a way that makes absolutely no sense.
My brain is screamingabort, abort, abort, but my body has apparently decided to stage a coup.
I try to pull back, just an inch, to regain some semblance of sanity, but Donghwa chases me. His hand comes up—not to push me away, but to grip the back of my neck. His fingers are long and strong, tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me in place.
"You started this," he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough, vibrating through my skull.
Then he licks into my mouth.
It’s not tentative. It’s arrogant. His tongue slides against mine, slick and hot, exploring me with a lazy confidence that makes my knees weak. It’s a violation. It’s a challenge. And to my absolute horror, I kiss him back.
I can't help it. The chemistry is instantaneous, violent. It’s like striking a match in a room full of gasoline. My hands, which were bunching up his coat to threaten him, slide up of their own volition. I grab fistfuls of his dark hair, angling his head, desperate to get deeper.
We’re not fighting anymore. We’re devouring.
Teeth clash—a sharp, stinging pain that only seems to feed the fire. I groan, the sound swallowed by his mouth, and press him harder against the wall. He gives as good as he gets, his other hand gripping my hip, his thumb digging into the sensitive spot just above my belt bone.
