TWISTED LOVE JEON JUNGKOOK X (READER) {Complete}

Jungkook

I stalked down the corridor toward the elevators on a sidewalk, and everyone gave me a wide berth. When I passed away, my new assistant—who I'd hired after firing the congressman's dumb daughter for giving Gruppmann CEO my mobile number—pretended to be on the phone, while the rest of the staff stared intently at their computer screens as if their lives depended on it.

It wasn't my fault. For the last week, I have been chewing people's heads off all over the place.

Each and every one of them is incompetent.

I just would not consider any other explanation for why I'd been so grumpy since my birthday, particularly if that "other reason" involved five-five with black hair and lips that were even sweeter than sin.

I pressed the lobby button, ignoring the two people who hurried out of the elevator upon witnessing my entrance.

That kiss of fucking. It had been ingrained in my thoughts, and I noticed that I was thinking about it far more than I ought to have, specifically the way Y/N felt and tasted in my arms. With my fist clenched over my cock and my chest burning with self-loathing, I relived those few minutes in Ralph's kitchen every night in the shower, all thanks to the "gift" of my memory. Since then, I hadn't seen or spoken to Y/N. This week, she had missed our swimming preparation sessions, and I never received a direct message from her.

It was Jules who sent the text indicating that Y/N was busy.

More than I would have liked to say, her absence stung.

I get into my car and thought. Count: 1. 2. 3. 4. I finally clenched my teeth and set the GPS for the McCann Gallery in Hazelburg after thumping my fingers against the driving wheel in frustration.

Nineteen minutes later, I walked confidently into the gallery, my gaze darting over the white walls, the framed prints adorning the pale wood floors, and the half dozen elegantly attired guests who were meandering about the room before settling on the brunette behind the bar.

When Y/N called a customer, her smile was contagious and her face beamed as she said something that made the other woman smile as well. She had a talent for doing that, highlighting the happiness in others. I studied her for a while, letting her light seep into the dark recesses of my soul, since she hadn't spotted me yet.

After the client departed, I moved closer, my specially designed loafers sounding smooth on the shiny flooring. Y/N didn't glance up until my shadow completely engulfed her, and her professional, courteous grin quickly faded upon seeing me. She took a deep breath, and the sight of the tiny bob in her throat gave me an unwanted surge of yearning that went straight to my dick. My head was being confused by being celibate for months, as I hadn't fucked anyone but my right hand.

"Hi." She sounded cautious.

"Here." I ordered a new phone—the newest model—that wasn't even on the market yet and cost me a number of grand-on the counter.

Her brow furrowed in perplexity.

"Your current phone is clearly broken, since I haven't received so much as a text from you in the past five days," I replied icily.

Before the bewilderment vanished into a playful expression, my heart was thumping like a Radio City Hall Rockette. I mentally noted that I would bring this up with my doctor when I saw him/her annually.

"You're missing me," she murmured.

My hands coiled themselves around the counter's edge. "I do not."