Chapter Eighteen #4
A whine claws up my throat, high and desperate.
No—no way am I letting that out. Not here, where any asshole teammate could wander in for a forgotten towel or a post-meet piss.
I clamp my teeth down on my forearm, tasting salt and chlorine mixed with the metallic tang of my own skin.
Bite hard enough to bruise. It muffles the keen ripping from my chest as Donghwa's tongue thrusts in and out, sloppy and thorough, like he's trying to carve his name inside me.
Shit, shit, shit. My arms shake, elbows locked to keep me upright, forehead slick against the tile.
Water hammers my back, but all I feel is him—wet muscle plunging deep, then retreating just to swirl the rim, sucking lightly before diving back in.
Spit and shower water trickle down my taint, cool against the burn he's stoking low in my gut.
My hole flutters around the invasion, greedy despite the humiliation scorching my face.
I hate how my hips twitch back, chasing it.
Hate how good it feels, better than fingers, better than anything I've shoved back there in the dead of night pretending it was just curiosity.
A whimper sneaks past my teeth anyway, bitten-off and ragged.
His hands dig into my cheeks harder, spreading me wider, thumbs bracketing the pucker as his nose brushes my skin.
He growls—low, vibrating right through me—and the sound yanks another muffled cry from my lungs.
I'm leaking again, dick heavy and untouched, smearing precum on the tile with every involuntary rock forward.
Someone's gonna hear. Seungchan's probably still out there bragging about my win.
The thought spikes panic through the haze, but it only twists the pleasure tighter, makes my balls draw up.
Donghwa doesn't give a fuck. His tongue fucks deeper, relentless, like he's starving and I'm the only meal in this steamy hellhole.
I bite my arm harder, tasting blood now, thighs quivering as the coil in my gut winds to snapping point.
My limbs are jelly, shaking like I've just sprinted a 50 free on a sprained ankle, when Donghwa finally pulls back.
His tongue gives one last filthy swirl around my rim before he stands, the wet smack of his lips echoing louder than it should in this steam-choked echo chamber.
I hear the slick sound of his fist wrapping around his cock—thick, heavy strokes that make my spent dick twitch back to half-mast despite itself.
"Brace," he says, voice gravel-low, right against my ear.
I twist my head, cheek smushed to the tile, water sluicing down my face.
"What if someone comes in?" I hiss, the words half-drowned by the pounding spray.
My heart jackhammers—Seungchan could barge in any second, towel-slapping his way to the urinals, or worse, some freshman omega sniffing around for post-meet gossip.
Donghwa's smirk brushes my shoulder, hot and unrepentant. "Then you'll just have to keep quiet."
A second. That's all I get. One heartbeat of warning before the blunt head of his cock notches against my hole and shoves in.
I bite my lip bloody to choke the cry clawing up my throat.
It's a stretch—delicious, crude, fire-laced pleasure that rips the air from my lungs.
He doesn't ease in; he thrusts, burying half his length in one brutal slide, my rim clenching greedy around the invasion.
Water pounds my back, but all I feel is him—thick, scorching, splitting me open like he was made for it.
My fingers scrabble at the tile, nails scraping grout as I fight for purchase.
He nips the nape of my neck—sharp teeth grazing scent gland—and rolls his hips deep, grinding against that spot inside that turns my vision fuzzy.
A whine leaks out anyway, muffled and pathetic, my knees buckling as he bottoms out.
"Fuck," I rasp, forehead dropping to the wall.
The bond hums approval, flooding my veins with heat that drowns the panic.
Quiet. Keep quiet. But my ass is sucking him in, hips tilting back on instinct, chasing the drag.
He's everywhere—chest to my back, cock owning my insides, pheromones wrapping my brain in cotton.
One hand pins my hip; the other snakes around, fisting my leaking dick like he owns that too.
"See?" he murmurs, breath ragged now, thrusting shallow and teasing. "You take it so well."
Asshole. I want to snarl it, twist and deck him, reclaim some scrap of top-alpha dignity. But my body's a traitor, clenching around him, milking every inch as he picks up speed. The slap of skin-on-skin fights the shower roar, and I pray to whatever god listens to jocks that no one hears.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves, hot and relentless, every thrust of Donghwa's cock dragging against my insides like he's mapping every nerve ending.
I clench my jaw, teeth grinding, forcing my breath into shallow pants that barely make a sound over the shower's roar.
Quiet. Just stay fucking quiet. The tile's cold under my palms, grounding me as he snaps his hips forward—deep, claiming strokes that make my toes curl and my vision blur at the edges.
It's too good, the burn melting into liquid fire, my hole gripping him like a vice every time he pulls back.
His hand slides around my hip, fingers wrapping my cock in a firm, twisting stroke. Precum slicks the way instantly, and I choke on a gasp, hips jerking into his fist. Control slips— a low, needy whine sneaks out, raw and embarrassing.
Donghwa laughs, breath hot against my ear, low and smug. His teeth nip the lobe, sharp enough to sting. "Too loud, hyung. You trying to get us caught? Maybe you want your team to walk in and see the campus king bent over like this."
"Fuck you," I snap, voice a wrecked hiss, shoving back against him just to feel him grind deeper. "Shut—ah—your goddamn mouth."
He doesn't. Instead, his palm clamps over my lips right as he slams up hard, cock spearing straight into that spot that whites out my brain.
The cry rips free anyway, muffled into a desperate mmph against his hand, vibrating through his fingers.
Salt and skin flood my mouth as I bite down—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to vent the frustration exploding in my chest.
Donghwa tuts, like I'm a naughty kid, his rhythm never faltering.
Pound, grind, pull out slow just to ram back in—unrelenting, filthy, owning me while the water hammers down like applause for my humiliation.
His fist pumps in time, thumb swiping the slit on every upstroke, and stars burst behind my eyelids.
I'm gone, body arching, hole fluttering around him as the pressure coils tighter, ready to snap.
Donghwa's hips snap forward—brutal, claiming—and his voice rasps hot against my ear. "Gonna fill this ass. Knot you like the good little bitch you are."
The words push me over, filthy and perfect, shredding the last thread of my control.
My vision whites out. I come—hard, ripping through me like a gut punch—spurting thick ropes over his fist, painting the shower wall in sticky white streaks.
A choked scream builds in my chest, but I clamp down on his palm, teeth sinking deep into the meat of his hand.
Copper floods my mouth. I taste his blood, muffled cries vibrating against his skin as my hole spasms around his cock, milking him greedy and shameless.
"Fuck yes," he growls, low and wrecked, pounding through it.
No mercy. He rides my orgasm like a wave, thrusts turning erratic, hips grinding deep.
His forehead presses into my shoulder—sweat-slick, heavy—not biting this time, just anchoring.
I shudder against his hand, tears pricking my eyes from the overload, every spurt dragging whimpers I can't kill.
Then it starts. The swell. His knot thickens at the base, hot and insistent, forcing my rim wider.
Pain blooms—sharp, mind-numbing stretch that rips a sob from my throat into his palm.
It bleeds into pleasure, twisted and filthy, nerves firing white-hot as he locks inside me.
No escape. His cock pulses, emptying in heavy jets, flooding my guts with heat that seeps deeper than it should.
My legs buckle. Gone. I collapse, but he catches me—arm banding my chest like steel, hauling me back against him as we sink to the shower floor in a tangle of limbs.
Water pounds us both now, scalding my raw skin.
His knot throbs, still spurting lazy ropes inside me, keeping me stuffed full.
I wince, head lolling back on his shoulder as his tongue drags up the side of my neck—wet, possessive laps over my scent gland.
I slump fully against him, drained to the bone, face burning under the spray.
Chest heaving. Body humming with aftershocks I can't pretend away.
This is my reality now—pinned and knotted on a locker room floor by the freshman who stole my crown.
And fuck me, I like it. Too much. The humiliation curls hot in my gut, mixing with the sated ache, and I can't even muster the energy to hate myself for it. Not yet.