The Tyrant's Secret fetish-Chapter 83

Ye Jun

I tried to climb off. Immediately. He just locked his arms around my waist and held me there, rocking me slowly against his thigh so my dick dragged against his skin, hot friction that made my eyes roll back for a second before I caught myself. "Training for what, your personal cock warmer?" I snapped, voice shaking. "Let me go, you tattooed jailer. I’m not your damn lap dog."

"Personal everything," he said, voice dropping lower, almost serious for once. "You’re mine now. Mouth, ass, attitude, all of it. Every stupid comeback. Every time you pretend you hate me. Mine."

I was about to argue loudly, probably with yelling when the door creaked open just enough for Mom to slide a tray inside without looking in, thank every deity that ever existed especially since the bed was at the other end of the room, but what if she actually came into the room. Pancakes stacked high, scrambled eggs, bacon, two mugs of coffee, the usual Sunday spread. Si Woo called "Thanks Mom, love you!" all sweet and normal like he wasn’t holding me in place with iron arms while my dick leaked against his abs. The second the door clicked shut he dragged the tray onto the bed next to us, settled me properly on his thighs facing him, legs spread around his hips, and picked up a fork like this was the most normal breakfast in the world.

"Open," he said, holding a bite of pancake dripping with syrup right in front of my mouth, his other hand already sliding between my legs again, wrapping around my dick under the tray where no one could see if they walked in. Which they wouldn’t. Hopefully.

I glared so hard I thought my eyes might pop out. "I can feed myself, asshole. I have hands. Two of them. They work."

"You can also starve." He stroked once, slow from base to tip, then stopped completely. "Open, Ye Jun. Or I edge you until lunch and you get nothing but blue balls and a growling stomach. Your choice."

My stomach growled right on cue. Traitor body. Always siding with him. I opened my mouth and he fed me the bite, eyes locked on mine the whole time while his thumb rubbed lazy circles right under the head of my dick, smearing the pre-cum that wouldn’t stop leaking. I chewed, swallowed, and immediately snapped, "You’re a walking red flag with abs, you know that? If Mom comes back up here and hears me moaning because of your creepy hand under the tray I’m killing you. I’ll tell her you kidnapped me and forced me to sit here."

"Then you better stay quiet." Another bite of pancake, another slow stroke that stopped right when my hips twitched forward begging for more. "Beg nicely or starve, remember? Say please like a good boy."

I hated him. I hated how my voice came out shaky anyway, small and cracked. "Please... just let me eat like a normal person. Please. I’m starving and you’re being a dick about it."

He laughed, soft and low, fed me more eggs this time, fork scraping the plate, and kept the torture going stroke, stop, stroke, stop until my thighs were trembling hard enough to rattle the tray and I was leaking all over his fingers, slick and obvious. "Look at you," he murmured, voice softer now, almost fond, eyes flicking over my face like he was memorizing it. "Pissed off and dripping for me right at the breakfast table. So fucking pretty when you’re fighting it. Cheeks all red. Eyes shiny. Trying so hard to hate me."

"Shut up," I hissed, but my head fell forward onto his shoulder because my legs were done and my pride was hanging on by one single frayed thread. My breath came out uneven, warm against his skin, and I hated how easily my body gave in. He fed me another bite and I took it without arguing, barely tasting it, too aware of everything else. His hand was still there, steady and firm, and my hips moved into it on their own now, small desperate movements I could not stop even if I tried. It was slow and humiliating and felt too good at the same time. "You already ruined me yesterday. What more do you want? You got my mouth, you got my ass, you got me crying like a bitch. What’s left?"

He went still for a second, like I had said something that mattered more than I meant it to. His hand paused around my dick, not squeezing, not moving, just holding me there, while the other one kept tracing slow circles on my back. It was softer than I expected, almost careful, his thumb pressing into the tight muscles like he could feel how tense I was. Then he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my ear, and his voice dropped low and serious in a way that made my chest tighten so hard I almost forgot how to breathe. "Everything."

I froze. I could not help it. The word settled between us, heavy and quiet, like it carried more weight than anything else he had said. Everything. Not just my body. Not just what he could touch or take. Everything. My sarcasm, my anger, the way I pushed back even when I wanted to give in. The stupid walls I kept trying to hide behind. The parts of me that still pretended this was nothing. He wanted all of it, and the thought made something twist deep in my chest.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, a small sound clicking as I forced the words out. "You’re insane."

"I know." His lips brushed the side of my neck, softer this time, almost gentle, like he was proving a point without saying it out loud. Then he pulled back just enough to feed me the last bite of pancake, acting like nothing had changed, like he had not just said something that shook me. "And you’re still here. Still hard. Still shaking on my lap. So maybe I’m not the only insane one."

I did not answer. I could not. My thoughts were a mess and my body was worse, caught somewhere between resisting and giving in completely. I just sat there, breathing against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest under my cheek. His arms stayed around me, holding me in place like I belonged there, like he had already decided something I had not agreed to yet.

The room felt too quiet. The tray sat forgotten, the coffee slowly going cold, a faint smell in the air that I barely noticed. All I could focus on was the heat between us, the way my body ached, the way his hand had stopped moving but still rested there, keeping me right at the edge. My dick throbbed in his hand, untouched now, the need sharp and constant, making it hard to think straight.

He still hadn’t let me cum.

And he still wouldn’t tell me where the hell my name was going today.