Chapter Nine #3
Donghwa doesn't pull away. He doesn't freeze. Instead, he makes a low sound in his throat—something between a growl and a hum—and opens his mouth.
It throws me off balance. I stumble, my weight pitching forward, and suddenly the aggression I was pouring into this kiss has nowhere to go but deeper. I fall right into him.
And god, he tastes... good.
He shouldn't. He’s an Alpha. He’s my rival. He’s the most annoying person on this entire campus. He should taste like ego and cheap beer. But he tastes like mint and dark coffee.
Then the scent washes over me.
It’s not the polite, contained whiff I got earlier.
Being this close, with his mouth open against mine, it’s a deluge.
That smell of cold winter air and wet ink floods my senses, washing away the cloying sweetness of the party, the stale alcohol, and even my own spiced rum scent.
It’s crisp. It’s heavy. It fills my lungs and makes my head spin, dizzying and intoxicating in a way that makes absolutely no sense.
My brain is screaming abort, abort, abort, but my body has apparently decided to stage a coup.
I try to pull back, just an inch, to regain some semblance of sanity, but Donghwa chases me. His hand comes up—not to push me away, but to grip the back of my neck. His fingers are long and strong, tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, holding me in place.
"You started this," he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough, vibrating through my skull.
Then he licks into my mouth.
It’s not tentative. It’s arrogant. His tongue slides against mine, slick and hot, exploring me with a lazy confidence that makes my knees weak. It’s a violation. It’s a challenge. And to my absolute horror, I kiss him back.
I can't help it. The chemistry is instantaneous, violent. It’s like striking a match in a room full of gasoline. My hands, which were bunching up his coat to threaten him, slide up of their own volition. I grab fistfuls of his dark hair, angling his head, desperate to get deeper.
We’re not fighting anymore. We’re devouring.
Teeth clash—a sharp, stinging pain that only seems to feed the fire. I groan, the sound swallowed by his mouth, and press him harder against the wall. He gives as good as he gets, his other hand gripping my hip, his thumb digging into the sensitive spot just above my belt bone.
The heat is unbearable. It’s suffocating.
I’m drowning in ginseng and winter, and I don't want to come up for air. Every nerve ending in my body is lighting up, firing signals that I don't know how to process. This is an Alpha. I’m an Alpha. We’re supposed to be repelled by each other.
We’re supposed to be fighting for dominance, not. .. this.
But the friction is electric. I’m grinding against him, seeking friction, seeking pressure.
And then I feel the ridge of hardness pressing firmly against my lower stomach.
My eyes fly open, staring blindly at the dark hair falling over his forehead, my breath catching in my throat. He’s hard. He’s rock hard.
And so am I.
We freeze.
The realization hits us both at the exact same second. It’s not just the kiss anymore. It’s the undeniable, rock-hard pressure grinding between our hips. I’m hard. Painfully, stupidly hard. And so is he.
We rip apart like magnets with the polarity suddenly reversed. I stumble back, my chest heaving, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I’m staring at him, wild-eyed, expecting to see disgust or confusion.
I don't.
Donghwa is breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling beneath that expensive coat, his lips swollen and red.
His eyes are blown wide, the pupils swallowing the iris, dark and bottomless.
He doesn't look like the bored, stoic freshman anymore. He looks like a predator that just woke up and realized there’s a steak in the room.
"You—" I start, but the word turns into a snarl.
I don't know what I’m doing. I don't know why I’m doing it. I just know that I need to win. I need to be on top. If I’m on top, then I’m the one in control. If I’m on top, this isn't a mistake; it’s a conquest.
I launch myself at him.
"Don't you look at me like that!" I shout, grabbing his shoulders and trying to shove him back.
Donghwa growls, a low, vibrating sound that I feel in my own bones, and catches my wrists.
He doesn't stumble this time. He twists, using my own momentum against me.
We crash into the small bedside table, sending a lamp shattering to the floor.
The bulb pops, plunging the corner of the room into shadow, but I don't care.
"Get off!" I yell, trying to hook my leg behind his knee to trip him.
"Make me," he bites back, his voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it.
We’re a tangle of limbs and aggression, wrestling for purchase on the rug.
I’m bigger—I have mass on him—but Donghwa is slippery.
He’s lean and fast, and he knows where to put his weight.
I manage to shove him toward the bed, thinking I have the advantage, but he grabs the front of my shirt and drags me down with him.
We hit the mattress hard. The springs shriek in protest.
I scramble, trying to get my knees under me, trying to mount him and pin his shoulders down. I need to assert dominance. I need to prove I’m the Alpha here.
"I’m going to wreck you," I pant, grabbing for his throat.
But then the scent hits me again.
It’s a concentrated burst, like a chemical bomb going off in the small room.
As we grapple, his body heat spikes, and that smell of cold ink and bitter ginseng floods my nose.
It’s overwhelming. It’s dizzying. My head spins, the room tilting on its axis.
For a split second, my brain short-circuits.
The biological signal is confusing—it’s Alpha, it’s rival, but it smells.
.. right. It smells like something I want to bury my face in.
That second of hesitation costs me everything.
Donghwa moves. He doesn't fumble. He surges up from beneath me with terrifying strength, bucking his hips and rolling us over.
The world flips.
One second I’m on top, and the next, my face is being smashed into the duvet.
"Hey!" I shout, muffled by the fabric.
I try to kick out, to buck him off, but he’s already there. He settles his weight right over my thighs, pinning my legs to the mattress. He’s heavy—way heavier than he looks in those loose clothes. It’s dense, functional muscle, and I can’t get any leverage.
Panic flares in my chest. Real, genuine panic. I’ve never been pinned. I’m the one who pins people.
"Get off me, you crazy bastard!" I thrash, reaching back blindly to claw at him.
Donghwa catches my wrists easily, forcing my arms up my back. He gathers both of my hands in one of his large ones, pressing them flat against my spine, effectively locking my upper body down. I’m trapped. I’m completely, humiliatingly trapped face-down on a guest bed while my rival sits on me.
"Shut up," he pants, his mouth right next to my ear. His hot breath sends a shiver racing down my spine that has absolutely nothing to do with fear.
"I’m going to kill you," I wheeze, squirming uselessly. "I swear to god, Donghwa, let me up or I’ll—"
I cut off with a sharp gasp as I feel his free hand fumble at my waist.
He grips the waistband of my jeans. There’s a sharp pop as the button gives way, the sound loud in the quiet room.
My heart hammers against the mattress. "What are you doing?"
"Taking what you offered," he growls.
The zipper hisses down. I try to clamp my legs together, but his weight is forcing them apart. He hooks his fingers into the denim and the band of my boxers, and with one ruthless, decisive tug, he yanks them down to my thighs.
The cool air of the room hits my bare skin, shocking and exposing.
"Yah!" I yell, my voice cracking.
I should be fighting harder. I should be screaming for help.
But the friction of denim sliding down my legs, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, and the sheer, raw dominance rolling off him in waves has my head spinning.
I’m terrified, furious, and so turned on I think I might actually explode.
"You fucking psycho! Get your hands off me!
" I buck like a wild horse, twisting my hips, but his weight pins me flat, my cheek smashed into the duvet.
My jeans are tangled around my knees now, boxers shoved down with them, leaving my ass bare to the chilly air.
Humiliating. My dick throbs against the mattress, trapped and leaking, and I hate how obvious it is that I'm hard as steel.
Donghwa doesn't say shit. He just leans down, his chest pressing along my back, hot and heavy through his coat.
His lips brush the nape of my neck—soft at first, then teeth grazing my skin, a slow trail of open-mouthed kisses that make my spine tingle.
His hand slides over one ass cheek, kneading the muscle there, fingers digging in possessively. Rough. Claiming.
"Fuck you," I spit, thrashing my head side to side. "I'll rip your goddamn arms off for this."
He laughs, low and dark against my ear, the vibration sinking into my bones.
His free hand snakes around my hip, wraps around my cock—long fingers stroking the length of me, thumb swiping over the slick head.
I jolt, a hiss escaping through my clenched teeth.
It's firm, unhurried, like he's jacking me off at his leisure. Like this is normal.
"You talk a lot of shit," he murmurs, breath fanning hot over my shoulder. "But you're hard as fuck. Doesn't seem like you hate it all that much."
"Shut your lying mouth," I snarl, bucking up hard to throw him off.
My ass grinds back against his crotch by accident—or maybe not, shit—and I feel him there, thick and rigid through his pants.
He groans, just a little, and the sound shoots straight to my balls.
"I'm gonna kill you the second I'm free, you hear me? Snap your fucking neck."