Chapter Thirteen #4
He comes in my mouth with a stuttered groan, his cock pulsing against my tongue, and I swallow every drop greedily.
The cum spreads warm through my stomach and the effect is almost instant, a heavy, drugged contentment settling over me like a blanket being pulled up to my chin.
The fight I was building toward crumbles.
My shoulders drop. My eyes go half-lidded.
The sharp words I had ready dissolve into nothing, and when Hyunwoo eases his softening cock from between my lips and tilts my chin up to look at him, I can’t even muster a glare.
I just blink at him, dazed and docile, the taste of him still coating my tongue.
“Better?” he asks, his thumb stroking along my jaw.
I nod mechanically. The small, satisfied smile that crosses his face makes me want to bite him. But I don’t have the energy or the coordination, so I just slump sideways against the pillows and let my eyes close.
He starts doing it hourly after that. Coming back into the bedroom from whatever he was doing in the rest of the apartment, feeding the dogs or taking calls about his project or ordering food, and telling me to open up.
Sometimes I’m asleep when he comes in and I wake to the press of the head of his cock against my lips, warm and persistant, and my mouth opens before my eyes do.
Sometimes I’m awake and stewing, building up another head of steam, and he reads the tension in my shoulders and the set of my jaw and crosses the room with purpose, his hand already on the waistband of his pants.
“Open,” he says on the afternoon of the third day, standing beside the bed where I’m propped against the headboard with my arms crossed, my expression thunderous.
“No.”
“Yugyeom.”
“I said no. I’m not your personal—”
His pheromones pulse. My jaw drops open mid-sentence, the words dying on my tongue, and he slides his cock between my parted lips before I can close them again.
I make an angry sound around the shaft, muffled and impotent, but my body is already responding, my tongue pressing up, my cheeks hollowing, my throat working as he feeds me with slow, unhurried thrusts.
He comes and I swallow and the agitation in my chest smooths out like a wrinkled sheet being pulled taut, and I slump back against the pillows, my eyes glazing over, the fight gone again.
Between the constant knotting, the oral feedings, and the unrelenting pheromones, I spend three days in a haze of forced contentment.
Furious underneath it but unable to surface through the layers of sedation long enough to do anything about it.
My world shrinks to the boundaries of the bedroom, to the cycle of Hyunwoo’s body against mine and inside mine, to the taste of him on my tongue and the weight of his cum in my belly and the steady, suffocating warmth of his pheromones pressing me down into the mattress.
He takes care of me between rounds. He brings me food and water and makes sure I eat, holding grapes and slices of melon to my lips when I’m too foggy to feed myself.
He helps me to the bathroom when I need it, his arm steady around my waist, and waits outside the door.
He rubs my back when it aches and massages oil into the stretched skin of my belly and checks the baby’s movements with his palm, counting kicks.
He’s attentive and thorough and gentle in every way that doesn’t involve letting me leave the bed or make my own decisions, which makes the whole thing feel like being pampered inside a very comfortable cage.
Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, when Hyunwoo wakes up and rolls me carefully onto my side, spooning behind me and lifting my top leg to drape over his hip, his cock nudging against my slick entrance like he’s done dozens of times in the last seventy-two hours, I hold up both hands.
“Enough.” My voice is hoarse and cracked from three days of moaning and crying and sucking his cock. “I give up. No more.”
Hyunwoo pauses, the head of his cock pressed against my hole but not pushing in, his hand warm on my hip. I can feel his grin against the back of my neck.
“You won’t try to go work out anymore?”
I lie on my side, sniffling, tears of frustration and helplessness leaking down my cheeks and soaking into the pillow beneath my head.
I shake my head, the movement small and defeated.
“You win,” I say through the tears, my voice thick and wobbling.
“You’ve fucked the fight right out of me.
Literally. Thoroughly.” I sniffle again, hard, and add with as much venom as I can muster in my current state, “I also hate you. So much.”
Hyunwoo snorts, a soft exhale of amusement against my skin, and then he leans over me and kisses me gently, his lips brushing mine, tasting the salt of my tears. His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb wiping at the wet tracks on my cheek.
“I’m only worried about you,” he says, quieter, the smugness dialed back to sound sincere. “I don’t want you or the baby getting hurt. Eventually you can go back to everything. The gym, the running, all of it. You just need to think about the baby now, for a little while longer.”
He presses his lips to the side of my neck, right over the bond mark, and the scar tissue tingles at the contact, sending a warm pulse through my chest. Then his hand slides from my face down to my chest, cupping one of my full, heavy breasts and squeezing gently, his thumb circling the sensitive nipple in a slow arc that makes my breath catch.
“For the last part of the pregnancy, you just need to let me spoil you,” he murmurs against my neck, his palm kneading the swollen flesh with an appreciation that’s equal parts tender and possessive. “Rest. Eat. Be taken care of. Is that really so terrible?”
I sniff angrily and swipe at my nose with the back of my hand. “Whatever. I still hate you.”