Hongjoong’s hand comes up fast and smacks mine away from my collar. Not hard, just a sharp tap across my knuckles that makes me flinch in surprise. He steps forward into my space, close enough that I have to tip my chin up to keep eye contactbecause he’s got three inches on me and he’s using every one of them right now. His pheromones wash over me at this distance, warm and thick, and my pulse kicks up.
“Not like that,” he says.
Annoyance flickers through me. I don’t step back. “What do you want, then?”
Hongjoong’s hand catches my waist. His fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt and he tugs me forward, pulling me flush against his body so that my chest presses flat against his and I can feel the heat of him through both our clothes. His other hand slides up to grip the back of my neck.
“Come here, damn it,” he mutters, and then he leans down and kisses me.
I melt into it.
His mouth is warm and sure against mine, his lips parting just enough to catch my lower lip between them, and the contact sends a cascade of heat rolling down through my body, leaving me utterly vulnerable. His pheromones flood over me in a concentrated wave, heady and intoxicating, and my own body responds like a key turning in a lock. My hands come up and grip the front of his t-shirt.
Hongjoong takes hold of my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face exactly where he wants it, angling my jaw up so he can deepen the kiss. His tongue slides over mine in slow, unhurried strokes that make my knees soften and my weight sag forward into him. I make a sound against his mouth and he swallows it and keeps going, kissing me with a thoroughness that suggests he has no intention of rushing this.
By the time he pulls back I’m breathing hard, my cock fully hard and throbbing where it’s pressed against his thigh through our pants, and I can feel the telltale slick dampening my hole, soaking into my underwear. My face is flushed and mylips feel swollen and I know I look wrecked already, which is embarrassing given that all he did was kiss me.
Hongjoong’s thumb brushes along my jawline, his eyes moving over my face, reading the surprise and confusion that I know are written all over it because I can’t seem to get my expression under control.
“What?” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Weren’t expecting that?”
I shake my head. I don’t trust my voice.
Hongjoong snorts softly, his breath warm against my lips. “I’m not an asshole, Yoonjae. I’m not going to treat you like you’re just a warm hole to fuck.” His brow creases and for a second he looks genuinely offended. “God, what do you think of me?”
I hold his gaze. My heartbeat is still hammering but my voice comes out steady when I speak.
“Why not?” I say calmly. “All the other alphas did.”
Hongjoong’s eyes go hard. A brief flare of heat that isn’t arousal, it’s sharp and angry, directed not at me but at the faceless parade of alphas I’ve just conjured between us. His jaw flexes. I watch him swallow it down, watch the effort it takes him to keep his expression even, and then his hands close around both my wrists and he turns me bodily toward the hallway.
“Come here,” he says again, quieter this time, and steers me toward the bedroom.
The dogs lift their heads as we pass but don’t follow. Hongjoong guides me through a doorway into a large bedroom, dimly lit by a single lamp on the nightstand, and sits me down on the edge of the bed. The mattress gives under me, softer than any hotel bed I’ve been on, and I start to reach for my buttons again out of reflex.
Hongjoong smacks my hands away. Again.
“Be still,” he says firmly, standing over me. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
I lean back on my hands and watch him.
He reaches for my collar himself, his fingers working the top button free, then the second, then the third. He takes his time with each one, knuckles brushing against my skin as he works his way down, the patience of it is disorienting. I’m used to alphas who tear at my clothes, who want me naked and presented as fast as possible. Hongjoong peels my shirt open like he’s unwrapping me, pushing the fabric off my shoulders and down my arms until it pools behind me on the bed. Then his hands go to my belt, and I hear the soft clink of the buckle as he undoes it, followed by the rasp of the zipper. He hooks his fingers into my waistband and I lift my hips so he can work my pants down my legs, taking my underwear with them in one smooth pull.
I sit there bare on the edge of his bed and I don’t move.
Hongjoong straightens up and looks at me. His eyes travel slowly from my face down my throat, across my chest and the flat plane of my stomach, over my hard cock where it curves up against my belly, down my thighs. Then back up again, slower, and this time his hands follow the path his eyes traced. His palms run from my shoulders down my chest, warm and broad, fingertips dragging over the lines of muscle beneath my skin. When they reach a scar, a thin pale line curving along my left side, his fingers pause and trace it. Then move on to the next one, a faded mark on my hip, and the next, a small raised ridge near my collarbone. He marks them with his fingertips, and I shiver under the attention.
Then Hongjoong leans in and presses his nose to the curve of my throat, right against my scent gland, and inhales deep. The groan that comes out of him is deep and unguarded.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my skin. “Has anyone ever told you how good you smell?”
Yes. Plenty of times. But it’s never sounded like that before, like the words are a plea.
His tongue drags a slow, wet stripe up the column of my neck and I shudder hard, my hands fisting the sheets behind me. Hongjoong’s mouth moves lower, lips trailing down my throat to my collarbone, then further, his tongue flicking hot and wet across one nipple. I hiss through my teeth as he laves at it, circling the sensitive bud with the flat of his tongue until it peaks hard, then moves to the other and gives it the same attention, sucking gently before releasing it with a soft pop. He continues down my stomach, leaving wet trails that cool in the air and make goosebumps rise across my skin, his mouth tracing the ridges of my abs, the dip of my navel.
My breath catches hard when his mouth hovers over my cock. It’s fully hard and leaking against my belly, the head flushed dark, and I can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over it. But he bypasses it entirely, his hands gripping my thighs instead, pushing them up and back toward my chest, folding me open. He spreads my legs wide, his palms firm on the insides of my thighs, and I’m completely exposed, my slick hole clenching in the cool air of the bedroom.
I tense. “What are you doing?”
