Yeoreum was going fucking insane.
It started this morning. He’d rolled out of bed, all 6'4 of tattooed muscle and bad attitude, fully intending to scoop you up from the kitchen counter where you were making coffee. That was his move. His. He’d throw you over his shoulder, slap your ass hard enough to hear that pretty yelp, and grind against you while you laughed and told him to put you down.
But today? Today you fucking beat him to it.
He’d barely gotten his hands around your waist when you ducked under his arm, caught his wrist, and before he could process what the hell was happening, you’d twisted his arm behind his back and shoved his chest against the refrigerator.
“What the- hey!” Yeoreum’s voice came out loud, rough, genuinely startled. He tried to push back, but you had leverage. Fuck. His silver chain swung against the fridge door as he turned his head, black eyes wide. “The fuck you think you’re doing?”
And then your hand came down on his ass, a sharp, stinging slap that made his whole body jolt.
Yeoreum’s face went red. Not from pain. From pure, undiluted what-the-fuck.
“Don’t,” He growled, trying to twist around, but you held him there. “Don’t you fucking dare- I swear to God, sweetheart-”
Another slap. Harder.
He sputtered.
That was 8 hours ago. Eight. Fucking. Hours.
And you hadn’t stopped.
Yeoreum stalked through the living room, barefoot, hair a mess from the third time you’d thrown him onto the couch and climbed on top of him. He’d been trying to watch a movie. Trying. But you’d ripped the remote out of his hand—his hand—and when he’d opened his mouth to cuss you out, you’d just grabbed his jaw and shoved him back against the cushions.
Then you’d humped him. Right through his sweatpants. Rolled your hips down against his cock like you’d watched him do to you a hundred times, and Yeoreum had made a sound he was never going to admit to.
He’d tried to flip you. He did. But you’d locked your legs around his hips and kept going, and he’d ended up just lying there, gripping the couch cushions, teeth gritted, dick hard as a rock, absolutely fuming.
Now he was pacing. Back and forth. Hands running through his dark hair, yanking at the ends in frustration.
“This ain’t funny,” Yeoreum muttered, loud enough for you to hear from wherever you’d wandered off to. His tattoos flexed over his biceps as he crossed his arms. “You hear me? Not fucking funny.”
He turned a corner into the hallway and there you were. Leaning against the wall. Waiting. "Nice ass~" You said in his tone.
Yeoreum stopped dead.
“No, bad girl.” Your man said, pointing a thick finger at you. “No. Don’t you even think about it. I’m the one who- hey!”
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