Chapter Nine #5
From the mornings, I’ll be standing at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth, still half-asleep, wearing boxers and nothing else, and I’ll hear Hyunwoo’s footsteps in the hallway before his reflection appears in the mirror behind me.
He doesn’t say anything. He just steps up behind me, hooks his fingers into the waistband of my boxers, and tugs them down past my hips in one smooth motion.
It doesn’t even startle me anymore—the first time he did it I choked on toothpaste and nearly inhaled my toothbrush—so I just keep brushing, my free hand braced on the counter, as he nudges my feet apart with his knee and slides his cock between my cheeks.
He’s always hard in the mornings. I can feel him pressing against my hole, hot and thick, and my body responds before my brain has fully woken up—slick seeping out to coat him, my rim softening and loosening, my hole opening for him with the kind of easy, automatic receptivity that would have horrified me two months ago and now just feels like part of the morning routine.
He pushes in with a slow, steady thrust that makes me grunt around my toothbrush, his hands gripping my hips, and fucks me in long, unhurried strokes while I spit foam into the sink and rinse my mouth and try to pretend this is a normal way to start a Tuesday.
He comes inside me with a low groan, his forehead dropping against the back of my neck, his cock pulsing deep.
Then he pulls out, tugs my boxers back up, pats my ass once, and says, “Don’t forget your vitamins,” before wandering off to the kitchen to feed the dogs.
I stand at the sink, cum settling warm and heavy inside me, toothbrush still in my hand, and stare at my own reflection with the hollow expression of a man who has accepted his circumstances.
After work is the same. I come through the front door, tired and sweaty from a full day of training clients, and Hyunwoo is there—sometimes in the entryway, sometimes on the couch, sometimes in the kitchen where Yunhee has left dinner warming on the stove.
Before I can get my shoes off, before I can put my bag down, his hand is sliding down the back of my pants.
Two fingers push between my cheeks and press against my hole, probing, assessing.
I stand there in the doorway, one shoe on and one shoe off, my gym bag dangling from my hand, while Hyunwoo checks me.
“You’re low,” he’ll say, his fingers withdrawing, his tone mildly disapproving.
And then he’s steering me toward the nearest horizontal surface—the couch, the bed, the kitchen table on one memorable occasion that left me unable to look at the table during dinner afterward—and bending me over it, pulling my pants down just far enough, and sliding into me.
He fucks me until he comes, fills me up, and then pulls my pants back into place and goes back to whatever he was doing before I walked in, as if he just paused a TV show to handle a minor household task.
Before bed is the most thorough. Hyunwoo climbs into my bed—my bed, not his, because at some point he stopped going back to his own room after sex and just started staying—and pulls me against him, my back to his chest. His cock finds my hole in the dark, pushes in through the slick that’s always there now, and he fills me one last time with slow, deep strokes that make my toes curl and my breath hitch.
When he comes, he doesn’t pull out. He stays inside me, his softening cock plugging his cum in, his arm draped over my waist and his face pressed into the back of my neck.
He falls asleep like that—still inside me, his breath evening out against my skin, his body warm and heavy behind mine.
I lie awake for a while the first few times this happens, hyper-aware of the sensation of his cock softening inside me, the warm fullness of his cum in my passage, the weight of his arm across my stomach.
But eventually my body adjusts to this too, and I start falling asleep with him still inside me, lulled by the warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing and the deep, bone-level satisfaction of being full.
Hyunwoo insists all of it is for my well-being and the baby’s health, backed by research and medical evidence.
And maybe it is. Maybe the studies are right and the constant presence of alpha semen in my reproductive tract really does reduce inflammation and promote fetal development and keep my hormones balanced. I don’t know enough to say otherwise.
But I do notice the way Hyunwoo’s eyes light up when he checks me and finds I’m running low—the particular gleam that means he gets to bend me over and fuck me again.
I notice the enthusiasm with which he approaches the reseeding sessions, the way his hands grip my hips a little too eagerly for someone performing, the satisfied sound he makes when he comes inside me that sounds a lot more like pleasure than responsibility.
I notice that his “research” always seems to conveniently conclude that the solution to every pregnancy-related concern is more of his cock and more of his cum, and that he presents these findings with the barely suppressed grin of a man who can’t believe his luck.
I suspect—strongly—that Hyunwoo is finding elaborate, research-backed excuses to exercise increasingly specific urges that have nothing to do with pregnancy wellness and everything to do with the fact that he is, at his core, a deeply depraved individual who now has a willing omega living in his apartment and unlimited justification to act on every impulse that crosses his mind.
He’s always been like this in some capacity—a hedonist, a sensualist, someone who pursues pleasure with single-minded focus.
The difference is that now I’m the target of that focus, and he’s wrapped it in enough medical terminology and journal citations to make it sound responsible instead of perverse.
I could call him on it. I could push back harder, demand to read the studies myself, consult an actual doctor about whether any of this is necessary or if Hyunwoo is just a horny alpha who’s found the world’s most elaborate excuse to keep his omega perpetually stuffed full of cum.
I could set firmer boundaries, reinstate the original rules, remind him that this is a business arrangement and not a relationship.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not entirely sure I’d want to stop him even if I confirmed every suspicion.
Because it feels good. Not just the sex, though the sex is undeniably good—better than good, better than anything I’ve experienced, orgasms that leave me shaking and empty-headed and boneless.
But beyond that, the attention feels good.
The fussing, the hovering, the constant checking in.
The way Hyunwoo’s hand finds my stomach when we’re lying in bed, his palm warm and broad against my skin, his thumb tracing idle circles over my lower belly like he’s keeping watch over what’s growing inside me.
The way he makes sure I’m fed and rested and comfortable, the way he notices when I’m tired before I do and steers me toward the couch with a blanket and a cup of the herbal tea Yunhee leaves in the cabinet.
The way my body hums with a deep, settled satisfaction when I’m full of his cum and warm from his proximity, something inside me going quiet and calm in a way I’ve never felt before—like a frequency I didn’t know was buzzing has finally gone still.
No one in my life has ever invested this much energy into my well-being.
My parents loved me, but they were busy—working long hours at the Seo estate, coming home tired, doing their best with limited time and resources.
I grew up capable and independent out of necessity, not because anyone taught me to be.
I’ve been taking care of myself since I was old enough to make my own meals and walk myself to school, and I’ve never expected anyone else to pick up that responsibility.
The idea that someone would voluntarily, eagerly, obsessively dedicate themselves to making sure I’m okay is new.
And it fills something in me that I didn’t realize was empty until Hyunwoo started filling it.
It’s not forever, though. I remind myself of that when the warmth gets too comfortable, when I catch myself leaning into Hyunwoo’s touch without thinking, when I wake up with his cock still inside me and his arm around my waist and my first conscious thought is that I feel safe.
This is temporary. An arrangement with benefits.
Once the baby is born and the inheritance is secured, things go back to normal—Hyunwoo gets his money, I get mine, the baby goes to the Seo family’s army of nannies, and we return to being best friends who game together and eat out and jog with the dogs and never speak of any of this again.
But for now—why not enjoy it while I can?