The Tyrant's Secret fetish-Chapter 78

Ye Jun

I barely had time to yank my arm free before Si Woo slammed the bedroom door so hard the whole frame rattled like it was personally offended. He spun me around by the wrist and shoved me back against the wall next to my dresser, not gentle, not careful, just pure pissed-off alpha bullshit. My back hit the wood with a thud that knocked the breath out of me for half a second, and his face was right there, inches away, eyes wild and nostrils flaring like he could already smell Ohm on me even though the guy had only handed me keys and hugged me once.

"What type of whore are you, huh?" he hissed, voice so low it scraped. "Letting some rich Thai fuck buy you with a shiny new ride? You let him put his scent all over your car, all over you, like you’re his little omega prize now?"

I stared at him. Just stared. Then something snapped clean in half inside my chestnot heartbreak, not fear, just pure what-the-actual-fuck rage. My hand moved before my brain caught up. Open palm, full swing, cracked across his cheek so loud it echoed like a gunshot in the tiny room.

He froze.

I froze.

His head stayed turned to the side from the force of it, cheek already blooming red, jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack. For one stupid heartbeat neither of us breathed.

Then he slowly dragged his gaze back to me, eyes blown wide, pupils huge, looking at me like I’d just grown a second head and bitten him.

"Did you just... " he started, voice cracking on the disbelief.

"Yeah I fucking did," I cut in, chest heaving, hand still stinging. "Watch your ugly fucking mouth, Si Woo. You don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t get to call me a whore when you’ve been balls-deep in me every chance you get for weeks. Weeks. And now you wanna act like I owe you something? Like I’m your property? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

He blinked. Once. Twice. Like my words were hitting him in slow motion.

I didn’t give him time to reboot.

"You stand downstairs screaming about how disgusting gay shit is, how it’s ruining the family, how I better not even think about touching another alpha meanwhile you’re the one who’s been sneaking into my room at three a.m., pinning me face-down, growling in my ear like some feral dog in rut. You’re the one who’s been making me come so hard I forget my own name, then rolling off like it never happened. And now you’re disgusted? By me? By Ohm? Make it make sense, you hypocritical piece of shit."

His hand shot up like he was gonna grab my throat or my face or God knows what, but he stopped an inch away, fingers trembling. His breathing was all fucked up short, ragged, like he couldn’t decide whether to punch me or kiss me or throw up.

"You think you can just... " he tried again, voice shaking now, " you think you can take his car, take his hugs, take his fucking teddy bear nickname and act like I don’t exist? Like I didn’t mark you inside and out last week?"

I laughed. Not a nice laugh. A sharp, ugly bark.

"Mark me? You didn’t mark shit. You fucked me. That’s it. No bite, no claim, no nothing. You made damn sure of that. Every single time you pulled out and left me leaking on my own sheets, you made sure nobody would ever know. So don’t stand here acting like I belong to you when you’ve spent every second pretending I don’t."

His face crumpled for one second just one, something raw and ugly flashing through the anger before he locked it down again.

"You’re mine," he growled anyway, stepping in closer, crowding me so my head had to tip back against the wall. "You’ve always been mine."

"Bullshit," I spat right back. "You only want me when no one else does. When I’m convenient. When Dad’s not around, when Mom’s asleep, when there’s no risk of anyone finding out what a liar you are. The second someone else looks at me, really looks you lose your damn mind. That’s not owning me. That’s being a pathetic, jealous asshole who can’t even admit he likes dick."

He flinched like I’d slapped him again.

I kept going because why the hell not? I was done swallowing it.

"You hate that Ohm gave me something nice without wanting to bend me over the hood afterward. You hate that he thinks I’m cute, not like I’m his hole to fill. You hate that maybe just maybe I could have someone who doesn’t treat me like garbage the second we’re done. And you especially hate that you’re the garbage."

His hand finally landed not on my throat, on my jaw. Hard grip, thumb digging into the soft spot under my chin, forcing my head up so I had to look straight into those dark, fucked-up eyes.

"You don’t get to talk to me like that," he said, but it came out wrecked. Voice cracking on every other word.

"I just did," I whispered back, smiling even though my eyes were burning. "And I’ll do it again. You don’t own me. You never did. You just borrowed me until something better showed up."

That did it.

He crashed his mouth against mine so hard our teeth clicked. Not a kiss a claim. All tongue and desperation, like if he could just devour me fast enough he could erase every word I’d just said. His free hand shoved under my shirt, palm flat and burning against my stomach, fingers splaying wide like he was trying to brand his prints into my skin. I tasted blood either he bit my lip or I bit his, didn’t matter.

I shoved at his chest. Hard.

He didn’t budge.

I shoved again, nails digging into his pecs through his shirt.

He growled into my mouth actually growled low and possessive and pathetic and bit down on the side of my neck, right where the skin was thinnest, not breaking skin but hard enough to bruise. I hissed, bucked against him, half trying to throw him off, half arching because my stupid omega body still remembered exactly what that growl did to me.

"Mine," he snarled against my throat, sucking hard enough I knew it’d be purple by morning. "Say it."

"Fuck you," I gasped, but my voice cracked and my hips rolled forward without permission.

He laughed then short, bitter, broken. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

He yanked my head back by the hair, just enough to look at me, eyes glassy and wild.

"You think you can wash me off?" he said, almost soft now. Terrifyingly soft. "You think you can scrub me out of your skin and pretend Ohm’s the one who gets to keep you? Go ahead. Try."

Then he shoved off me so suddenly I almost fell. Turned. Yanked the door open. Slammed it behind him.

I stood there shaking, chest heaving, lip bleeding, neck throbbing, his scent everywhere thick, angry, alpha, covering me like smoke. My legs gave out after maybe three seconds. I slid down the wall until my ass hit the floor, knees pulled up, forehead on them.

I laughed again. Quiet this time. Hysterical little hiccups.

Because what the fuck was my life?

I sat there maybe a minute, maybe ten, I don’t know. Long enough for the sting in my palm to fade and the bite on my neck to start pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Long enough to realize I could still taste him. Long enough to hate myself for wanting to taste him again.

Eventually I dragged myself up. Stumbled to the bathroom attached to my room. Slammed that door too, just because. Turned the shower on full blast, hottest setting, stripped so fast I ripped the hem of my shirt. Stepped under the spray and started scrubbing. Soap. More soap. Scrubbed my neck until it hurt, scrubbed my stomach where his hand had been, scrubbed between my legs like I could erase every time he’d ever been there.

Didn’t work.

His scent clung. Stubborn. Like it lived in my fucking pores now.

I was mid-scrub head tipped back, water pounding my face, trying not to cry because crying would be the cherry on top of this shit sundae when the bathroom door banged open.

I yelped. Slipped. Caught myself on the glass.

Si Woo stood there. Still red-cheeked from the slap. Shirt wrinkled. Hair messed up. Eyes locked on me like a predator who’d just found his favorite toy again.

"Get out," I snapped, voice cracking under the water.

He didn’t move.

"Si Woo. Get. Out."

He stepped inside instead. Closed the door. Locked it.

The steam was already thick, curling around him like it knew he belonged here.

"You think you can just wash me away?" he said again, quieter this time. Almost sad. "You think that’s how it works?"

I turned my back to him, pressed my palms against the tile, let the water beat down on my shoulders.

"I’m trying," I muttered.

He laughed once short, painful.

"Yeah. I can see that."

He didn’t leave.

He just stood there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like he knew I’d break first.

And fuck, maybe I would.