Chapter 17
Pretending to be mad while your shirtless, sexy gym god of a boyfriend reps barbell curls in his home gym is an art form.
Truly, severely, I deserve an Oscar for my performance. Every time I try to look away, the mirror-covered walls blast his drool-inducing, marble-carved reflection in my face.
The only safe location to look is the freaking floor. But I only get away with that for a few seconds at a time before Jiho reminds me to watch my form in the mirror.
I’ve whipped my head in his direction more times than I can count. Ready with some sassy comeback. But his flexing biceps always shut me up. Honestly, that deserves an award, too. Probably a Guinness World Record.
Finding myself at a disadvantage, I may have bent over once or twice. Okay, fine—way more than that, my ass always angled in his direction to grab weights, water, anything. Trying to gain the upper hand.
He might have seemed unfazed each time I straightened, but that bulge of his never lies. Especially now...
I hinge at the waist and poke out my ass, reaching to pick up a mini barbell for my final set. The last time must be the charm, because the sound of Jiho dropping one hundred and forty pounds’ worth of barbell and weights gets my attention. And he keeps it as he turns and stalks—oh so slowly—my way.
My tongue runs along my bottom lip as my eyes eagerly take in every shift of his hard muscles. Each one spectacularly highlighted by the sweat sheen on his skin. All of me wants this man.
But I won’t let him know it.
Nope.
For all intents and purposes, I’m mad at Jiho Park. For making me work out when I’d rather be in bed, rotting for the rest of the day.
I allow myself one day a month to wallow in self-pity. I wanted that to be today, but my silver-lining boyfriend had a promise to keep.
Dragging my focus back to my own reflection, I start my first thirty-pound bicep curl in a set of eight. I try to focus on the ache in my arms instead of the one low in my core.
“What?” I bite out in Jiho’s direction as I squeeze my muscles at the top of the movement.
He smirks—which I totally don’t see, because I’m not looking at him in the mirror. “Are we still pouting, baby?”
I lower the weight, pause at the bottom, and contract again. “I do not pout. I’m focusing because this is my last set. You told me to never rush the last set. Or do you not remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” he drawls. With each word, his already tantalizing voice turns into pure seduction. Moving behind me, his fingertips whisper along my skin, guiding my elbows into the correct position. He purrs, lowering his head to my ear, “Then focus, Morgan, and curl.”
My breath hitches, but I do as I’m told.
“Now lower,” he orders. “Good. That’s three. Again.”
Breathing in, past the desire to do exactly the opposite, I curl. And when I lower the bar, Jiho presses a rewarding kiss to the sensitive spot below my ear.
“That’s four,” he says, lips pressing to the same spot, leaving goosebumps behind. “Again.”
A million more threads on my focus fray. But, somehow, I push through the arousal vibrating through every cell in my body. Each one screams at me to abandon the damn weight and climb my boyfriend like a tree.
Curl. Uncurl.
“Five. Again.” His teeth sink into my skin, tongue tasting, teasing, and soothing the sweet little pain. My entire body’s trembling with need, but he urges me on, fingers moving from my elbows to my hips. “I said again, Morgan,” he repeats sensually, hands flexing, holding tighter.
Curl. Fucking uncurl.
“Six, baby.” He thrusts his solid cock harder against me, and I almost give in. Almost abandon my anger. “Fuck, Morgan, again,” he growls against my neck, the vibrations sending a shiver down my spine, straight to my already drenched pussy.
I let out a shaky breath, adjusting my grip. Then curl and uncurl once more.
“Seven. You’re doing so well.” There’s no denying the feeling of his hard cock throbbing against my ass. And paired with his praise, a whimper leaves my throat. “I know you want it. One more, Morgan, and it’s yours. But remember...” One of his hands moves to my front, dipping below my waistband, and presses lightly on my aching bud. “...to focus.”
The intoxicating pressure sends a whip of pleasure through my entire body, knees growing weak, ready to buckle. Somehow, I manage to hold on to the barbell as Jiho’s other hand steadies me.
“Is this your way of apologizing?” I ask, panting.
“Depends. Is it working?”
I nod, his scruff grazing my cheek.
“Then, up,” he whispers into my ear. My arms follow his command. “And down.”
Finally, I unclasp my hands, the barbell slipping from my fingertips. As soon as the weight hits the floor, Jiho has me five feet away. On my back and on the mat, his solid weight settling between my legs, mouth finding mine.
God, he’s never kissed me this hungrily before. Like he’s been starved of me for far too long. I answer his hunger with my own, riding the full hardness of him. With every pass, I moan into his mouth, my clit pulsing from the friction.
But it’s not enough. Not with our clothes in the way. I need more. Right. Fucking. Now.
I tear my lips from his, just long enough to moan, “I need you inside me, Jiho. This—” Jiho’s mouth cuts in, capturing both my words and breath with his delicious tongue. When he takes all that he wants and frees my mouth again, I breathe the last word. “Second.”
My boyfriend’s a great listener. Because he’s immediately up on his knees, freeing his cock before tearing the pants and thong from my body.
He flips me onto my stomach with ease, pulling my hips into him, my back arching from his touch.
“Lift your ass a little higher, baby,” Jiho rasps. “You’ve been teasing me with it for the past hour. I want to fucking see it up close and personal.”
Something in me turns defiantly wicked. Maybe it’s the knowledge that I tortured him—that my body and I hold such power over this man. Maybe it’s knowing I can submit entirely without losing myself in the process.
Whatever the reason, it has me looking over my shoulder and saying, “Make me.”
Oh boy, that does it. Jiho grins, a devilish challenge glinting in his eyes. He smacks my ass so hard, I yelp, gasping, wincing from the sweet sting. And I moan when he smacks it again, his hands lifting my hips as high as they can go. Bracing my weight on my elbows, my head lowers, resting on my forearms.
“No, Morgan,” Jiho growls, fisting the base of my ponytail, pulling just hard enough to lift my head. I catch his eyes in the mirror, darker than before, a look that has my pussy clenching, ready for him. Leaning over me, he whispers low into my ear, “I want you to watch, baby. I want you to see how perfect you look when I make you come.”
Using his knees, he widens my legs, my aching center exposed, fingers running along my slit. “Holy shit, you’re soaked” he says, voice ragged. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” I whimper. “Only for you.”
He licks his fingers clean. “God, you taste amazing. But I need to feel you right fucking now.”
Good thing we’re on the same page.
I watch in pure amazement as Jiho fists his cock, positions at my entrance, and slides inside my pussy. Inch by inch by never-ending inch. He may want me to watch myself, but my eyes are only on him. The way his face twists with that beautiful, masculine pleasure—it’s enough to bring me to my knees, if I weren’t already there.
Only once he’s fully sheathed do I remember to inhale. The air rushes in just as his cock hits that perfect spot, my eyes fluttering closed. This man holds total power over my body, giving and taking strength in equal measure. All of it, replaced with absolute bliss.
My head wants to fall from the pleasure, but Jiho’s hand stays firm in my hair, grounding me. When my eyes open, they immediately find his, knowing it’s what he wants.
I’m already on my knees, so I beg, “Give me more, Jiho.”
“More?” he echoes, his hips moving, withdrawing to the tip. “Baby, I’ll give you everything.”
He thrusts and teases, pulling his cock out to the tip, only to slam back in, all the way to the hilt.
“Jiho, yes,” rips from my throat, as he hits that spot deep inside me over and over, right where the pressure begins to coil. Tight and hot.
Rocking my hips back on his steady drives, I elicit a sound from him that makes my toes curl. I’d give anything to hear that sound again. Including all of me. My body. My mind. My heart.
“Jiho,” his name tears from my lungs. “More, baby. I need more.”
“Then take it—all of it. As long as I get you for the rest of my goddamn life, Morgan.”
He can take everything from me, too. I’m pretty sure he already has. Because Jiho Park consumes my every thought. My every feeling, every breath.
At this point, it’s fair to say I’m literally obsessed.
But I’m still mad at him.
So instead of baring my soul like I really want to, I quip between rampant breaths, “Tell me that when you’re not balls deep inside of me.”
He stills—feral grin spreading across his face, darkening every radiant feature. His control’s slipping.
Good.
I love when he loses control with me.
“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble,” he murmurs, his voice dark and low. “Should I stop apologizing and start punishing?”
A fierce provocation sharpens my stare, my eyes meeting his through the mirror. “How about you stop asking questions and decide for yourself?”
Teeth flash behind that grin. “Oh, baby… You’re asking for it, aren’t you?” I don’t get a chance to respond, another sharp slap to my ass silencing any thoughts. Only a whimper leaves me as his hand releases my hair, instead shoving my shoulders down. My peaked nipples scrape against the gym mats, eliciting a gurgled moan from my lips. “Remember to watch, Morgan.”
I listen, my eyes staying locked on his—and the absolute vision we make. Jiho’s strong, muscled frame towers over my soft one. Like an actual god sent to earth to both save and destroy me. Protect and endanger me.
And only me.
When he begins to move again, there’s nothing apologetic or gentle. He purely punishes, and I take it. Unable to help the moans and screams he draws from me as that insatiable pressure builds, hot and unrelenting.
I’m so fucking close, but I don’t want this to end. Not yet. Not now.
Watching Jiho coming completely undone—this man who always needs control—is everything. And that thought alone solidifies what I’ve been too scared to admit since he defended me at Al’s.
That I’m crazy…and crazy in love with Jiho Park.
His pace picks up, and my building orgasm burns hotter, begging to be set free. A warm, demanding hand slides beneath me to my sternum, lifting my body flush against his. But it doesn’t stop there, finding its way to my neck and gripping tight. Tighter than before, testing boundaries.
Little does he know, with him, I don’t have any. He’s taken those from me, too. And I freely let him.
Or maybe he does know.
Because while his massive cock destroys my body, his gravelly voice slides into my ear, destroying my little power play. “This is how I punish, Morgan. Do you like it? Or does it need to be harsher?”
I open my mouth to speak, but his hand flexes around my throat—the lightness of my head heightening every sensation.
“No,” he rasps into my ear, the word laced with heat. “You said to decide for myself, and what I think, Morgan…is harsher.”
Jiho’s hands release me, only to wrap his arms around my waist and stand, my back still flush against him. He moves us to a workout bench, slides his shorts and boxer briefs the rest of the way off, and sits on the edge of the bench. With his hands, he guides me onto his lap by my hips.
“You know what to do, Morgan. Don’t fucking stop until you’ve come all over my cock.” I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. But a hand grabs my chin, forcing it back to the mirror. “And don’t you dare take your eyes off yourself. I meant it before—I want you to see how perfect you look coming for me.”
Sir, yes sir.
His voice pours over me like silk, feeding that sweet, aching tension coiled low in my belly. Every word tightens it further, like he’s winding me up with nothing but sound. I already know—one slow, deep thrust, and I’m going to unravel. The anticipation alone has me grabbing his cock, lifting up, and easing down onto his lap until he’s buried, thick and deep and perfect.
And just as I thought, the moment he hits that sacred spot inside me, I shatter around him. My inner muscles clenching in rhythm, helpless to do anything but take every inch and feel every pulse of pleasure.
And, dammit, if he isn’t right. The way I look coming around him—sexy and powerful. I’ve never felt more comfortable in my own skin. Never felt more confident.
This man has such a unique ability to unveil my own truth to myself. Or maybe I’m the one unveiling it, and he’s simply giving me the strength to see it.
To accept it.
As if knowing my thoughts, Jiho doesn’t let my climax come and go. His fingers dig into my skin and lift me. Gravity pulls me back down, and he grunts each time he drives into me, hard and relentless, wringing a raw moan from my throat with every punishing thrust.
My muscles cue in. Legs pushing against the floor, my orgasm rolling into a second. Then a third. Until finally, Jiho’s roar echoes around us, blending with my screams. He comes with me on the fourth, his body locked to mine like we were made to be one person. Tensing and shaking as his cock pulses, spilling everything he has into me.
Our breaths and heartbeats sync, a few quiet minutes passing while our bodies melt into one another.
But even as the high settles, his hold on me doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens, like he never wants to let go. And I don’t want him to.
“God, Morgan,” he pants, his hot breath caressing the nape of my neck. “The moment I think it can’t get any better, you go and prove me wrong.”
His words bring a smile to my face. I stand just long enough to turn and straddle him again. But this time, I’m facing the real thing—not just a reflection.
Fingers twirling around his silky hair, I tease, “Is that so? Then I’m beginning to think you like punishing me.”
“What can I say?” he murmurs as he nips at my jaw. “That smartass mouth of yours does something to me.” Brushing a kiss, slow and deliberate, over my smartass mouth, he then asks, “Are you still mad at me?”
“Maybe,” I answer playfully, raising my chin. “But I might be convinced otherwise. Especially since I love you.” My eyes go wide, looking away as I rush on. “What you do with your cock, I mean. I love that. I love your penis.”
Jiho lifts a brow. “You love…my penis?”
“Yes.” Nice save, Morgan. You freaking idiot.
I nervously meet Jiho’s gaze, hoping he bought my poor attempt at covering my post-sex-I-love-you word vomit. I swear I see a flash of disappointment in his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. Replaced by the cockiest grin in existence.
“You sure about that?” he asks, canting his head with a playful, maddening smirk. “Because we both know I’m at least nine inches—well above Sudan’s average. To be honest, baby, I’m both flattered and a little insulted.”
I can only stare at him, still wide-eyed. Praying the flames searing my face will spontaneously combust, and I’ll forever disappear.
“What?” he drawls, clearly enjoying this. “You think my girlfriend moans Sudanese while riding me, and I don’t look into it?”
I’m speechless for a good three seconds, trying to think of something else to say besides Oh my God. But more garbled word vomit is all that comes.
Until Jiho’s tongue silences me again. And any chance of forming actual, intelligent words goes bye-bye, replaced by a pathetic, little whimper.
He chuckles against my mouth. “Is that so? Why don’t we head upstairs then, baby? I can give you more of what you love.”
My brain turns to complete mush—words long gone. Resorting to body language, I nod adamantly, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.
A second later, Jiho stands, holding me tight against him—I did say I wanted to climb him like a tree—and heads for the stairs. Each stride filled with that same unforgiving purpose he just used to both wreck and revive me.
“Besides,” he adds, “you wanted to rot all day. But I can think of several things, way more fun that involve a bed, can’t you?”