Only Strip For Me || JJK [BOOK I] ✔️

22: Curiosity Killed the Cat

"I think this will be... a good dessert. A good way to start the day." His immediate words blew amidst my hair, the cooling wind melting along the nape of my neck.

"You smell good." His grip hardened on my waist.

I shifted my palms around his neck, delivering a naughty stare to play his game.

"Really?" A hand slowly shifted down his torso, my knee slyly rubbing along his groin. He groaned softly against my lips.

"...like lavender." He bit my bottom lip, his pupils encasing the deep colors of lust again.

"How about this?" I almost whispered, unzipping his pants instantly and placing a hand on his hardened member. I allowed my tease to hover on the tops of his boxers, pressing my breasts on him. Our faces centimeters away, his eyes meeting mine unexpectedly. He kept a hard stare on me, my eyes wandering with his. Our unspoken language told wordlessly. I couldn't figure this man out; his paintings, the scheme of his house. That all might've been coincidental, but the look in his eyes carried a fury.

A sorrow like pain embedded deeply.

The look in his eyes softened a bit as he leaned in, his lips brushing mine, locking almost so perfectly.

His phone rang. My hands left his clothing, I peered over at the caller ID. It was his father.

"Yes father."

The only words he spoke to him.

He hung up and hastily fixed his clothing. He picked up his items for work, leaving almost without any say.

"Just clean the house and do whatever you want. I'll be back before dinner." The door closed behind him with a bang.

My heartbeat started to ease in pace from the interaction between us moments ago. I lifted myself off the kitchen top, glancing around the house, it was completely spotless. I didn't see much work that needed to be done except the dirty dish in the sink. I fixed myself cereal and sat in front of the T.V. It felt relaxing to eat and watch the screen at the same time, usually I'd eat at work and watch the incoming customers as my entertainment.

I dusted and swept the areas of the main part of the house, it was quite grand for me to clean every corner. The door upstairs that was ajar, Mr. Jeon becoming deeply upset that I entered his certain private area, was closed. I recalled the somber atmosphere and the wall of gloomy paintings. The whole house was filled of antique decorations, only colors of darkness a certain scheme that filled the house greatly.

The third floor was fairly empty, rooms in solitude and unused. This place was excessively much for a single person to live in. Double metaled, French provincial doors were at the end of the hallway. Much visible from the clear rectangular glass of the door, books and books only visible along the wall. An immense wall of literature curved along the room, or library hall I should say. The door opened fortunately to my entry, there must've been twenty to thirty rows of books, a ladder as well in an aid to reach the top. A seating area and an old-fashioned desk accompanied in the center of the area. My fingertips grazed along the books that ranged from thin to thickness as a size of a dictionary. This man's collection of books were unique, versatile kinds of languages and genres. I pondered on his interests and opinions, maybe with the relationship that we had as a client and escort that was too much to ask for.

I peered over at the workspace in curiosity, a black leather notebook wrapped in straps, even doubled, his name was engraved on the cover. 'Jeon Jungkook'. In wonder, I couldn't help but pick up the document. It seemed to be a diary, it certainly wasn't my right to peer into his personal history. But something was telling me to do so, to open it. To take a single glance.

I undid the straps, the strings fell along my knuckles to the desk. The smell of must and vanilla drifted in the atmosphere from the journal. The first page was blank, I turned to the next sheet of cream colored paper. At a quick glance I noticed an initial of 'JK' on the bottom right first page although there was nothing on it. The next had so similarly, but there was a quick sketch of a woman. The drawing was quite spectacular for an illustration defining every line and depth. She seemed to be a middle-aged woman, staring elsewhere by a lake. Her complexion was beautiful, but her expression was nearly devastated; the crease lines on her forehead and the somber look on her face.

I turned to the next, there was another drawing, but it was severely scratched out of black ink. The page almost ripped with multiple harsh streaks of pen over the face. It was identifiable that the person drawn was a man due to broad shoulders and wear of a suit.

Before I could open fully to the following page, a glimpse of only rapid scribbles and skeleton shaped words, a loud thud was heard, fast steps also approaching the room....

A/N:😱 uh oh...What do you think might happen?

It's raining where I live....I need an umbrella- ella-ella-aye-aye

Sorry lol

LOVE YOU 💋