Colors Of Warmth | Seulrene

EIGHT

TRIUMPH

Love and hate generate the same passionate intensity, each capable of stirring profound emotions and fervent desires. Though they are fundamentally different, what if love and hate collide? Such a collision creates a potent, dangerous force, where the intensity of both emotions intertwines. This volatile mix has the power to consume you entirely, possessing the capacity to both uplift and destroy.

Seulgi felt as if he were floating on cloud nine, surrounded by a swirl of butterflies and the scent of blooming flowers. The world around him blurred into a dreamlike haze, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was dreaming. His heart swelled as he saw Irene above him, her beautiful face so close, her sweet scent filling his senses, her breath mingling with his.

“Irene,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of longing and disbelief. Irene’s eyes locked onto his, filled with an intensity that seemed to mirror his own desire. Even if this was a dream, the power she held over him was undeniable. How could he want this woman so desperately when she had caused him so much pain? The conflicting emotions tore at him, but the overwhelming need to be close to her surged within him, and he found himself unable to resist.

Without thinking, he crushed his lips against hers. His kiss was urgent, driven by the fear that she might vanish from his grasp once more. The taste of her lips was intoxicating, a blend of sweetness and longing that he wanted to savor forever. He licked her lips as he slid his tongue inside her, tasting every corner of her mouth, claiming all of it. Irene’s hands moved to cup his face, her touch gentle yet firm, and she deepened the kiss, matching his urgency with her own.

The fire within Seulgi snapped, and he was consumed by a fierce, burning desire. His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer, wanting to feel every inch of her against him. The world outside their embrace ceased to exist, there was only Irene, her lips, her scent, her warmth.

Irene’s breath hitched, her fingers tangling in his hair as she responded with equal fervor. The kiss grew more passionate, their movements more frantic as they clung to each other, both desperate to bridge the chasm of pain and longing that had separated them for so long.

With a surge of strength, Seulgi shifted their positions, gently but firmly reversing their roles until he was on top of Irene. His hand slowly removed her shirt revealing her white and creamy skin. He cupped her face tenderly, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of her jaw, and leaned down to kiss her again. This time, his kisses were slow and gentle, filled with a depth of emotion that made Irene's heart race. She responded to his every move, her lips meeting his with equal fervor, savoring each second as they were both brought to a state of bliss with just a kiss.

Seulgi's hands roamed over Irene's body, exploring and memorizing every curve and contour, then he took off his shirt as he pressed his body on her. Each touch was deliberate, burning the memory of her into his mind as if he wanted to etch her into his very soul. His fingers traced the outline of her collarbone, slid down the curve of her waist, and lingered on the gentle rise of her hips, committing every sensation to memory.

Their breaths mingled, their hearts beating in synchrony as they lost themselves in the moment. Seulgi's kisses deepened, growing more passionate, as if he was trying to convey all the words he couldn't say with his lips. Irene's hands found their way to his back, her fingers splayed against his skin, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every part of him against her.

Seulgi broke the kiss and whispered her name once more, his heart beating so fast it felt like it might burst from his chest.

“Irene…” Seulgi’s eyes fluttered open, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and disbelief. He needed to make sure Irene was really there with him. If this was a dream, Seulgi hoped he would never wake up.