✓ GREEDY HEARTS | JAY

23 - Torment & Tears 🔞

Y/N'S POV

Park blurts out those words, and for a moment, time stands still. My heartbeat quickens when his fingers brush against my skin, leaving me tingling with the sensation of his touch. His thumb traces the outline of my lips, and his gaze tells me 

"I don't do this," He repeats, his voice a husky whisper that sends shivers down my spine. "I don't let anyone in." But the next thing he does is crash his lips into mine and I realize that words are unnecessary. His actions speak louder than anything he could say. It's as if a switch has been flipped, and now there's no room for hesitation or restraint.

The kiss is not the same as the previously stolen kiss in his bedroom; this one is fueled by something deeper, something primal. His hands move from my cheeks to my waist, pulling me closer as if he can't get enough of the contact. As if he wants to erase any distance that might exist between us. And I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair while he lifts me off my feet my puts me on the table. 

I never enjoyed being dominated or controlled, but there's something about the way he handles me that feels different. His hands explore my body, tracing the lines and curves as if he's mapping out every inch of me, and for a moment, all that exists is the man in front of me, the man who, a few days ago, seemed to be made of stone. Nothing more than a distant figure in a suit.

There's a desperation in the way he kisses me, as if trying to erase the chaos outside by claiming me as his own. The taste of him is addictive and overwhelming, making me lose myself completely. His fingers find the edge of my shirt, and without breaking the kiss, he begins to unbutton it. The fabric gives way, revealing more of my skin to his touch. He carefully touches my bandaged wound and then he pauses, taking a moment to trace it with his fingertips. 

His eyes meet mine, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. But all he finds is a silent invitation, a plea for him to continue. And fuck, he does. Before I know it, he's carrying me away from the kitchen and to his room where we continue to lose ourselves. In a matter of a few seconds, my shirt is already discarded and Park is looking at me as if I hold the answers to questions he never knew he had. "You're beautiful." I always thought I was strong, hot and maybe even a bit intimidating, but beautiful? I've never heard someone describe me that way.

Beautiful is not a term I've associated with myself in a long time, especially not in the chaotic world I live in. But right now, as he utters those words, I can't help but believe him. This man is going to be the cause of my downfall, and I can't find it in myself to care.

I let him trail kisses down my abdomen as if he's trying to memorize every inch of me, and a moan escapes my lips. The sound seems to take him off guard because he pauses and I watch as he swallows a lump. Right when he doesn't expect it, I pin him down and sit on top of him. Pain shoots through my side and I wince, but I ignore it. What matters now is the fact that I'm undressing in front of the man I've been wanting to kill and get rid of. 

When I'm left with nothing on, he gazes at me with a hunger that's both possessive and appreciative. Propping himself on his elbows, he lets me unbutton his shirt and I'm met with the sight of his sculpted chest, the lines of his muscles defined in the soft glow of the room. A tattoo peeks from underneath his pants and my fingers instinctively trace its edges. Words are inked on his skin and I feel the need to know more. "What do the words say?" I ask, my voice barely more than a breath.

He takes a moment before replying, his gaze never leaving mine. I'm not the least embarrassed by the fact that I'm naked in front of him, baring not just my body but also my curiosity. His fingers gently trail down my thigh and he sighs. The sound, for some reason, makes my stomach flip. Without saying anything, he undoes his belt and looks at me, allowing me to take care of the rest. My fingers fumble with the button of his pants before I slide the fabric down, revealing more of his inked skin. Two short sentences are written in a font you'd find on an old typewriter, just above his hipbone. My fingers trace the words, feeling the slight rise of the letters against his warm skin.