It’s not enough. I can’t get enough on my own. Even as I rock my hips against the duvet and switch from a steady in-and-out motion to scissoring my fingers, the friction from the fabric only drives me mad, not giving me any sort of relief.
“Hyung,” I whimper, as though he can hear me.
I don’t know how he’d answer, but I want to think he’d tell me how good I was, getting myself ready for him. That he can’t wait to have me, to feel me, to fill me. To remind me why he’s always been the only one.
My whole body twists, searching for more. I could cry from the tension building inside me, but instead I slip my fingers out as I roll over again. Quickly, I snatch the dildo I had set aside on my nightstand and raise up on my knees, finding just the right position to have it nudging against my entrance.
I let out one stuttered moan as I drop down, taking nearly the whole length at once. I know it’s reckless, but I like the hint of pain, the burn as I have to adjust. That moment of instant satisfaction, where I’m finally stretched open and so full, is such a rush every time.
It’ssogood.
But as I bounce on the toy, slippery hand stroking my own cock, so close to release that my skin is prickling in anticipation, I know it would be even better with him. The solidness and warmth of his body underneath me, the weight of his gaze and grip of his hands on my hips as I ride him, and the way he would praise me as I take everything he gives me.
Suddenly, I’m right there, gasping as I come, making a mess of myself and the bed cover. I collapse to the side, ease the dildo out slowly, and try to put it on the side table to clean in a moment, but I miss and it rolls off onto the floor.
As I lay here, panting, I am overcome with a kind of loneliness that makes my chest hurt. I want to roll over into his arms, to snuggle up close and listen to his heartbeat as we both come back to ourselves. For him to press a kiss to my forehead and tell me that what we have is the best he’s ever had. To fall asleep tangled up together and know that tomorrow could be more of the same.
No matter how good my imagination is, I’m always going towant more.
To just get a taste of what it could be like to be with someone like him.
No, to be withKija.
Because there is no one else like him.
And I can’t imagine ever being with anyone else.
I know I could make him happy if he’d just give me a chance.
I have to keep trying.
SEVEN
KIJA
Ican feel someone watching me. I have a suspicion that I know who it is even before I look up. Like I have some sort of extrasensory awareness of his presence now. I will not be giving any additional thought to what that might mean.
“Hello, Yung-Sun.”
He’s draped alongside the doorframe in a way that suggests he arranged himself pretty carefully. “Hi, Kija-hyung.”
“What brings you here this evening?” I ask, certain I know the answer to that as well. There’s no reason for him to be at Task Force at this time of the night. If he had been practicing with RYSING, he’d be on another floor, all the way across the building. But instead of being casual and sweaty from a rehearsal, his hair is styled, his eyes dark with some sort of make-up, and his lips shiny with balm or gloss. As he walks into the room, the wide neck of his shirt slips open farther, exposing more of his collarbone and almost sliding off his shoulder.
Yung-Sun completely ignores my question as he gracefully sits down on the couch, facing me. “Why were you frowning?”
His question surprises me. “What? When?”
“Just now, before you noticed I was here.” His expression is a mix of curiosity and concern, and it’s weirdly touching.
I wonder just how long he’d been standing there before Ipicked up on it, since it appears he saw my reaction to the text from Chaeji. I wanted to tell her yet again to stop contacting me, but it is becoming increasingly obvious that she isn’t going to be dissuaded simply because I have no interest in pursuing her. So I agreed to meet with her, one more time, with the hope that talking to her face-to-face will be enough for her to move on.
“Just someone I went out with a while ago. Keeps coming back around,” I say, ignoring the sound of my phone receiving another text. “We had one date. It wasn’t even a really good one. Well, for me. She seemed to have a very different experience. And now apparently thinks it’s time to try again. I disagree. But she will not stop. I’m trying to be nice about it, but that doesn’t seem to be working.”
As soon as I stop talking, I realize how much I’ve said without even thinking about it. I blame the way Yung-Sun is looking at me, attentive as he hangs on every word.
“Sounds like she’s a lot of trouble, stressing you out like this,” he comments. Shifting his position to lean on one hip, angling himself more toward me, he adds, “I wouldn’t do that.”
I laugh, trying belatedly to disguise it as a cough. I have to give him credit for being so shameless. He never misses a chance. I wonder if I’m starting toenjoyit, this brazen approach that he has. I also wonder just how far he’d go, especially if he knew that he’s crossed my mind. That I’ve thought about him, too. “I really am flattered by the crush, but you need to set your sights elsewhere.”
