Chapter 12
“I’m going to be honest with you, baby. When you said take care of you, I thought you had something else in mind,” I grumble, parked on the couch with a bag of frozen peas on one hand and a Ziploc bag of ice on the other.
I should’ve told her to get one for my cock, too, considering it’s in the throes of severe dick-disappointment.
Minutes ago, Morgan turned in my arms, her eyes practically begging me to act, while Cadet Park stood at full attention, awaiting the fire-at-will command.
But the second I made a move, she pressed her hand to my chest, walked me to the couch, and told me to sit and stay. Like a good boy, I obeyed—waiting for the reward I thought would be my naked girlfriend. But no. Just peas and fucking ice.
So, yeah. Dick-disappointment.
“What exactly did you think I meant?” Morgan calls from the guest bathroom, where I keep my first aid kit.
I chuckle, hands shifting under the bags. “Like you need me to spell it out for you.”
The sound of a cabinet closing echoes into the open space of my living room, followed by the padding of bare feet on hardwood. The sexiest woman alive— my girlfriend, motherfuckas—stops in front of me, popping a luscious hip as she opens the kit.
“Please do,” she croons seductively. “I’d love to know exactly what kind of imagination Jiho Park has.”
Her weight shifts, her yellow sundress swaying around her thighs, forming a divot between them for just a second. First, I was jealous of a window, then wine, and now a goddamn sundress.
My cold-as-shit hands move under the bags again, fingers drumming against the couch leather. This is taking too long. My hands are fine, and I want—
“You’re annoyed,” she says, cutting into my thoughts, eyeing my hands with a tension in her posture that wasn’t there before.
Goddammit, I did that.
“No, baby,” I say quickly, “just frustrated.”
Thanks to fucking Reggie-boy, she probably thinks my frustration is her fault. And if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know how to navigate that.
So I add, “But it’s not your fault. It’ll never be your fault.”
Morgan’s shoulders relax as she sets the kit next to me and tosses the peas and ice to the far side of the couch.
“I know,” she purrs, climbing onto my lap. “But you see, Jiho, I want to know what makes you tick.”
I cock a brow. “Oh? And why’s that?”
Collecting ointment, she takes my left hand and begins to dab it on the scraped skin.
“On one hand,” she explains, “I want to know you better. Sure, your emotions aren’t my responsibility—but they’re part of your well-being, and I care about that.” Setting my hand down, she moves on to my right. “On the other hand, there’s a part of me that wants to drive you crazy—to know exactly what buttons to push to do things like,” she drops my hand and grinds her hips once against my cock, “frustrate you.”
Right on cue, Cadet Park jumps, saluting and ready at command. My hands salute in their own way, finding Morgan’s thick thighs, the ache from cuts and bruises dulled enough to enjoy.
“Goddammit, Morgan,” I growl, wanting her to do that again. “You sure as fuck figured it out.”
She grinds again with a moan on her lips, my head falling back against the couch.
“I can see that, but what about the first part?” she asks, her breathing picking up, hips not stopping when she finishes the question.
God, my dick hurts in these jeans. I don’t want to have a deep conversation right now. I’d much rather be deep in something else.
“Well,” I groan, “my girlfriend making me come in my pants before I can have any sort of fun with her is one.”
She smirks, her hips stilling. “Noted. And what else?”
The sudden lack of friction ebbs the tight coil of desire just enough for me to focus. For some reason—be it trust, control, or because she loves to fucking torture me—Morgan needs this. And I need to be the one to give it.
I breathe in deep, grounding myself in this moment and the scent of coconut on her skin. “Time, baby—when people don’t respect my time. That makes me tick.”
“Like,” she begins, looking shyly to the side, “when someone shows up on the dot to a training session and makes you wait to finish getting ready for a date?”
Gently, I ease her chin toward me, forcing her eyes back to mine. “Yes, but for you it’s worth it. When I see you, I don’t care anymore.”
Her hands find my shoulders, trailing down my biceps. I may have flexed.
“Thank you for telling me,” she says, smiling softly. “I’m going to try to be better…with the respecting-your-time thing.”
A chuckle leaves me because she’s so damn cute right now. “But I happen to like Morgan Asterman the way she is. Your lack of punctuality is good for me—I’m learning to calm the fuck down.”
Her brows shoot to the sky. “So, I should aim to be worse, then?”
“Only if I deserve it,” I say with a smile. My hand moves from her chin to the nape of her neck, pulling her in and brushing a quick kiss over her lips. “And what about you? What makes you tick?”
“Good question,” she whispers against my mouth and straightens, sitting back as she takes my hand from her neck, keeping it in hers. Her eyes and fingers assess the cuts and bruises again on my knuckles. “Plans.”
“Plans?” I repeat, bemused. I don’t know why, but I thought it’d be something a little more complex.
“Mm-hmm,” she hums. “Change a plan last minute, and you risk experiencing my wrath.”
“Something tells me I’d like to experience your wrath,” I quip, earning a smile as my free hand slides under the skirt of her sundress. Her skin heats under my touch, and I know she’s dripping for me. But still, I wait, asking instead, “And what else?”
She hesitates, then says on an exhale, “I hate when people think I’m weak and worry about me for no reason. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person on earth who knows just how strong I am.” Her eyes flick to mine, the dim lights revealing the subtle gold in them. “Except you. You see me for what I am, don’t you? Vulnerable, but—”
“Strong as hell,” I finish. “Baby, from the moment we met, you took my shit and dished it right back. What else am I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know…” Her face falls into an expression that shows exactly how vulnerable she is, like she’s scared to test the waters. Like she might drown if she does. “Maybe that I’m crazy?”
She drops my hand—it finds its own way under her skirt, back to her thigh. Her fingers ball in my shirt, and I don’t miss the way they run over my abs or the way her thighs clench.
Fuck.
I love talking to this woman, but if this conversation doesn’t end with her pussy around my cock, I’m going to lose my damn mind.
My hands inch higher on her bare thighs. “If either of us is crazy, it’s me, Morgan. I’m a control freak. Not with people, but situations. It goes hand-in-hand with punctuality, and it’s the number one reason no one stays. I can be way too fucking much.”
A bright smile graces her face, and my heart stops. “A change-averse planner who’s never enough for people, and a punctual control freak who’s too much for people. We make quite the pair, don’t we?”
“I’d say so,” I chuckle, my hands moving higher again. A gasp rings from her lips when they reach the summit of her thighs, my eyes widening. Holy fuck. “Morgan, where are your panties?”
I run a finger against her seam—soaked, just like I knew—and she shudders, stammering, “At… At my house.”
“Are you saying,” I drawl, dipping my fingertips barely inside her, her inner muscles already clenching, “your pussy’s been naked this whole time? In my car and at dinner? Now in my house? And you’re just now telling me?”
Slowly, I thrust a finger all the way in, and her head falls back with a moan. “Fuck… I… I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, surprised I am,” I mutter, crooking my finger inside her and watching as she arches into me. “I’m only sad I won’t be able to steal them this time.”
Her head levels, a sly grin on her lips. “That may have been an ulterior motive.”
I crook my finger again. “Is that so? You’re a naughty little thing, aren’t you?” She nods, her hips starting to ride on their own, but I’ll be damned if she fucks my fingers this time.
Sliding my finger from her, I lick it clean while she watches, letting her know exactly how sweet she tastes.
But my intention misses the mark, her brows pinching. “Did I do something—”
My tongue captures hers, cutting off the rest of the question, devouring her mouth like I’ve never tasted her before—while my other hand drags from her thigh to that perfect ass, exploring every curve.
I ease away just long enough to rasp, “You’re never allowed to ask me that again. Do you understand?” She swallows as she nods. “Good girl. Now show me exactly how strong you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, fucking ruin me, Morgan.”
I pull her in for another kiss, but her hands on my chest stop me. “To do that, Jiho, you need to hand over control and let go. Can you do that for me?”
“I’ll do anything for you, baby.” And hell, ain’t that the truth.
She lifts my hands between us. “Which one hurts more?”
I nod to my right, and this damn woman puts it on her neck and tells me to squeeze. All I can do is watch and listen, shocked. I didn’t expect the ruining to happen this fast.
Then she guides my other hand to her pussy, places my thumb on her clit, and orders in a velvet command, “Play.”
And now I’m dead. I have to be, because this is a special kind of heaven, made specifically for Jiho Park.
A moan escapes her as my thumb circles her clit, and her fingers move to my pants.
“You know,” she says between her little noises of pleasure, undoing the button with ease, “yesterday, I said we didn’t need a condom. You thought I meant something else, but I was serious.”
I swear she’s purposefully moving at a snail’s pace with my zipper. And with the pressure of her hand right there...
Jiho fucking Park, if you have even an ounce of badassery, you will not come in your goddamn pants.
Finally, her hand reaches in and pulls me free, her pupils dilating. “I have an IUD,” she continues, breath hitching. “So if it’s okay with you,” she rises just enough to position me at her entrance, voice trembling slightly, “I’d like to fuck you without one.”
Here’s the million-dollar question: What man in his right mind would say no to that?
And the two-million-dollar question: Why the hell am I thinking about questions?
I want to grab her and slam her down onto my cock, but I’m giving over control. She needs this.
I need this.
“What’d I say, baby? It’ll always be a yes with you.” I rasp, her right hand holding me at her entrance while her left covers mine at her throat.
“Good.” Her tongue drags across her bottom lip, my eyes tracking it in slow motion. “Your job is to sit there, watch, and enjoy. And don’t forget to squeeze.”
I couldn’t forget even if I tried. Especially when I feel her hammering pulse beneath my hand, her breath hitching as my fingers flex.
But the moment she slides down onto me, I lose control of all my senses, every muscle contracting on its own as Morgan’s moans fill my entire house.
A primal need to spin her around and take her from behind ignites. But I can’t—it’s not my job.
So I sit. Watch. Listen. Feel. Let her use me until she’s full. Until she finds the control she craves—or maybe she’s stealing mine. But when she seats herself fully and her hips move with my grip around her neck and my thumb on her clit, I know she’s not stealing anything.
I’m offering it to her on a goddamn silver platter.
Next time, it’ll be a gold one, because I never imagined a woman could make me feel like this.
Especially one so hellbent on taking my control to show me her power. Maybe it’s different because I want to see it—hell, I asked for it. I want to see the strength of the woman destroying my sanity.
She has full control, but I feel fucking free.
Her hips alternate directions, settling on a rhythm, rocking harder, faster. All the while, my hand squeezes and my thumb circles.
Head falling back, her moans grow louder but not enough to cover the sound of our bodies moving together.
Fuck, it might be my new favorite sound.
My grip tightens on her throat, her pussy pulsing around me. She’s close.
“Do I feel good, Morgan?” I pant, voice low and gravelly.
She nods, chin bumping my hand around her throat. “God, yes,” she breathes, “Jiho... fucking... Sudanese...”
Sudanese? We’ll put a pin in that one, because I need to go harder. Deeper. “Can I move my hands, baby?”
She breathes out a yes, and thank God. Releasing my hold, she takes a long drawn out breath, my hands now moving to her hips, angling them so her clit grinds just right on me.
Her moans turn to screams of—
Oh God, fuck, Jiho.
Each one spurring me on until her voice pitches high and quiet. Until I know she’s focused on that explosion building inside her.
That’s when I risk it all and sit up, unzipping her sundress, unclasping her bra, and freeing her tits, all with one hand. Yeah, I’m that good.
I take her right nipple in my mouth, my other hand still guiding her hips. I bite, suck, lick, and soothe. My dick twitches with the building pressure—I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. I need my girl to come.
My tongue moves to her left, more sensitive nipple, and I angle my hips to hit that perfect spot inside her. I know I hit the mark when she screams my name loud enough for the whole goddamn world to hear.
She pants something, but it’s hard to hear over the pounding in my ears and my name on repeat.
“I’m so... close...” I think she says.
And then Morgan screams, coming completely undone around me, and I shatter inside her.
Her nails dig into my skin through my shirt, thighs shaking, pussy clenching in perfect rhythm as I spill deep inside her. Lips, still repeating my name like it’s a goddamn prayer.
I add my own prayer, silently wishing to keep her, three months be damned. Drawing her to my chest, easing us back against the couch, we breathe each other in.
A moment passes—both an eternity and an instant—before I break the silence. “Morgan, baby... Neo gwaenchanha?”
I feel her head nod against my chest. “Gwaenchanha,” she says, in the cutest, most American accent I’ve ever heard.
It warms my heart.
And for the first time in my life, I want to say fuck it to time, control, and everything that isn’t Morgan Asterman.
Because she’s the only thing that matters now.
“Stay over tonight,” I say, my panting finally settling into actual breaths.
I know I sound insane. It’s our first date, and I met her barely four days ago. But we only have three months.
And remember what I said about her destroying my sanity? Well, consider it officially and fully decimated—not a speck of it left.
Morgan stays quiet for a beat, and I wonder if I fucked up. Said too much. Was too much once again, and now she’s going to leave.
My fingers twitch against her skin, anxiety urging them to fidget. Tap. Drum. Anything.
But before they get the chance, Morgan reaches up, pulls my face to hers, and kisses the damn anxiety to fucking smithereens, the ashes settling next to those of my sanity.
I’ll take that as a yes.