Chapter 10: Tempting the Beast
The final keystroke echoed in the quiet of the office. Hyukjae leaned back in the plush leather chair, the one that smelled faintly of Donghae’s cologne, and stared at the screen. The cursor blinked at the end of a sentence that felt less like an ending and more like a beginning. His manuscript was complete. The story of two fractured souls finding their jagged edges aligned—fiction, of course, but the warmth in his chest was utterly, indisputably real.
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. The ache from the morning was a distant hum, a pleasant reminder. Celebration was in order. A very specific kind.
He stood, stretching, his bones cracking. Without ceremony, he peeled his t-shirt over his head, let his sweatpants pool around his ankles. The cool air of the climate-controlled room kissed his skin. He padded barefoot to the walk-in closet that connected to the office, a space of stark order. Rows of suits, meticulously arranged. He bypassed them all, his fingers skimming the sleeves until they found what he was looking for.
A crisp, white dress shirt, still in its paper from the cleaner. Donghae’s.
Hyukjae slid his arms into the sleeves. The fabric was cool and smooth, comically large on his frame. The shoulders drooped, the cuffs swallowed his hands. He left it open, the tails brushing his thighs. He inhaled. Starch and something indefinably, essentially Donghae.
Now, for the main event.
From the pocket of his discarded pants, he retrieved a small, velvet box. He opened it. Nestled inside were two remaining chocolates, dark and decadent, the ones from their wedding night. The ones that had started the fire.
He carried the box to the massive oak desk, clearing a space amid the neat stacks of reports. He waited.
The click of the keycard in the front door lock was his signal. Footsteps, confident and measured, approached down the hallway. Donghae paused in the doorway, loosening his tie. He stopped dead, his hand freezing on the silk.
His gaze traveled from Hyukjae’s bare feet, up his exposed legs, over the open shirt, to his face. His eyes darkened, the meeting-room chill evaporating in an instant.
“I finished it,” Hyukjae said, his voice deliberately light.
“I see that.” Donghae’s voice was rough. He stepped into the room, letting the door sigh shut behind him. “The manuscript? Or the deliberate sabotage of my ability to form a coherent thought?”
Hyukjae’s smile widened. He picked up the velvet box. “Both. And I got us a little dessert.” He lifted a chocolate between his thumb and forefinger, holding Donghae’s stare. Slowly, deliberately, he brought it to his own lips, parting them, and placed it on his tongue. He closed his mouth, his cheeks hollowing slightly as he sucked.
Donghae was across the room in three strides. He caged Hyukjae against the desk, his hands slamming down on the wood on either side of Hyukjae’s hips. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
Hyukjae swallowed, the rich, bitter-sweet flavor bursting. He could already feel the faint, familiar warmth beginning to curl in his stomach. “It’s not a game,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over Donghae’s chin. “It’s a reenactment. For research purposes.” He picked up the second chocolate. “Your turn.”
Donghae captured his wrist, but instead of taking the chocolate, he guided Hyukjae’s hand to his own mouth. He kept his eyes locked on Hyukjae’s as he took the sweet, his lips closing around Hyukjae’s fingertips, tongue swiping over the pad of his thumb. Hyukjae shuddered.
The chemical was faster this time, a known pathway. The heat was immediate, a low tide rising to a crash. Donghae’s kiss was not gentle. It was a claiming, laced with the taste of dark cocoa and building desperation. Hyukjae kissed back just as fiercely, his hands fumbling with Donghae’s belt, the button of his trousers.
“On the desk,” Donghae growled against his mouth, shoving his own pants and briefs down just enough to free his cock, which was already fully hard, flushed and leaking. “Now.”
Hyukjae scrambled back, the hard edge of the wood digging into his spine. He hoisted himself up, the shirt falling open completely. Donghae stepped between his splayed thighs, his hands gripping the backs of Hyukjae’s knees, yanking him forward until his ass was on the very edge. There was no finesse, no preparation beyond the natural slickness from earlier and the spit from their kiss. Donghae positioned himself and pushed in with a single, brutal thrust.
The sound Hyukjae made was ripped from his chest—a raw, punched-out gasp. The stretch was breathtaking, a sharp, sweet burn that the aphrodisiac magnified into pure, electric need. “Fuck! Yes! Right there, god, right fucking there!”
Donghae set a punishing pace from the start, his hips driving forward, the desk shuddering with each impact. The controlled executive was gone, replaced by something feral. He fucked into Hyukjae with a raw, grunting force, his hands now braced on the desk, his head bowed.
“This what you wanted?” Donghae snarled, his voice wrecked. “To get fucked stupid on my desk where I sign billion-won deals? To be my dirty little secret in broad daylight?”
“I’m not a secret,” Hyukjae choked out, meeting every drive, his own cock bouncing between them, slapping against his stomach. “I’m your husband. This is my desk too, now. Fuck me on it. Ruin me on it.”
Donghae groaned, a deep, shattered sound. He changed the angle, leaning over Hyukjae, and the new depth made Hyukjae see stars. One of Donghae’s hands wrapped around Hyukjae’s throat, not squeezing, just holding, a possessive collar of heat. The other hand gripped his hip, fingers bruising.
“Come for me,” Donghae demanded, his thrusts becoming erratic, animalistic. “Spill all over this fucking shirt. Mark it. Make it yours.”
The dual sensations—the relentless penetration, the hand on his throat, the filthy command—were too much. Hyukjae’s orgasm tore through him, violent and convulsing. He cried out, wordless, as his come streaked across his own stomach and the pristine white cotton of the shirt. The clenching of his body pulled Donghae over the edge. With a final, broken shout, Donghae buried himself to the hilt and pulsed, filling Hyukjae with wet, scorching heat.
For a moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the faint creak of the abused desk. Donghae slowly withdrew, his hands trembling as he braced himself. Hyukjae lay sprawled, wrecked and gleaming, the ruined shirt stained and stuck to his skin.
Donghae’s eyes tracked the mess, then rose to meet Hyukjae’s. The wildness was receding, leaving a dazed, tender awe in its wake. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Hyukjae’s swollen lips. “I love you,” he murmured, the words absorbed by Hyukjae’s skin. “You terrifying, brilliant man.”
Hyukjae laughed, a breathless, sated sound. He hooked a leg around Donghae, holding him close. “The manuscript,” he said, his voice hoarse. “The dedication page. It just says ‘For D. The terms are forever.’”
Donghae went very still. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. When he spoke, his voice was thick. “That’s the only contract I’ll ever need.”
He helped Hyukjae down from the desk, steadying him when his legs wobbled. They stood there, amid the disarray, clinging to each other. The chocolate’s heat still thrummed in their veins, a secondary pulse. Donghae glanced at the velvet box, now empty, on the desk beside a smeared financial report.
“We’re out of those,” he said.
“Good,” Hyukjae replied, nuzzling into his neck. “We don’t need them anymore.”
Donghae’s arms tightened around him. Outside, the city lights began to wink on in the twilight, but in the warm, messy sanctuary of the office, the only light that mattered was the one they carried between them, a fire they had built themselves, and would spend forever tending.