Chapter 7 #4
But god, he’s kind of good at this. Because now I’m feeling a little relaxed, all my anger and on-edge, nail-biting anxiety melting away under his warm regard, and I realize that we’ve been silently breathing together for a while, and he’s moving so, so slow, like he’s trying to get every single millimeter of skin.
And my breathing is slowing down, matching his, and the silence doesn’t feel like a threat.
None of this feels like violence, or a threat.
Young-gi’s fingertips slide lower as he chases the bruises, getting almost to the edge of my shorts, and I stifle a gasp as a wave of heat hits me all over my body, all at once.
Like stepping into the sun after being inside for too long.
It’s somehow stifling and relaxing and stimulating and too much and just right all at once.
My dick twitches. As discretely as I can, I push my palm against myself to keep it down, to let it know that now. Is. Not. The. TIME!
I know this is one-sided. I know he’s not thinking of this as a sexual thing. But holy fuck. Does he have to be so sexy while he does it?
“You fight well.” His words, so unexpected in the silence, make me flinch hard.
My ears heat in embarrassment at my jumpiness. “Um, yeah. I mean thanks.”
“Have you trained?”
“I–” I cut myself off before I accidentally tell him my real backstory–that I had a ‘boyfriend’ once who taught me some fighting moves in exchange for back alley blowjobs. He thought it was a good deal, since it cost him nothing. “My parents got me a personal trainer. It’s fun.”
“How’d you end up in the ring with Brian?”
Ah, that’s why he’s talking to me. He wants answers. He’s not actually interested in me or my life at all. With that figured out, I feel a little more calm and confident. I don’t matter to him, and that’s a familiar, safe feeling.
I shrug. “I was working out, he came in and I invited him to spar. That’s it.”
“So him chasing you off the balcony last night had nothing to do with this?” His tone is flat and quiet; emotionless.
And when I peek over my shoulder at him, his expression gives me very little to work with.
I think he might be testing me, maybe amused?
Or reproachful? Annoyed? Interested? His mouth–that fucking mouth–is definitely looking stern and serious. God I just want to–
“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ sound, turning away from him again. “Nothing to do with it.”
His fingers pause on my spine, their warmth radiating tingles up and down my nervous system. I hold my breath, staring straight ahead, and let the silence build and build. I can feel his gaze burning my skin. He’s staring again.
God, this man is the king of suspense.
Finally, his fingers resume their slow journey, and he speaks. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
Ohhhh fuck.
That silky, deep voice asking me that vaguely threatening question? Shit, that hits me in a place I didn’t expect. My dick twitches again, and I swallow hard because I’m salivating now. Thank god he can’t see my fucking face, I’m positive that I’m not hiding my thoughts at all, not like he is.
“Definitely not,” I rasp, letting my lip out from between my teeth. It’s sore now from how hard I just had to bite it to keep in a whimper at his tone.
Young-gi hums thoughtfully, and takes his fingers away from my skin.
I wait, hoping he’s just getting more cream, but the sound of the lid being screwed back onto the jar dashes my hopes.
My heartbeat slows, my adrenaline crashes, and I’m actually disappointed.
Disappointed? Why? I don’t need this. He starts to pack the first aid kit back up behind me, and it’s over now so I should stand up.
I should stand up and get away from him.
I don’t need him, I didn’t need this. I should stand up.
Get up. I have to…
Stand! Up! Tommy!
I don’t move. Not a twitch, not a single muscle. I stare down at my hands. I’m frozen solid.
I feel like… like he just saw a part of me I don’t let anyone see. Like he just reached into my chest, squeezed my heart in his hand, then let it go and left me feeling….
Scared, because how the fuck did he get me to sit here and let him baby me without arguing? Why is this becoming a pattern? How does he get to me like no one else does? Why do I listen to him? What the fuck is wrong with me?
And empty, because it’s over, and all those light touches that were filling me up with sensory overload are gone.
And angry, because why do I feel sad? I’m fucking fine. I’m fine!
And lonely. Very fucking alone. Because no one really does this for me. Even this wasn’t really for me. This is all just… pretend.
“Claremont,” he says, and I jump again. He’s standing beside me now. When did he stand up? He’s holding out a hand, like I need help getting to my feet. Is this pity? Is this condescension?
What the fuck? He’s looking at me like maybe I’ve been sitting here spaced out for a noticeable amount of time. His head tilts; suspicion, perhaps, or something like it. “Are you alright?”
I clear my throat, and stand without his help.
I don’t go as far as smacking his hand away in a bratty fit of temper, but the urge is strong.
He’s lucky I’m on my best behavior. If anyone else tried any of this babying bullshit I’d probably bite them.
I stalk toward the stairs, but of course he follows on my heels.
My shoulders tense until they cramp and I wish he’d walk in front of me so I didn’t feel like he was looming.
I can practically feel his breath on the back of my neck. I hate how much I like that.
At the top, in the hallway, we both pause. I’m not sure why.
I can’t look at him, so I stare at the floor. I know he’s looking at me, but I can’t seem to lift my chin. It takes everything in me to keep my face neutral and not to be wearing a petulant scowl.
“Call me Tommy,” I say suddenly, still not looking at him. I slouch into a more casual pose like I’m unbothered and normal and totally fine. “Not Claremont. Just Tommy.”
“Fine. Tommy.”
Ooohhh, fuck. He just said my name in the exact same tone he used when he asked me about lying. So subtly menacing and low. Like he’s warning me about something. Like he’s got a danger sign hidden behind his back.
I turn on my heel to flee to the breakfast room, but his hand catches my arm. I gasp, spin, and look up at him, a stinging rebuke ready and waiting on my tongue to lash out and be angry.
But none of those defensive words come out.
Looking into his eyes hits me like a stun gun, choking me and stopping all my angry word vomit.
This is why I’ve been avoiding his gaze all morning.
I haven’t met his eyes for more than a split second at a time, and not at all if I can help it, and apparently, he’s noticed.
His eyes are dark, almost as dark as mine.
Standing this close to him, I’m eye-level with his mouth, which is probably why I find it so distracting all the time.
His brow is furrowed just the smallest bit, and I think he might be trying to figure something out.
He looks intensely focused on me, his gaze catching and holding and never releasing.
He’s reading me through my eyes, and his lips twitch at one corner, like he’s torn between frustration and amusement.
And that look, that confused look of his, somehow looking lost but powerful, unsure but commanding, directionless but possessive, all at the same time–that look cracks something inside of me.
I feel like the victim of a vampire–like I just invited a demon into my house, like now that he’s looked at me and I’ve looked back at him, it’s too late and he’s inside my head already and I’ll never get him out again. Like I’ll crave him and fear him for the rest of my life.
My lips part. I shift my weight so I’m closer to him again, probably about to say something regrettably stupid.
But I’m saved by the bell. And in this case, the bell is Young-gi’s bodyguard, the one that dragged Brain away from the library. What’s his name again? Yosef, I think.
“Pakhan,” Yosef greets Young-gi gruffly. “I took care of the video from the match. He should’ve known better than to film you.”
Young-gi doesn’t answer, barely acknowledges Yosef at all, like the task was so expected and low-bar that it doesn’t deserve a thank you. I pull my arm away, and he lets me slip out of his grasp. My bicep is warm where he held me. We hold our stare, until I pointedly look away.
This time, Young-gi is the one who turns and walks away.
I don’t stand there and watch him leave, because I’m not some needy, clingy, desperate fucking moron. I storm off barely a second later, by myself, and go get something to eat.