Capítulo 107: chapter 103-18+
"I can't hold it anymore…" Beom muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible as it broke through the silence of the room. His body trembled, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The weight of desire pressed down on him, relentless and unyielding, like an ember flaring into an uncontrollable blaze.
His hands hesitated for a moment, hovering over his chest as if caught between shame and need. But the ache was too much. He gave in, letting his fingers graze the sensitive peaks of his chest, exploring slowly, almost experimentally. A sharp jolt of pleasure coursed through him, making his back arch slightly.
"Haah…" The sound escaped his lips, soft at first, but it carried the weight of his longing. His fingertips circled one of the sensitive buds, teasing it until it hardened under his touch. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves down his spine and making his body shiver in response.
Why do I feel like this? The question echoed in his mind, but it felt distant, like a whisper drowned out by the pounding of his heartbeat. His hand moved instinctively now, emboldened by the waves of pleasure that pulsed through him. He pinched lightly, then rolled the peak between his fingers, drawing a gasp that was tinged with both surprise and hunger.
His other hand began to wander downward, sliding across the flat plane of his stomach, the muscles tensing beneath his touch. His movements were hesitant at first, almost as if he feared where they would lead. But the fire in his core was unrelenting, urging him on. His fingertips brushed over the waistband of his shorts, lingering there as he bit his lip, caught between resistance and surrender.
When he finally slipped his hand lower, the sensation was overwhelming. His fingers grazed over the sensitive skin, and a soft moan escaped him, unbidden and raw. "Nghh… mmh…" he whimpered, his voice trembling with need. He couldn't stop now, not when every touch ignited something deeper, something primal within him.
Sliding further, his fingers found the aching spot that demanded his attention, the source of the heat that burned through him. He pressed against it lightly, testing, and his hips jerked involuntarily in response. The pressure sent a surge of pleasure crashing over him, and he cried out softly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
This… it feels so good… but why does it feel so wrong? The thought lingered at the edge of his consciousness, but it was drowned out by the rhythm of his actions. His fingers moved with more confidence now, exploring, teasing, and finally slipping inside. The sensation was unlike anything else, a mix of relief and overwhelming intensity that made his toes curl.
His body seemed to move on its own, hips rolling to meet his touch as his other hand continued to toy with his chest. Each movement brought him closer to the edge, the knot of tension in his core tightening with every passing second. "Hah… ahh… mmhmm…" The sounds spilled from his lips, uncontrollable and unfiltered, as if his body refused to let him stay silent.
His free hand drifted lower, brushing against the small button of nerves that made his entire body tremble. He circled it slowly, deliberately, savoring the sparks of pleasure that radiated from the touch. His breath hitched, and his thighs tensed as the sensations built, wave after wave crashing over him.
I shouldn't… but I can't stop… The thought came again, but it was weaker this time, buried beneath the haze of sensation and need. Beom-gyu squeezed his eyes shut, his body arching as he pushed himself closer to the brink. His mind was a whirlwind of shame, desire, and something he couldn't quite name, but his body didn't care.
The heat in his core reached a fever pitch, and he felt himself teetering on the edge. His breaths were shallow and desperate now, his entire body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. And in that moment, nothing else mattered—only the fire that consumed him, the release he craved, and the overwhelming sensations that made him forget everything else.
And then, suddenly, it happened. Beom-ki's body arched, his back bowing as he reached the peak of his pleasure. A loud, husky cry escaped his lips, and he felt himself release, his body shuddering with the force of it.
Beom couldn't hold it in any longer. Every passing second felt like torture, the ache inside him growing heavier and sharper. His body was burning, his thoughts clouded by a mixture of frustration and need. He had tried to ignore it, pacing back and forth in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to clear his mind. But nothing worked.
Breathing heavily, he ran his fingers through his damp hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His flushed cheeks and dilated pupils betrayed him. He hated himself for feeling this way—for letting Yaroslav's presence drive him to the edge.
"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the sink's edge.
Steeling himself, he stepped out of the bathroom, his legs unsteady. He hadn't bothered to put on anything other than the oversized shirt he'd grabbed in haste. It hung loosely on his slender frame, just long enough to skim the tops of his thighs, leaving little to the imagination. His heart pounded as he approached the bed where Yaroslav lay, his broad chest rising and falling steadily, his face serene in sleep.
Beom hesitated for a moment, biting his lip as he stood at the edge of the bed. He hated that Yaroslav looked so calm, so utterly in control even in sleep. The man exuded confidence in a way that made Beom's blood boil—and yet, he couldn't resist him.
Swallowing his pride, he climbed onto the bed, careful not to wake Yaroslav just yet. He slid under the blanket, the warmth of the other man's body enveloping him. His breath hitched as he reached for the waistband of Yaroslav's boxers, his fingers trembling slightly. Slowly, he pulled them down just enough to free him.
Beom's eyes widened at the sight, and a fresh wave of heat rushed to his face. He hesitated, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, he leaned in, his breaths shallow and erratic, and took Yaroslav into his mouth.
The sudden warmth jolted Yaroslav awake, his brows furrowing as he stirred. The sensation was unmistakable, and his hand instinctively reached for the blanket. He lifted it, his sleepy gaze meeting Beom's wide, teary eyes. The sight made his chest tighten with something primal, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk.
"What do you think you're doing?" Yaroslav's voice was low, rough from sleep, but tinged with amusement.
Beom pulled back slightly, his lips glistening and swollen. He glared up at Yaroslav, his frustration evident. "It's your fault, you son of a bitch," he muttered, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation.
Before Yaroslav could respond, Beom moved to straddle him, the oversized shirt riding up to reveal his bare thighs. His hands pressed against Yaroslav's firm chest for balance as he adjusted himself on top of him. Beom's movements were tentative at first, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles.
Yaroslav's hands found their way to Beom's hips, his grip firm but not forceful. He guided Beom's movements with ease, his smirk never fading. "You hate me so much, yet here you are," he teased, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down Beom's spine.
"Shut up," Beom snapped, his cheeks flushing deeper. His grinding grew more desperate, his body seeking relief from the unbearable tension. "I hate you," he repeated, though his trembling voice betrayed him.
Yaroslav chuckled softly, his thumbs brushing over the soft skin of Beom's hips. "If this is hate, Beom," he murmured, leaning in until their faces were mere inches apart, "then show me more."
Beom's breath hitched, his resolve wavering as Yaroslav's hands slid under the hem of his shirt, exploring the expanse of his bare skin. Every touch ignited a fire within him, leaving him trembling and gasping. He hated how easily Yaroslav unraveled him, how effortlessly the man took control even when Beom thought he had the upper hand.
"Mmhmm," Beom moaned softly, his voice trembling with a mix of pleasure and uncertainty. His cheeks were flushed, and his breaths came in shallow, uneven bursts as he steadied himself. Slowly, he raised himself slightly, his hands trembling against Yaroslav's chest as he prepared to take him in.
Beom bit his lip, trying to focus, but the sensation of Yaroslav's hands resting firmly on his hips sent shivers down his spine. As he began to lower himself, the stretch was immediate, and his body tensed in response.
Beom could feel every inch of Yaroslav inside him, stretching him in a way that was almost too much to bear. His body trembled as he lowered himself, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. "Too big… aahh… nghh…" he whimpered, the words spilling from his lips without thought.
He hated this—hated how Yaroslav made him feel so out of control, how his body betrayed him with every jolt of pleasure. Beom's hands gripped Yaroslav's chest for balance as he sank further, his thighs quivering with effort. The fullness was overwhelming, and for a moment, he didn't think he could take it all.
"Why am I doing this?" Beom thought, his mind racing even as his body moved on instinct. His pride screamed at him to stop, to pull away, to not give Yaroslav the satisfaction of seeing him like this. But his body craved the connection, the unbearable ache inside him driving him forward.
Finally, he settled, his body flush against Yaroslav's. "Haaah… everything is in… mmhmm," he moaned, his voice shaky but laced with relief. He tilted his head back, his damp hair clinging to his flushed face. The stretch was still there, but the pain had dulled, replaced by a heat that spread through him like wildfire.
Yaroslav hadn't moved a muscle, his sharp eyes watching Beom intently. He didn't smirk or tease, but the weight of his gaze alone made Beom's skin burn. "Why is he just staring at me like that?" Beom thought, biting his lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape.
Tentatively, Beom began to move. His hips lifted slightly before lowering again, the motion sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through his body. "Haah… nghh…" he moaned softly, his voice trembling. The friction was maddening, each movement igniting a new wave of sensation that left him breathless.
"It feels… too good," Beom thought, his cheeks flushing deeper as shame and pleasure warred within him. "I shouldn't… I can't…" But his body had a mind of its own, his hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles as he sought more.
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