Chapter Seven #3
But I can feel it coming. The inevitable pivot.
And sure enough, after the food arrives and Wonjoon has exhausted his updates on everyone else, he turns his attention to me with open curiosity on his face and says, “So seriously, Yoonjae, what have you been doing all this time? Where’d you disappear to? ”
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. I’m scrambling for something plausible, something vague enough to satisfy without inviting follow-up questions. Hongjoong’s voice cuts in smoothly beside me.
“You know Yoonjae,” he says, picking up his chopsticks and pointing them at me with a smirk.
“Always the mysterious one. Remember how he used to just show up out of nowhere and then vanish for days and none of us could ever figure out where he went? Some things don’t change.
” He launches into a story about the time I disappeared for an entire weekend in our second year and came back on Monday with a split lip and refused to tell anyone what happened, and Wonjoon cracks up laughing, slapping the table, saying he remembers that, saying he always assumed I’d gotten into a fight with someone from another school.
I let out a slow breath through my nose and take a sip of water, silently grateful.
Hongjoong didn’t have to do that. He could have let me flounder, could have even added his own pointed questions to the pile the way he does when we’re alone.
Instead he covered for me without hesitation, redirected the spotlight off me and onto safer ground, and he did it so naturally that Wonjoon didn’t even notice the deflection.
Abruptly, I feel Hongjoong’s hand land on my thigh under the table.
I don’t react. His palm is warm through the fabric of my pants, resting just above my knee, and for a second I think it’s just a casual touch, reassuring contact that friends share.
But then his fingers shift, sliding higher along my inner thigh in a move that has nothing casual about it.
My pulse kicks up sharply as I realize what he’s doing.
I keep my eyes forward, fixed on Wonjoon who is now telling a story about his bonded’s reaction to finding his old high school yearbook photos.
Hongjoong’s hand moves higher still, his fingers trailing along the seam of my pants where the fabric pulls tight against my inner thigh, and then his hand dips lower, past my waistband, his fingers pushing down between my cheeks with a confidence that tells me he planned this the moment we sat down.
I bite the inside of my lower lip hard. His fingertips find my hole, already embarrassingly damp because my body has been producing slick in a low steady leak all day from being in Hongjoong’s proximity, from his scent saturating every breath I take, from the way he looked at me in that fitting room.
Two of his fingers push inside me, sinking in with almost no resistance because I’m so wet, and I have to clamp my jaw shut to keep any sound from escaping as they crook against my walls.
Hongjoong doesn’t look at me. He’s nodding along to Wonjoon’s story, his free hand picking up a piece of meat with his chopsticks and bringing it to his mouth, chewing, responding with an amused comment about Wonjoon’s bonded being a saint for putting up with him.
His voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t change pitch, doesn’t betray a single thing about what his other hand is doing beneath the table.
His fingers spread inside me, then thrust in a slow lazy rhythm, pushing deep and pulling back, and I grip the edge of the table with both hands as my cock hardens rapidly in my pants, thickening against my thigh.
He finds my prostate and presses against it in a slow grinding circle that makes my eyesight go fuzzy.
I have to disguise the sharp intake of breath as a cough, bringing my fist to my mouth and clearing my throat while my hole clenches and flutters around his fingers.
Wonjoon glances at me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I manage tightly. “Water went down wrong.”
He accepts this without question and goes back to his story, and Hongjoong’s fingers push deeper, spreading wider, the wet sound of slick around his knuckles barely audible under the ambient noise of the restaurant but deafening to my own ears.
I can feel more slick leaking out of me with every thrust of his fingers, soaking through my underwear.
A spike of panic cuts through the arousal.
If Wonjoon can smell it, if the pheromones reach him across the table, there will be no explaining this away.
I can’t take it anymore. I push back from the table abruptly, and both of them look up at me.
“Bathroom,” I say, and I don’t wait for a response before I’m walking away from the booth as steadily as I can manage with my cock straining against my zipper and slick running in a warm trickle down my inner thigh.
The bathroom is small, a single room with a lock, and I shove through the door and brace both hands on the edge of the sink, dropping my head between my arms. My reflection in the mirror is flushed, my pupils blown wide, my lips bitten red.
I turn the cold tap on and splash water over my face, once, twice, pressing my wet palms against my burning cheeks, but it doesn’t help.
Hongjoong’s scent is all over me, soaked into my skin and my clothes, thick and possessive, and my own arousal is layered on top of it and making my head swim.
My cock is still achingly hard and my hole clenches, the sudden emptiness after his fingers almost worse.
The door opens behind me. I look up into the mirror and see Hongjoong step inside, his expression focused and intent, I watch his hand reach back and flip the lock with a quiet click.
He crosses the bathroom in two strides and before I can turn around his hand closes over the back of my neck and shoves me forward, pinning me face-first against the tiled wall beside the sink.
The tile is cool against my flushed cheek and I gasp at the contact, my hands coming up flat against the wall on either side of my head.
His other hand yanks my pants and underwear down to my thighs in one rough motion, the cool air hitting my exposed skin and making me shiver, and then he grips the back of my left knee and hikes my leg up, opening me wide, my foot leaving the floor as he holds me spread against the wall.
I hear the clink of his belt, the rasp of his zipper, and then the blunt hot head of his cock pressing against my hole.
“Not here,” I hiss, turning my head as far as I can with my cheek still pressed to the tile. “Hongjoong, we’re in a public bathroom, Wonjoon is sitting right out there, he’s going to—”
Hongjoong’s palm claps over my mouth, sealing the words in, his lips brush the shell of my ear as he says in a low rough voice, “Be quiet. I can smell how badly you need this, Jae. Your slick is soaking through your pants and if we go back out there like this, Wonjoon is going to know exactly what’s going on.
” His hips press forward and his cock sinks into me in one long brutal thrust that forces a moan out of my chest, the sound trapped and muffled behind his hand as he fills me completely, the stretch making my eyes water and my fingers curl uselessly against the tile.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. His hips snap back and drive forward again, hard, the force of it shoving me against the wall, he sets a punishing pace that has the paper towel dispenser mounted beside my head rattling with every thrust. I moan against his palm, the sounds coming out broken and desperate, my free hand scrabbling at the smooth tile for something to hold onto and finding nothing.
My cock bounces untouched between my belly and the wall with each impact, leaking steadily, and Hongjoong adjusts his angle, tilting his hips up so the head of his cock drags across my prostate on every stroke, and my knees nearly buckle.
“That’s it,” he breathes against my ear, his hand tightening over my mouth as my moans get louder. “Take it.”
I come with a strangled cry that his palm barely contains, my cock jerking and spattering the wall in front of me, my hole clamping down around him in constricting pulses that make him groan through his teeth.
He thrusts through it, once, twice, and then pulls out abruptly, his cock sliding free of me with a wet sound that makes my face burn.
I hear the slick sound of his hand on himself and then feel the hot splash of his cum hitting my lower back and the curve of my ass, stripe after stripe of it painting my skin as he comes with a low helpless sound, his forehead dropping against the back of my shoulder.
For a few seconds neither of us moves. My legs are shaking badly enough that I’m not sure they’ll hold me if I step away from the wall, and I can feel his cum cooling on my skin, dripping down toward my thighs, mixing with the slick that’s still leaking out of my stretched hole.
Hongjoong presses his mouth to the back of my neck, lingering there, his breath hot and uneven against my skin.
Then he pulls back and says, his voice still rough, “We should wrap it up out there. Your scent is going to make it pretty obvious what we were doing, and from the way you’re still dripping it seems like you need more than a quick fuck in a bathroom can give you. ”
I groan and press my forehead against the cool tile, my face on fire, cum sliding down the backs of my thighs. This man is going to be the death of me.