Chapter Thirteen
The first thing I register is the silence.
Dead silence. The kind that rings in your ears after the bass at the club finally cuts out, leaving you deaf and disoriented.
The roaring in my head is gone. That fever heat that felt like someone had replaced my blood with boiling gasoline has broken, leaving me shivering in the aftermath.
I feel absolutely wrecked. Wrung out to the marrow.
Like a wet towel twisted until the fibers snap.
But the desperate, clawing need to conquer—or be conquered—has finally, blessedly, receded.
I’m in my own bed. I can tell by the expensive thread count against my cheek and the memory foam molding to my dead weight. Thank fuck for small mercies.
The second thing I register is the pain.
It hits me like a delayed hangover. A dull, comprehensive ache radiates from every single muscle fiber, the kind of full-body soreness you usually only get after trying to PR on a deadlift without a warm-up.
My shoulder throbs—specifically my right trap—where a fresh bite mark is burning, angrier and deeper than anything that should be on a Dominant Alpha’s skin.
It pulses with a stinging heat, a brand on the body I’ve spent years sculpting to perfection.
And my ass? Christ. My ass feels like I tried to do deep squats with a compact car strapped to my back.
Then comes the third thing. The impossible thing.
There’s something between my thighs. Not just near them.
Between them. Something heavy, and solid, and breathtakingly warm.
It’s purely physical, a violation of physics and biology that my brain refuses to compute.
It’s plugging me up, stretching me out, anchoring me to the mattress with a terrifying weight. It’s… inside me.
My brain catches up to my body about two seconds too late. There is a dick inside me. A literal, actual penis is currently occupying the space where my dignity used to be.
I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat as the sensation registers fully. It’s not just in there; it’s comfortable. It’s settled. Like it owns the place.
I scramble forward, a strangled noise tearing out of my throat as I jerk my hips away.
The friction is disgusting—a wet, heavy slide that makes my stomach flip—and then I’m free, scrambling onto my hands and knees on the mattress.
I whip my head around, chest heaving, ready to murder whatever stranger I dragged home in my delirium.
But it’s not a stranger.
Kang Donghwa is sprawled out on my silk sheets like he’s posing for a renaissance painting.
He’s on his side, completely naked, looking infuriatingly peaceful.
His black hair is messy, fanned out over my pillow, and his chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm.
He looks like an angel. A demon-born, asshole angel who just spent the last twelve hours destroying my internal organs.
And he’s still hard.
The rage hits me so fast it actually blurs my vision. It’s a hot, white spike of pure humiliation. I don’t think. I don’t rationalize. I just pivot on my knees, wind up, and drive my fist as hard as I can into his stomach.
Thwack.
Donghwa’s eyes fly open.
He makes a sound like a dying vacuum cleaner, his body jackknifing on the bed as all the air leaves his lungs in a rush. He curls in on himself, hacking, his face turning a lovely shade of red.
"What the fuck!" I roar, my voice cracking. I scramble back until my back hits the headboard, grabbing a pillow to cover my crotch even though it’s way too late for modesty. "What the fuck are you doing in my room? Why are you naked in my bed?"
Donghwa wheezes, pressing a hand to his abs, blinking tears out of his eyes. He looks at me, then down at himself, then back at me. He takes a rattling breath, trying to reinflate his lungs.
"Glad to see..." he gasps, voice raspy and wrecked, "...you’ve finally come to your senses, Hyung."
The sarcasm. The absolute, unmitigated gall of this freshman.
"You piece of shit!" I lunge.
I aim for his face this time, but he’s fast. Even half-asleep and winded, his reflexes are annoying. He jerks his head back, so my fist connects with his ribs instead. It’s a solid hit, enough to make him grunt, but it’s like punching a bag of wet cement.
"Stop it," he growls.
"Get out!" I scream, swinging again. "Get the fuck out!"
"I said stop!"
He catches my wrist mid-swing. His grip is like iron.
I try to knee him in the balls, but he twists his hips, using his weight to plow into me.
We collide in a tangle of limbs and swearing.
I’m bigger than most guys, I spend hours in the gym building mass, but Donghwa is dense.
He’s all leverage and heavy bone, and he moves with a fluid, annoying grace that I can’t match.
I thrash, bucking my hips, trying to throw him off. "Get off me! This is all your fault! You took advantage of me!"
"I took advantage?" He grunts, ducking a wild haymaker I throw with my left hand. He catches that wrist too, slamming it into the mattress. "You dragged me in here! You practically begged for it!"
"Liar!" I spit, thrashing harder. "I’m going to kill you!"
"Enough!"
He shifts his weight, driving a knee between my thighs—right against my sore, used hole—and the jolt of sensation makes me gasp, my strength faltering for a split second.
That’s all he needs. He shoves my arms up, pinning both my wrists above my head with one large hand.
He uses his other arm to brace himself next to my head, looming over me, his chest heaving against mine.
The silence crashes back into the room, broken only by our ragged breathing.
I glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly, adrenaline pumping through my veins. He’s hovering over me, his dark eyes blown wide, hair falling into his face. He smells like winter air and sex—our sex—and it makes my head spin.
"Are you done?" he asks, his voice low, dangerous. "Or do I need to knock the wind out of you, too?"
I add in a buck of my hips and a frustrated snarl.
"Calm down," Donghwa pants, and honestly, he looks like shit. His eyes are hollow, rimmed with dark circles that stand out starkly against his pale skin. He looks like a corpse that’s been dragged backward through a hedge, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead.
"Go fuck yourself," I snarl, straining against his grip.
Donghwa lets out a dry, humorless snort. "Can't," he wheezes. "Spent all my energy fucking you all night."
My vision goes red. I don't even think about it; I just react. I yank my leg free and drive my heel hard into the meat of his thigh. A cheap shot? Absolutely. Do I care? Not even a little bit.
Donghwa hisses, his grip faltering as he swears. "You little shit."
I scramble to get leverage, but he recovers too fast. With a sudden burst of inspiration—and annoying strength for someone who looks half-dead—he twists my arm, uses his weight, and flips me over.
The room spins, and then my face is mashed into the pillow, his heavy body pressing me flat into the mattress.
"Let me up!" I roar, struggling against him. "Get off me!"
"No."
Smack.
The sound is loud in the quiet room. His hand connects with my right ass cheek—the sore one—with a stinging slap.
I yelp, my body jerking instinctively. "I am going to kill you!" I scream into the pillow. "I’m going to strangle you with my bare hands!"
Donghwa sighs, a heavy exhale that ghosts over the back of my neck. "You're awfully spicy this morning for someone who was begging to suck my cock six hours ago."
I freeze. My entire body goes rigid.
Slowly, painfully, I crane my neck, twisting to glare at him over my shoulder. "You are a fucking liar."
Donghwa smirks. It’s a tired, lazy expression, but it’s dripping with smugness. "Do I look like I have the energy to lie right now?" He shifts his weight, wincing slightly. "You wrung me out so hard I couldn't get it up now to save my life. I was practically begging you to stop by the last round."
"That's not possible," I choke out. My face feels hot. "I wouldn't. I didn't."
He rolls his eyes. "That's a convenient excuse. My dick is rubbed raw, Hyung. Raw. From how many times you demanded I put it back in."
"Shut up!" I buck wildly, humiliation crashing over me like a tidal wave. I did not beg. I do not beg for dick. "Shut your mouth!"
"Quit moving," he curses, his forearm pressing down on my upper back to hold me in place. "Calm down, or I swear to god I'll spank you for real this time."
In response I press my face into the mattress and scream.
It’s a long, muffled, pathetic sound that vibrates through the mattress and dies somewhere in the expensive goose-down of my pillow. I scream until my throat scratches, until I run out of air, until the sheer absurdity of my life crashes down on me with the weight of a collapsing building.
Because gravity is a bitch.
And gravity, right now, is making me painfully aware of exactly how much fluid is currently inside my body.
Or, was inside. I feel the slow, hot trickle of it leaking out of me, sliding down the inside of my thigh.
It’s sticky. It’s excessive. It is a tangible, viscous reminder that I didn’t just get fucked; I got filled up like a goddamn cream puff.
A sob tears out of my throat, choking off the scream. I’m the heir to the Oh! Paradise fortune. I’m a Dominant Alpha. I bench press nearly three hundred pounds. And I am currently leaking another man’s seed onto my own duvet cover.
"Okay," Donghwa sighs from above me. The weight of his forearm on my back doesn't lift, but the pressure eases just a fraction. He sounds tired. Bored, even. "Look. I need to get cleaned up. You need to get cleaned up. If I let you up, do you promise not to try and punch me again?"
I don't answer. I can't. My face is burning so hot I think I might actually scorch the pillowcase.