He groans into my mouth, and I use that moment to push back, trying to take control again. But Han is stronger than he looks, and for once, he's not letting me win.
"Frustrated?" he murmurs between kisses, smirking against my lips.
I bite at his jaw...
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Despite the fact that every muscle in my body screams in agony, I'm enjoying this. Isn't that messed up? That after passing out cold and waking up with pain in places I didn't even know existed, I'm still finding some sick satisfaction in it. God, remember when I craved pain? I thought I'd kicked that twisted addiction, but maybe it's still lurking there, hidden under layers of bravado. At least I can admit it now.
But truth be told, Hwang is doing a damn good job distracting me from the pain. It's almost too easy to tease him. Hilarious, even. Watching his reactions is like watching fireworks go off, each one bigger and brighter than the last. He's so tightly wound, every nerve on edge, and it's glorious watching him unravel bit by bit. The way his jaw clenches, the tension radiating off him-it's almost as satisfying as the way his body betrays him, showing just how much I'm getting to him.
He refuses to leave me alone. Cute, right? I've told him to go more times than I can count. I even threw in some pretty colorful language. But each time, his response was the same: "Shut the fuck up." Classic Hwang.
And honestly, it is adorable. I didn't get it at first-maybe I didn't want to-but now, I can see it clearly. Hwang has some kind of protective attachment to me. Sure, I've known for a while that he's sexually attracted to me. After all, our previous encounters made that abundantly clear. But there's something more to it, something deeper, and now I'm starting to see the real picture. The best part? Now that I know, I can use it against him.
He's sulking now, slouched in his chair like a petulant child, glaring at me with those sharp eyes of his. I can't help but smirk as I see the evidence of my teasing-the semi he's sporting, barely concealed, and the fact that he's not even bothering to hide it anymore. Honestly, trying to hide it would only make it worse. But still, I wish he would. For some reason, my eyes keep flicking down to it, as if drawn by some unseen force.
Is it pride? Probably. Proof that I got under his skin, that I'm in control here. Yet, there's this strange, unfamiliar pit forming in my stomach. And the worst part? It's not the bad kind.
"You're an asshole," he mutters, shooting me a look that's all sharp edges and frustration.
I chuckle, the sound low and rumbling in the stillness of the room. "I know."
He lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated. His fingers drag down his face, trying-and failing-to wipe away his frustration. His eyes flick to mine for a brief second before darting away, almost as if looking at me for too long would make him combust on the spot.
"Fuck, Han, stop looking at me like that."
My lips twitch as I suppress a grin. I arch an eyebrow, my gaze lazily drifting from the obvious tension in his pants back to his face, meeting his eyes with a deliberate slowness that makes the moment stretch painfully thin. "Like what, Hwang?"
He's practically vibrating with tension now, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. I can feel the heat radiating off him, his frustration mixed with something far more primal. And I know-oh, I know-he's hanging on by a thread. The darkness of the room, the heavy moonlight spilling through the window, it all adds to the thick atmosphere between us, cloaking everything in an almost dangerous kind of intimacy.
