15. Jin #3
“You give the most backwards compliments. You know that, right?”
“No worse than you telling me my place is neat but barren.”
“It is! Ever heard of hanging stuff on the walls?”
“Why would I hang something on the wall?” I ask plainly. “Decorations are a waste of time.”
“Most people like their home space to reflect their tastes.”
“This apartment does reflect my tastes. Simple and functional.”
“ And barren.” Her dark eyes glitter as she sips more slowly from her second glass, fully aware how flirty she’s being, even despite her tears a few minutes ago.
I decide to play into it for an inexplicable reason even I don’t know. It’s unlike me. Another thing only Monroe seems to stir.
“Should I put up movie posters like you? Mood boards? Art pieces of flowers and gardens? Some candles? Plants? Would you like to redecorate my apartment, Tokki-ya?”
“I just might one of these days while you’re out! You’ll come home and everything will be pink and frilly.”
“You do that. See what kind of punishment I have for you.”
She finishes the last few swallows of her second glass and then slams down the glass on the coffee table, stepping toward me until we’re inches apart. “You say punishment like I’m supposed to be intimidated.”
My pulse beats faster. I pick up on the heat flushing through her. It’s like bait to a predator like me. A little rabbit wandering into the clearing where a tiger lurks.
“You say that now, Tokki-ya. But what will you say when I make that round ass of yours so sore you can’t sit down for days?”
“Have you forgotten the part about me kneeing you in the balls again?”
“Are you going to try? Go on, Tokki-ya. I’ll give you five seconds to try. I won’t even stop you.”
“Like I’m going to fall for that trap!” she scoffs, notching hands on both hips. “Next thing I know you’ll have my shirt slashed open and your knife on my throat again.”
“And the next thing you know you’ll also be soaking wet again,” I remind, looming closer. I let my lips graze hers, tasting the light trace of soju. “Just like last night.”
Indignance flashes in Monroe’s dark gaze, her eyes shrinking into slits for a brief second. She’s stuck between complicated emotions like anger and frustration and something else that seems to crash over her and then take control— lust .
As she goes from being offended by my words, she grips at my shirt and pulls my mouth down on top of hers.
She greedily kisses me, silencing any further discourse between us.
I’m only caught off guard for the first half second before I’m matching her energy, grabbing the side of her throat and holding her in place.
Kissing has always been a tedious, laborious endeavor. It’s always seemed like a waste of time when sex was a matter of human function. It was about relieving a basic need and then moving on.
I’ve never enjoyed the activity, instead finding it more unnecessary than anything.
But somehow, it’s different with Monroe.
Her lips against mine set off a chain of involuntary reactions inside me—pulse-pounding, spine-tingling, blood-surging warmth that shoots straight through me and uproots everything around us.
They’re so soft, I find I can’t get enough.
I kiss her harder, pressing my lips against hers, pushing her down on the couch. She hungrily accepts, just as eager and desperate to feel my mouth on her. She’s panting and clutching at me like can’t stand it; she can’t take the tension that’s exploded between us.
Just like it had last night.
Our tongues meet for aggressive lashes as we crash down on the couch. I can taste every drop of the soju on her tongue. I suck away at hers, pinning her down, one wrist on either side. She spreads her thighs and grinds her hips against me.
For being prey, the little rabbit knows just how to provoke the big, bad tiger.
A throaty growl rumbles out of me as I tear my mouth from hers and then start dropping kisses elsewhere. A visceral hunger has stirred to life inside me, one that won’t be silenced.
It demands I devour Monroe Ross right now. I consume her whole in every way.
“I want that perfect pussy clenched around my cock,” I growl at her, biting at her jaw. My fingers slide between her thighs and find her panties.
As predicted, the cotton fabric’s damp. I’m hard and she’s wet.
The perfect combination for a moment like this.
But as my long fingers start rubbing at the soft, wet folds of her pussy through the fabric of her panties, Monroe clamps her thighs shut. She pushes at my chest and releases a sharp breath like she’s emerging from icy waters.
“We can’t!” she cries out. “It’s not right.”
I sit up on my knees, baffled by the sudden twist of the moment.
Given the opening for an escape, she slides out from under me and springs to her feet. She puts as much space between us as possible, folding her arms and crossing over to the window again.
It’s like the last fifteen minutes of flirtation didn’t happen—she’s returned to the morose, tearful version of herself she’d been when I first arrived.
I scrub a hand over my face, teeth gritted. “What’s the problem now?”
“It’s the same problem, Jin. You just provided a distraction.”
“Which is?”
“What we did was wrong,” she mutters, her back to me. Her tone changes, sounding more pensive, almost like she’s thinking aloud. “I love my fiancé.”
A pause drags on between us as I stare at her back and make sense of what she’s said.
“Your dead fiancé?”
“That’s right!” She spins around, her eyes lit with indignation. “You stalked me and found out every little detail about my life. Yes, my dead fiancé, Jin! His name was Elijah Turner and he was a great man! I’ll always love him!”
I stand up from the couch, sliding my hands into my pockets. Jealousy knots inside my chest at how sincere she sounds declaring her love for him.
“He’s dead now. He’s never coming back.”
Monroe recoils like I’ve struck her.
“You’re such a fucking dick,” she whispers. “How could you say something like that?”
“It’s the truth,” I say, slanting my head to the side. “He’s dead. No amount of tears will bring him back. You’re wasting your time pretending otherwise.”
“You heartless son of a—” Her voice cracks, dying out before she can finish.
She shakes her head as more tears slip down her cheeks.
“You have no idea what it means to love someone, do you? You don’t know what it’s like to feel empty without them.
You don’t get it! But don’t you dare—don’t you fucking dare—talk about Eli like that! ”
“Then what do you want me to say? You’re crying in my apartment over a ghost. How do you want me to make it better?”
“JUST STOP! I’ve heard enough!”
Monroe rushes past me, her small bare feet pounding on the floorboards. She bounds across the room and disappears inside the bedroom. Less than a second later, the bathroom door slams shut, echoing through the apartment.
I remain where I am, dragging a hand through my hair as I let out a breath. I resort to reaching for the soju bottle and chugging the rest of it, foregoing the glass altogether.
This is why I don’t do feelings. They’re messy and complicated. They make no sense.
Monroe’s in the bathroom now. Probably crying harder than before, and I have no idea how to fix any of it.