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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I'm pissed. Furious, actually. About what? That's the part I can't quite pin down. But it's bubbling under my skin, a relentless storm that refuses to settle.
I haven't seen Lee in over a week. An entire week. My daily ritual of making his life just the right amount of miserable has been completely derailed. And don't get me wrong—I've tried. I've knocked on his door at obscenely inconvenient hours. I've loitered outside his favorite café. Hell, I may or may not have punched in the code to his apartment a few times. Don't ask how I know it; I have my ways. But it doesn't matter, because the place has been empty every single time. Like he's vanished into thin air.
And I hate it.
Lee disappearing on me feels like a violation of some unspoken rule. I'm the only one who gets to decide when we stop whatever it is we're doing. And right now? This isn't stopping—it's avoiding. And that just pisses me off more.
But worse than the absence is the gnawing suspicion blooming in the back of my mind. I'm not stupid. I know Lee has a past with Bahng. I've seen the way his jaw clenches when that name comes up. The way his gaze darkens, like he's fighting a war in his head no one else can see.
And if he's off galavanting with Bahng—if that's where he's been hiding—then Bahng's about to have bigger problems than his own messy life. Because Lee is mine.
He's mine.
I'm not exactly sure what that means. But I know it in my bones, in the way my blood heats when he's around, in the way my skin feels like it's on fire whenever we're in the same room. I know it in the way my thoughts constantly drift back to him, like he's a puzzle I'll never fully solve but can't stop trying to piece together.
And the thing is, Lee doesn't make it easy. He's infuriating—bristling with hostility and sharp edges, a live wire ready to spark at the slightest touch. He hates me. I know it. He's told me, shown me, screamed it at me with every glare, every sneer, every hissed insult. And yet, for all his hatred, the chemistry between us crackles like a live fuse.
It's intoxicating, really, the way his body betrays him even when his words try to cut me down. The way his eyes linger a second too long when I push into his personal space. The way his breath hitches when my fingers brush against his skin, as if he's fighting not to react. But he does. He always does.
And maybe that's why I'm so angry. The thought of him running to Bahng—of him giving anyone else a part of himself—is unbearable. Lee is mine to torment, mine to tease, mine to unravel piece by piece. No one else gets that privilege. Not even Bahng.
I clench my fists, trying to burn off some of the restless energy coursing through me. But it's no use. The frustration sits heavy in my chest, the ache of wanting someone I can't quite have. Of wanting someone who would rather fight me tooth and nail than admit that he feels the same pull I do.
