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“What is this.”
Kim Dokja watches with distaste as Persephone—for once in her actual appearance—smiles, eyes crinkling with that obviously mischievous intent.
[Why, I thought you liked it, no?] comes her response, which tells Kim Dokja just how much the woman in front of her is unwilling to answer her question properly. Just as their entire interaction is about to become a staring contest, Persephone decides to tease her further, [It would fit you. Don’t you wanna impress that boyfriend of yours, too?]
“What.”
The queen of the Underworld clearly makes nothing out of the deadpan sent her way; Kim Dokja wants to bury herself alive the moment she continues her little taunts. Which are, well, spot on and working, but Kim Dokja would rather be shot than admit it. Persephone, steadfast, looks her body up and down before speaking up once more.
[I’m sure Yoo Joonghyuk would be delighted to see you in this,] the woman finally says, not even attempting to hide the smirk appearing on her lips. Kim Dokja tries her hardest not to flush at the direct words. She’s not exactly sure whether she succeeds. [Besides, don’t forget that this is a formal banquet, my dearest daughter. Your regular clothes just won’t cut it.]
Once again, Kim Dokja levels the dress laid on the couch with a dubious stare. It’s a black cheongsam; there’s no denying it’s drop dead gorgeous—the lacy embroidery on the elbow-length sleeves, the elegant collar as well as the sides of the whole gown is definitely eye-catching, and so is the silken sheen of the front and the back. It’s supposed to cling to her skin, emphasize her figure, make her appear seductive and glamorous, and yet. Kim Dokja precariously takes more time observing the unnecessary cleavage window and the high slits at the sides. They reach above the hip, she realizes in utter horror. She never wore something this bold, not to mention she never even thought about it, which, quite frankly, is the first and foremost reason for her hesitation. That unfamiliarity alone would surely make her uncomfortable and terribly self-conscious, she tells herself.
Persephone, as if hearing her current predicament, decides to prompt her to give in with even more arguments.
[I had it tailored just for you. There’s no way you’d look out of place in it, dear, you can trust your mother’s words on it.] She sounds confident, as always, and Kim Dokja finds it comforting, just a little bit. [Don’t tell me you want to go in such attire when I personally made sure Yoo Joonghyuk will attend in a three-piece suit.]
At that, Kim Dokja’s head whips back to the dress.
Before another constellation can even approach Yoo Joonghyuk, he shoots them down with a scowl, which shows to work quite well—the dejected angel of Eden scrams in hurry, head bowed in a poor attempt at avoiding the man’s blazing eyes. The one that is allowed by his side weakly swats at his arm; Yoo Joonghyuk offers the girl a lazy raise of his brow in a simple question.
[Don’t be so mean to others! What if I get scolded for not keeping you from causing trouble?] Uriel whines, looking at him desperately. Her blonde locks scatter along the exaggerated gestures and frantic movements as she complains about what-ifs and what-nots some more. Yoo Joonghyuk, although always lenient with the archangel’s antics, cuts to the chase, effectively shutting her up.
“Who would scold you for that?”
Uriel looks at him like he’s gone stupid.
[What do you mean, who?] she asks, toying with the hem of her black dress. [Kim Dokja, of course.]
In turn, Yoo Joonghyuk’s glare is thunderous.
[Don’t look at me like that, you know she hates it when you can’t behave yourself!]
“Behave myself,” Joonghyuk repeats, frowning even harder—or, well, he would, if that was any possible. The sudden silence is loud, and when he doesn’t inquire about anything else, Uriel puffs her cheeks out in frustration. The regressor crosses his arms despite the tightness that his gray shirt and black suit jacket render him in. This is exactly why he likes the comfortable stretch of his turtlenecks more.
[Not my words,] Uriel mutters helplessly, still tugging at her tiny dress. It seems like dodging his stares has become somewhat of an international sport. [Kim Dokja said so once.]
“What did I say, exactly?”
Yoo Joonghyuk is about to say something akin to ‘finally’ or ‘what took you so long’, but every word in his dictionary evaporates into nothing as soon as he turns around to look at Kim Dokja. Kim Dokja, wearing seductive makeup and a long qipao fitting so snugly to her waist and hips that Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t know what to do with himself. Stuck in some sort of a trance, the man continues to shamelessly ogle her body—it’s wrapped in black silk and lace like she’s a gift and it’s his goddamn birthday.
[Dokja-ssi!]
Yoo Joonghyuk, regrettably, cannot follow the curves of Kim Dokja’s breasts anymore—Uriel jumps into her arms to welcome her within seconds. He pointedly averts his greedy eyes when the line of his vision is covered with the archangel’s golden tresses, mouth twitching in dissatisfaction. The two of them hug for a tad too long for his liking, casually delving into a small chat that Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t focus on. Purposefully, mind you, because regardless of how much attention he makes sure to pay Kim Dokja, he also has his limits somewhere. Namely, at the (also lacey, lord have mercy upon him) thigh garter the woman sports on her exposed leg, which Yoo Joonghyuk, infuriatingly so, cannot touch right now.
Not now, nor for the rest of the banquet, it turns out; ruefully, Yoo Joonghyuk has to settle for placing his palm over the small of Kim Dokja’s back as she exchanges greetings and converses with dozens of other constellations. Again, the man glued to her side doesn’t even acknowledge the various figures that are surely important on the stage of Star Stream—he’s very much preoccupied with surveying Kim Dokja’s exposed nape, the dangling earrings and the subtle-yet-refined blush applied to her cheeks. And as a matter of fact, Yoo Joonghyuk is so engrossed in marveling at his companion’s beauty that Kim Dokja has to give him a little nudge whenever she wants him to follow her somewhere else.
“Yoo Joonghyuk,” Dokja murmurs finally when they find themselves alone for a moment, smoothing out the crease she finds on his vest. The regressor hums in response, watching the tender flush on her face become a bit more vibrant. “Stop it.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he breathes out, looking down to where her slim fingers still pet at his midsection, fumbling over the expensive material of his suit. He’s about to catch that sly hand, bring it to his lips, pull at it so the woman can’t help but trail after him—Kim Dokja retreats, then, glancing up from underneath her eyelashes. They’re so long, Yoo Joonghyuk thinks. I need to kiss her, is what comes next almost immediately. Like an instinct.
“You’re doing this again,” the woman reprimands him once more, turning to the side, away from him. Yoo Joonghyuk frowns. “Staring. It’s distracting.”
“Can you blame me?” leaves him before he can bite at his tongue. The bewildered look in Kim Dokja’s eyes when she hears it is worth the embarrassment that gnaws at his heart, though.
“I can,” Dokja answers after a hot second, abashed. There’s a slight pout to her lips when she says that, due to which Yoo Joonghyuk has to refrain from smiling. “And I will, if you continue to act like a pervert in public.”
“Like a pervert?” Joonghyuk echoes, stepping a little to the left, just behind Kim Dokja, and simultaneously slipping his gloved hand in between the slit of her gown. Right there—in the middle of a banquet hall—the man presses his chest to Kim Dokja’s lithe back, while his fingers move towards her inner thigh, with the clear intent of feeling her up. The very same second, the man feels a sharp heel landing on his dress shoe.
“In case you didn’t know,” Kim Dokja’s voice is snide, “I don’t fancy talking to perverts.”
True to her words, she all but ignores his every effort of drawing her attention via suggestive touches and whispers of her name; Yoo Joonghyuk is positive he’s about to go crazy.
“Hands off; I’m going for a smoke,” Dokja says after more than an hour of entertaining the others. Others, as well as a very handsy Yoo Joonghyuk who has refused to leave her side even for a minute so far. “Why are you looking at me like this?”
He indeed stares at Kim Dokja like a man betrayed. The dark curls of his hair fall handsomely on one side of his forehead, now a little scrunched thanks to the frown sent her way. Kim Dokja, uncaring, takes her sweet time scrutinizing Yoo Joonghyuk’s high cheekbones and the sharp edge of his clenched jaw. Sometimes Kim Dokja wonders how she managed to score someone like that.
Strangely enough, Yoo Joonghyuk takes reminding her how as his number one priority; his arm—still tightly secured around her small waist—distracts her from her train of thoughts, because it presses her closer to his chest, possessive, grasp unrelenting. Kim Dokja isn’t weirded out by it, per se, but given how the regressor was never one for excessive public display of affection, it does make her feel a little funny. A little flustered, a little desired. It’s just like he doesn’t want anyone else to look at her, which, well, is somewhat of an unrealistic concept to Kim Dokja. Nevertheless, her personal beliefs on what Yoo Joonghyuk is or isn’t like don’t change the fact he’s been putting his entire attention on her the whole night. Kim Dokja is sure she’s enjoying it more than she should be.
“Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me in the first place?” Joonghyuk retorts, completely discounting Kim Dokja’s own question. She dignifies him a dirty look, yet makes no attempt to wiggle out of his arms.
“You’ve been awfully clingy the entire time,” Dokja finally says as if it explains everything, seeing that he won’t let it go unanswered. The clarification fails to impress him, though, because Yoo Joonghyuk raises an eyebrow in response and doesn’t even open his mouth. “It’s just—just very unlike you, alright? I’m getting embarrassed,” she mumbles, hiding her flushed face underneath her bangs as much as possible.
“...Kim Dokja.”
“Stop it, bastard.” The woman hits his pectoral, trying her hardest to escape the death grip on her waist. Frustratingly, it doesn’t go the way she planned it; Kim Dokja curses Yoo Joonghyuk’s monstrous strength in her mind. “I know you find this funny, you stupid fucker, let me go for that damn smoke—”
“Fine,” he chuckles, leaning down to press his lips against her cheek. Kim Dokja feels herself heat up almost immediately. “Only one. You need to cut down on smoking.”
The gloved palm slides off her hip, painfully slow, and Kim Dokja can’t help but shiver against her will. The places where Yoo Joonghyuk was touching seconds ago still pleasantly tingle—Kim Dokja already misses the warmth of his body. She glances at him one last time, face definitely a comparable shade of red to the lipstick she’s wearing, and flees, a petty ‘you’re not my mom’ leaving her before she can stop it. Just as she’s about to enter the balcony, Kim Dokja hears the regressor’s curt laughter. And no matter how tempted she is to see his expression, the woman doesn’t look back.
“If only he were as expressive when he’s not making fun of me,” she mutters to herself, taking a cigarette out.
[Let me guess, Yoo Joonghyuk?]
Kim Dokja’s head jerks to the side in record time. On the balcony, apparently on a smoke break himself, stands Asmodeus, for once in his true form, horns curling around his head and red eyes gleaming in interest. He’s clad in a suit so tight Kim Dokja seriously wonders if he can even breathe in it. Quickly composing herself from her stunned silence, she levels the Demon King with a cold stare and puts the cigarette between her mouth, about to light it up.
“What’s it to you, Asmodeus?”
[My, don’t be like that,] he answers, straightening himself up from where he’s braced against the railing. Kim Dokja darts her chin up, a sudden scowl painting her lips as Asmodeus approaches her and brings a sophisticated lighter out. A faint click later, a lick of orange flames bursts out of it, pursuing the edge of her cigarette. [I didn’t mean to pry,] Asmodeus smiles—absolutely nasty—and watches as Kim Dokja leans into the offered fire, igniting her tobacco.
Smoke fills the air, soon puffed out straight into Asmodeus’ face, to which he only grins wider, never peeling his stare off the woman in front of him. She glares right back, impassive, and takes another whiff, purposefully unhurried, before she speaks up again.
[You seem very interested in my companion, Asmodeus,] Dokja remarks, using her true voice. Cigarette ash lands on Asmodeus’ dress shoes to the Demon King’s ever-growing amusement, and Kim Dokja continues, nonchalant, [Don’t you find it pointless to mention him whenever we meet?]
[Your companion,] Asmodeus mirrors without missing a beat. There’s a knowing glint in his eyes, which Kim Dokja ultimately decides she hates with true passion. [Doesn’t interest me as much as you do.]
Kim Dokja scoffs, raising her eyebrows in a dubious gaze. The Demon King’s lips twist into a hideous smile for what seems like the thousandth time, and the woman interrupts him before he can continue his original thought.
[Don’t elaborate,] Dokja shoots, quick to end the topic. She’s had enough of Asmodeus’ constant schemes and the like. [I didn’t come here to hear that.]
That’s right. Kim Dokja came here to de-stress and admire the starry sky outside, not to entertain yet another constellation and their absurd ideas or plans. She truly does not understand how Persephone enjoys this kind of stuffy atmosphere. Schooling her expression into a glower icier than before, Kim Dokja sends Asmodeus a judgemental look as soon as she’s done with her cigarette. Unfortunately, Asmodeus is clearly unaware (or just disregarding—it could be either, truthfully) of her irritation and chooses not to respect her prior request.
[Oh, really?] he disputes, sounding twice as mirthful as he did just seconds ago. Kim Dokja dreads to hear the reason behind that. [Well, no matter how you look at it, it seems your companion did, however.]
Right on cue, Yoo Joonghyuk’s heady perfume swathes her senses before Kim Dokja can even react.
“Wai—” Dokja gasps, pushing onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders. It doesn’t really work; the man just won’t budge and advances forward, till she’s pressed against a wall, till she can’t escape his grasp. Kim Dokja squirms when her chin is gripped—Yoo Joonghyuk’s gloved fingers tilt her head up and before she can even tell him off properly, his lips land on her jaw, then go lower, descending to the collar of her cheongsam. “Joonghyuk, I said wait—”
“No,” Joonghyuk rasps, claiming her lips once more, holding onto her waist like he owns it. He probably does, Kim Dokja thinks. “I’ve waited enough.”
Indeed, Yoo Joonghyuk is no patient man when it comes to sex—Kim Dokja had a first-hand experience that confirmed this a while ago, when the regressor fucked her while she was still asleep, unable to stand any more of her teasing. He takes her by force now, too, and all the woman can do is shiver under his touch and—contrary to her words—cling to him even closer. Yoo Joonghyuk smiles into her mouth, drapes himself over her and cruelly enjoys the way Kim Dokja tiptoes on her frail heels to keep up with his pace. His palms are wide enough to span over her belly, and she can feel one of them slowly sneak under her dress—hot, scorching where it sits, in spite of the smart leather acting as a barrier between their skin.
“Ah, no,” she whines, growing wet from the light pressure so close to where she needs it. “Joonghyuk-ah, we’re still in public…”
It’s true; the moment they left the balcony, Yoo Joonghyuk unceremoniously yanked Kim Dokja in a silent order to follow him. That’s how she found herself trapped between his arms in a small lounge room. At the very least, he had the decency not to try this in the middle of the busy banquet hall, in front of everyone. Kim Dokja is sure she would attempt to knock herself out if he ever did. Out of pure mortification, of course, not because she likes it or anything.
“I don’t care,” the man refuses her pleas once again, nosing below her ear, catching the glistening earring between his teeth next. “It didn’t matter to you before.”
“What?” Dokja exhales, clutching at Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulders. The fabric of his jacket crumples beneath her fingers, but the regressor really couldn’t care less, squeezing his knee in between Kim Dokja’s thighs. She whines again, having her hips forced down onto his leg the very same second. “Wait—what, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Joonghyuk snaps, grinding up to meet her subtle movements. “Asmodeus’ flirting didn’t seem to bother you at all, and now you’re telling me to stop?”
Kim Dokja stifles a moan at that, at the angry tone, at the tight—bordering on painful—grip, at the teeth nipping at her neck. She doesn’t have another choice but to get off on Yoo Joonghyuk’s thigh, guided by his strong arms, the material of her qipao casted aside, out of the way. At this rate she will leak through her underwear, stain the man’s formal pants with her slick. The remnants of her common sense tell her to stop—doing this in a place like that is fucking indecent, for god’s sake—but she’s greedy. She’s too greedy and eager for her own good, actually, and can’t even cease the motion of her quivering hips.
“You’re not even denying, huh?” Joonghyuk accuses, voice nasty. If Kim Dokja wasn’t dripping before, she definitely is now. “You’re that much of a whore you seek attention from every man available?”
“Ah, fuck, no—” Dokja’s meek denial cracks before she can put it into an actual sentence. Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t even spare her a glance—instead, he slides one of his palms up to grope her small breast, which Kim Dokja’s traitorous body welcomes with a low sigh. “I’m telling you it’s not—not like that,” she tries again, only to be completely ignored. Yoo Joonghyuk, presently, is as terrible as she always pictured him to be.
All of a sudden, Kim Dokja feels the silk covering her chest give in, almost ripping at the seams because of Yoo Joonghyuk’s fingers pulling it down. The sound that leaves her is pathetic, to say the least, and the woman seriously considers never speaking to Persephone again when she realizes this damn open window in her gown is nothing more, nothing less but an advantage to Yoo Joonghyuk’s filthy actions. Curse her and her annoyingly convincing arguments.
“I don’t care what it’s like,” Joonghyuk is ruthless, consumed by his anger, “Or what it’s not like. I’ve had enough of your goddamn antics, Dokja.”
Kim Dokja must be insane for finding this attractive, out of all things.
“Joonghyuk,” she sighs, fighting the urge to hump the hard muscle of his thigh. It’s unfair. “He really—”
“Shut up.”
Indeed, Kim Dokja shuts up. Embarrassingly so, granted how she’s about to speak up again yet closes her mouth right away at the man’s words. Finally pacified, even if it’s only a little bit, Yoo Joonghyuk moves his leg up, bending down to mouth at her exposed cleavage. Kim Dokja finds purchase in his hair, where she pulls at the inky locks, what seems to spur the man on. He sucks, with a clear intention to leave a mark, and Kim Dokja immediately tries to get him off, off, before she ends up looking like she got mauled by a wild dog.
“Oh my fucking—Joonghyuk, no marks, not here—”
A gloved palm tightly clasps at her mouth, ending her pointless complaints; if there’s one universal truth about Yoo Joonghyuk, it’s the fact that he always does whatever he wants.
“One more time,” the regressor warns, unmindful of the woman’s teeth grazing the leather on his hands, ready to bite in protest. “Speak up one more time, and I’ll give you something to actually whine about.”
Kim Dokja can only pray she doesn’t leak right through her skimpy panties. It’s probably past hope already, given the lazy grind Yoo Joonghyuk infuriatingly keeps up. This slow rhythm is uninterrupted no matter what happens—it’s like he put half of his soul into that—into making sure Kim Dokja slowly goes insane through the direct contact with his toned body.
Fine, she tells herself, be that way. Before Yoo Joonghyuk can react, Kim Dokja licks between his fingers, tasting the earthy material of the gloves. They smell faintly of him, of the perfume he has on tonight, and just that alone is enough to go straight to Kim Dokja’s head. As if this wasn’t sufficient, Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t stop her—he patiently drinks the view in, even goes to pinch her tongue with his knuckles, crudely holding it there like he would a cigarette. At the same time, Yoo Joonghyuk forces her down onto his thigh again; the lewd moan that makes it out of her mouth just then surprises the both of them.
“That’s right,” Joonghyuk says lowly, aroused. Kim Dokja struggles to swallow, as if it’s gonna help her incessant drooling. It does not, obviously—she’s slobbering over his palm, obscene, unable to close her mouth. Despite all this mess, Yoo Joonghyuk stares at her in a way that causes her heart to stutter. “Good girl. Now open up for me.”
His fingers let go of Kim Dokja’s tongue, painted lips, along with a string of saliva; her eyes follow it, in a trance, pupils blown wide with a blank look to them. She feels lightheaded already, out of breath—so really, it’s just the normal occurrence when Yoo Joonghyuk touches her. Or rather, it should be, and yet it isn’t, because Kim Dokja is about to come all over his thigh just from a little humping.
As pitiful as it sounds, she can’t even fathom what she owes this to. Is it his blatant aggression? The obvious display of jealousy and possessiveness? Or the way she just isn’t given any choice but to get fucked in public because he wants to? Maybe it’s the gloves and his handsome appearance in that suit? She does not know the answer to that, but one thing is sure: Kim Dokja is really grateful she’s the one with mind reading skills and not the other way around.
Struggling to process her thoughts, Kim Dokja completely forgets to do what she was told to, and so Yoo Joonghyuk impatiently tuts and brings two of his digits inside her mouth only to press down on her tongue. It’s sudden enough to almost make her gag and open wide in surprise; she glances at the man, alarmed, trying her hardest not to retch when the gloved pads of his fingers hit the back of her throat.
“I told you to open up, Dokja,” Joonghyuk murmurs, staring at her lips. Her lipstick must surely be wrecked by now. “You usually have no issues doing this. Feeling a little bratty today?”
Kim Dokja doesn’t want to grant him the satisfaction of taming her. She knows it’s stupid, she knows she’ll break like all these times before—and yet she tries anyway, none the wiser. The bite she graces Yoo Joonghyuk with is probably painful, given the force she applies to it, and the glare she gets in return is dreadful. Full of promise. Kim Dokja shudders, treading on thin ice.
“Okay, darling,” the man smiles, like serenity personified, giving Kim Dokja a whiplash. She keeps forgetting he isn’t as stone-cold with her as with everyone else. Then it hits her—the small crook of his lips is nothing compared to the fire in his eyes. “We can do this the hard way.”
Yoo Joonghyuk, without another heads-up, hooks her leg up and rearranges her in a way where she barely reaches the floor, quite literally sitting on the juncture of his thigh and hip. The fingers are gone, flicking her nipple next; Kim Dokja whines, about to cover her mouth in order to avoid making any more stupid sounds, but Yoo Joonghyuk has something else in mind when he painfully squeezes her small breast.
“You will keep your mouth open and drool like a bitch for me,” Joonghyuk says, tone final, which doesn’t leave her an option to argue. She’s about to, still, but the regressor doesn’t acknowledge that. Kim Dokja’s tits, prettily framed by the (now actual, thanks to his naughty hands) cheongsam’s lacey window, seem to interest him much more. “Either this, or I will force you onto your knees right there and have you choke on my cock till the banquet ends. It’s your choice, Dokja.”
See, the prospect of being used like that does something to Kim Dokja’s cunt; she would never admit that, but she really reconsiders obeying her partner for a whole few seconds. In the end, she abandons the idea and relaxes in Yoo Joonghyuk’s hold, slackened jaw and lax arms.
“Mm,” Joonghyuk hums, content, to which Kim Dokja barely holds back a glare. It’d only ruin her already miniscule chance of getting out of this unscathed and more or less presentable, she reasons with herself. “Was it so difficult, baby?”
Kim Dokja slowly shakes her head no, flinching as her nipple is pinched. Yoo Joonghyuk cracks that small, wary kind of smile again; it’s the only warning she gets before he lifts her up by the back of her thighs and throws her onto the leather couch in the center of the room. She bounces up and down, breathless, and is given no time to adjust her position—the regressor is all over her in the blink of an eye, lips and palms claiming what’s rightfully his. Kim Dokja gasps, squirms when gloved fingers painfully squeeze her bare hips once more—she’s sure they will be bruised by the end of this. To be frank, she knows the most rational thing is to contain Yoo Joonghyuk—after all, the slits of her gown will undeniably show this and that—but right now, in the midst of being felt up by him, she realizes she doesn’t care enough to do it.
“I will fuck you like this,” Joonghyuk tells her then, low, like he’s revealing his biggest secret to her. Kim Dokja can only stare as he splays her legs wide open, simultaneously groping her slim calves. Her dress is carelessly pushed to the side next; Yoo Joonghyuk looks down on her clothed cunt like there’s a whole meal in front of him and he hasn’t eaten in days. “And you will take it, until everyone knows who you belong to.”
Kim Dokja feels herself clench at the promise, and her thighs quiver instantly in meek efforts at closing. They don’t, obviously, because Yoo Joonghyuk doesn’t let go of his prey once he has it in his clutches. The same goes for Kim Dokja, who happens to be very aware of the fact. Very aware and most definitely pleased with it, because if anything, she only grows wetter at the forceful grip he doesn’t let up. The man pulls at the lacey garter Kim Dokja has on tonight, only for it to snap back into place a second later, and without even bothering to pull his gloves off, he shifts the material of her panties aside.
“You’re drenched,” he comments, glancing up to his partner’s reddened face. She looks away in shame. Yoo Joonghyuk almost laughs—it’s a funny concept, for Kim Dokja to be embarrassed. No mercy nor patience to spare, Yoo Joonghyuk fits two of his thick fingers inside of her, watching as her pussy welcomes it with ease.
“Ah, Joonghyuk-ah, wait,” Dokja cries out, soft—too soft for Yoo Joonghyuk to feel persuaded by her pleas. “You can’t just—” A stray thumb presses down on her clit, and her voice all but breaks.
“Hm,” Joonghyuk chuckles, raising his brows in amusement. Kim Dokja moans as he continues his ministrations, mindlessly lifting her hips to meet the touch. “You started, though.”
“I did no—oh, fuck,” she whines, dragging out the curse when Yoo Joonghyuk bends down to mouth at her cunt.
Like a man on a mission, he sucks on her clit, making her clamp down on his digits and urgently kick her leg; it’s pointless, really, because he can simply force it down with his free hand. And that he does, humming—Kim Dokja, on the other hand, writhes again, this time weaker. She grasps at the very edge of the sofa, searching for purchase, all the while Yoo Joonghyuk bores into her face. And despite all her protests, Kim Dokja looks down at him like he’s grown a second head as soon as he pulls his tongue off of her.
“What is it, Dokja?” Joonghyuk asks, a wanton smirk hiding in the black of his eyes. The woman knits her brows, but otherwise remains silent. She won’t win anything with her disobedience, she knows that, and yet a mere ‘please’ still can’t pass her lips freely. Not without a prior push. “Do you want anything, darling?”
Kim Dokja struggles to articulate her thoughts; she’s certain she wouldn’t be in such a tight spot if only Yoo Joonghyuk just stopped fingering her. Something heavy sits in her throat when she glances down, to where he’s still stretching her out, the black leather of his glove smooth against her walls. She twitches at the sight, slowly circling her hips and Yoo Joonghyuk encourages her by putting another digit in alongside the other two. He allows her at least this much, apparently.
“You—” she starts, gasping when he hits a nice spot inside. It’s hard to focus, she wants to complain, but Yoo Joonghyuk’s hungry gaze tells her not to push her luck. “I want you to continue,” she mutters. Noticing he does not plan to do that anytime soon, she adds as an afterthought: “Please, Joonghyuk-ah.”
He’s licking at her cunt before she can say another word; he’s eager, resuming his work until Kim Dokja inevitably starts shaking. Yoo Joonghyuk holds her down through that, never ceasing his caresses. At least not until she comes, sudden and quick, mewling out what seems to be his name, with her head thrown back and fingers yanking at his dark hair.
Only then does the regressor relents and moves back up, licking the slick off his lips at the view of his companion flushed and breathless, slowly coming down from her high. She’s still tightly squeezing at his gloved fingers, now all four of them thanks to his excellent multitasking—Kim Dokja can barely keep her overstimulated cunt in place.
“You ruined my glove, baby,” Joonghyuk murmurs the second he pulls his fingers out; it’s true—the leather is soiled with her arousal beyond belief. Kim Dokja, regardless of the fact she came just now, feels the same amount of worked up as before. She chases after the sensation, suddenly empty.
“It’s not my fault,” she tries, whining when the man refuses to give her what she wants. Yoo Joonghyuk smiles, seeing her leak even more—the slick catches onto her underwear, still pushed to the side but nonetheless sitting on her hips. When she doesn’t get scolded for telling him off, she continues, albeit softly, “You could’ve taken it off.”
“I could’ve,” Joonghyuk confirms, clearly fighting a grin that wants to appear on his handsome face. Kim Dokja is a goner. “But you like them a lot. So I didn’t.”
Kim Dokja burns bright pink right then, caught red-handed. She makes it her objective to avoid Yoo Joonghyuk’s amused stare, but it proves to be useless with how the filthy fingers of his grip her chin. He forces her to look at him, into his dark eyes—and it’s like she’s under a spell. It doesn’t even cross her mind to comment on the stains appearing on her dress, nor the way Yoo Joonghyuk manhandles her lithe body onto his lap. She gasps, turned on, grabbing onto his broad shoulders; the material of his suit jacket suffers underneath her tight squeeze yet again, but Kim Dokja only puts more strength into it—the regressor deserves that and more for ruining her own clothing.
“Easy there,” the man says, not even bothering to take off her underwear as he brings her hips down. Kim Dokja struggles not to moan at that, and at the feeling of his suddenly bare cock grazing her cunt. Sneaky little fucker, she wants to say, involuntarily grinding down along the entire length. “No need to be so impatient, Dokja.”
“You—you’ve got some nerve—” she starts, ready to fight a losing battle, but goes silent when Yoo Joonghyuk moves against her, equally urgent in contrast to his words. Gloved palms slip back under her cheongsam, holding onto her hips and ass, right where they belong.
“We can continue playing around if you feel like talking back to me all the time,” Joonghyuk says, raising an eyebrow at her. Kim Dokja detests him almost as much as she wants him. A couple of steadying breaths later, she shifts her hips against his dick without further ado, suppressing a humiliating noise when her clit gets more stimulation. Yoo Joonghyuk is having none of that. “I didn’t quite catch that, darling.”
Kim Dokja whines, burying her face into the crook of his right shoulder. There’s something annoyingly dangerous about the strong, slightly tangy fragrance of his perfume—she takes a whiff of it as soon as her nose touches his tan neck like a woman possessed, and immediately drips even more than before. Yoo Joonghyuk stifles a laugh, his chest rumbling traitorously where she’s pressed against it.
“But—! I already asked you,” Dokja protests, tugging at his black tie to see more of his scarred skin. Yoo Joonghyuk lets her, kneading her thighs while ignoring the hell out of the way she continues to grind onto his cock as if to lure him inside.
“So?”
Kim Dokja wants to scream. As if his attitude tonight wasn’t enough, the arrogant prick (that she happens to be dating, she mourns internally) lifts her hips up until they hover above his, completely still thanks to his unforgiving grasp. Denied once more, Kim Dokja cries out in frustration, clawing at the man’s shirt. In the back of her mind, she’s already planning Asmodeus’ premature demise—after all, if you think about it, it’s his fault she’s in the current situation.
“No, wait,” Dokja mewls finally, after a few seconds of writhing within his hold. Yoo Joonghyuk does not offer anything but two fingers that enter her mouth again, refuting her the privilege of talking without drool dribbling onto her exposed tits. “Wai’, ‘oon’hyuk—” is what pitifully leaves her as she struggles against the gloved digits pressing onto her tongue. She gags, tears fogging her vision, before Yoo Joonghyuk, the sadistic bastard, relents.
“I’m waiting,” the regressor answers, directing his attention to her cleavage. Kim Dokja fumes, yet can’t help the twitching of her pussy when he licks and bites right above her nipple in an attempt to make a mark. A successful one at that—Kim Dokja has always been easy to bruise.
“C’mon, please,” she urges him, clasping her hands at his nape. Yoo Joonghyuk hums, sounding almost like an actual cat, which encourages her to comb through his dark curls. “Please, Joonghyuk-ah, get on with it.”
There’s no verbal response; Kim Dokja begins to worry her words were insufficient, about to beg him again, but the man abruptly sits her down on his dick in one smooth motion, stuffing her cunt full.
“A-ah, fucking hell—” she babbles nonsense, breathing through gritted teeth as Yoo Joonghyuk clutches her small waist and grunts into her chest. “You fucking brute—”
“Shut up, baby,” Joonghyuk says, the same amount of out of breath. It wouldn’t work, normally, but he wastes no time to kiss her quiet, and Kim Dokja has no other choice but to comply and melt into it.
The stretch is the usual mix of satisfying and overwhelming, but Kim Dokja quickly realizes the position does little to help her accommodate it—his cock reaches somewhat deeper like this, when she’s forced upright by Yoo Joonghyuk’s big hands. She’s not sure she likes it, just sitting on it is a lot to take but then—then the pad of his thumb puts pressure on her clit, she squeezes down on his erection and oh. Oh, it feels good.
“Does it, darling?” Joonghyuk questions; Kim Dokja’s eyes are quick to fly open, quick to notice the man’s smug little smile and his all-knowing gaze. She’s, regrettably, also quick to come to terms with the fact that she said that aloud, completely unprovoked. Yoo Joonghyuk, however, seems to know exactly what Kim Dokja wants to do then, because he picks her body up and pushes her down onto his fat cock again before she can even try to mute herself.
“Joonghyuk,” she gasps out, strained. He answers her with what sounds like her own name, but it dies down in the midst of her own moans.
Yoo Joonghyuk, the damn overachiever that he is, busies himself with mouthing at her neck, keeping his pace unchanged. He’s careless of the qipao’s collar, and Kim Dokja can feel his teeth accidentally tug at it a couple of times. Despite the fact she’d definitely scold him for that, it’s, unfortunately, the last of her concerns as of now. Out of the blue, her clit is pinched between his fingers, and Kim Dokja goes rigid, a violent spasm raking her form. Her cunt clamps down onto Yoo Joonghyuk’s dick—he bites down at the very same time, right underneath her ear where everyone can just see.
“Dokja, fuck,” Joonghyuk rasps into her chin. The woman slumps into his body, arms slack and legs still shaking from her orgasm. Yoo Joonghyuk smiles at the way she nuzzles into his shoulder, awfully affectionate; he rubs her worn-out muscles, brushes her bangs out of her forehead to press his lips to it, and then grinds his hips up, only to get a startled yell in response.
“No—” Dokja cries out, overstimulated, struggling to escape the regressor’s vicious grasp. It’s no use, she already knows it—can feel his palms clawing onto her waist, keeping her in place, slowly coaxing into obedience. She trashes nonetheless, until Yoo Joonghyuk inevitably decides he’s had enough. “I just came, no, ah—”
The man smiles, predatory, pushing the unruly woman back onto the couch to fuck her sideways. Kim Dokja scratches him above his glove, undoubtedly adding to his collection of scars, and even though Yoo Joonghyuk is not so sweet anymore, she enjoys the thrill all the same.
“I’m sure you can handle it, baby.”
The rest is a blur of tears and moans.
[Dokja-ssi!] Uriel excitedly yells, rushing to the said woman’s side as soon as she spots her amongst the crowd. Kim Dokja turns, hearing her upbeat voice. She really is cute. [Where have you—]
The archangel cuts herself off the moment she notices that Yoo Joonghyuk is also there, right beside her, pressing Kim Dokja close by the dip of her waist. He’s clad in a gray shirt and a black vest; the jacket he previously had on is gone—undeniably draped around Kim Dokja’s shoulders, big enough to shield her entire upper body from everyone’s curious stares.
“Ah, Uriel,” Dokja finally says, fatigue lacing her words. Uriel immediately glooms, staring at her in concern. “I was feeling a little off, so I went to take a small break. Yoo Joonghyuk took care of me, so please don’t worry about it.”
The regressor supporting her lithe form hums in confirmation, looking down at his companion. Uriel scrutinizes the pair, suddenly freezing, as if she’s having an epiphany of sorts. A healthy flush appearing on her face later, she frantically bows down and excuses herself, barely managing not to trip in her haste. Kim Dokja only watches her leave, frowning, while Yoo Joonghyuk leans down to breathe into her ear. His gloved palm sensually slides down, as if admiring her curves, finally settling on her hip. Kim Dokja shivers, gripping tighter at the hem of Yoo Joonghyuk’s blazer.
“Do you think she saw my marks?” he murmurs, tone vulgar, suggestive—Kim Dokja hates herself and her body for its lewd reaction to it. She’d kill to scoff, chide him for doing this in public, yet she feels it’d just hurt her pride more.
“If you told me beforehand you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants,” Dokja skirts the question, albeit not shunning away from the man’s intimate touch. “I would not have worn that dress.”
“You could always wear it some other time,” Joonghyuk implies, already staring into her eyes when she twists her head his way, scandalized. Although her expression is trained into something offended, the slight blush coating her pale skin tells him a different story.
“Yoo Joonghyuk!”