"It happened, Hyung. Vividly." He pops the kimchi into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, and swallows. "I barely got any sleep because every time I drifted off, you were waking me up by grinding against my thigh or trying to climb me like a tree. I’m going to have to call in sick today. If I walk onto campus looking like a zombie with hickeys on my neck, the rumors will be out of control by lunch."
I drop my face into my hands, my elbows hitting the table with a thud. A long, agonized groan tears out of my throat, muffled against my palms.
"Kill me," I mumble into my hands. "Just end it now. Put poison in the soup. I’ll sign a waiver."
I am the King of Campus. I am the heir to the Oh! Paradise empire. I have a fan club. And apparently, when left to the mercy of my own biology, I turn into a desperate, insatiable sex pest who terrorizes freshmen for cock in the middle of the night.
"Stop being dramatic," Donghwa says, his voice cutting through my wall of self-pity. I hear the clink of his spoon against the bowl. "The point is, look at how you were last night. You were frantic. You were in pain."
I peek through my fingers, glaring at him, though the effect is ruined by the fact that I’m hiding behind my hands like a child.
"So?"
"So," he counters, pointing his spoon at me. "Do you really think you can afford to refuse my help? If I walk out that door right now and the next wave hits you in an hour, are you going to call your mommy? Or are you going to end up in the ER because you tried to fuck a shampoo bottle?"
I choke on my own spit. "I would not—"
"You might," he interrupts, deadpan. "Desperate times, Hyung. You can hate me all you want. You can plot my murder.But right now, your body wants me. And frankly, I’m too tired to fight you off if you decide to break into my apartment later."
"Fine!"
I slam my fist onto the table hard enough to make the silverware jump. The bowl of soup sloshes dangerously, threatening to spill over the rim, but I don’t care. I need to hit something, and since hitting Donghwa apparently results in me getting flipped like a pancake and pinned to a mattress, the table will have to suffer.
"Fine," I repeat, the word tasting like ash and bile in my mouth. I glare at him, channeling every ounce of intimidation I have left, which, admittedly, isn't much when I'm wearing sweatpants that are two sizes too big and smelling like a walking pheromone disaster. "But let’s get one thing straight right now. This? Us? It stays under wraps. Deep underground. Buried next to nuclear waste."
I jab a finger at his face, leaning over the takeout containers.
"Outside of our ruts, we are nothing," I hiss, my eyes narrowing. "We aren't friends. We aren't 'mates.' We aren't even acquaintances. You are just the annoying freshman I tolerate, and I am the upperclassman you respect from a distance."
Donghwa just watches me, that infuriatingly calm expression not wavering for a second. He takes another sip of his coffee, looking at me over the rim of the cup like I’m a toddler throwing a fit in a supermarket.
"Are we clear?" I demand, my voice rising. "Because if anyone—and I meananyone, from the Dean down to the janitor who mops the third-floor bathroom—gets even the slightest wind of this arrangement, you are dead. I will bury you. I will ruin your social life so thoroughly you’ll have to transfer to a community college in Antarctica."
I’m breathing hard by the time I finish, my chest heaving. I mean every word. My reputation is the only thing I have left. Ifthe school finds out the top alpha in the department is getting knotted by a freshman during ruts, I might as well just drop out and live in a cave.
Donghwa slowly lowers his cup. He sets it down with a deliberate, soft click. Then, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over that broad, tattooed chest. A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his face, one that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Understood," he says, his voice smooth and deep, vibrating through the table. "Have it your way, Hyung. If keeping it a secret is what it takes to preserve that precious, fragile pride of yours, then you have my word."
He pauses, tilting his head to the side, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, terrifying intensity. The amusement in his gaze sharpens into something possessive. Something primal.
"No one will know," he promises, his voice dropping an octave. "But don't get confused. Out there, you can pretend to be the King all you want. But behind closed doors?"
His gaze rakes over me, heavy and tangible, lingering on the bite mark hidden beneath my hoodie before snapping back to my eyes.
" behind closed doors, you're mine."
The air leaves the room. My heart does a traitorous, violent slam against my ribs, and heat flares instantly in my stomach—hot, shameful, and immediate.
I scramble to my feet, the chair legs screeching against the floor as I shove it back. I need to get away from him. I need to get away from that look and the way it makes my knees feel like water.
"In your dreams," I spit, turning my back on him before he can see the flush creeping up my neck. "Clean up this mess when you leave."
I stalk down the hallway toward my bedroom, trying to walk with purpose, trying to ignore the low, dark laugh that follows me all the way to the door.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m wearing enough cologne to choke a horse, and I’m praying it’s enough to cover the scent of my own stupidity.
