requested by liv!! it's nice to write an idea of yours again, angel. thank you for your support, hope you like this channie!
You had always been a hothead. Too proud to apologize, too stubborn to listen when others tried to reach you.
You worked at a small flower shop downtown, where the air always smelled of fresh petals and damp greenery. Most days, the job felt like it should have softened you. Instead, your temper often got the best of you.
You snapped when your coworker mixed up lilies and tulips. You raised your voice when deliveries arrived late. With your wide, innocent eyes and delicate frame, customers never expected the sharp edge in your tone, and the surprise on their faces only made the guilt sink deeper afterward.
Christopher Bahng was not an easy man either. Powerful, distant, and relentlessly cold, he ruled Bahng Enterprises with the same iron control he seemed to apply to every other part of his life. He was always busy, always unreachable, always carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He was also your husband. And at home, the tension between you two never really disappeared. You clashed often, both too proud to back down, both too stubborn to admit fault.
The latest argument had ended the same way as many before it: with silence, sharp words left hanging in the air.
Neither of you apologized.
Instead, Christopher had declared a strike. A touch strike. One month without making out, without cuddling, without the usual steamy nights, until you finally apologized.
It only made you angrier.
You went to work already on edge. You were harsher with Felix than usual, unintentionally rude to a few customers, and nearly ruined a bouquet of roses when your hands trembled with frustration. By the time your shift ended, exhaustion and regret sat heavy in your chest.
Coming home felt worse.
The penthouse was quiet when you stepped inside. Too quiet, until you noticed him in the living room. Christopher sat on the couch, legs spread out, a cigarette resting loosely between his fingers as he skimmed the newspaper. He was shirtless. Gray sweatpants, the ones you really liked, hanging low on his hips.
Provoking you. He was good at that.
You caught the obvious hard-on beneath the fabric and forced yourself to look away, walking past him as if you hadn’t noticed a thing. You refused to give him the satisfaction. You needed to cool off, to prove that you were just as capable of holding your ground.
In the kitchen, you focused on making tea, on the familiar routine of boiling water and choosing a colorful mug. You almost managed to steady your breathing until you felt him behind you.
Christopher stepped close, reaching above your head for something on the shelf, rubbing himself against your ass. The contact was rough, intentional.
Your shoulders tensed as you tried to ignore the feeling. He let out a quiet snort. "Something wrong, sweetheart?" His voice rang in your ears, husky and deep, just the way you liked it. The teasing nickname was just the cherry on top.
He chuckled softly when you continued to ignore him, pretending you weren’t enjoying it. "We both know you can’t handle this." He pressed himself against you, making you aware of every inch of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. "You can’t resist me for long."