C27 - Soul-ed Mate

I wake up to mid-afternoon light and the soft hint of music. Hoseok sits at the table with a textbook and a latte, earphones plugged in. And beside the textbook, a chess set.

A familiar one.

I sit up, wondering how much of what I remember is a dream. The auction yesterday, the barrel of sweet-smelling fire. Strange colors lighting up the sky.

Hoseok pulls out his headphones. “Hello, sleepyhead.”

“What’s going on?”

He laughs. “I got you a masala Cha.”

There’s a white paper cup beside me on the nightstand, and I take a fortifying sip. “God, what exactly happened last night?”

“I can’t remember,” he says cheerfully. “Which is really the best kind of night.”

I groan. “Speak for yourself.”

“Don’t worry. You had a good time.”

“How do you know?”

“You aren’t wearing pants, for one thing. You are smelling of wildflowers and that’s your scent different from usual.”

With horror I realize that I only have panties on. When did my jeans come off? Did I take them off to sleep? Yoongi’s eyes flash across my memories, and I shiver. “Oh my God.”

Hoseok scrunches his nose. “You remember?”

“Min Yoongi was here.”

“Yeah,” he says, clearly trying not to look amused. “He left a calling card.”

The chess set. Not just any chess set. The chess set that he had custom carved for my arrival, the one we played with in the library.

The one he used during sex.

Dread sinks in my stomach. I climb out of bed and walk closer, a heavy certainty slowing me down. I know what I’ll find.

Or rather, what I won’t find.

The pawn he used, faster and faster, until I came in harsh spasms. The last I saw, that pawn lay discarded on his bedroom floor.

Where was it now? On his nightstand, some kind of perverted trophy? Or thrown away, something he no longer wanted to use?

“I feel sick,” I whisper.

“I did notice there’s a piece missing,” he says, studying the set. The pieces have been lined up on their places, as if someone is ready to play.

“It’s not very useful like this.”

There’s no way I’m going to tell him what the missing pawn means. “Did he leave anything else?”

“Not that I know of.” He shrugs. “I guess the cleansing ritual didn’t work.”

“The what?”

“Nothing.”

I close my eyes, wishing I could remember. A little relieved that I can’t.

“I need to find out who bought the house. A diary won’t be worth anything to them. Maybe they’ll give it to me. Or I can use the trust to buy it.”

“Okay,” he says. “How will you find out?”

Unfortunately there’s only one person who might tell me. “The same person who left this chess set.”

“Can I watch?”

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Don’t enjoy this so much. One little phone call and your big bad stepbrother would know where you’re hiding.”

A gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

I really wouldn’t, but I just give him a serene smile. If that makes him a little less gleeful about my predicament, then it’s worth it.

I already have to face down a lion. And I can’t count on Hyejin to sneak me into his office again.There’s one place I know I can find him.

The Inferna.

!!~~~~!!

It’s only been three weeks since I walked down these low steps, since I stood on this rain-slicked stoop. Behind me is a dark city, the air electric with the promise of danger.

Crime and sex. Mainstays of downtown Daegu.

But I know the true risk lies in front of me. The brass ring in the lion’s mouth may as well be a loaded gun. I grasp the cold metal and knock it against the base.

The heavy door nudges open an inch. My heart thuds against my chest, echoing the single knock. The men who frequent the Inferna are the most powerful in the city.

A thief from the street wouldn’t steal from them unless they wanted swift retribution, even if the door is unlocked. But powerful men make powerful enemies, and leaving the door open feels reckless.

Unless they’re expecting someone.

I hold my breath, listening intently for voices inside. All I hear is the low buzz of traffic from behind me, the distant whine of a siren.

“Hello,” I call through the slim opening.

No response. It could be suicide to enter their space uninvited, an aggressive move to a wild animal. What if one of those powerful enemies already forced their way inside?

Someone could be hurt, bleeding, dying. I know it’s an overactive imagination. No one would catch Min Yoongi unaware. No one can touch him. And still I don’t walk away. Something draws me inside. The force of Yoongi himself, maybe, the magnetic attraction of him.

My opposite.

My downfall.

I step into the dark hallway, my heart beating a hundred times a minute. And with every rapid tick I’m counting down the seconds until someone discovers me.

Will they pull a gun on me?

Will they shoot first and ask questions later?

It’s not only Yoongi who might find me. Any one of the dangerous men who visit might discover me. Any one of the ex-con security guards they employ might confront me.

“Yoongi?” I ask, my voice wavering. “Mr. Min?” The silence seems to echo in my eardrums, as if I’m in a giant seashell. Leather armchairs and ornate wooden tables stand silent witness from the spacious sitting room.

A grandfather clock ticks from the end of the hall, pointing out the evening hour. Someone would be here, having a drink.

Smoking a cigar.

Purchasing a virgin.

That’s what they do here. That’s what this place is for. So why is it empty?

“Mr. Kim?”

On the first step from the bottom, something small and wooden rests. Without touching it, I bend down to look at it. The missing pawn from the chess set.

A breadcrumb to where Yoongi wants to lead me. And I know now, with this one small token, that this was all intentional. What his end goal is, I don’t know. But he planned this.

He plans everything.

This pawn once touched me in my most intimate place. It was once slick with my arousal. And Min Yoongi sucked the wetness from the curved head. Sidestepping the pawn, I climb the steps with increasing anxiety.

What does he want from me?

How does he know I’ll be here?

But of course, there’s no one else I can turn to, not when I need my mother’s diary. At the top of the stairs, I hesitate.

I can still turn around. Back down the stairs. Out into the city. I can leave this behind—Min Yoongi and the shameful auction. And the key to unlock my family’s history.

Lifting my chin, I walk down the narrow hallway. I might as well be facing a guillotine. A firing squad. The death of any pride I have left. The room where the photographer took my pictures has the same surreal, wavy light from my dreams.

Before the auction Kim Taehyung had a photographer take pictures of me. Not naked, but almost. Wearing only my white panties, hiding my face with my hair. They were meant to generate interest in the auction among the wealthy, perverted men of the city.

Taehyung had only told me later that the pictures had never been circulated. Of the men at the auction, only Min Yoongi had ever seen them.

Some trick of the old windows, bubbles in the glass and ripples in the surface. The light changes colour with every blink, dancing over my skin. Except the room is empty. I take two steps inside. Where is he?

“Kneel,” comes a low voice from behind me. My breath catches. This is how it feels to be the fly in a web. Anything I do will only bind me tighter.

‘Will you fight me?’ he asked.

Because he wants to tie me down. I kneel, the floor hard and painful beneath my knees. He moves to stand in front of me, nothing but solidity and shadow, his white shirt open at the neck, revealing his chest.

His hand clasps my neck loosely, a gentle threat. I swallow against his palm, nerves overcoming my desire to submit. Then he curves his palm around so he’s cupping me, fingers gently stroking the sensitive skin at my nape.

He could hurt me like this. He could use me. He pulls me close until my cheek rests against his thigh. It’s like he’s blessing me, absolving me, but how could that be possible when he’s the worst sinner of all?

He can’t save me.

“Virgin lily, do you know why your father lost his business?”

I stiffen. “Because of you. You bought it from him, and then—”

“By then it was too late for him. Only a desperate man would try to cheat the devil. How did someone with so much money lose everything?”

The question has haunted me since the trial. I blamed Min Yoongi for the form of retaliation, but why had my father cheated him? Why had he gambled with his largest business?

Yoongi’s rough fingers stroke my skin, back and forth, soothing me. “Do you want to know the answer?”

It’s a fair question, because even as I’m dying to know—I’m afraid that the answer will be the end. I’ve stood by my father this entire time. Through the trial and the horrible press. Trading in my college fund so that he could pay restitution instead of jail time.

I auctioned my virginity so that we could keep the house and pay for his medical care. He’s a good father, a good man. He doesn’t deserve what Yoongi has done to him.

The entire time a quiet question echoed in my chest.

What if I’m wrong about him?

Yoongi leans down to whisper in my ear. “Please me, and I’ll tell you.”

He straightens, and I know what I have to do. My fingers feel numb as I work the fastening of his pants. He’s already hard inside, his cock leaning heavily from the placket once free.

Impossibly hot, burning my palm. I stroke him with both hands, working him until his breath comes faster.

“Your mouth,” he says roughly. And I need some semblance of power, so I lick at the tip. I mouth the hard length of him. I press a chaste kiss to the base, where coarse hair tickles my lips.

He growls low in his throat, the vibration running down his body, through his cock. “Suck me, bluebell. Take me inside. Let me fcuk those pink lips. I need to feel your throat.”

His words spark a flame inside me, and it’s with humiliating arousal that I slip him into my mouth. Salt smooths over my tongue, the taste of his weakness. He may not care about me, but he wasn’t lying about the sex. He needs it as badly as I need answers.

He clasps his hands behind my head, murmuring, “Open for me. Open. Just a little bit. I need to use you like this. I need to—fcuk, Jimin.”

I relax my jaw and let his cock slide deeper, the ridge slick over my tongue, the head thick in my throat. My body jerks once, resisting, but he holds me still—taking my air—until I relax.

Not exactly trusting. Accepting what he does to me. That’s the only kind of prayer I know. His hips move against me, faster now, finding his rhythm, thrusting into my mouth the same way he would behind me.

His groans are an uneven symphony, cataloging his descent. And that same animal instinct that made me run recognizes his power. His strength. I’m subservient to him in every way, desperate for his protection, submitting to his desires.

My body readies itself to ease his way—saliva coating his shaft, arousal damp between my legs. His smooth movements grow erratic, rough thrusts startling in the dark.

I choke on the length of him, but he doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t give me room to breathe. I have to suck in air through my nose, panicked for a moment, eyes wide open.

When he comes, it’s not deep in my throat. It’s with the head of his cock against my tongue, pooling salt where I’ll taste it most, slick and warm.

My swallow makes it disappear, but the flavour of him lingers even when he pulls away. In the aftermath I pant, my forehead pressed to his leg, his trembling hand in my hair.

“I should hate you.” My voice is hoarse, still raw from his cock.

His leg presses between mine. “It’s all right, Virgin lily. You do.”

“Then why does it feel like this?”

“Because you need to cum. Like this. No one can see you.” My breath catches, because the top of his foot nudges between my legs.

It’s horrifying to think of cuming like this, rutting against him on the floor, the taste of his cum in my mouth—but now that the idea has bloomed, I can’t think of anything else.

My hips move on their own, rocking against him, my hips gyrating against the Italian leather of his shoes a sweet relief.

‘No one can see you.’

He sees me, every terrifying desire, every secret fear. His hand fists in my hair, pulling me against him with the same rhythm he fcuked my mouth. My body conforms to him naturally, accepting the heat and muscle of his leg in place of a real embrace, welcoming the crude stroke of his shoe in place of a caress.

“That’s right,” he says, voice tight. “Oh fcuk, you’re perfect.”

Something moves by my face, and I realize it’s his fist. He’s stroking himself, groaning as if in pain so soon after cuming, unable to help himself. It’s the spray of hot cum across my cheek that triggers my own climax.

I bear down on his leg, moaning with the weight of my own debasement. Pleasure sparks everywhere that he touches me—between my legs, knee pressed on my chest, the tip of his cock sliding against my cheek.

I’m made of some other material, inhuman, alight by the things that should disgust me. This man, his treatment of me. The unbearable beauty of surrender.

I’m floating in some otherworldly space. Reality can’t intrude in these four walls. It can’t penetrate this strange light. Distantly I hear the rustle and zip as he straightens his clothes.

Something small and white floats down in front of me. Then he’s gone from the room. I don’t hear his footsteps, but I feel his presence disappear.

The force of him, gone.

I’m alone here.

Again.

Slowly, carefully, as if recovering from a great blow, I wipe my cheek. His cum is sticky and cooling against my fingers.

A handkerchief. That’s what he dropped at my knees. I look at the fine fabric, probably imported Italian silk. Monogrammed with the letter M with intricate scrollwork.

I use it to wipe him from my skin before tossing the fabric in a small wastebasket in the hall. Discarding it like trash, the same way he left me. As I descend the steps, I can see that the pawn isn’t on the bottom step anymore. Instead, there’s something rectangular.

A book.

Small.

Leather-bound.

My heart beats faster.

I stumble the last steps until I can pick up my mother’s diary. I hold it close to my chest, throat tight. I don’t know how he got it back, whether he kept it all along or bought it from the auction winner.

He teases me and toys with me, he demeans me and degrades me, but all I feel right now is gratitude. If he hadn’t guaranteed the money in the escrow account, I wouldn’t have been able to attend the auction.

If he hadn’t sent the limo early so, I would have time in the house, I would never have found the diary. And if he hadn’t caught me in his web, I wouldn’t have the answers inside.

!~~~~~!!!!!~~~~~!