Chapter 4 #3
Samick’s face tightens. His eyes darken even more, like windows into the richest, densest rainforest in existence.
My flesh prickles under his touch.
Still, he doesn’t stop.
The light kiss of his fingertips travels along the side of my breast, as though tracing the streams of water, then curves towards my pebbled nipple—
My throat thickens.
His touch grazes my nipple, and I jerk back into the tap.
A hissing sound escapes from between my gritted teeth.
Instinct surges through me, and I swipe out at him.
It’s like striking brick.
Nothing happens.
His touch still lingers on my nipple.
His eyes still burn into mine.
A sudden heaviness drapes over me.
A realisation that turns my insides to steel.
Like I’m just now—in this exact moment, with his thumb a whisper on my nipple, and my core tensing—realising the gravity of it.
I’m not a frog to be dissected.
I’m not a newly discovered species to be studied.
The thoughts I shoved down, the way I almost believed he was watching me—
That was the truth.
My throat thickens around a lump lodged in it.
I force down a swallow, words I can’t make sense of or sort into order. Because it doesn’t make sense.
Samick’s touch leaves my breast.
I almost exhale a breath of relief.
But he isn’t done with me.
His fingers travel down my middle, past my bellybutton—and I suck in a sharp gasp.
His touch drags down my hair—the place that has captured his interest before.
I don’t know if it’s the fright that freezes me.
I don’t know why I can’t do anything but stare up at him.
I don’t know why the tears brewing in my eyes are silent or why I fight my own breaths.
I just know that the ferocity of his stare keeps me pinned against the shower pipes, the taps pressing into my spine, and that—no matter how tight I clench my thighs together—his fingers easily force their way through.
He moves closer to me, stepping into the stream of the shower, and his touch intrudes between my legs.
A raspy sound hitches through me.
His eyes flash.
Water running down his face, his lips, his leathers, he forces the pads of his fingers along my slit—and watches every flicker on my face.
A guttural sound escapes me. My face alights with the heat of magma.
He does it again. Drags his touch along my slit, until a jolt of electricity zaps through me.
He stops.
His eyes are flaring in the shadows.
The pressure of his touch is so firm that I swear I can almost feel the detail of his fingerprint.
My thighs clamp together, tighter.
Foot lifting from the soggy towels, I cross my legs and I try to squeeze his hand out.
Samick watches me through the shower rain. Rich, rainforest eyes dance with shadows—and he brushes his thumb over my clit.
A tear falls down my cheek. Fast swallowed by the water cascading down on us.
He repeats, a graze of the thumb, luring out a whimper from my lips. And again—and he settles on a rhythm.
Not once does his stare leave mine.
Not as my lips part against shuddering breaths.
Not as another soft whimper escapes me—and not an encouraging one.
And not even as the next tear slips down my cheek.
He watches me—watches every glistening emotion dance in my eyes, every ounce of fear, each thread of unwanted rising pleasure.
And it’s like he’s studying how humans react. A detached essence in the way he watches me—but with rich forest eyes.
If it wasn’t for those eyes—
I would think he feels nothing at all.
But this… I know it in my heavy gut, this is lust.
It moves his hand over my core, fingertips dragging along my slit, thumb dragging over my clit.
A moan is lured from me, and it floods my eyes with a fresh wave of tears.
Loathing is building in me with the pleasure.
The more wetness he gathers from me, the more I hate myself, the more my face burns—
He brings all of that honeyed wetness to my aching clit.
And a guttural sound gags me.
My legs wobble beneath me, like they’re going to give out, but they don’t get the chance.
Something hungry and ferocious comes over him.
A growl bubbles in his throat.
In a blink, Samick shoves into me, pinning me against the pipes and taps, and my feet are dangling above the floor.
He moves so fast, I hardly know how it happens, but he knocks his knee into mine, forcing my legs apart, bringing himself flush against me.
I grab onto him in a panic.
One hand clutched onto his collar, the other on his shoulder, trying to shove him back.
But it does nothing.
“Stop.” The whisper moans out of me. I loll my head back against the hard bite of the pipe, water pouring down on us. “Samick, no—”
Faster than a heartbeat, his hand is on my mouth, firm. The pad of his thumb presses into my cheek, smushing the flesh, and his palm muffles me.
The grip forces my head back.
He lowers his forehead to mine, moulded to me, curved over me, and still, his gaze hooks mine.
My hands latch onto his wrist.
His fingers delve into me, deep, and they coil against a pleasure spot.
My shout is muffled by his hand.
A twitch strikes through my leg. It reaches my toes—and they curl and flex against the intrusion.
His thumb slides over my clit, moving in time with the stroke of his fingers inside of me, that same firm pressure—
I shut my eyes on him, on the forests, on the hunger.
But the moment I do, another growl crawls up his throat, and I cry out from the pain on my cheekbone.
My eyes snap open—just as Samick’s bite softens on me.
But he doesn’t retreat.
He keeps his teeth there, sharp on my cheekbone, ready to bite and draw blood if I shut my eyes again.
It’s a promise.
A warning.
I feel the weight of it as he slowly turns his face back until he’s nose-to-nose with me.
Trails of water curve over his cheekbones, catch on his lashes, glisten his full lips—
And his stare hooks mine.
It holds.
It holds as the pressure rises, and my heart starts skipping beats, and my breaths start pinning to my chest, and so my exhales are grunts muffled by his palms, and my sight starts to dance with glaring lights, and—
My fingernails tear at his wrist.
My head throws back into the pipe.
The crack is hard, but I don’t feel a fucking thing through the crescendo that’s surging through me.
Samick’s hand doesn’t follow my mouth. It drags down to the cusp of my chin as the shout arches through me. Like he wants, needs, to hear it.
His grip firms, fingertips digging into me as the shout tempers into a moan, and the twitches that assault me are softening.
Slowly, too slowly, his fingers slip out of me. His thumb grazes my clit like a farewell kiss that shudders me.
And he guides his hand up along my body, over my breasts, through the steady rain of the shower, all the way up to my face.
He cups my cheeks with both hands and considers me.
I’m coming down from the high.
And as I do, I blink my dark, teary gaze on him.
My mouth twists.
But Samick drops his gaze to my lips, then brushes his fingertips over them.
Still, there’s something detached about him. The way he holds my face in his hand, the curious touch of my lips, even his body pushing harder against mine—there’s something clinical in it.
The breath shudders out of me, slick with restrained tears. I turn my cheek to him-an opening he takes.
His mouth finds my neck, my jawline, and travels with the whisper of a kiss that never quite connects.
I stare at the bench. Where our bags are. Where the torch rests. The flames flicker over the walls, casting shadows up to the ceiling.
I watch the shadow that grows, the one that arches—
Then my face furrows.
I blink, once, twice, Samick’s mouth warm on my skin, then I trace the dark shadow to the torchlight, the flames flickering over the grey tiles.
It’s a silhouette.
I look over the shower room—to the entrance.
And my insides bolt.
Someone is there.
The silhouette.
A stranger.
He stands in the entrance. A human. A man—k
With a shotgun.
And he’s aiming it right at us.