Chapter Nineteen #4
Donghwa sits up beside me, all lazy satisfaction, like he didn't just rail me into next week. His hair's a mess, tattoos gleaming under a sheen of sweat, cock still half-hard and glistening between his thighs.
"I'm gonna beat your ass when I remember how to walk," I rasp, voice wrecked from all the moaning I swore I wouldn't do. "This was basically crying wolf, you dick. No rut. Just you horny for no goddamn reason."
He arches a brow, that smug tilt to his mouth making me want to deck him.
Or suck him off again. Fuck, the bond's frying my brain.
"Perfectly in line with our arrangement, hyung.
" He stretches, arms flexing—asshole knows what that does to me.
"I wanted sex. You provided. All private. Completely within bounds."
I snort, wincing as the movement tugs at my sore hole. "You're making loopholes. Big ones. This is supposed to be ruts only, not you snapping your fingers whenever you get a stiffy."
He laughs—low, rough, the sound vibrating straight to my gut—and shifts closer. "No loopholes." His hand lands on my thigh, casual, like he owns the territory. "I already have the perfect hole right here."
Before I can snap back, his fingers—two thick ones—slide between my cheeks, pushing right into my raw, come-slick hole. No resistance. Just a wet squelch as he sinks in knuckle-deep, curling them against my walls.
I yelp, high and undignified, swinging my fist wild. It clips the edge of Donghwa's jaw—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to snap his head back. He topples off the bed laughing, that deep, rumbling sound that makes my spent dick twitch despite itself.
"Fuck off!" I growl, propping up on my elbows, thighs still quivering from his fingers. Come—his come—leaks out of me in a fresh gush, sticky and warm down my crack. "Watch it, you prick. Now go get me a towel. You've turned me into a goddamn slip-n-slide."
Donghwa rolls to his feet, grinning like the cat that ate the canary—and the cream, and my dignity.
He's buck-naked, tattoos flexing over his chest and arms as he saunters toward the bathroom, cock swinging heavy between his legs like he owns the fucking world.
No shame. No towel for himself. Just that lazy, predatory sway in his hips that I hate how much it turns me on.
Asshole.
I flop back against the pillows, ass still clenching around the phantom stretch of Donghwa's fingers, a low throb pulsing through my thighs like a bad hangover.
The sheets stick to my skin, tacky with sweat and come—mostly his, leaking out of me in lazy dribbles that make me feel like a used-up fucktoy.
My dick gives a half-hearted twitch at the thought, traitor that it is, but I'm too wrecked to chase it.
Donghwa's in the bathroom, probably jerking off to the mirror or some shit, leaving me here marinating in his scent like a goddamn steak.
His phone buzzes on the nightstand. I ignore it at first—probably one of those freshman omegas begging for scraps. But it lights up again, screen glaring face-up in the dim light.
I glance over, casual as hell. Curiosity, right? No big deal.
Then my blood turns to battery acid.
It's a photo. Sejun. That little shit. Propped up on what looks like a dorm bed, shirt rucked up to his nipples, one hand shoved down his unbuttoned jeans, lips parted in that fake "come hither" pout he weaponizes like a nuke.
The text bubble above it: Missed you at coffee.
Thought you'd like a preview? Come get the full show. ??
My vision tunnels. A roar builds in my chest, hot and feral, slamming through the bond like a runaway truck.
Mine. Mine. The word loops, vicious, irrational—fuck the "ruts only" bullshit, fuck our deal.
That vanilla-scented gremlin doesn't get to slide into his DMs. Doesn't get to flash his goods at the same alpha whose come is currently dripping out of my aching body.
Jealousy claws up my throat, territorial as a rabid dog. I snatch the phone before I can think better of it, thumb smashing the screen to kill the notification. But the preview lingers, burned into my retinas, and my free hand fists the sheets so hard my knuckles crack.
Donghwa strolls out of the bathroom like he owns the goddamn universe, towel slung low on his hips, droplets still clinging to his chest hair and tracing lazy paths over those stupid tattoos that make my mouth water even when I'm pissed.
He's rubbing the back of his neck with another towel, smirking like he didn't just finger-fuck me into oblivion and leave me leaking on his Egyptian cotton sheets.
The casual flex of his arms as he tosses the towel to me hits me like a cheap shot, but I'm too busy boiling to let it derail me.
I sit up sharper than my sore ass wants, clutching his phone like it's a live grenade. "What the fuck are you doing with Sejun?"
He pauses mid-step, brow quirking up in that infuriating way, like I've just asked him why the sky's blue. Water drips from his hair onto the hardwood, one fat plop after another, punctuating the silence. "Sejun? Who's—"
"Don't play dumb." My voice comes out sharper than I mean, edged with the kind of raw scrape that betrays how deep this is cutting.
"That little sweater-paw demon who's been glued to my ass all week.
I saw him crawling all over you at the coffee shop.
Leaning in, batting those fake lashes, and you just let him.
What, you collecting my sloppy seconds now? "
Donghwa's smirk fades into genuine confusion, his head tilting as he crosses his arms over that broad chest, towel riding dangerously low. "The hell are you talking about? I barely glanced at the guy. He sat down uninvited, yapped for two minutes, and I told him to fuck off."
"Liar." The word explodes out of me before I can reel it back, heat crawling up my neck.
I swing my legs off the bed, ignoring the sticky pull between my thighs, standing on wobbly feet just to even the height difference.
"You were eating it up. Leaning in, giving him that look.
You love it, don't you? Some needy omega fawning over the untouchable freshman prince.
Makes you feel big, huh? Like you're finally the king of something. "
His eyes narrow, but there's no heat in it yet—just that cool assessment, like I'm a mildly interesting bug under glass.
He steps closer, close enough that his damp skin brushes mine, his scent curling thick around us, cutting through the post-sex haze.
"You're unhinged right now. I don't have anything going on with him. "
"Bullshit." My heart hammers, fists clenching at my sides as old shit bubbles up, hot and ugly—Dad's voice in my head, You tried too hard, son.
No natural grace. Always forcing it. Mom's endless critiques, the swim team cut that proved I'm never enough without the flash.
And now this prick, this freshman, swooping in to steal what's mine because he can afford to not give a shit.
"You're doing it again. Posturing. Taking my spot.
First Heesung, now my ex? You think you can just waltz in with your old money vibe and your 'I don't care' bullshit and collect all my leftovers like trophies? Prove you're better?"
Donghwa's jaw ticks, the first real crack in his ice-king facade, but he doesn't back down.
He plants his hands on his hips, towel slipping another inch, voice dropping low and edged.
"Your leftovers? Jesus, Sihwan. Grow up.
I'm not chasing your ex like some dick-measuring contest. He cornered me. I brushed him off. End of story."
"End of story my ass." I jab a finger into his chest, right over the tiger inked there, feeling the muscle jump under my touch.
My voice rises, cracking on the edges, all the fear I won't name spilling out raw.
"You love replacing me. Making me look small.
Like I'm the try-hard who's always second place.
Well, fuck you. You don't get to take him too.
You don't get to make me nothing again!"
Donghwa's eyes narrow just a fraction, that cool mask cracking enough to show the irritation flickering underneath, but his voice stays even, like he's talking down a feral cat.
"Delusional much, hyung? You're spinning this into some conspiracy because you're insecure as hell.
This isn't a game. I'm not 'replacing' you or collecting trophies.
You're making shit up to fit your victim complex. "
Victim complex. The words land like a slap, hot and stinging right in the raw spot where all my daddy issues fester.
My chest heaves, blood roaring in my ears, but I jam his phone under his nose before he can gaslight me further.
The screen's still lit up with Sejun's thirsty-ass pic—shirt hiked, hand down his pants, that stupid kissy face emoji mocking me from the text bubble.
"Explain this then, you smug prick," I snarl, shoving it so close his nose nearly bumps the glass. "Your new boytoy sliding into your DMs with a dick pic preview. 'Missed you at coffee.' Sound familiar? You were all over that shit yesterday."
Donghwa's eyes flick to the screen, and for the first time since I met the icy bastard, he goes dead silent.
No smirk. No quick comeback. His brows pinch, mouth parting like he's sucking on a lemon—genuine confusion twisting his face, dark eyes darting from the photo to me and back, like he's buffering.
Nothing. Zilch. He's speechless.
That's all I need. Victory surges through me, bitter and triumphant, even as my ass throbs from his earlier pounding, a sticky reminder of how deep he's already burrowed under my skin. "See? Cat got your tongue? Can't even deny it."
I toss his phone onto the bed like it's toxic waste and snatch up my discarded pants, yanking them on with jerky, furious tugs.
The zipper sticks halfway—fuck it, it stays.
"You're so goddamn overbearing. Always one-upping me, rubbing your 'better alpha' bullshit in my face.
Now this? Trying to strip the last shreds of my pride? Eat shit, Donghwa."
He opens his mouth—too late. I bolt for the door, bare feet slapping cold hardwood, heart slamming like a war drum. His voice starts behind me—"Sihwan—" but I slam the penthouse door on it, the echo ringing in my ears all the way to the elevator.
Fuck him. Fuck this bond. I storm into the night air, chest tight, come still leaking down my thigh like a goddamn accusation. Let him chase his vanilla twink. I'm done playing second fiddle.