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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Lee is completely undone beneath me.
His breaths come in shallow, ragged pants, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his fingers twitching against the couch as if grasping for something solid—but I know there's nothing keeping him grounded anymore. He's slipping, falling, losing himself in me.
And fuck, I love it.
His lips are parted, swollen from my kisses, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, his body pliant under my touch. He's gone, lost in the way I worship him, in the way I tease him with every graze of my fingertips, every lingering press of my lips against his flushed skin.
And yet—I know what he'll do when this is over.
He'll tell himself this was a mistake. That this was just a temporary distraction. A way to forget about Bahng.
But the truth?
This was inevitable.
And I know that deep down—so does he.
Because he's not fighting it.
He's not stopping me.
He's letting me take.
And I'm more than willing to give.
I press my mouth against his jaw, my lips dragging deliberately slow, savoring the warmth of his skin, the way his pulse flutters beneath my tongue. His head is thrown back against the couch, throat exposed, begging for my attention.
I take my time with him, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat, sucking, licking, biting, leaving invisible marks that only I know are there. For now.
I feel his body react to me before his mind even processes it—the way his chest shudders as I exhale against his skin, the way his muscles clench as I drag my fingers down his torso.
He's on the edge, teetering between resistance and complete surrender.
So I push him.
I reach for the hem of his shirt, my fingers grazing along the expanse of his stomach, feeling the way he shivers at my touch. I slide the fabric upward agonizingly slow, deliberately torturing him with anticipation.
And fuck—he lets me.
He lets me.
I lift his arms for him, guiding them above his head because he's too far gone to move on his own. Too lost in this. Too lost in me.
Exactly where I want him.
I chuckle softly against his skin, my breath hot against his jaw. "Already too weak for me?" I murmur, my voice like silk laced with something darker.
He exhales sharply through his nose, a sound caught between frustration and need. His fingers twitch against my shoulders, gripping but not pushing, holding but not stopping me.
