"Quit moving," he curses, his forearm pressing down on my upper back to hold me in place. "Calm down, or I swear to god I'll spank you for real this time."
In response I press my face into the mattress and scream.
It’s a long, muffled, pathetic sound that vibrates through the mattress and dies somewhere in the expensive goose-down of my pillow. I scream until my throat scratches, until I run out of air, until the sheer absurdity of my life crashes down on me with the weight of a collapsing building.
Because gravity is a bitch.
And gravity, right now, is making me painfully aware of exactly how muchfluidis currently inside my body. Or, was inside. I feel the slow, hot trickle of it leaking out of me, sliding down the inside of my thigh. It’s sticky. It’s excessive. It is a tangible, viscous reminder that I didn’t just get fucked; I got filled up like a goddamn cream puff.
A sob tears out of my throat, choking off the scream. I’m the heir to the Oh! Paradise fortune. I’m a Dominant Alpha. I bench press nearly three hundred pounds. And I am currently leaking another man’s seed onto my own duvet cover.
"Okay," Donghwa sighs from above me. The weight of his forearm on my back doesn't lift, but the pressure eases just a fraction. He sounds tired. Bored, even. "Look. I need to get cleaned up. You need to get cleaned up. If I let you up, do you promise not to try and punch me again?"
I don't answer. I can't. My face is burning so hot I think I might actually scorch the pillowcase.
"Hyung," he prompts, a little sharper. "I’m not wrestling you again. My ribs hurt. Nod if you’re done throwing a tantrum."
I hate him. I hate him with a violence that scares me. But more than that, I just want to stop feeling this wet, sticky humiliation clinging to my skin.
I go limp, my muscles turning to jelly, and I nod my head into the mattress. Once. A jerky, defeated motion.
"Good."
The weight lifts. Donghwa backs off slowly, the mattress shifting as he moves away. I stay face down for a solid ten seconds, gathering the scattered shards of my dignity, before I plant my hands on the sheets and push myself up.
Big mistake.
As soon as I’m upright, sitting back on my heels, gravity takes another swing at me. A fresh wave of spend slips out of my abused hole, sliding messily down my ass cheeks and coating my inner thighs. I cringe, a full-body shudder racking through me as I look down.
It’s everywhere. My thighs are coated in drying, flaky white patches and fresh, slick streaks. My pubic hair is matted with it. My own stomach is sticky with what looks like my own release, mixed with sweat and... god, is that lube? We used lube?
I look like a disaster. I look like I’ve been thoroughly, comprehensively wrecked.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my hands trembling where they grip the sheets. "Fuck," I whisper, the word cracking in the middle.
"Go take a shower. We can talk after breakfast."
"Breakfast? Who the fuck said we were having breakfast?" I snap, my voice cracking mid-sentence because my throat is still raw. "I never agreed to a meal plan. I didn't even agree to you being conscious."
I turn my head to glare at him properly, intending to wither him with a look that saysI am the King of Campus and you are dirt.Instead, my brain short-circuits.
Now that I’m not trying to punch him or actively drowning in a haze of pheromones, I actuallylook. And fuck me, there is a lot of skin. He’s standing there completely unabashed, weight on one leg, letting me take in the broad expanse of his chest, the tapered waist, the V-line disappearing into the dark hair...
Twitch.
My traitorous cock gives a hopeful little jump between my legs.
I mentally strangle it.No. Bad. He is the enemy. He is the source of our suffering.
I try to drag my eyes up, away from the danger zone, but they snag on his upper body. I blink, squinting against the morning light. It’s not just pale skin. It’s... art? Dark, swirling ink wraps around his shoulders, bleeds down his biceps, and sprawls across his pectorals.
"What the fuck is that?" I blurt out, pointing a trembling finger at his chest.
Donghwa looks down, genuinely confused, like he forgot he was naked. "What?"
"That! The ink!" I gesture wildly at the mural on his skin. "Since when the fuck do you have tattoos?"
He blinks slowly, looking at me like I’m the slow one in the class. "Uh... since several years ago?"
