I groan, the sound forced out of me as pressure builds low inside—thick, insistent, stretching my rim wider with every brutal drive. His knot. It's swelling, hot and unyielding, catching on the drag out before shoving back in. Nerve endings light up like fireworks, sparks shooting straight to my brain.
"Shit—yes," I hiss, legs quaking around him, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper. It burns, the stretch turning sharp, but my rut doesn't give a damn. Itcravesthis, the lock, the flood.
He pumps once, twice more—hips grinding erratic—and then he's coming. Hot spurts paint my insides, his knot ballooning full, sealing us tight. No escape. The fullness hits like a gut punch, pressure throbbing against every wall, milking him dry.
A guttural moan tears out of him, raw and wrecked, vibrating through his chest into mine. Then his mouth latches on—teeth sinking sharp into my scent gland, a brand new mark on the opposite from the old one.
The pain hits first—a white-hot lightning strike at my throat, jagged and electric. Then the pleasure rolls in right behind it, a tidal wave of heat that drowns out everything else. My breath stutters, lungs collapsing as endorphins flood my system, turning the biting pain into something filthy-good, twistingthem together until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
Everything narrows down to this—his teeth buried in my skin, his cock swollen inside me, his scent flooding my nose until it's all I know. The adrenaline crash hits like a fist, dragging me under, vision tunneling to a single pinprick of light before blinking out entirely. The last thing I feel is his heartbeat hammering against mine, too fast, too loud, before the black swallows me whole.
Chapter Thirteen
The first thing I register is the silence. Dead silence. The kind that rings in your ears after the bass at the club finally cuts out, leaving you deaf and disoriented. The roaring in my head is gone. That fever heat that felt like someone had replaced my blood with boiling gasoline has broken, leaving me shivering in the aftermath. I feel absolutely wrecked. Wrung out to the marrow. Like a wet towel twisted until the fibers snap. But the desperate, clawing need to conquer—or be conquered—has finally, blessedly, receded.
I’m in my own bed. I can tell by the expensive thread count against my cheek and the memory foam molding to my dead weight. Thank fuck for small mercies.
The second thing I register is the pain. It hits me like a delayed hangover. A dull, comprehensive ache radiates from every single muscle fiber, the kind of full-body soreness you usually only get after trying to PR on a deadlift without a warm-up. My shoulder throbs—specifically my right trap—where a fresh bite mark is burning, angrier and deeper than anything that should be on a Dominant Alpha’s skin. It pulses with a stinging heat, a brand on the body I’ve spent years sculpting to perfection.
And my ass? Christ. My ass feels like I tried to do deep squats with a compact car strapped to my back.
Then comes the third thing. The impossible thing.
There’s something between my thighs. Not just near them.Betweenthem. Something heavy, and solid, and breathtakingly warm. It’s purely physical, a violation of physics and biology that my brain refuses to compute. It’s plugging me up, stretching me out, anchoring me to the mattress with a terrifying weight. It’s… inside me.
My brain catches up to my body about two seconds too late. There is a dick inside me. A literal, actual penis is currently occupying the space where my dignity used to be.
I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat as the sensation registers fully. It’s not justinthere; it’s comfortable. It’s settled. Like it owns the place.
I scramble forward, a strangled noise tearing out of my throat as I jerk my hips away. The friction is disgusting—a wet, heavy slide that makes my stomach flip—and then I’m free, scrambling onto my hands and knees on the mattress. I whip my head around, chest heaving, ready to murder whatever stranger I dragged home in my delirium.
But it’s not a stranger.
Kang Donghwa is sprawled out on my silk sheets like he’s posing for a renaissance painting. He’s on his side, completely naked, looking infuriatingly peaceful. His black hair is messy, fanned out over my pillow, and his chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. He looks like an angel. A demon-born, asshole angel who just spent the last twelve hours destroying my internal organs.
And he’s still hard.
The rage hits me so fast it actually blurs my vision. It’s a hot, white spike of pure humiliation. I don’t think. I don’t rationalize. I just pivot on my knees, wind up, and drive my fist as hard as I can into his stomach.
Thwack.
Donghwa’s eyes fly open.
He makes a sound like a dying vacuum cleaner, his body jackknifing on the bed as all the air leaves his lungs in a rush. He curls in on himself, hacking, his face turning a lovely shade of red.
"What the fuck!" I roar, my voice cracking. I scramble back until my back hits the headboard, grabbing a pillow to cover my crotch even though it’s way too late for modesty. "What the fuck are you doing in my room? Why are you naked in my bed?"
Donghwa wheezes, pressing a hand to his abs, blinking tears out of his eyes. He looks at me, then down at himself, then back at me. He takes a rattling breath, trying to reinflate his lungs.
"Glad to see..." he gasps, voice raspy and wrecked, "...you’ve finally come to your senses, Hyung."
The sarcasm. The absolute, unmitigated gall of this freshman.
"You piece of shit!" I lunge.
I aim for his face this time, but he’s fast. Even half-asleep and winded, his reflexes are annoying. He jerks his head back, so my fist connects with his ribs instead. It’s a solid hit, enough to make him grunt, but it’s like punching a bag of wet cement.
"Stop it," he growls.
