章節 106: chapter 102
After a long pause, Yaroslav placed the plate on the edge of the bed and stepped back, raising his hands as if to prove he had no ulterior motive. "It's up to you," he said softly. "You don't have to eat them. I just… wanted to make amends."
And with that, he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with an uncharacteristic gentleness. Beom sat there in silence, staring at the plate of cookies as though they were some kind of alien artifact. He replayed the interaction in his head, his thoughts racing. What's his angle? he wondered. Since when does he ever back down? And why cookies?
His stomach growled softly, interrupting his train of thought. The scent of the cookies was intoxicating, their warmth wafting up to him like a siren's call. Beom's frown deepened. It's just food, he reasoned, his fingers twitching slightly. If he wanted to do something to me, he wouldn't go through this much trouble... right?
Still, he hesitated, glancing toward the door as if expecting Yaroslav to burst back in with some sinister remark. But the hallway was silent. Against his better judgment, he reached for a cookie, breaking off a small piece and popping it into his mouth. The flavor was heavenly—sweet, buttery, with just the right balance of softness and crunch. Before he knew it, he'd eaten one cookie, then another, and another.
Unbeknownst to him, Yaroslav stood outside the door, leaning casually against the wall. The faint sound of Beom munching on the cookies reached his ears, and a sly, triumphant smile spread across his lips. "Enjoy them, солнышко," he murmured to himself, his voice laced with dark amusement. "You'll be craving more than cookies soon enough."
Yaroslav stepped out of the bathroom, a relaxed sigh escaping him as he towel-dried his hair. The warm water had helped soothe the remnants of tension from his day, the weight of his plans lingering in the back of his mind like a dark promise. As he entered the bedroom, the familiar stillness greeted him, and he glanced over to the bed where Beom lay—still, motionless, as though deeply asleep. His body language gave nothing away.
Yaroslav didn't think much of it. He slipped into his pyjamas, the soft fabric brushing against his skin as he eased into the bed, his mind already shifting toward sleep. His muscles were pleasantly sore from the day's activities, but the anticipation of tomorrow's possibilities lingered. He lay there, shutting his eyes, allowing the comfort of the bed to lull him into a sense of tranquility.
However, what he didn't know was that Beom wasn't asleep at all. Beneath the blanket, his body was a furnace, slick with sweat as though his skin was burning from the inside out. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, his body reacting to something he couldn't quite understand. The aphrodisiac, the drug Yaroslav had slipped into the cookies, was beginning to take its toll—slowly, but unmistakably.
Beom's mind was a chaotic swirl of confusion and desire. He felt heat flooding his veins, his skin tingling with a maddening intensity. His body was betraying him in the worst way, responding to the drug in ways he couldn't control. It felt like every nerve was firing at once, every inch of his skin hypersensitive to the smallest touch of the air or the fabric of the sheets. His mind raced, trying to grasp onto some semblance of reason, but the growing need inside him was becoming too overwhelming.
The blanket clung to his body, his form shifting under it in an attempt to cool down, but it did little to ease the fire burning inside him. His pulse was erratic, and his breath came in stuttered gasps as the heat coursed through his body. He was aware of every sensation, every tiny movement, the feeling of his skin stretching, tight and hypersensitive. His legs quivered slightly, restless, desperate for release, yet no amount of shifting could bring him any comfort.
What is happening to me? Beom's thoughts were jumbled, a mix of panic and confusion. His chest tightened as the overwhelming desire began to pool deep in his stomach, and despite his best efforts to push it away, he found himself physically responding, his body betraying him further. His mind screamed for him to stop, to hold on, but his body couldn't comply. It wanted release, and it wanted it now.
Beom bit down on his lip, desperately trying to keep quiet, his fists clenching in the sheets as he turned over on his side, trying to fight the sensation, to do anything to quell the rising tide of lust he couldn't escape. This isn't me, he thought, the words barely coherent in his mind. What the hell did he put in those cookies?
Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down the side of his face as his entire body flushed with heat. He could feel it in every part of him, the way his muscles tightened, the way his chest swelled with shallow breaths, and the way his body continued to ache, urging him to give in. But he couldn't—he wouldn't. Not like this. Not with him.
His body reacted to the drug's effects with maddening insistence, the need growing with every passing second, and Beom clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out the sensation that was making him tremble. I have to resist, he thought. I won't give in to this. This is all his doing. His mind shouted the words, but his body only begged for more.
Suddenly, Beom became aware of the slight weight on the bed beside him, the shift in the mattress signaling that Yaroslav had moved closer. Beom's heart skipped a beat, his entire body tensing in response. No… no, no… don't come near me, his thoughts screamed as his pulse quickened. But the heat, the drug's effects, clouded his judgment, pulling him closer to the edge of madness.
He clenched his fists in the sheets, squeezing his eyes shut, hoping to block out the inevitable. His body was betraying him in the worst possible way. Even though every instinct told him to push Yaroslav away, he couldn't fight the tremors that ran through him as his desire built to a fever pitch.
Yaroslav's presence loomed over him, silent, but ever so present. The air between them thickened as if charged with electricity, and Beom could feel the weight of his stare even without looking. His breath was shallow and uneven, and every nerve in his body screamed for relief, but he couldn't give in. Not to Yaroslav. Not like this. Not when everything was spiraling out of control.
But as the seconds ticked by, it became harder to ignore the way his body continued to respond. It was as if he could feel the heat of Yaroslav's proximity, the seductive allure of his presence, and even though he resisted with all his might, his body betrayed him again. It was a battle he was losing, and in that moment, Beom realized how much he had underestimated the power of the drug coursing through his veins.
He jolted awake from his restless slumber, the sudden shock of movement sending a wave of panic coursing through his veins. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, as if it were trying to break free from his chest. The room seemed to spin around him, his senses heightened and overwhelmed all at once. He tried to steady himself, his body thrumming with an energy he couldn't control. He couldn't stay still any longer. He needed to get up, needed to move.
His legs felt shaky beneath him, like they weren't his own, but the impulse to leave the bed was stronger than anything. With a groan, he pushed himself up, stumbling slightly as he made his way toward the bathroom. His movements were frantic, desperate even, as if he were trying to escape something inside himself, something that felt suffocating and inescapable.
The cold tiles beneath his feet jolted him further into reality, but it was a harsh reality. His skin burned, his body flushed with an unrelenting heat that felt like it was coming from deep within. The sweat beaded up on his skin, dripping down his back, his chest, his face. The dampness clung to him, his shirt sticking to his body, his clothes becoming an uncomfortable second skin. His breath was shallow, quick, each inhale drawing in more heat, and every exhale was a struggle to keep his mind from unraveling.
He reached the mirror, his reflection hazy at first, but then it became clearer. He saw the way his chest heaved with every ragged breath, how his sweat-slicked body shimmered in the harsh bathroom light. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears, he almost couldn't hear the steady drip of water from the faucet. He raised a trembling hand to the mirror, feeling the slickness of his own skin, but it only made the heat worse.
His nipples were hard, painfully so, straining against the fabric of his shirt. They were achingly sensitive, his body reacting to the smallest of touches as if it couldn't bear to be denied. He could feel the warmth of his own skin beneath his fingers, the tension building in his body, coiling tighter and tighter, like a pressure that couldn't be released. His fingers grazed his chest, but it only seemed to intensify the sensation, sending another shudder through his body.
He stood there, trembling, unable to think straight. His entire body was in turmoil, locked in this desperate battle of need and restraint. The cold air of the bathroom did nothing to ease the heat suffusing his body. He felt like he was suffocating, like his skin was too tight for him to bear. The pressure in his chest built, suffocating, almost painful, until it finally overwhelmed him completely.
He couldn't hold it in any longer. His body betrayed him, giving in to the overwhelming desire he had tried so hard to suppress. His hands moved without his consent, reaching for the fabric of his shirt as if he could somehow strip away the heat, the need, but nothing worked. His reflection stared back at him, a person completely out of control, a person trapped by his own desires. The urge to release, to feel something other than this unbearable tension, was all-consuming, and he didn't know how much longer he could resist.
The trembling didn't stop. It only deepened, intensifying as the need surged within him. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, but it was impossible. The mirror, his reflection, the burning heat, all merged into one overwhelming sensation that left him dizzy, helpless. His body ached, ached for something he couldn't name, couldn't escape. He was trapped, not by anything external, but by his own instincts, his own hunger, his own desperation.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票