At the rich emerald green of his eyes, clashing with darkness, with shadows lurking in the bathroom, and I get it.
‘It will only hurt if you fight it.’
It takes on a new meaning now as I watch him unravel right before my eyes.
Samick meant more than the physical. He meant my inner battle.
Like his.
And he’s stopped fighting it.
He gave into his lust for a measly human.
And he made the choice for me.
My body does, too.
With each thrust, his fingernails digging into my flesh, his cock striking that pleasure spot, I’m climbing.
Samick drops his head, his brow resting on mine, and pounds into me.
Neither of us cry out, or scream, or shout. Like we both need to keep this private, a dirty secret, away from the two fae downstairs.
Every grunt and moan is tightened. Suppressed. Muffled. Restrained.
Those throaty sounds bounce off the tiled walls. Fill the bathroom.
Until I feel it. I feel him.
The stuttering tension that halts him—his breath cutting off, stilling.
Then he comes undone.
The climax crashes down on him. A groan rips free from him, a warmth spilling inside of me.
The slight meat of my hips sting as his nails cut into my flesh, hard enough to draw beads of blood.
I cringe against the sharp bite of pain.
Samick slams into me one final time, all the way to the hilt, and the warmth expands inside of me. His muscles flex, his body jerks, his cock tensing against my walls.
His forehead presses into mine, harder as he turns rigid against his climax.
And his lashes finally shut.
Like a ribbon tugging through him, the tension softens muscle by muscle, until he’s just curved over me.
For a beat, he stays like this.
His grip relaxes on my hips.
Then that full sensation abandons me.
He sighs something soft before he slips out of me.
I feel the loss.
I didn’t finish. Maybe I was too rigid, too frozen, too sour, but disappointment starts to settle over me—
