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This post is for MATURE readers only | Adult readers| 18 yeas + | steamy read | gay
CHAPTER 53: Overheating 2
Not that I care who sees us. My internal systems are red-lining, everything, processing at a devastating, chaotic frequency.
The elevator doors hiss open, revealing a private, mirrored capsule. Jiwon tugs me in, and the doors slide shut, sealing us away from the world. He steps toward the scanner to register the card and press the button for the penthouse suite.
That's all I give him before I close in...
As he turns, I shove him against the mirrored wall. The impact is a dull, heavy thud that vibrates through both of our bodies. I stretch up, straining against the height difference, and violently crush my lips back against his.
Jiwon lets out a low, startled groan, but his reflexes are too fast, too dominant. Within half a second, his hands find my waist, pulling me into him so hard my ribs ache. He kisses me back with a ravenous intensity that matches my own madness. My tongue is seeking, finding, desperate to map the territory of his mouth. He tastes like expensive cognac, heat, and the faint, bitter trace of an expensive cigar. The vibrations of the dark, gravelly groans at the back of his throat shoot straight through my chest, grounding the static in my brain.
I start grinding my hips against him, desperate for friction, the dull ache in my pants already screaming, a localized spark ready to trigger a total system failure. I feel so close. Too close.
The elevator dings. The doors slide open.
“Baby,” he mutters against my lips, his chest heaving as he tries to break the contact to look at me. “Hold on. Just—"
I won't relent. I can't pull back. It almost feels like a mini-meltdown, a sensory overload where every wire in my brain is firing at once, but it feels too good to stop. I whimper, a raw, demanding sound, and fist his hair to pull him back down.
Understanding shifts in him—a sudden, protective marvel at how completely unhinged I am for him. Jiwon hooks his strong arms beneath my thighs and hoists me into the air. I wrap my legs around his waist instantly, clinging to his broad shoulders like my life depends on it.
He carries me down the long, secluded corridor of the top floor. There is only one suite up here—the imperial penthouse. He swipes the card with one hand, his eyes never leaving me, and kicks the heavy mahogany door open. He doesn’t bother to shut it.
Inside, the suite’s automated intelligence immediately registers our presence. Curated lights glow softly, gradually illuminating a breathtaking expanse of absolute luxury: past the foyer inside the bedroom, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Busan coastline, spilling fractured moonlight across black marble floors, minimalist silk furnishings, and towering vases of fresh-cut flowers.
I don't care to look. I don't care about any of it.
“Jay-ah,” Jiwon breathes against my mouth, his grip tightening until my skin burns. “You’ll be the end of me.”
He tries to lower my feet to the ground, inside the suite, trying to slow the pace, to give me a second to process, but I lock my legs tighter around his hips. Realizing I won't let go, he walks me backward and presses me down onto a sleek, marble-topped console table in the foyer.
He returns my kisses with a frantic, desperate vigor, as if hoping the familiar weight of his mouth will calm the trembling in my limbs. His hands trace wildly over my chest, his palms rough and electric as he pinches my nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt, testing my limits. A thrill shoots straight down my spine, sharp enough to split me in half.
I squeal something unintelligible, then hiss and suck in his lower lip seeking an anchor, even though I know I'm well beyond it.
He groans with satisfaction at my reaction, his fingers teasing me harder through my shirt.
Every time his fingers brush against me I want to scream at the almost painful pleasure, and yet, it’s not enough. The fabric is a barrier. A filter. I don't want filters.
“Take it off,” I snap harshly against his lips, the command leaving me raw and ragged.
His eyes flare into a dark, predatory emerald. His hands find my buttons, tearing at them with an urgency that completely shatters his usual gentlemanly restraint. I hear buttons pop and scatter on the table and floor as I sink my fingers into his bleached hair, shaking like a leaf caught in a high-voltage gale. I am vibrating on an unstable frequency, my thighs still tightly locked hard around his waist, reveling in the heavy, agonizing pressure of our lengths pressed together.
I shrug out of the ruined shirt. The sudden, cool air of the suite hits my hot skin, immediately followed by the searing friction of his bare palms mapping my torso. I swallow a deep, breathless moan right into his mouth.
His thumbs brush across my exposed nipples, and the sensory spike is too intense. I cry out, my lips finally tearing away from his. My head falls back, Jiwon’s mouth follows the movement, traveling down the line of my throat, his teeth grazing my collarbone before he latches onto one sensitive peak.
Everything is happening too fast, a runaway train of stimuli, yet it’s still not enough to satisfy the ache. I need release. Now!
I reach down, unbuttoning my trousers and tugging the zipper down with trembling, impatient fingers. I lick across my palm, then grab onto myself. My hand feels slick and hot as I start stroking with a fast, uncalculated rhythm, whimpering shakily.
Jiwon stops, completely enthralled by the sight of me pleasuring myself. He watches, his emerald eyes dark and heavy with a terrifying, beautiful fascination, then he leans back in, licking and sucking at my nipples in sync with the rhythm of my hand, his breath hot against my wet skin.
It doesn’t take long. My brain calculates the incoming threshold; the rush is already heavy, blinding, and catastrophic.
“Jiwon-ah!” I cry his name out like a frantic accusation.
The system collapses. I climax hard, my body bucking so violently against the marble console that my shoulders slam backward. The sudden, arched movement strikes the tall crystal vase behind me.
It rolls off the edge of the table and shatters on the floor. A sharp, loud crash echoes through the silent suite, scattering shards of reflective glass and dozens of white and red roses across the dark marble.
I barely hear it. I am completely blind, drowning in the white-hot static of my own release, the fingers of my free hand locked into Jiwon’s shoulder as the world burns around me.
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