Chapter Fifteen #2
While I’m standing there, dazed and flushed, fighting the urge to drop to my knees in the middle of the field, he spins away. He takes the ball, leaves me in the dust, and crosses it perfectly to one of his teammates for another easy goal.
I’m left panting, my hands trembling at my sides. My skin feels too tight, my face is on fire, and there’s a distinct, uncomfortable throbbing in my shorts that has absolutely no place in a soccer game.
I look up to see him high-fiving a teammate, looking cool and unbothered, not a drop of sweat on him. Then his eyes slide over to me. He smirks—a sharp, predatory thing—and taps his temple.
He’s playing me. He’s not playing soccer; he’s playing me. And the worst part is, my traitorous body is letting him win.
I kick the door to the locker room restroom open so hard it bounces off the stopper with a deafening bang.
The noise echoes off the tile, satisfyingly violent, but the target of my rage doesn't even flinch.
Kang Donghwa is standing at the sink, splashing cold water on his face like he didn't just commit a war crime on the soccer field.
He looks up into the mirror, water dripping from his chin, and meets my eyes with that infuriatingly calm, dead-eyed stare.
"You're loud," he says, reaching for a paper towel.
I see red.
I cross the distance in three strides, grabbing a fistful of his sweaty jersey and slamming him back against the tiled wall.
The impact knocks the wind out of him—or at least, I hope it does—but he barely reacts.
He just lets his head thump back against the ceramic, his hands coming up to grip my wrists, not to push me away, but to steady himself.
"You cheated," I snarl, getting right in his face. "You dirty, underhanded, cheating little snake."
Donghwa blinks, water droplets catching in his long lashes. "Pretty sure the score was 4-1, Hyung. That’s not cheating. That’s a massacre."
"Don't play dumb with me!" I shake him, ignoring the way the contact sends a zing of static electricity up my arms. "You know exactly what you did out there. You weaponized it. You used your pheromones to mess with my head every time I got near the ball."
He has the audacity to smirk. A slow, lazy curling of his lips that makes me want to punch him and bite him at the same time. "Did I? I must have just been working up a sweat. You know how it is."
"Bullshit," I hiss. "You flared your scent on purpose. You used the bond to make me submit."
The word hangs in the air between us, heavy and dangerous. Submit. Just saying it makes my stomach twist with a mix of nausea and heat.
Donghwa’s expression shifts. The boredom evaporates, replaced by that sharp, predatory intelligence that he usually hides behind his apathy. He leans forward, invading my space, and suddenly the small, cramped bathroom is filled with the scent of cold winter air and ink.
My knees wobble. I hate them for it. I lock them out, refusing to give an inch.
"And?" Donghwa asks softly.
"And?" I sputter, incredulous. "And it's against the rules! It's unsportsmanlike conduct! It's—"
"It's biology," he cuts in, his voice smooth as silk. He releases one of my wrists to brush a damp lock of hair out of his eyes. "But go ahead. Report me."
I freeze. "What?"
"Report me," he repeats, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. "Go find the referee. Go find the department head. Tell them that the freshman was playing dirty."
"I will," I threaten, though my grip on his shirt is already loosening. "I'll get you disqualified."
"Okay." He leans in closer, until his lips are hovering inches from my ear. "And what exactly are you going to tell them, Sihwan?"
My breath hitches.
"Are you going to tell them that I used illegal pheromones?" he whispers, the vibration of his voice traveling straight down my spine. "Because last I checked, I'm an Alpha. You're an Alpha. My pheromones shouldn't do anything to you except make you want to fight me."
My blood runs cold.
"If you tell them I made you go weak in the knees," he continues, relentless, "you're going to have to explain why. You're going to have to explain why a big, bad Dominant Alpha like Oh Sihwan crumbled just because I smelled a little strong."
He pulls back to look me in the eye, his smirk widening into a grin that is pure evil.
"So, go ahead. Tell them we're bonded. Tell the whole school that I knotted you so hard your biology rewrote itself to think you're my bitch."
I shove him away, stumbling back like I’ve been burned. My back hits the sinks, the porcelain digging into my spine. "Shut your mouth."
"Am I wrong?" He straightens his shirt, brushing off the wrinkles I put there with maddening nonchalance. "You can't report me without outing yourself. You're trapped, Hyung. You can't tell anyone because your pride won't let you admit that you belong to me now."
"I don't belong to you," I spit, though the words sound hollow even to me. My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.
He steps toward me, and instinctively, I brace myself. But he just reaches past me to toss his used paper towel into the trash can. As he passes, he lets his scent flare again—just a little, just enough to make my breath catch and my pupils dilate.
He steps closer, and the sink digs painfully into my lower back. There’s nowhere left to go, and looking at the glint in his eyes, he knows it. He enjoys it.
"You look like you're about to come out of your skin, Hyung," he murmurs, bracing a hand on the mirror next to my head.
"Back off," I warn, but my voice lacks the bite it usually has. It sounds breathless. Weak.
Donghwa doesn't listen. Instead, the air in the cramped bathroom grows instantly heavier, thicker. He pushes his scent out, a concentrated wave of cold winter air that wraps around my throat like a velvet chokehold. It’s not aggressive this time; it’s penetrating. Heavy. Intoxicating.
My brain screams at me to shove him away, to knee him in the groin, to run.
But my limbs feel like they’ve been filled with lead.
The fight drains out of me, replaced by a warm, fuzzy static that buzzes at the base of my skull.
My eyelids grew heavy, fluttering shut as I inhale sharply, dragging that addictive scent deep into my lungs against my will.
"There," he whispers, his breath ghosting over my lips. "Much better."
He leans in, and I don't pull away. I can't.
His mouth crashes onto mine, bruising and demanding.
It’s not a soft kiss; it’s a claim. He tastes like mint and arrogance, and the moment our lips touch, a jolt of pure heat shoots straight to my groin.
My hands, which should be punching him, fist into the fabric of his jersey, pulling him closer.
I lean into him, my head falling back, exposing my throat as I make a pathetic, needy sound in the back of my throat.
For a second, I forget where we are. I forget the soccer game, the tile walls, the fact that I hate him. There is only the crushing weight of his body against mine and the overwhelming command of the bond telling me to yield.
Then his hand slides down my chest.
It drifts over my stomach, hot and heavy, and dips lower, his fingers brushing the waistband of my shorts.
The sensation is like a bucket of ice water.
Public. Bathroom. Door unlocked.
The fog in my brain snaps. The panic overrides the pleasure, and the humiliation of being fondled in a public restroom by a freshman gives me a sudden, violent burst of clarity.
I wrench myself back, breaking the kiss with a gasp, and drive my fist into his stomach.
It’s a solid hit. My knuckles connect with his abs hard enough to make a dull thud.
Donghwa doubles over, wheezing, stumbling back a step. He coughs, clutching his midsection, but when he looks up, his eyes are dancing.
"Fuck," I pant, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand like I can scrub the taste of him off. My chest is heaving, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Keep your fucking pheromones to yourself in public, you psycho!"
Donghwa straightens up, still grimacing but grinning through it. "You liked it."
"I'm going to kill you," I choke out.
I shove past him, my shoulder checking his hard enough to knock him off balance again, and scramble for the door. I burst out onto the green, sucking in the stale air like a drowning man, my face burning so hot I think I might actually be glowing.
Behind me, echoing off the tile walls, I hear him laughing.