Chapter Twenty-Five #11
The sound he makes is fucking erotic—a rough, punched-out groan that vibrates against my lips like I've just kicked the last bit of his self-control out from under him.
His hands fly to my hips, fingers digging in hard as he jerks me forward until we're pressed flush together.
And holy shit, he's already rock-hard against me, his cock grinding against mine through the layers of our clothes with enough pressure to make me see stars.
My dick jumps in response, like even my biology is cheering for this disaster.
I arch into his grip instinctively, shameless, my stomach muscles twitching as his palms slide under my sweater, shoving the fabric up past my ribs.
His mouth tears away from mine only to latch onto my throat, lips scorching a trail down to my collarbone while his teeth scrape over skin already oversensitive.
When he finally—finally—grazes my scent gland with just the barest edge of his teeth, my legs give out entirely.
For someone who spends half his time pretending to be above it all, he sure knows how to ruin me efficiently.
I shudder hard, clutching his shoulders to stay upright.
His pheromones flood the room, heavy and commanding, turning my head fuzzy around the edges.
Rational thought fuzzes out; it’s just need now, pounding in my veins.
But even through the haze, I know I would’ve surrendered anyway.
No suppressants, no bond override. I want this.
His hands knead my ass, pulling me tighter against that insistent bulge, and something clicks in my chest. This doesn’t feel like losing anymore.
Back when we started, letting him take over always twisted something ugly inside me—made me feel small, like the king dethroned.
Now? It feels right. Steady. Like slotting into place after wandering lost too long.
I trust him to hold me up while I fall apart.
“Fuck, hyung,” he rasps against my throat, voice wrecked. “You smell so good.”
I lean back against the desk as Donghwa's fingers hook into the waistband of my pants, yanking them down my thighs in one rough tug.
The cool air hits my skin, but it's nothing compared to the heat blasting off him.
He doesn't stop there—grabs the hem of my sweater and hauls it over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him without a glance.
I'm bare now, exposed, my chest heaving as his eyes rake over me like he's starving.
A choked gasp escapes me when his fingers close around my cock, his grip tight and knowing.
He pumps slowly at first, dragging his rough palm from the base to the tip in these excruciatingly perfect strokes that make my thighs tremble.
My hips jerk up instinctively, chasing the friction like I'll die without it, and his thumb swipes over my leaking slit, smearing precum down my shaft.
The obscene wet sound of his hand moving over me fills the quiet room, mixing with my ragged breathing.
"Fuck," I grit out between clenched teeth, my fingers digging into the desk so hard the wood groans in protest.
He doesn't give me a second to recover. His free hand skims lower, cupping my balls, massaging them in his palm just enough to make my stomach clench.
Then—with the kind of calculated cruelty only Donghwa possesses—his fingertips trail lower, tracing the crease of my ass before he presses a single finger against my entrance.
The first push is slow, deliberate, relentless.
I suck in a sharp breath, my whole body tightening around the intrusion, but he doesn't stop.
By the time he works in a second finger, curling them inside me with that infuriating surety, I'm already shuddering, my thighs twitching like I'm wired to a live current.
Every drag of his fingers against my walls sends sparks shooting up my spine, and I swear I can feel my pulse hammering in my throat.
My vision blurs at the edges, my thoughts dissolving into static—all I know is him, the stretch, that slow, burning pressure coiling tighter and tighter in my gut.
Donghwa groans low, pressing his forehead to mine, our breaths mingling hot and ragged. Sweat beads on his temples, dripping down to mix with mine. His fingers pump in and out, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room.
"Sorry," he rasps, voice gravel-rough, eyes half-lidded and wrecked. "I wanted to prep you better first... but fuck, hyung. You feel so goddamn good inside. I'm dying to bury my cock in you already."
I gasp, clutching his shoulder, nails digging into damp skin. "It's okay. I can take it."
Donghwa curses against my lips, low and filthy, and kisses me harder—like he’s trying to devour the sound.
His hands clamp under my thighs, lifting me clean off the desk in one effortless move.
The world spins; my back hits the mattress with a whoosh of cool sheets, and he’s on me instantly, a wall of fever-hot skin and muscle crashing down.
He yanks my pants the rest of the way off, the fabric dragging rough over my calves before he flings it across the room.
His own sweatpants go next—kicked off in a tangle that lands somewhere by the bookshelf.
I barely register it. He’s shoving my thighs apart with his knees, spreading me wide, his mouth still fused to mine, tongue thrusting deep and demanding.
I cling to him, sucking at his tongue like I’m starving, desperate to swallow down every last trace of that addictive scent—cold night air all tangled up with the crisp mint from his toothpaste.
My cock jerks against his abdomen, leaving a sticky smear between us.
The friction’s nowhere near enough, but it still has me gasping.
Then he moves—sudden, aggressive—and I feel the blunt pressure of his cockhead pressing right where I’m desperate for it. No teasing. No hesitation. Not even a second for me to catch my breath before he’s pushing in, that first thick inch stretching me open in one ruthless slide.
A broken noise tears out of me, half-muffled against his lips.
It burns, fuck, it burns—but it’s the good kind of hurt, the kind that makes my back arch and my fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to bruise.
The stretch stings, but beneath it, there’s this relief, like my body’s been waiting for nothing but this exact moment.
And then, worse—better—I realize I’m already squeezing around him, like some traitorous part of me can’t wait to take the rest.
His growl starts deep, vibrating low in his chest until it builds into this rough, possessive sound that rattles through me. The second it hits my ears, I feel it everywhere—every nerve lighting up, heat coiling tighter in my gut.
Then he moves. No warning. Just pure, brutal intent as he drives into me in one devastating thrust that leaves me gasping.
He bottoms out hard, his hips pressed flush against mine, and for a second all I can do is feel—the stretch, the burn, the way my body yields to him.
Every inch of him pulses inside me, that restless rut energy radiating between us like a current I can’t escape.
He doesn’t pause—doesn’t give me a second to recover before he’s pulling almost all the way out, only to slam back in again.
The wet, filthy sound of skin slapping skin bounces off the walls, louder than my own ragged breathing.
My vision whites out, nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave crescents behind as I arch up off the mattress.
One hand fists the sheets—the other rakes down his back, catching on the raised ink of his tattoos like I’m trying to claw my way under his skin the way he’s under mine.
The words tear from my throat before I can stop them: “Yes—fuck, harder—” He obliges, hips snapping forward again, grinding against that spot inside me that has my toes curling and my cock leaking against my stomach.
It’s too much. Not enough. Everything all at once.
His rhythm’s feral—short, punishing thrusts that rock the bedframe against the wall.
Thud-thud-thud. The headboard bangs like a drum.
Sweat slicks our skin where we slide together, his chest grinding my nipples raw.
I’m drowning in it: the copper tang of his bitten lip, the ozone sting of his pheromones choking the air, the obscene squelch of him fucking in and out.
He’s everywhere. Owning me. And for once, I don’t fight it. I just take it—legs locked around him, pulling him deeper, chasing that coil twisting tighter in my gut.
I rock my hips up to meet him, desperate, my head falling back against the pillows as Donghwa drags his mouth down my chest. His lips close around one nipple, hot and wet, sucking hard enough to pull a ragged groan from my throat.
Fuck, the scrape of his teeth sends lightning straight to my cock—sharp, teasing nips that make my toes curl and my vision spot.
"Shit—Donghwa," I gasp, fingers twisting in his damp hair, holding him there even as my body arches off the bed.
He doesn't let up, licking a flat stripe over the pebbled flesh before switching sides, giving the other the same brutal attention.
Every flick of his tongue coils that heat tighter in my gut, turning my blood to fire.
His hand finds my cock next, wrapping around the throbbing length with a grip that's just shy of punishing.
He strokes slow at first, thumb rolling over the slick head, smearing precum down the shaft in lazy drags that make my thighs quake.
I buck into it, chasing the friction, but he pins my hip with his free hand, controlling the pace like he owns every goddamn inch of me.
And then he starts pounding in earnest.