Almost thirty and basically unsure how to navigate this type of romantic situation. Romantic relationship.
Part of the reason I invited him over was to try to figure out what we’re doing. If we need to put a label on it.
I think I might want to.
Maybeneedto?
The doorbell rings and startles me a little, as does my next thought—that I should just give Sun the code so he can let himself in.
As soon as I open the door, Sun drops his bag, kicks off his shoes, and leaps into my arms, blindly trusting that I’ll catch him. I do, of course, and he wraps his arms around my shoulders and his legs around my hips, holding on tight as he presses his lips to mine.
I kick the door closed, carrying him from the entry way into the apartment without ever breaking to take a breath. I’mgasping by the time I drop down onto the sofa with Sun settling on my thighs. “I could get used to being greeted like that,” I tell him, panting as he nips and nibbles along my jawline before kissing me again.
He’s learned quickly, I think absently, like he’s been taking mental notes of everything I’ve told him I enjoy and then doing it to perfection.
“I missed you,” he says, his hands twisting in the fabric of my t-shirt like he wants to make sure he’s got a grip on me and I can’t go anywhere.
As if I would want to be anywhere else right now.
Sun wriggles in my lap, moving closer, and the negligible distance between us disappears. Draping his arms over my shoulders, he holds me so gently it seems to contradict the roughness of his kisses and the desperation of his tongue pushing past my lips.
I slip my hands around his hips, cupping the curve of his ass, and he whimpers into my mouth. If I could swallow that needy sound and keep it for myself, let it rattle around inside my head when I’m alone, I would never have to conjure up anything to fantasize about ever again.
“Can I kiss you forever?” Sun asks in a whisper when he breaks away reluctantly to take a breath. “Wanna kiss you forever.”
As he licks back into my mouth, it seems like a great idea to do this until the end of time. To stay in this moment, making out like teenagers. The teenager he never got to be. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to give him that—the thrill of sneaking off into dark corners or slouching down in the back of parked cars because those are the only options.
But we’re here in my apartment, the lights along the Han River bright in the window behind us, and it’s not quite the same, but I don’t mind. I think he’s quite content with the situation as well, judging by the way he’s started to rock againstme. I can feel the taut lines of his body tensing with the subtle movements.
When he finally slides off me—only for the sake of breathing—and falls into a less-than-graceful heap on the couch, he looks debauched in a way I was not expecting yet. My mouth waters withwantat the sight of his mussed up hair, kiss-bitten lips, and the faint pink flush that reaches from his cheeks to beneath the collar of his shirt.
I have not been ready for anything that has happened with him—wholly unprepared for the way he has upended my life in a short time—but somehow I’m still surprised at every new thing that sends a jolt of desire through my body.
Sun stretches, slow and lazy, uncurling himself like a flower that’s blooming right in front of my eyes. His shirt rides up, exposing a stretch of skin that I realize I can’t wait to get my hands on. The hem is intentionally, artfully frayed, and it makes the magenta fabric look soft against the porcelain of his stomach.
I want to touch, so I do, reaching out to brush my fingertips over him, and he shivers, looking up at me with dark, pleading eyes, asking for more without saying a word. He’s more casual than usual tonight, and the thought crosses my mind that I could probably yank off his clothes and he wouldn’t care if they got destroyed in the process.
Leaning over, I bow my head, lips trailing just above the waistband of his joggers. He squirms, whimpering as he tilts his hips up to encourage me to keep going. I don’t know what I’m doing, just that I can’t help myself. Are we there yet, though? Should we talk about this?
“Kija.”
His breathless sigh of my name has me biting at his hipbone, like that will distract me from how fucking sexy it sounded. The scrape of my teeth only makes it worse as Sun’s fingers tangle in my hair and pull just hard enough to make me gasp.
Sitting back up, I put some space between us because it seems necessary. At least for the moment.
Do I want to lay him out on this couch and get my hands all over him? Yes. Do I want his mouth on me again? Also yes.
But rational me still wins this round, because I get up and tug him to stand with me. We waddle like penguins into the kitchen after he drapes himself over me again and makes it impossible to walk normally. I will not admit to how hard I had to fight smiling at how silly and cute it was.
There’s still that damn strawberry soju in my fridge, and I know he’ll drink it. I get it out and grab two glasses from the cabinet, setting them down so I can turn the bottle upside down and swirl the drink, creating a tiny tornado of fruity alcohol.
“Oh, look at you showing off.” Sun laughs, even as he rolls his eyes. But that doesn’t stop him from taking a sip as soon as I’ve poured it. He watches closely as I decide against the second glass and drink straight from the green bottle, chugging far more of the sweet spirit than I would normally.
“I didn’t think you liked this?” he questions.
“I don’t,” I reply, letting him pull me closer by slipping his finger through the loop of the drawstring on my track pants. Rocking up on his tiptoes, he leans in to trace my lips with his tongue, then kisses me, slow and deep.
“You taste better without the soju,” he comments when he steps away, just far enough to be out of arm’s length.
