A/N: Hmmm...decided to expand this small one-shot from the series "This Time We're Not Pretending." This might have turned into my ultimate guilty pleasure...sorry, not sorry ;)
Also, to everyone who has left me such wonderful comments on this sometimes fluffy, often trashy fic - thanks for the love!
Leave your expectations for plot at the door. This is pretty much entirely smut.
He's the last person she expects to see standing at the door to her apartment when she opens it, but there he is—breathless, like he ran all the way from his house to hers, and beautiful, as always.
"Yi Jeong?" she addresses him, biting her lip when she realizes she didn't add 'Sunbae.' She'd gotten into the habit of calling him by his first name only when they'd secretly dated.
But they're not supposed to see each other now. They had an agreement. Once his marriage meetings started, they would end their relationship, as friends as well as lovers. As it was, he couldn't bear to see her go through what Jan Di had, and she would never agree to be his 'other woman,' not that he had asked her to, so they had come to an impasse.
They broke up a little less than a month ago, yet here he is, staring at her with glossy, red-rimmed eyes.
He must have been crying on his way over.
Did something happen to one of their friends?
Did something happen to his mother?
Ga Eul's mind runs through a blur of tragic scenarios.
They were together for two years, and she's never seen him cry, except for that one time when she showed him the billboard, but whatever is upsetting him now seems to have broken him.
He hasn't answered her.
"Yi Jeong," she tries again, lightly touching his arm. She runs her fingers over the seam of his suit jacket and tugs on his cuff.
Another old habit.
"What happened?" she asks, half-terrified to hear the answer. "Is everyone okay? Are you...Are you hurt?" She examines him with her eyes, but despite his grievous expression he looks perfectly intact.
"I used to think Jun Pyo was so stupid," he finally says, his voice cracking over the words. "Risking his entire future for a girl." He closes the gap between them and grabs her shoulders, compelling her to look up at his blood-shot eyes and mussed-up hair. "But now I get it, and it's fucking terrifying."
"What's terrifying?" she whispers, nearly falling into him.
He looks her up and down, almost like he's seeing her for the first time.
"Meeting the one person you'd give up everything for."
Ga Eul opens her mouth. Closes it again.
She breathes in and forgets to breathe out.
Commanding herself to look only at the small gold lapel pin on his coat, she whispers, "Please don't say that."
"What?" he says under his breath, so lightly she almost misses it.
She swallows and steps back, removing herself from his grip.
"Please don't say that if you don't mean it." Her voice quivers. "Please," she squeaks out. "I can't take that again. I can't lose you again. I can't." She shakes her head and starts closing the door, but he takes a step forward and wedges his foot against it.
"I'm serious," he replies.
Her gaze flicks up to him and back down to her bare feet. She must look like a proper mess in her t-shirt and sweatpants with her hair in knots like she just got out of bed, even though it's almost noon.
Well, it is Saturday.
It's a perfectly normal Saturday, except that when she finally lifts her eyes again, Yi Jeong has that dark, determined look on his face she only sees when he's either highly annoyed or highly turned on...or, maybe in her case, both.
"You're so annoying, you know that?" He scowls, but she can tell he's teasing her. Before she can say anything in reply, he places his hand on her waist and backs her into the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind them. The silence is ominous, like the calm before a thunderstorm. He runs his hand down from her waist to her backside, and she shivers.
They're polar opposites, she thinks—magnets.
They always circle back to each other, clash and fit together, and end in the place they started.
It's inevitable.
Shoving her back into the kitchen counter, his fingers dig into her ribs, and he nips the left side of her neck. She knows she should be clarifying what his words mean, what he means by showing up here, now, but she unravels for him instead, her knees literally weakening as he attacks her neck until he's holding her up by keeping her wedged between himself and the counter.
This is inevitable.
She takes his shirt collar in her teeth and bites down on it to keep from crying out as his trembling hands roam up and down her body. His teeth attack the base of her throat; then he nips at the skin at her clavicle and below her ears and under her jaw. Never once does he kiss her; maybe his intent is to mark her, and, again, she should probably protest because she has to teach classes next week, and there's only so much one can do with makeup.
Instead, she tilts her chin up and leans back because, really, he could do anything to her—could put his teeth and his hands and the clothed member pressing her clit anywhere—and she'd take it willingly because, fuck, she's missed this.
Well, not this exactly, whatever this is. She's never seen him like this before. Before, he was always so calm and collected, taking each piece of her slowly, meticulously, like a delicate dance. Today he is rough and desperate and almost sloppy, his hands all over her like he's not sure what he wants to touch first.
"Me too," he rasps in her ear, and it takes a second for her to realize she'd said "fuck" out loud. Or maybe she actually said she missed him, missed this. She can't think with him kneading her hips, his eyes flashing as he pulls her closer.
"Who gave you permission to fuck with my life?" he murmurs, and she doesn't have time to answer before he forces his mouth back on hers. He reaches between them and unties the drawstring on her sweatpants. The elastic gives, and they slide down her legs. He rips her underwear down, and she steps out of it so that she's pressed up against the zipper of his dress pants and the hard ridge familiarly rubbing against her clit.
Before he would tease her for what seemed like hours; he would massage her back and kiss the inside of her thighs; he would suck on her pulse points and draw patterns on every inch of her skin with his fingertips. He would do everything except what she wanted him to do.
Every trace of that patience is gone.
He's rock hard against her stomach, and she wonders if he's been with anyone since...or if she was the last one.
"Tell me again," she says when their mouths part, finding the head of his shaft and running her thumb over it, "why you're here." His hands dip under her t-shirt and massage her bare hips.
He sucks in a breath.
"I'm here to fuck myself over." There's a hint of amusement in his dark tone. He slips his hand between them, lifts the hem of her t-shirt—a t-shirt she stole from him—and rubs her clit with the heel of his hand.
"A-a-actually, you're fucking me," she replies, grinding herself against his hand. He could turn her into such a slut with so little effort, but his next words make all of her muscles come to a halt.
"I'm here to tell the love of my life I'm going to marry her. But first I'm going to fuck her on the nearest available surface."
"Wha—"
Cutting her off, he kisses her again, twists his tongue around hers, and nips at her lips. His fingers trace the edge of her pussy while his thumb reaches for her nub, which is already quite tender.
When he pulls her mouth off of hers and moves to kiss her neck instead, she thinks her lips must be red, swollen, perhaps bleeding at this point.
And Yi Jeong just asked her to marry him.
No, told her. Told her she was going to marry him. Which was just like him if she thought about it.
If she could think, if she could focus on anything other than how perfect the pressure of his thumb is on her nub, not too hard or too soft, this calculated friction between them.
She stares at the clock on the wall, breathing heavily.
Cupping one of her breasts, he pinches the hard nipple poking out of the white t-shirt. He ducks his head and laps at one nipple, then the other, with his tongue, leaving two wet spots on the shirt.
Well, this is what she gets for opening the door, braless.
"Mmm," she whimpers, and her hips gyrate against his thumb of their own accord.
Her cunt must be a dripping mess by now.
Closing her eyes, she grips his shoulders, scared he'll pull away at any moment.
"Say you'll do it. Say you'll marry me," he says, straightening back up and resting his cheek against hers, and it's not a fair question, not really, if it even is a question, and she should probably say something about spoiled chaebols getting what they want, or what a proper proposal is supposed to look like, but this, somehow, is the most vulnerable she's ever seen him, and besides she can't think straight about anything with her hands on his shoulders, rutting against him like she's an animal in heat. Each time her soft clit hits the rough pad of his callused thumb, another burst of pleasure shoots through her core. It's painful and so, so good, she can't stand it.
"Come on, Ga Eul-yang." He's at her other ear now. "Be a good girl, and say 'yes.'"
He's teasing her. He knows she'll say 'yes,' that her answer will always be 'yes,' that it's been 'yes' since the first time he grabbed her wrist and she didn't pull away.
"Say 'yes' so I can fuck you against this counter," he advises in a voice like melted butter.
Oh god, not fair. This is so not fair.
Sopping wet and yearning to be filled, her cunt burns and clenches air at the thought of him pushing inside her on this counter. On this new counter in this new apartment that she moved into to forget him, to not have any reminder of him, any trace that he had been there. And now she was going to let him have her against this damned counter where she would cook all her meals for at least the next eleven months.
Their meals. She'd be cooking their meals.
Well, she would, wouldn't she?
A strangled moan erupts from her throat when he removes his hand and presses his thigh between her legs, her quivering pussy meeting the soft fabric of his dress pants. Her own hands move to his ass, forcing him closer, and her eyes snap open. She's almost in tears when she whispers back, "Yes."
"Sorry, I didn't hear. Was that a 'yes'?" he asks, smirking.
"Yes!" she cries, squeezing his hips. "Please Sunbae, I need you!"
"That's my good girl." Removing her hands from his backside, he steps back and pulls his belt off. There's a wet spot on the front of his pants where her pussy had been.
Suddenly he's on her floor, kissing up her feet, her ankles, her legs, her thighs, rapidly but with less roughness. Skipping her molten core, he kisses her abdomen and murmurs into her belly button, "Now what do you say when you're about to cum?"
"Please fuck me, Sunbae."
"Good girl."
"Bad Sunbae," she mumbles, letting her head fall back. Leaning on her elbows, she watches through half-lidded eyes as he presses her legs further apart with his forearms and peppers the inside of her thighs with kisses everywhere except where she wants it.
She's burning up down there, with half a mind to force herself on his smart mouth right now.
"If you're wondering if I've been with anyone," he mumbles between kisses, "the answer is no."
He slides his finger up and down the length of her slit a few times and blows on her as he slips the finger gently inside her hole, just the tip, enough to feel how tight she's gotten. She bites her lip as she clenches his finger.
"You haven't been with anyone either." He runs his thumb up and down her nub, meeting her gaze. It's not a question.
"You know I haven't," she whispers. "I missed you."
"You missed me? Did you miss my mouth?" He gives the flesh around her nub a playful suck, then returns his thumb to the hard knot.
"Especially your mouth."
"Did you miss my fingers?"
"They're so much better than my fingers." She smiles, and a tear drops down onto her cheek.
"Did you miss my cock?"
"Yes."
"I guess I have a lot to make up for then," he mumbles against her nether lips, sending delicious vibrations into her cunt. He kneels down and kisses her harder, his mouth smothering her sex in warmth, his tongue sliding in and out of her, sending tingles up her abdomen and down her ass. Leaning on one arm, she tugs at his hair with her free hand, her legs snaking around his shoulders and holding him in place. Rubbing herself against his mouth, she remembers the first time he showed this to her, bending over her as she lay on the backseat of his Cadillac, her blouse spread open from where he'd palmed her breasts and her skirt bunched up around her waist. The pleasure of that first orgasm he'd given her was so intense it frightened her, but she'd learned, gradually, to embrace the aching in her core, an ache that found satisfaction as, some time later, his cock filled her up for the first time.
She hadn't been willing to penetrate herself in his absence, not with her fingers or her dildo. A month is much too long, she thinks, as he flicks his tongue over her flesh and dives into her slick folds, spread only for him.
After a while, she can't tell where his mouth ends and her own flesh begins, and this is nice, but she wants something more substantial. Something that feels like it was made for her when thrust inside of her.
A mental image of her lying on her back with him thrusting into her in the back of his car comes to her mind, and suddenly she's on the edge, her stomach coiled tight.
"Fuck me, Sunbae," she pleads.
Her hips push forward, but instead of his slick mouth against her willing, aching slit she hits air, cold and empty.
When she looks down, he's staring at her stomach, his chin glistening with their combined fluids.
"On your knees," he rasps.
"What?"
Using the counter to pull himself, he unzips and takes off his pants. An impressive tent has been pitched in his underwear.
"I'll let you cum," he says, smoothing out her hair. "But you have to get on the floor, on your knees...unless you don't want this." Freeing his erection, he presses it against her stomach. His lips find her mouth again, and he kisses her sweetly, without his tongue. "You always taste so good," he whispers, the scent of her on his breath. "If you want, I won't use a condom. I'll cum inside you."
The evidence of where his mouth has been combined with the suggestion of him cumming inside her, of them doing it raw for the first time, is too much. Squirming, she rubs her thighs together to get some relief.
"Yes...I want it."
"Then be a good girl for me."
Biting her lip, she nods. She takes a deep breath and lowers herself to the ground. He takes off his shirt and tie, but when she tries to lift her t-shirt over her head, he stops her.
"I like it on you," he says.
Minutes—maybe seconds later—he has her on all fours on the laminate wood. Lacing their fingers together, he surrounds her body with his own and grinds against her, teasing her, his own legs forcing hers wider apart. He bites her neck again, and she groans when he thrusts himself inside her; she's probably as tight as she was when he took her virginity. He must feel it too because he moans into her neck as he shoves himself deeper into her heat. Once the momentary discomfort subsides, she closes her eyes and relaxes into his rhythm and his warmth against her back. His cock feels glorious inside her, even better than it does in her dreams, and her body feels safe wrapped inside his. He covers her entirely—his arms on her arms, her back to his chest, his outer legs pressed against her inner legs. After a few minutes of sliding in and out, Yi Jeong straightens up and presses his thumb back on her clit and circles it gently, increasing the intensity until she cums like he said she would, her cunt tightening around his cock as she convulses under him, nearly collapsing onto her forearms. Picking up his pace, he mutters "fuck" and tugs on her waist to plunge deeper inside her. He jerks forward, shuddering against her hips, as his own orgasm hits and he spills himself inside her, the first burst of his seed splashing warm inside her body. Thankfully, she's on birth control, as it probably wouldn't be wise for them to have a baby at this exact moment in time, but still the thought of him knocking her up sends a shiver through her. She'd like to create something like that with him one day, a small life that is part him, part her.
When he collects himself and slips out of her, they both sit gingerly on the floor, covered in sweat and catching their breath.
After a minute, he leans over and says, "You look so pretty," kissing her nose, and in her post-orgasmic haze she tries to say no, no she's not, that honestly she hasn't even showered this morning, but then his mouth is back on hers again, and she feels herself being lifted up and carried over to the small bed on the left side of the room.
He lays her down on her back and then pulls her onto his stomach once he's situated himself on her pillows.
"Was I too rough?" he asks, settling his hand on her shoulder.
"Aniyo. I missed you," Ga Eul murmurs into his chest, her body draped over him like deadweight.
"I'm sorry," he rasps, "I should have explained. I mean, I should have talked to you first, I guess. It's just that you opened the door, and you were wearing my shirt, and I think I lost my mind after that."
"It's okay." She smiles despite the lingering ache between her legs. "I kinda like you like this."
"Like what?" he looks at her, confusion knitting his brow.
"Desperate for me." She leans in and kisses his nose.
He scoffs, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which suddenly grow very serious.
"I don't have anything anymore. My inheritance, my position at the museum, not even my apartment."
Staring at his collarbone, she matches his direct tone.
"Yes, you do."
"What?"
"You have an apartment. See?" She gestures feebly around her small studio space. "I mean, ideally we would have a bedroom with a door, but...sorry, it's the best I can do right now."
"That's not what I meant." He brushes his thumb over her thigh. "I don't even know what I'm going to do with my career now. I can't give you things—"
"I don't want things, Sunbae." She can't stop her tears now. "I want you. I just...want to be with you. Every day. For the rest of forever." Giving him a shaky smile, she admits, "You're the love of my life too. Everything else...Everything else we can figure out. But if we're not together, then, what's the point?"
He studies her, and she remembers how his dark eyes were always searching her curiously, trying to figure her out. Daring her to upend his expectations. Now the worry in them softens into fondness.
"You know, I've always liked your way of thinking."
"Liar," she accuses, but then she laughs, and he laughs with her, and she thinks it had to happen like this—the coming apart and colliding together again. They were always like that.
It's what makes them perfect for each other.