Pretend To Be Mine

mine to pleasure

Namjoon:

I'm completely, absolutely fucking screwed, but in the most fantastic way imaginable. Kim Seokjin is the culprit behind all of this.

For over four years, I've avoided getting close to anyone, deeming it a significant distraction and time-waster. Now, at 32, I never expected to be ensnared by this man.

I anticipated he'd be a satisfying partner, but I never foresaw this level of entanglement. Being with him feels irresistible, and I find myself unable to break free. It's a troublesome situation because I genuinely don't want to fall in love.

But just one glance at him, and it's as if all my determination crumbles. The way he panted beside me, his fingernails digging into my skin...

The sting was oddly satisfying. Kim Seokjin is so intoxicating, my sweet darling.

I pulled him closer, and with one firm thrust, I plunged deep into him once more. He released a euphoric moan, his nails once again raking my back.

I'm a man without restraint now. Four years ago, I was a hedonistic creature, believing that everything would be fine if I could just release it all through sex. If I could just fuck it out of my system.

Yet, I abandoned that notion when I realized that casual flings expected something deeper from me—something I couldn't offer: love.

But with Seokjin, it's different. He's awakened that same primal urge within me, and I no longer wish to suppress it. I want to satisfy him as he deserves. To pleasure him as he wants.

"Ah, please... do that again," he moaned as I hit a particularly sensitive spot within him. It didn't take me long to discover his sweet spots, and hearing him utter those words made me feel accomplished, like I was excelling in my mission to please him.

"Say that again, and don't blame me if you wake up unable to feel your legs," I grunted.

He was going to be the end of me. I would do anything, even beg on my knees, if he continued to plead for more.

And I repeated the action, thrusting deep into him, then pulling out and repeating. Slowly, quickly, roughly, gently—every possible way, just to elicit those moans from him, which I was certain would be the sweetest melody to my ears for as long as I lived.

"K-kiss me!" he demanded, and I eagerly complied, lowering my head to his lips, swallowing his moans as our mouths met in a passionate embrace.

Deep. Slow. Fast. Rough. Gentle.

I thrusted in him eliciting a different kind of response every time. He responded with moans, bites, nails and teeths.

That demanding tone of his tells me how much he desires me, how much he relishes this, how much he yearns for me to ravish him, to shatter him completely and then rebuild him.

He bit down on my lips as I thrust deeply into him. Just as he dug his nails into my back, he sank his teeth into my lips. I shifted my attention to his throat, kissing it, licking it, biting it, just the way I enjoy.

Something left him and buried deep inside my fucking heart.

Addiction. Obsession. Madness. Craziness.

The room resonated with his fervent moans and the rhythmic sounds of skin meeting skin.

In the first round, I took him however I pleased, and now I'm taking him however he desires, solely to bring him pleasure.

My hips maintained a steady, rotating rhythm, refusing to cease, as if my cock had found its home and wished to remain there indefinitely.

"N-Namjoon," he moaned, and damn, I shuddered above him, intoxicated by how my name rolled off his tongue.