Chapter 6: Protective Interruption
The slam of the door echoed in the sudden silence, a punctuation mark to the threat hanging in the air. Donghae remained frozen, buried deep inside Hyukjae, his body thrumming with adrenaline that had nothing to do with pleasure. The condom packet lay on the rumpled velvet duvet beside them, a tiny, absurd square of foil.
Hyukjae let out a shaky breath beneath him. A laugh bubbled up, hysterical and thin. “Oh, god.”
He pulled out of her, the sudden separation making them both gasp. The room felt colder. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ornate ceiling moldings. “He… he threw a condom.”
“He’s my brother,” she said, her voice muffled as she pulled the sheet over her head. “He’s overprotective. And he hates you.”
“I gathered.” Donghae sat up, rubbing his hands over his face. The scent of sex and jasmine was cloying now. The city lights through the window felt like accusing eyes. “He thinks I’m going to hurt you.”
The sheet lowered. Her eyes were wide in the candlelight. “Are you?”
He looked at her. Hair tangled, lips swollen from his kisses, his own fingerprints blooming on the pale skin of her hips. The virgin he’d just taken on a chaise lounge, in a fever of confused need. The schemer who’d blown his life apart to get his attention. “I don’t want to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.” He stood, his body feeling strangely heavy. He picked up his jeans, stepping into them. The quiet was oppressive. “I have to go see Miyoung.”
Hyukjae sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.“Now? Like this?”
He glanced at himself in the dark reflection of the window. He looked wrecked. “There’s never going to be a good time. But it has to be now. Before I… before I convince myself this was just a mistake.” He found his shirt, pulled it on. It smelled of her, of rooftop air and sex.
She didn’t try to stop him. She just watched, her expression unreadable. As he reached the door, her voice stopped him, small in the large room.
“The terms stand, Donghae. Don’t look away.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and walked out.
The drive to Miyoung’s apartment was a blur of neon and self-recrimination. He’d just fucked Hyukjae. He’d just been caught by her brother. He was about to break up with his girlfriend of two years. His father’s career was a pawn in a game he hadn’t agreed to play. The only clear thing was the knot of resolve in his stomach. He had to end this clean.
Miyoung’s place was in a quiet, respectable complex, nothing like Hyukjae’s sleek penthouse. Her door was painted a cheerful yellow. It felt like a relic from a past life.
She answered on the second ring, her face brightening with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Donghae! I wasn’t expecting you.” She was in soft cotton pajamas, her hair in a tidy braid. The picture of quiet reserve.
“We need to talk.” His voice was flat.
The smile faded. She stepped back, letting him in. The apartment was meticulously clean, smelling of lemon polish and her light perfume. It felt like a museum. He remained standing in the middle of the living room.
“Is this about the other night? You leaving?” she asked, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’m sorry if I was clingy. I just miss you.”
“It’s about everything, Miyoung.” He took a deep breath. “I know about Park Joon. And Lee Seung.”
The color drained from her face. It was instantaneous, a sheet of white fear. All the gentle pretense evaporated. “What… what are you talking about?”
“Don’t.” The word came out sharper than he intended. “Hyukjae showed me.The photos. The messages. The… video.” Saying it aloud made it real, vile.
Miyoung’s posture changed. The demure slouch straightened into something defensive, sharp. “That bitch,” she hissed. “She’s been trying to get her claws into you since freshman year. She’s lying.”
“She had timestamps, Miyoung. Dates when I was at away games. Dates when you said you were visiting your sick grandmother.” He felt sick. “You were in our bed. With him.”
“So what?” The words were a slap. Her eyes flashed, all softness gone. “You think you’re perfect? You’re never here! You’re with the team, or you’re at the gym, or you’re being fucking worshipped by everyone on campus. What was I supposed to do? Sit here and knit until you decided to grace me with your presence?”
The justification, the sheer venom, left him speechless for a moment. “You could have talked to me. You could have broken up with me.”
“And lose this?” She gestured around the apartment, a bitter laugh escaping her. “The status? The boyfriend who’s the star? Do you know what it’s like, Donghae, to be the girl who landed you? To have everyone look at me with envy? I earned that.”
Disgust curdled in his gut. “You didn’t earn me. You conned me.”
“And you were easy to con!” she shot back, stepping closer. “You wanted a quiet little thing who’d make you look stable, respectable. A trophy that wouldn’t talk back. Hyukjae will eat you alive. She’s not some innocent. She’s a rich, spoiled slut who’s playing a game.”
“Don’t talk about her.” The warning in his voice was low, dangerous.
Miyoung laughed, a cruel, brittle sound. “Oh, you’ve already fucked her, haven’t you? Was it everything you dreamed? All that loud, desperate energy? She’s probably been through half the team.”
He saw red. The folder, the truth, Hyukjae’s tear-streaked face on the rooftop. “She was a virgin.”
Miyoung’s sneer faltered, replaced by genuine shock. Then it hardened again.“Even better. Now she’s got you hooked. You’re a fool, Donghae. She set this whole thing up. She wanted you to find out. She’s playing you just like I did.”
“The difference,” he said, his voice now eerily calm, “is that she showed me the truth. You just let me live a lie.” He turned towards the door. “We’re done. Don’t call me. Don’t come near me.”
“Your father,” she spat, a last, desperate shot. “My uncle has the final say on the funding. You walk out that door, and his project is dead.”
He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. He didn’t look back. “Then it’s dead. Tell your uncle he can have his money. We don’t want it.”
He walked out, closing the yellow door softly on the ruins of his old life. The hallway air felt clean, sharp. He drove aimlessly for a while, the engine’s purr the only sound. The confrontation should have left him drained, but a strange energy was building in him—a furious, clarifying momentum.
He didn’t go home. He found himself driving back across town, back to the gleaming tower. He used the code again. The elevator ride was longer this time, his heart pounding not with anxiety, but with purpose.
He didn’t go to the rooftop. He went to her door. He knocked.
It was opened by Kyuhyun. Her twin. He was taller than Donghae had realized, lean with a sharp, intelligent face that was currently set in a grim mask. He held a glass of water, unsurprised.
“She’s in the shower,” Kyuhyun said, his voice cool. “Trying to wash off the poor decisions, I imagine.”
“I ended it. With Miyoung.”
Kyuhyun took a sip of water, studying him over the rim. “And?”
“And I’m here.”
“To do what? Fuck her again? Assuage your guilt? Confirm you’re not the bad guy?” Kyuhyun’s tone was lethally polite. “My sister isn’t a rehabilitation project for wayward jocks.”
“I know what she is,” Donghae said, meeting his gaze squarely. “She’s the girl who burned my life down because I was too stupid to see her. I’m not here to fix her. I’m here because she’s the only real thing left in the wreckage.”
Kyuhyun was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded towards the hallway. “Her room’s at the end. Don’t make me regret not breaking your legs.”
The door to her bedroom was ajar. Steam billowed out, carrying the scent of her shower gel—something citrusy and clean. He pushed the door open.
The bathroom door was open too. Hyukjae stood at the large sink, wrapped in a towel, brushing her teeth. She saw him in the mirror and stilled, foam at the corner of her mouth.
He didn’t speak. He crossed the bedroom, stepped into the bathroom. Her eyes were wide, wary, following him in the glass. He reached around her, took the toothbrush from her hand, and placed it on the counter. Then he turned her to face him.
The towel slipped, puddling at their feet. She was gloriously naked, skin flushed pink from the hot water, droplets clinging to her collarbones, her breasts. He backed her against the cool marble counter, his hands coming up to frame her face.
“I ended it,” he repeated, his voice rough.She searched his eyes. “How?”
“Truthfully. Ugly. She threatened my father’s funding.” He leaned in, his forehead touching hers. “I told her to keep it.”
A tear escaped, tracing a path through the moisture on her cheek. He caught it with his thumb.
“I’m not a good bet,” he whispered. “My life is a mess. My family’s in trouble. I’m… I’m messed up.”
Her hands came up, gripping his wrists. “Welcome to the club.”
He kissed her then. It was not like the rooftop, not hungry or desperate. It was deep, searching, a silent vow in the steam-filled room. She kissed him back with equal intensity, her fingers digging into his arms.
When they broke for air, he was hard, pressing against her stomach. Her eyes darkened. She reached between them, palming him through his jeans. “Show me,” she breathed against his lips.
“Show you what?”
“That you’re here. That this is real. Fuck the mess, Donghae. Just fuck me.”
He made a raw sound, need overriding every other thought. He undid his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down just enough to free his cock. It was already leaking, thick and eager. He lifted her, sitting her on the edge of the marble counter. It was cold against her skin, and she gasped, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist.
He didn’t wait. He wasn’t gentle. He positioned himself at her entrance, which was slick and hot even from just their kissing. He drove into her in one relentless stroke.
“God!” she cried out, her head thrown back, hitting the mirror. The sound was loud, lewd, echoing off the tiles.
She was still tight, unbelievably so, but wet and willing. He set a brutal pace from the start, each thrust slamming her back against the mirror. He was mindless with it, a vessel for all the anger, the betrayal, the relief. He gripped her hips, fingers biting into her soft flesh, using the leverage to plunge deeper.
“Is this real?” he grunted, pistoning into her. The slap of skin on skin, the squelch of her arousal, filled the room. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” she chanted, her nails scraping down his back. Her breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, her nipples hard peaks. “Deeper… please, I need it…”
He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, bending her almost in half, opening her impossibly wider. The new angle made her scream, a high, shattered sound. He could see everything—where they were joined, his length glistening with her as he fucked into her over and over.
“You feel that?” he growled, his rhythm faltering as his climax coiled tight in his gut. “That’s me.Not a lie. Not a game. This is what you get.”
“I want it!” she sobbed, her own hips meeting his thrust for thrust, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around him. “I want all of it, don’t you dare hold back—”
He came with a shout that was ripped from his soul, his orgasm tearing through him, pumping into her in hot, endless pulses. She clenched around him, her own release triggered by his, her body convulsing, milking him dry.
He collapsed against her, spent, his face buried in the damp crook of her neck. They stayed like that, connected, panting, the mirror fogged around them.
Slowly, he softened and slipped out of her. He caught her as she sagged against him, her body limp. He lifted her, carried her the few feet to the bed, and laid her down amidst the emerald velvet. He followed her down, gathering her against him.
Her brother’s threat, Miyoung’s sneer, his father’s disappointment—it all still waited outside the door. But here, in the dim candlelight of her bedroom, with her skin against his and the scent of their sex in the air, it felt distant.
Her finger traced idle patterns on his chest. “Kyuhyun let you in.”
“He did.”
“He must think you’re at least marginally less of an idiot than before.”
Donghae huffed a weak laugh. “High praise.”
She was quiet for a long time. Just as he thought she’d fallen asleep, she spoke, her voice small. “It is real, isn’t it?”
He looked down at her. The candlelight played on her face, showing the vulnerability she hid from the world. He kissed her forehead. “It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt.”
She nodded, snuggling closer. The future was a chaotic, frightening blank. But for tonight, the terms were clear. He was here. He was not looking away.
He was not looking away.
The first night was a furious, wordless reclamation. They didn’t leave her bed. Daylight faded into a deep indigo, then into the black of true night, and they learned each other in the dark. It wasn’t gentle. It was a hungry, desperate archaeology, unearthing every sound, every shudder, every secret place.
He discovered the spot behind her ear that made her gasp when he bit it. She learned that dragging her nails hard down his back made his hips stutter. They fucked for hours, in a haze of sweat and tangled sheets. He took her from behind, gripping her hips, watching himself disappear into her body with a possessiveness that felt animal. He came inside her with a low groan, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, and she clenched around him, milking out every last drop until he was soft.
They dozed, sticky and intertwined. He woke to her mouth on him, her tongue tracing the sensitive ridge beneath the head until he was hard and throbbing in her hand. “Again,” she whispered, a command, and he rolled her onto her back, pushing her thighs apart. He fucked her slowly this time, a deep, grinding rhythm that made her sob, his gaze locked on hers until her eyes lost focus and she came with a broken cry.
He didn’t pull out. He never asked, and she never suggested it. The warm, wet spill of him inside her was the unspoken finale, every single time.
The second night, he brought a bag. Toothbrush, a change of clothes. Kyuhyun was in the kitchen, making coffee. He gave Donghae a long, measuring look, then silently pushed a second mug across the island.
The acknowledgement was more unnerving than a threat.
That night was different. Slower. They ordered food, ate it naked in bed, feeding each other greasy noodles. He told her about the phone call with his father, the strained silence when he’d said the funding was gone. She listened, her fingers tracing the lines of his palm.
Later, she knelt over him on the bed, her body a silhouette against the city lights. She sank down onto him with a sigh that was pure satisfaction, taking him all in. She rode him with a lazy, rolling intensity, her hands braced on his chest, her head thrown back.
“Look at me,” he said, his voice rough. Her eyes found his, glazed with pleasure. “This is where I am.”
She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, and kissed him, her tongue sliding against his. Her rhythm broke, became erratic. “Feels so full,” she mumbled against his lips, her inner muscles fluttering. “You fill me up so good, Donghae.”
He gripped her ass, helping her move, driving up into her. “Gonna come inside you again,” he grunted, a filthy promise. “Gonna pump my cum so deep into this perfect cunt.”
Her orgasm tore through her silently, a series of violent shudders that squeezed him like a fist. He followed immediately, his release hot and endless, his hips buckling off the bed to lodge himself as deep as he could get. They collapsed together, still joined, his spend leaking out around him onto the sheets.
The third night, it rained. A violent summer storm that lashed the windows. They were on the floor before the giant window, a blanket half-under them. The city was a smeared watercolor of neon below.
This time, there was a raw edge to it, a fatigue that had nothing to do with the physical. The frenzy had burned off, leaving something stark and exposed. He had her on her hands and knees, the city lights painting her skin in streaks of blue and red. The slap of his thighs against her ass was rhythmic, brutal counterpoint to the rain. He had one hand fisted in her hair, not pulling, just holding, a point of anchor.
“Why?” he panted, driving into her over and over. The word was torn from him. “Why go through all that? The scheming? The folder?”
She pushed back against him, meeting each thrust. “Because you weren’t seeing me!” she cried out, the words fragmented. “You saw… a version. I had to… break the version.”
He released her hair, his hands smoothing over her flanks, down to where they were joined, watching himself plunge into her slick, used heat. He was obsessed with the sight, the feel, the absolute truth of it. He slid a hand around her hip, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing tight, rough circles.
She screamed into the blanket, her body seizing. Her climax triggered his, a wave of sensation so intense his vision spotted. He slammed into her to the hilt, pouring himself into her with a gut-deep roar, his seed flooding her in hot, claiming pulses. He stayed there, buried, until he was completely spent, forehead resting on her sweat-slick back.
They lay like that for a long time, the rain sheeting down the glass. He finally pulled out, the wet, spent sound loud in the quiet. He turned her onto her side, facing him, and pulled the blanket over them.
Her eyes were closed, her breathing slowly returning to normal. A single tear escaped, tracking a path through the damp hair at her temple. He wiped it away with his thumb.
“You see me now?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
He saw everything. The strategic mind, the terrifying courage, the lonely, wealthy girl in a penthouse, the virgin who’d used her own body as the final, irreversible gambit. He saw the woman who’d taken him inside her, raw, for three straight nights, and who now trembled against him.
“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched. “I see you.”
He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sometime near dawn, he stirred. Hyukjae was awake, propped on an elbow, watching him. The rain had stopped. A pale, watery light was beginning to seep into the room.
Her hand was resting low on her stomach. Her expression was one of pure, naked wonder, tinged with fear.
“Donghae,” she said, her voice barely a whisper in the silent room.
He knew.The three nights. The deliberate, relentless claiming. The absence of any barrier, every single time. The biological certainty of it hit him like a physical blow, rooting him to the spot.
She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. The potential consequence of their collision hung in the air between them, as real and fragile as the dawn.
He simply reached out and covered her hand on her stomach with his own.