Chapter Twenty
Rheda
His mouth finds the edge of my jaw first, slow enough that I feel the heat of him before the contact lands.
The touch is light, almost careful, but it burns.
Every inch of skin feels alive beneath his lips.
His mouth trails lower, finding the line of my neck.
The contact deepens and something in me tightens before I can stop it.
His breath ghosts over that same spot again, slower this time, like he’s memorising the exact way it affects me. I twitch uselessly beneath him.
A noise slips out and I don’t catch it in time.
A soft, bitten-off moan that I want to regret, but another quickly follows.
He stays there for what feels like an eternity, until the heat coils so violently I almost hold my breath.
He notices. His mouth moves again, unhurried, tracing the path downward, each point of contact grounding and unravelling me at the same time.
I’m shaking now. A full body tremble that won’t stop. My thighs press together instinctively. It touches the place that’s throbbing.
There’s contact with my breast, just above my left nipple. It’s too soft, not what I expect, and that’s what undoes me. The warmth of his mouth settles there, unhurried.
Fuck.
I want to scream.
The touch shifts, just enough to change the sensation without breaking it, and I feel it ripple through me. He drags his fingers up my waist, letting his nails carve white lines into my skin. They join him at my breasts. He cups them, palms brushing against my erect nipples.
My fingers tighten in the sheets.
I should stop this.
The thought is still there, burning deep, but it’s fainter now, because my body is already leaning into it, already giving more than I’ve decided to.
He slides his palms up and my nipples rub against them.
“Deogal,” the word falls out before I can stop myself, but it stays there heavy and solid.
He groans, something darker than approval. I’m addicted to the sound rumbling out of his chest. He rewards me. His fingers finally connect with my nipples in soft, teasing, rings around my dark circles. They flick the sensitive nubs.
I gasp.
“Good girl,” his voice strokes my thoughts.
He brings his lips to my left nipple and before I have a chance to brace, his tongue flicks out. His fingers twist the other one at the same time.
Heat clenches down below. I squeeze my thighs together tighter now, desperate for friction.
The pressure makes me crazy.
He switches his assault to the other nipple, I’m panting. Writhing. He moves slowly, running his tongue down my breast, to the centre of my stomach, trailing wet kisses lower and lower until he reaches my knicker line.
With one swipe, he runs his finger under the hem.
I jolt.
“Wait,” my cheeks burn as I push up on my elbows.
He pauses, and looks up at me through low lashes. I see it in his eyes. His black irises bleed into the darkness but I feel the starvation in them. Hot. Heavy. At breaking point. And god, I hate how good he looks between my legs.
“I’ve never—” I start, my cheeks burning red.
There’s a pause, long enough to make me melt. Then, he smiles. It’s slow, almost sinister.
“You’re going to love it.” The words drag low through me. “Trust me.”
My lips part. His words are filthy. Filled with certainty.
His hand slides up my stomach, and before I can do anything else, he pushes. I fall backwards into the pillows with a gasp.
“Enjoy it.” It feels like he’s touching me from the inside of my skull. “I won’t be so gentle in the future.”
The words barely pass my ears before his finger presses to the wet material. I buck sharply.
“Oh, god!” I cry out. I sink my teeth into my lower lip, force my heart rate to steady.
I try to calm down, stop myself from reacting so boldly, but it’s impossible when he runs his finger along my slit.
I curse the material between us. His touch is light and it makes it worse.
I force my back to stay connected with the mattress.
He chuckles, the noise low and deep. “You’re struggling, aren’t you, Doctor?”
My face reddens.
“No,” I lie quickly. “I’m fine.”
He touches the bundle of nerves at the top and I nearly snap in half, eyes bugging out of my head. Pleasure. Sharp. Immediate. I cry out before I can mask the sound.
“You’re so fucking sensitive,” it arrives warm and unwelcome. “I need to taste you. Eyes on me, sweetheart.”
His breath meets my sex soft at first. Two kisses right on the—oh, God. My bundle of nerves screams to life. Just two tiny touches and my body trembles violently. His warm lips wrap around it. He flicks his tongue. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Fuck!” The curse tears out of me.
He mumbles his approval into me, and the vibrations make my head spin. There’s a pause, a moment where he pulls away, and then the cold air hits me. He tears off my knickers in one clean swipe. And suddenly, I’m no longer hidden from him.
I yelp, closing my thighs quickly. Shame burns my cheeks, but I don’t get far. His hands instantly pry me open again.
“You look fucking delicious.” It settles heavy in my mind. “Never hide yourself from me.”
He cups my sex before smearing my juices across my thighs. I shake. I force myself not to but it’s no use. I’m a mess for him
He pushes the tip of his finger inside of me. I clamp around him. He pushes it in further, curls it.
I scream. The noise sets something off within him.
In an instant, he drops back between my thighs, lips immediately finding my clit again.
He flicks his tongue and for a brief moment, it feels like his tongue split in half.
Forks. It hugs my clit from each side, wrapping around it tightly, and squeezing until I’m right on edge.
I gasp. “Deogal, I’m about to—”
He hums, and fuck, the vibrations push me over the edge. He thrusts his finger all the way in, moving rapidly as the orgasm waves slice through me. The high attacks me from all angles. I scream. God, I sound like a starved animal desperately chasing something violent.
But he doesn’t stop. Even when I fall from my cliff, he remains locked on me. He ravishes. I writhe, the pleasure too much, but his arms lock tightly around me. I’m forced to stay put. He feasts like he hasn’t eaten in years.
“Deogal!” I cry out.
It’s too sensitive.
I try to push him away. Fail.
And then—God, I feel it again. The sharp ascending pleasure. Heat coils low. I try to reject it, but when he slides in a second finger, I cry out. He knows exactly what to do. Where to touch. What makes me go fucking crazy.
This one hits me violently.
I snap in half like I’ve been possessed. My orgasm hits. Ecstasy strips every nerve bare. I’m not sure when my hands moved but suddenly my fingers are in his hair, pulling, pushing. I buck wildly, and the noise that tears out of me is unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. Deep. Desperate.
My toes curl. Every hair leaps to attention.
And then—oxygen. It floods me violently. And...withdrawal. He’s no longer on me. The loss feels brutal.
I’m aware of him before I look.
The heat of him still there. In the corner of the room, hidden in shadows, like he no longer trusts himself to come close to me.
My breathing turns shallow before I can stop it. One inhale too quick. Then another. The air catches strangely in my lungs, thin and hot.
Because he’s staring at me like violence.
My pulse stumbles hard against my throat when I finally drag my eyes toward him.
He hasn’t moved. His eyes stay on me and something ugly turns low in my stomach at the realization that he’s looking at me like he could ruin me with his bare hands and enjoy watching it happen. But he doesn’t cross the room like he doesn’t trust himself to.
The thought lands low in my stomach, sharp enough to make me press my thighs together.
His gaze drops there for a second.
A tiny movement, barely anything, but it feels like being caught naked. The silence burns before he breaks it.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Doctor.”
My stomach knots so suddenly it hurts.
Morning?
The thought slips under my ribs like a blade. I can’t tell if it’s a promise or a threat.
I can still feel him touching me. Holding himself back. All of it and none of it at the same time. The room is infected with him. That heavy, unbearable restraint that reels only one second away from snapping completely.
My pulse stutters so hard it makes me dizzy.
“Morning,” I repeat softly, like if I say it aloud it’ll make sense.
But it doesn’t.
Because suddenly I can’t stop imagining waking up and finding him there. At the side of my bed.
My lungs forget how to work for a second.
And then he moves. I blink and then he’s gone.
I startle, wake all at once, breath pulling in too sharply, like I’ve surfaced from somewhere deeper than sleep. For a few seconds I don’t move. My chest falls and rises rapidly. Sweat clings to me. I’m wet. Soaked. My thighs drenched in juices.
The cold air hits me like a punch.
What the fuck just happened?
I just finished. Again.
And it was Deogal doing it—
No. Stop.
My head pounds like it’s answering.
The hangover sits brutal and sour behind my eyes, every heartbeat driving deeper into my skull. My mouth tastes stale. Dry. My stomach rolls unpleasantly when I push myself upright too fast, and for a second the room tilts hard enough that I have to grab the edge of the mattress.
God.
Vodka.
Shots.
The bar.
Olivia laughing somewhere beside me.
Fragments come back in uneven flashes, but none of them feel as vivid as him.
I drag a hand down my face slowly, wincing when light cuts through the curtains and straight into my eyes.
The clock on the wall glares back at me.
07:06 am.
Crap.
I’m back in at eight.
I’m late, but I don’t move. For a long moment, I just sit here. The duvet tangled around my thighs. The lamp burns too bright.
My body still doesn’t believe that it’s just happened.
The clock ticks again.
7.08am.
This forces me to break my stillness.
I strip off my ruined pyjama bottoms with two fingers. I shove them deep into the laundry basket and scrub my hands after.
The water runs hot over my skin.
You’re dreaming of me.
My hand stills beneath the stream.
Wait.
The camera.
I stop dead.
For a second, relief hits so hard my knees nearly weaken beneath me.
Right. The camera. Proof.
I move so fast it makes me dizzy, running to the bookshelf opposite the bed where the tiny black camera still sits angled toward the mattress, its little red standby light blinking softly in the dim room.
“That won’t stop me.” His voice drags through my mind.
It will show what happened.
My hands shake so badly I nearly drop my phone trying to open the app. The footage loads slowly enough to make my pulse hurt.
And then the recording starts. The room appears first in grainy monochrome. Empty. Still. Just me asleep beneath the blankets exactly where I should be.
Relief starts crawling into my chest.
See?
See how stupid this is.
But then there’s movement.
My breath catches.
On screen, my body shifts violently beneath the sheets. My thighs press together. My back arches hard enough to drag the duvet downward.
“No,” I whisper instantly.
I watch myself writhe against the mattress like something underneath me is touching me exactly where he did. But I’m alone. All alone.
My stomach drops.
There’s another movement. My hips lift sharply off the bed. Grinding against the sheets in slow, desperate motions that make my face burn instantly with humiliation.
“Oh my God.” The sound comes out thin, cracked.
On the screen, my head rolls against the pillow. My mouth parts. I see my own lips moving soundlessly before the camera audio finally catches it through static.
“Deogal...”
The name leaves me breathlessly.
A broken sound tears out of me. “No.”
I lunge forward and pause the video so violently my thumb slips across the screen twice before it finally stops.
The image freezes on my own body arching shamelessly into empty air.
Alone.
My throat closes instantly.
A sob surges upward so fast I nearly choke on it. I clap a hand over my mouth hard enough to hurt, eyes burning violently as shame crashes through me in sick, relentless waves.
No one touched me. No one was there.
It was just me.
My own body.
My own voice.
My own fucking mind.
I shut the app so fast the phone almost leaves my hand. My chest heaves violently.
I don’t bother with breakfast.
I just need to get out.
Outside, the rain is already falling.
The city is grey and half-formed, as if the morning hasn’t fully committed. I throw up my hand for a taxi when I hit the main road. One black cab passes. Then another. Then a third.
The first is occupied. The second doesn’t slow. The third drives so close to the curb that it splashes cold rainwater across my legs.
I falter to a stop, breath caught, hand still half-raised.
The street keeps moving. No one looks at me.
An ugly chill crawls down my spine.
I wave again when I see headlights. The cab slows this time, enough that hope flares stupidly in my chest. But it pulls back into traffic without stopping, as though I were never there at all.
I lower my hand slowly.
Fuck.
I don’t risk another glance at my watch; I know I won’t like the answer.
I start running.