C26 - Soul-ed Mate

“I don’t understand why you carried me. I can walk.”

Yoongi sits me down on the edge of the bed, his careful movement at odds with the harsh set of his mouth. “You’re high enough you’d jump off a bridge if I let you. How much weed did you smoke?”

“Barely any!” I’m indignant, even though he might be right. Has the ceiling always been spinning? It’s not a troublesome dizziness, more of a pleasant whirl.

The teacup ride at the carnival, lights blurred all around me. “But then Hoseok did the cleanse.”

“The cleanse?”

“So, you’d be out of my life.” I frown at him. “Good things will happen to me.I don’t think it worked.”

“What a surprise,” he says drily.

“How did you find me, anyway? Outside the motel room?”

“I heard the bleating of an innocent little lamb in a den of wolves.”

“Jin is a nice guy,” I say defensively. He came to stand between me and Yoongi, protecting me. I don’t want Yoongi to do anything as retribution.

“I was talking about your friend.”

That makes me smile. “No one thinks Hoseokie is dangerous.”

“I’m good at reading people. It helps with business.”

Part of me wants to know why he made a deal with my father. Did he suspect my father would cheat him? I’m afraid to hear the answers, the fallout still too fresh.

“What would you say about me?” I ask instead. “Besides being an innocent little lamb.”

He sets my shoes aside and tugs my socks off, his manner brusque. “Naive. Young. Trusting.”

I open my mouth to object and then see the glint in his eyes. He’s teasing me, though you wouldn’t know it to hear him.

“I’m serious.”

“No. You’re stoned.”

“Fine,” I say, lying back on the bed. “I’m going to read you.”

He gives a short laugh. “Sure.”

“Asshole.”

His hands work at my jeans, touch impersonal. I slap his hands away. It’s one thing for him to touch me when he’s giving me pleasure, when he’s taking his own. Another entirely for him to help me like I’m an invalid.

I’m high, not paralyzed.

He brushes my hands aside. “Stay still.”

My eyes narrow. “Controlling.”

The look he gives me is pointed. “Someone has to take care of you.”

“Maybe my father would do that if he wasn’t in a hospital bed.”

He tugs down my jeans, leaving my panties in place.

“He failed you.”

Anger beats against my ribs, rhythmic and ancient. How dare he?

“Dangerous.”

Reaching behind me, he pulls aside the covers. White sheets swirl almost psychedelic in the light from the bathroom. Maybe the smoke from the cleanse was too much.

I don’t fight him as he tucks me into bed, hands gentle but firm, expression implacable. Did I hurt his feelings with what I said about him? Sometimes I wonder if he has any feelings. Maybe he’s just a rogue, acting on instinct and aggression. Other times I think he hurts too deeply to ever let himself be vulnerable.

Reaching up, I trace my finger along his eyebrow. It feels more strained now that I’m high, as if everything is exaggerated. Yoongi is sturdy and stronger. Stronger in every way.

“Read me,” I whisper.

His eyes darken, almost swirling with molten gold. “Loyal.”

That’s nicer than I expected. “What else?”

He touches his square-tipped forefinger to the inside of my brow, smoothing the curve to my temple, reflecting my movement back to me. “Beautiful.”

A flush heats my cheeks. I didn’t think he would compliment me. It’s shocking, embarrassing. It makes me crave even more.

“One more.”

His head tips forward. I only have seconds to register his intent, seconds of breathless panic and overwhelming desire, before his lips touch mine.

His tongue sweeps across my lips with startling immediacy. And then he licks inside my mouth, possessive and sure. There’s no hesitation with him, no question as he forces my body into full arousal.

The marijuana heightens all my senses, and with sex it’s even worse. My body is on fire, burning from the inside out, a need raging so fast and so far that I don’t know how he can put me out.

All I know is that I need him inside me, desperately, hips rocking into the air with humiliating urgency.

“Please,” I whisper.

Instead of touching me, he gives me one final word. “Mine.”

It should be a shock of cold water. He doesn’t have any right to me. One month. My body. That’s all he gets. He doesn’t own me. Except my dick twitches in helpless response, a betrayal to every fierce instinct.

“Yoongi,” I whisper.

He pulls the covers over me, tucking them around my body. “Go to sleep.”

“I can’t. I’m too…” The flush threatens to scorch my skin, burning a path from my chest to my neck to my cheeks. “I’m too turned on.”

Any other time his expression would be priceless. This man who faces million-dollar business deals with cool efficiency, who ruthlessly destroys those who cheat him, looks worried.

“You’re what?”

I wriggle against the cool sheets, seeking respite and finding none. “I’m so warm. I want you down there. Help me.”

“Fcuk,” he breathes. There’s awe in his eyes. And anger too. He’s a contradiction wrapped up in one hard-packed Alpha package, layers of secrets and armor.

What would it be like to reach the centre of him? What would I find?

“Please,” I beg, reaching for his hand, moving it to the place between my legs over the covers.

“It’s the pot,” he says, almost to himself. “You don’t want this. You don’t want me.”

Except I do want him. I know it’s wrong to want a man who ruined my family, wrong to desire a man who purchased my body. He humiliates me just to prove a point.

How can that be sexy?

Except he does so with such skill that I can’t help but respond, such power that my body falls under his thrall in some evolutionary equation. He’s right about one thing—my father did fail me. And Yoongi would defend his domain with a ferocity I find seductive, the sweet ache of a barbed-wire embrace.

My body presses against him, my dick throbbing with the blunt pressure of his hand.

Too light.

Too indistinct.

I could press a pillow between my legs after he leaves, but I don’t want that. Coarse fabric and a cold room.

“I want you.”

He thrums with tension, held frozen by invisible chains. “You’re under the influence.”

I always want him. In my dreams, in the dark. A secret desire I’m afraid to admit to myself. Maybe the pot loosened my control, but the feelings were always there.

“It hurts.”

Finally, he snaps from his self-imposed restraint. “Show me.”

My cheeks are burning with shame, but not enough to stop me from pushing down the blanket. My legs are bare, only the thin fabric of my panties to shield me.

His eyes blaze. “All the way, Virgin lily. Let me see that cock twitching for me. That hole wet for me.”

Shaking hands push down my panties. I try to hide my embarrassment, but he shakes his head slowly. Every part of me, exposed.

Mine.

I belong to him, and that knowledge gives me the strength to spread my knees. A shudder runs through his large frame.

“God, Jimin. That cock. So pink. So fcuking hard. It haunts me, the memory of you. I think I’d spend every second inside you if you were with me.”

“You said you were done with me.”

“Never. I’d never let you out of bed.”

In my high state that strikes me as funny and I giggle. “Even to shower?”

“I’d shower with you. Press you up against the glass, run my hands over your skin with soap, push my cock into your heat. Hear your cries echo on the tile.”

My breath catches. “Do it.”

“In this place? No. I want you in my bathroom. In my bed.”

Anger rises up in me, that he’s toying with me. That he would send me away only to lure me back. The auction for me may have been dirty, but at least it was honest.

“Tell me the real reason you sent me away. Not so I would run.”

He smiles slightly, looking sinister. “You think I don’t enjoy the chase?”

“You do, but that’s not why you sent me away.”

His hand trails down my arm, light and teasing. “Touch yourself, Virgin lily. Touch yourself, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

I shudder at the tickle of his touch, the temptation of denial. Then I smooth my hand across my belly and down, down, down. Where I’m already hot. Hotter. Ready for him.

“Tell me,” I whisper.

His eyes are trained on mine. “You.”

I hold the tip of my cock in my hand, and pleasure courses through me. “God.”

Without looking down, his eyes darken with satisfaction. Whatever he sees, it’s in my eyes.

I stroke myself slowly setting a pace.

“You won’t remember this. Not anything that I say.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” he says softly. “It matters that you broke down my defences when no one else could. When I swore that I’d never let anyone close to me. Especially you.”

The final words strike against my soul, rougher than my grasp. My hips buck into my hand, desperate even while my mind struggles to make sense of him.

“Why me?”

He leans close. “Faster, beautiful. Harder. The way I touch you.”

My hand moves without conscious thought, obeying him without question. My pace increases, building the pleasure higher, fighting an ache I can’t contain.

“Why?” The word comes out as a whisper again.

Then his lips are inches from my ear, breath a warm caress against my cheek.

“Your father did more than fail you, Virgin lily. He sold you. Before you ever set foot in the Inferna, you were already mine.”

Confusion and sensation collide, spinning wildly like a carousel, blinding, dizzy, my body out of my control, my hands, his words, before I crash in a thread of colorful rainbow of blissful oblivion.

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