Chapter 7
Jiho’s hands are on me before I can even blink. Thank God, because once his countdown started and I saw that look in his eyes, every inch of me started vibrating with pure, feral anticipation.
And sure enough, he pulls me in for a kiss that makes me forget my name, date of birth, and everything else needed to function as a human.
Please note: I said human, not animal.
Because the moment he touches me, I sure as hell become an animal—a feral one, for the sake of coming full circle.
I’ve been all worked up since he trailed his lips up my neck in his car, which, by the way, should be marketed towards women to the sound of Good Vibrations by The Beach Boys. Talk about a missed opportunity.
I moan into his mouth the moment his eager hands find their way under my shirt to the clasp of my bralette. Lucy and Ethel are big girls, remember? I don’t own a single bra without a clasp or zipper.
And with the way Jiho has been glancing at my chest all day, I’d wager he doesn’t mind in the least. In fact, he’d probably be more than willing to help me choose my next claspy, zippery bra for him to take off.
But he doesn’t take it off, instead moving his mouth along my jaw to nip at my ear.
“You wore this on purpose, didn’t you, Morgan? You must love to fucking torture me,” he purrs, hot breath caressing my skin. I swear he was some kind of Thomas O’Malley in a past life.
Well, if he’s Thomas O’Malley, I guess that makes me Duchess, the loyal, ladylike kitty who gives O’Malley a run for his money. I’m all about loyalty, but right now? Fuck ladylike.
“And what if I do?” I murmur as his mouth moves to my neck, kissing the same spot that got me so riled up in the first place. My knees buckle as he trails his lips down to my clavicle, then up to my jaw, sending tingles along my spine, straight to my pussy. Oh yeah, she’s about to purr right along with him.
Jiho’s hands leave my bralette, steadying me by holding my ass. As his hands flex, I arch into him, rubbing my clit against his erection.
I give myself a decent moment to take it all in. His hard body pressed against mine, the pleasure spreading from where I grind on him, and his cock that I definitely can’t wait to uncage.
God, he really does feel huge, my inner muscles clenching at the thought of all of him inside of me, stretching me to my limit.
His hands move down a little farther, and I cue into what he wants—my legs around his waist. I just know this man can toss me around, because, with one easy lift, I’m wrapped around him like a koala in a brawny, hot eucalyptus tree. Also, like a koala presented with mouthwatering eucalyptus, I want to devour him.
When my back meets the kitchen wall, Jiho’s tongue takes mine for the wildest ride. Each swirl and twirl and loopy-loop making me wetter and wetter. Think Splash Mountain, but you hop on the log at the very end.
He tastes just like I thought he would—sinfully perfect—and my inner koala can’t hold back any longer. My teeth sink into his bottom lip, tugging gently, testing. A deep-rooted growl rumbles through his chest, answering my unspoken question. Seems this kitty cat isn’t as tame as I originally thought.
And speaking of kitties, mine is painfully aware that he’s hard as a fucking rock. I really, really want it in my hands. Good thing I know where to find it—at the base of the mountain.
Time to descend.
One of my hands trails down his chest and over his washboard abs, and they’re so much better in person. Honestly, his profile picture barely does them justice. I might just have some dirty laundry upstairs to wash and a very broken washer. Or, at least, I will.
But my hand doesn’t stop long enough to enact Operation: Break Washing Machine. Why the hell would it when it’s headed straight for the final destination due south?
Cupping him through his pants, I gasp, shocked by his truly massive length.
According to the World Population Review, the average South Korean man has an erect penile length of 4.25 inches. It’s true—Elaine and I looked it up over a drunk video chat date one night after finding out about my move. And if you must know, the average American man’s erect penis is 5.57 inches. If you want one bigger than that, move to freaking Sudan.
Luckily, I don’t have to—because Jiho is apparently part Sudanese.
I flex my hand a little harder, drawing out another growl from him. “Fuck,” he pants against my mouth, “Are you in a rush or something?”
“Mm-mm,” I hum with amusement. “Absolutely not.”
“Good,” he says, kissing me again, breaking occasionally to add, “because before we do anything else, I want you to know that I’m clean.”
Drawing my head away just enough to look him in the eyes, I reply, “Me, too. Now…” A smirk spreads across my mouth as my fingers slowly drag up his cock to the waistband of his shorts, stilling them right as my fingertips dip below. “Do you want to keep talking, or can I touch you?”
“Fuck yes, Morgan,” he breathes. “It’ll always be a yes with you.” His sinful tongue dances with mine again, and my fingers dive fully into his shorts, wrapping around his thick shaft, making it throb and grow harder the moment my hand begins to move. Throwing his head back, he moans, “God, fuck.”
Muscles tick in his sharp jaw with each stroke of my hand. It’s a scene I could watch all day long and never get bored. In fact, I want to see more, so my hand greedily moves faster until he reaches down and stops it.
“Slow the hell down, baby.” I am never one for pet names, but my pussy clenches when he throws baby my way.
“You want it slow?” I drawl, dragging an achingly slow finger along each of the—shit, I lost count—inches of his shaft to the tip, gathering the bead of moisture at the end and relishing the shudder I see move through his beautiful body. Bringing my finger to my mouth, I twist my tongue around it and suck.
His pupils dilate at the same time that his nostrils flare. He’s so incredibly turned on, and the knowledge that I’m the cause feels like a spark of life, igniting a long-dead part of my soul.
His obsidian gaze moves from my mouth to my eyes. “Do you want more of me, baby?”
I nod, licking every bit of him off my finger, waiting for this more, but Jiho’s hands only squeeze my ass one more time before unhooking my legs.
My feet hit the cool tile, and, face falling, I look up at him. “Did I…do something wrong?”
Shit, is it happening again?
His brows pinch together. “What? Hell no. But if you want more of me, you’re going to call the fucking shots.”
Jiho must’ve witnessed my little surge of confidence disappear because he’s on me again, bringing it back to life with his hands and lips. I gasp when he bites down on my lower lip and moan when he soothes the pain with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.
Mother of pearl, my heart’s rampant, a heat blazing low in my stomach. What was I worried about again? I can’t even remember.
He tears his mouth from my body, pressing his forehead against mine. He’s so close to me that I can feel his heart hammering against my chest.
He pants, “Tell me what you want, baby. I’m all yours.”
I take a moment to just breathe Jiho in. God, this man is changing me. Taking over me. With him, I feel so…different. Powerful. Safe.
In three whole years with my ex, I never felt like this. But only after three days of knowing Jiho, and this is freely and delightfully happening. How equally fucked up and amazing is that?
I swallow and place a hand on his chest, nails digging into his skin through his shirt, backing him up until his ass meets the counter.
My other hand finds purchase on his stomach, together exploring every divot and groove that is the perfect freaking body of Jiho Park. His fingers wrap around my neck, pulling my mouth to his, tasting me while I keep exploring.
When I get to his waistband again, I don’t stop, reaching in and freeing his massive erection. I’ve never seen anything like him—he truly is a god. Douche-Face Supreme and his three-inch dick have zip, zero, nothing on Jiho Park.
I move to kneel, but Jiho stops me—his hold on my throat unyielding, holding me in place as he growls, “Trust me, Morgan, I want you calling the shots, but you have five fucking seconds to take off that shirt and bra.”
When I hesitate like it’s my second-fucking-nature, Jiho pulls me in again, kissing me with purpose. Sure enough, his tongue breaks straight through my stupid hesitation.
“Morgan,” he rasps my name against my mouth, almost begging, “I’ve spent hours imagining what you look like. But I know it can’t compare, which drives me fucking insane. Please, baby. Let me see you.”
Drives me fucking insane. His words surprise me. I’ve never driven anyone insane before, let alone a man. But, damn, if that isn’t the final, resuscitative shock I need.
Before, I would’ve remained quiet. Girls like me don’t get to take control in moments like this. But you know what? Fuck that. Elaine is right—I won’t let those in my past win. I’m moving on to a new country, to a new culture, and to a new man.
So, instead, I tighten my hold on him and say, “Only if you ask nicely.”
Jiho smirks, his hand abandoning my throat to brush a thumb over my lips. Leaning in, he kisses the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, murmuring against my skin, “Pretty please, baby.”
I shudder, somehow managing to say, “What a good boy. I can’t say no to that.” What is that about me being a sub? Screw that. Team Dom all the way.
He lets go just long enough for me to peel my shirt over my head and unclasp my bra, letting it fall to the floor. My breasts free fall, and Jiho’s eyes widen, taking me in.
“Fuck, Morgan. You’re stunning,” he breathes, chest rising and falling twice before reaching for them.
I slap his hands away. “Uh uh. You only get these if you keep being good.” I really keep surprising myself in a good fucking way. Next, Jiho’s shirt comes off, lifted over his head and dropped beside mine. I then slide his hands to the counter behind him, his fingers gripping the edge. “Keep your hands there, Jiho.”
Sinking down to my knees, my hands touch his body the entire way, leaving goosebumps along his skin. Seriously, those abs. You can count on me to lick them later.
“Fuck, Morgan, you’re killing me,” he grits out.
A purposefully seductive chuckle leaves my throat. “Now who’s impatient?”
“You better fucking believe it.”
One of his hands moves for my hair, but I move it right back to the edge of the counter. I really do love torturing him.
“The more you disobey, the longer this will take,” I say, holding his gaze.
And I keep holding it while I pull his shorts and boxer briefs down the rest of the way. He steps out of them, fully releasing the monster cock. Don’t ask me to estimate. I’d probably lose count again, especially when I’m literally staring at what has to be the Korean-American descendant of Hercules in my kitchen.
One of my hands wraps around his thick shaft, while the other fondles his balls to the sound of his sexy-ass moans. I didn’t know men could sound this sexy. In my experience, they always sounded like grunting chimpanzees—they fucked like them, too. Yeah, it wasn’t fun or hot.
But with Jiho, this is definitely fun. Not to mention, he’s the hottest man on the damn planet. Short, cropped hair left longer on top, with a strand or two falling into those dark, dangerous eyes. His large hands flex against the counter, fighting restraint, jaw sharp and tight, Adam’s apple bobbing. And those lips—parted, panting—as his broad chest rises and falls, eyes locked on me working him with my hands. Solid tree-trunk thighs I’ll be gripping the second I take him into my mouth. Every inch of him is sculpted muscle, wrapped in perfectly, naturally tan skin like a divine work of art.
I can’t wait any longer.
Starting at the tip, the head flattens my tongue as I take him down my throat, drawing out more sexy moans. Holding his shaft, I lick all the way to the base, while my other hand grabs his thigh, nails digging in.
My eyes never leave his. As much as eye contact during intimacy makes me uncomfortable, I push past it for him. I can’t shake the feeling that he loves it when I look at him, and all I want to do in this moment is please him to no freaking end.
But when I take him fully into my mouth, I start to enjoy watching how his eyes move and darken with the waves of pleasure wracking his body.
Me—I’m doing that.
Each time I pump him in and out of my mouth, choking, eyes tearing, he grips the counter harder and harder, knuckles turning white.
His words come in little pants. “Morgan… Baby… Fuck… I’m going to…”
My hands move to his hips as if to say don’t you move. I want this—pulling him as far back as he can go, moaning around him.
And when I come up for air and swallow him just the same, it takes once, twice, and the third time’s the charm.
Jiho’s roar fills the kitchen, his dick pulsing in my mouth as his cum spills down my throat. He really does taste sinfully perfect.
I take my time, milking his orgasm and savoring his struggle to stay standing. Until finally—and reluctantly, I may add—I remove him from my mouth. I expect to find his cock flaccid and satisfied, but the moment I stand and Jiho’s eyes fall to my naked tits, it twitches, rallying for round two.
I eye his grip, still clinging to the counter for dear life. He actually obeyed—actually listened to me. He may have wanted control, but I needed it. Needed to feel it.
He could tell—like he already completely knows me. And that both ruins and amazes me. A smile tugs at my lips.
God, I love this man.
Did I really just think that? Nope, absolutely not. Another one of those deny, deny, deny situations.
Tracing my fingers down his sturdy arms to his wrists, I tug, releasing his hold. “You kept them there. I’m surprised you listened,” I praise as he brings my palms to his mouth and kisses each one before draping my arms over his shoulders.
“Surprised? One thing to know about me, Morgan,” he says, his hands moving to my waist, “is that I love being a good boy.” His knuckles brush against the underside of my breasts, sending a shudder through my body and a flash of hunger in his eyes. “But you had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”