"Get off me, you crazy bastard!" I thrash, reaching back blindly to claw at him.
Donghwa catches my wrists easily, forcing my arms up my back. He gathers both of my hands in one of his large ones, pressing them flat against my spine, effectively locking my upperbody down. I’m trapped. I’m completely, humiliatingly trapped face-down on a guest bed while my rival sits on me.
"Shut up," he pants, his mouth right next to my ear. His hot breath sends a shiver racing down my spine that has absolutely nothing to do with fear.
"I’m going to kill you," I wheeze, squirming uselessly. "I swear to god, Donghwa, let me up or I’ll—"
I cut off with a sharp gasp as I feel his free hand fumble at my waist.
He grips the waistband of my jeans. There’s a sharppopas the button gives way, the sound loud in the quiet room.
My heart hammers against the mattress. "What are you doing?"
"Taking what you offered," he growls.
The zipper hisses down. I try to clamp my legs together, but his weight is forcing them apart. He hooks his fingers into the denim and the band of my boxers, and with one ruthless, decisive tug, he yanks them down to my thighs.
The cool air of the room hits my bare skin, shocking and exposing.
"Yah!" I yell, my voice cracking.
I should be fighting harder. I should be screaming for help. But the friction of denim sliding down my legs, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, and the sheer, raw dominance rolling off him in waves has my head spinning. I’m terrified, furious, and so turned on I think I might actually explode.
"You fucking psycho! Get your hands off me!" I buck like a wild horse, twisting my hips, but his weight pins me flat, my cheek smashed into the duvet. My jeans are tangled around my knees now, boxers shoved down with them, leaving my ass bare to the chilly air. Humiliating. My dick throbs against the mattress, trapped and leaking, and I hate how obvious it is that I'm hard as steel.
Donghwa doesn't say shit. He just leans down, his chest pressing along my back, hot and heavy through his coat. His lips brush the nape of my neck—soft at first, then teeth grazing my skin, a slow trail of open-mouthed kisses that make my spine tingle. His hand slides over one ass cheek, kneading the muscle there, fingers digging in possessively. Rough. Claiming.
"Fuck you," I spit, thrashing my head side to side. "I'll rip your goddamn arms off for this."
He laughs, low and dark against my ear, the vibration sinking into my bones. His free hand snakes around my hip, wraps around my cock—long fingers stroking the length of me, thumb swiping over the slick head. I jolt, a hiss escaping through my clenched teeth. It's firm, unhurried, like he's jacking me off at his leisure. Like this is normal.
"You talk a lot of shit," he murmurs, breath fanning hot over my shoulder. "But you're hard as fuck. Doesn't seem like you hate it all that much."
"Shut your lying mouth," I snarl, bucking up hard to throw him off. My ass grinds back against his crotch by accident—or maybe not, shit—and I feel him there, thick and rigid through his pants. He groans, just a little, and the sound shoots straight to my balls. "I'm gonna kill you the second I'm free, you hear me? Snap your fucking neck."
He shifts behind me, weight lifting just enough that I twist my neck, craning to glare over my shoulder. What the hell is he—oh fuck no.
Donghwa drags two fingers past his lips, the bastard—tongue swirling around each digit while his eyes never leave mine. He sucks them deep, cheeks hollowing, dragging it out just to watch me squirm. A string of spit glistens when he pulls them free, pearlescent in the dim light, his bottom lip slick and bitten-red from how hard he's teasing. The wet sound of it makes my cock twitch against my stomach.
I hate him.
I hate how my pulse jumps when he hums, slow and satisfied, like he's tasting victory already. That cocky smirk says he knows exactly what he's doing. And worse? It's working.
My eyes go wide. "Don't you fucking dare."
He pulls them out with a wet pop, grinning—full-on, sharp and feral, like a wolf spotting lunch. "Could do it dry if you prefer. But I don't think you'll want that."
"You bastard—" My protest chokes off as his hand vanishes between my cheeks. Cool, slick fingers spread me open, circling the rim teasing, then pressing in. One finger breaches first, slow burn stretching me, the wet slide making obscene little sounds.
I groan, loud and ragged, swearing a blue streak into the mattress. "Fuck—shit—get it out, you prick!"
His pheromones hit like a freight train then, flooding the room. That crisp winter bite, ink and ginseng so thick it coats my throat, my lungs. My head swims, vision blurring at the edges, breath hitching sharp as his finger sinks deep, crooking just right. Nerve endings light up, fire sparking hot and electric, twisting pleasure right through my gut.
"Goddamn it," I gasp, clenching around him involuntary.
He doesn't rush. Twists, pumps shallow, then adds a second finger—stretching wider, fuller. I arch off the bed with a whine I bite back hard, teeth sinking into my lip until I taste copper. Pleasure spikes viciously, ripping through me like a live wire, my cock jerking against the sheets.
His fingers drag out slow, deliberate, twisting on the way. The wet slide echoes in the room, vulgar and filthy, every knuckle popping free sending a fresh spark up my spine. I'm panting now, ragged breaths soaking the duvet, my hips rocking back into the pressure without my goddamn permission. Need coils tight in my belly, hot and consuming, my cock leaking a steady drip onto the sheets below. I hate it. I hate how good it feels, howmy body responds to him, clenching around nothing the second he pulls away.
