Chapter Eighteen #3
"You're fast," I admit, the words tasting like vinegar. "Your form is... okay. I guess."
Donghwa grins, squeezing my hip underwater. "High praise, sunbae."
"Don't let it go to your head," I mutter, looking away to hide the flush rising on my cheeks. "Next time, I'm wearing flippers."
"Next time," Donghwa agrees, and the promise in his voice has nothing to do with swimming.
The water laps at my chest as I shove off the wall, putting some distance between us before I do something stupid like climb him right there in the shallow end.
My skin's buzzing, every nerve lit up from the race, the loss, the way his body felt slick and solid against mine.
I hate how good it felt. Hate how my dick's already half-hard under the jammer, traitor that it is.
"Lockers," I mutter, hauling myself out first. Water sheets off me in rivers, pooling on the deck. I don't look back, but I hear him follow—quiet splashes, the soft thud of wet feet on tile.
The locker room's a ghost town. Meet's over, team's cleared out for victory beers or whatever.
Just the echo of dripping faucets and the faint hum of fluorescents overhead.
I grab my towel from the bench, snap it out, and head for the showers without a word.
Adrenaline's still crashing through me like a freight train, mixing with the chlorine sting in my lungs and the low hum of the bond pulling at my gut.
Donghwa's right behind me. Close enough I feel the shift in the air when he moves.
Showers are open bay, no dividers, but it's empty so who gives a shit.
I crank the faucet on the end stall, hot water blasting out in a punishing spray.
Steam billows up fast, fogging the mirrors.
I turn my back to him—some half-assed attempt at dignity after he just smoked me in my own pool—and hook my thumbs in the jammer waistband.
Peel it down. Kick it aside. Cool air hits my bare ass for half a second before the steam swallows me whole.
That's all the time I get.
His chest slams into my back, one arm banding across my waist like iron, the other bracing the tile above my head. Cold ceramic bites my palms as I slap them flat to steady myself. His cock—already thick and heavy—nests right against the crease of my ass, hot as a brand.
"Fuck—" I start, but his mouth crashes into mine over my shoulder, cutting me off.
It's not a kiss. It's a takeover. Tongue thrusting deep, demanding, spiced with chlorine and that sharp winter bite of his scent.
My head spins. I taste the race on him, the effort he hid so well.
My body's on fire already, nipples peaking against the humid air, dick jumping to full attention like it was waiting for the green light.
His free hand wraps around me—fist tight, sure, stroking from root to tip in one rough pull. I buck into it, a groan ripping out of my throat into his mouth. Precum slicks his palm instantly, making the glide filthy-smooth.
"Already leaking for me," he growls against my lips, breath hot on my skin. His thumb swipes the head, circles the slit, and I hiss, hips jerking forward.
"Shut—ah—shut up." My voice cracks, but I grind back anyway, chasing the pressure of his grip, the solid wall of him pinning me.
Steam curls around us, water pounding the tile like a heartbeat.
His pheromones flood the space—heavy, coaxing, alpha as fuck—and my knees go liquid.
Bond sings in my veins, turning fight into fire.
He pumps me harder, twisting on the upstroke, bites my earlobe just sharp enough to sting. "Lost the race. Gonna lose this one too?"
"Bastard," I pant, but my hand's already fisting his hair, yanking him back for more. My ass clenches, empty and aching, begging without words. Adrenaline's got nothing on this.
I shove at his hips with both hands, palms sliding on wet skin. "Get off, asshole. We're in public."
Donghwa doesn't budge. His arm stays locked around my waist like he owns the real estate. "No one's coming."
"That's not—" I twist, trying to wedge my elbow between us, but his fist tightens on my dick, stroking slow and deliberate. My protest chokes into a grunt. "Fuck. That's not the agreement. Ruts only."
He hums low against my ear, the vibration sinking straight to my balls. His lips drag down my neck, hot and open-mouthed, teeth scraping the fresh bruise under the tape. I smell his scent spike—sharp winter cutting chlorine—like he's marking territory with his breath alone.
"The agreement can be flexible," he murmurs, tongue flicking the pulse in my throat.
Before I can snap back, he spins me. Fast. My back hits tile, cold shock jarring my spine.
His mouth drops to my chest, latching onto one nipple.
He tugs with his teeth—sharp pull—then soothes it with a flat lick.
Heat spears through me. I arch hard, head thunking back, dick jerking against the thick ridge rubbing my stomach.
"Shit," I hiss, fingers digging into his shoulders. Not pushing away anymore. His free hand braces my hip, thumb pressing the V of my groin, holding me pinned while his tongue circles the other nipple, sucking wet and insistent.
His cock slides against mine—hot velvet over steel—precum mixing in the steam. Every twitch sends sparks up my spine. Bond hums approval, turning my brain to static. I hate how good it feels. Hate how my hips roll forward on instinct, chasing friction.
"Stop," I gasp, but it's weak. My hand fists his wet hair instead, yanking him closer. "If someone hears—"
He bites down—gentle enough not to break skin, hard enough to make stars burst. My knees buckle. Only his grip keeps me up.
"Stop teasing," I rasp, shoving at his shoulder half-heartedly. My voice is wrecked, balls-deep in that hazy space where logic fights a losing battle against my dick. "If anyone walks in—"
Donghwa pulls off my nipple with a wet pop, eyes locked on mine. "Shh." One finger presses my lips, firm. Then he sinks—smooth and deliberately—dropping to his knees on the slick tile.
I freeze. Steam swirls around his head like a goddamn halo, water beading on his lashes. His hands clamp my thighs, thumbs digging into the meat just above my knees. He doesn't hesitate. His mouth opens, and he swallows the head of my cock in one hot slide.
"Fuck." My head cracks back against the tile. His tongue flattens against the underside, swirling the slit, lapping up the steady drip of precum like it's his favorite shot. A low moan vibrates up my shaft—deep, hungry—and my hips jerk forward on reflex.
He takes it. All of it. His throat opens like he's done this a thousand times, nose brushing my pubes as he buries me deep. No gag, no tease—just suction, tight and relentless, his cheeks hollowing.
My fingers twist in his wet hair, black strands slicking between them like ink.
I tug—hard—trying to control the pace, but he hums again, and my grip goes slack.
My other hand slaps down on his shoulder, palm flattening over the tiger's snarling face inked there.
Rough lines under my fingers, skin hot and taut over muscle.
He bobs—slow at first, dragging his tongue along the vein—then faster. Head twisting, lips sealed tight. Saliva mixes with shower spray, dripping down my balls. The bond flares, turning every pull into a gut-punch of need. My thighs quake.
"Shit—Donghwa—gonna—" Warning's all I manage before it rips through me. I come hard, hips snapping, flooding his throat in thick spurts.
He doesn't flinch. He swallows it down—every drop—milking me with lazy sucks until I'm twitching, oversensitive and spent. He pulls off with a filthy slurp, tongue swiping his swollen lips clean.
I slump against the wall, chest heaving. "You... bastard."
Donghwa's expression is smug as he looks up at me through the steam. His voice comes out gravel-rough, wrecked from my dick. "Turn around."
I gasp, brain short-circuiting from the aftershocks. "Wait—"
He hushes me with a low rumble, hands clamping my hips like vices.
There's no room for argument. He spins me fast, water sluicing down my back, forcing me to slap my palms against the slick tile to catch myself.
My legs wobble—spent, shaky—but he kicks them wider, one knee nudging my inner thigh until I'm spread open, ass out, vulnerable as hell.
The shower pounds my shoulders, hot needles masking the cool air on my skin. His palms flatten on my cheeks, thumbs digging in, spreading me wide. Exposed. Heat floods my face, humiliation twisting sharp in my gut even as my hole clenches on nothing, traitorous and needy.
"Don't worry," he murmurs, breath ghosting my skin, voice all dark promise. "I'll make you feel good first."
Then his tongue drags—a hot, flat stripe right over my hole.
I jolt, a shocked yelp ripping out of me. "Fuck—Donghwa—"
He doesn't stop. Circles the rim slow, deliberate, lapping like he's starving.
Wet heat presses in, teasing the pucker, and my knees shake.
Pleasure spears up my spine, raw and electric, turning my moan into a whine.
Water mixes with spit, dripping down my balls, and all I can do is brace harder, forehead dropping to the tile as his tongue dips shallow, insistent.
"Fuck," I hiss under my breath, the word half-lost in the roar of the shower.
His tongue shoves in deeper—hot, seeking, spearing right past the rim like he owns the place.
It flicks inside me, curling against that spot that makes my vision white out for a second, and my toes curl hard against the wet tile, slipping for purchase.