The Tyrant's Secret fetish Chapter 14

Ye Jun

He shifted away. I followed.

"Problem?" I whispered while so guy droned on about quarterly projections.

He didn’t look at . "Move your leg."

"Why? It’s comfortable." I slid my foot up his calf slow.

He grabbed my knee under the table, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "I said move."

I bit my lip to keep from gasping, but leaned closer. "Harder. I like it."

He yanked his hand back like I’d burned him, face flushing red, and for the rest of the eting he wouldn’t even glance my way, just stared at the projector screen like it was the most fascinating thing ever.

When it ended, everyone filed out, but I hung back, waiting until we were alone.

"Good eting," I said, blocking the door. "You were so focused. Thinking about ?"

He tried to push past. "Move."

"Make ." I grabbed his arm. "Or kiss . Your choice."

He shoved against the wall, breath hot on my face. "You think this is funny? Pushing all day like a desperate whore? It won’t make treat you better just so you know! "

"Yeah," I shot back, heart racing. "And you love it. Look at you hard just from my leg on yours."

He glanced down, then back up, eyes dark. "You’re delusional."

"Am I?" I reached for his belt.

He slapped my hand away. "Not here."

"Then where? Your office? Mine? The bathroom?" I laughed bitter. "Pick a spot. I’m free all afternoon."

He stared, chest heaving, then turned and left without a word.

I sagged against the wall, rubbing my knee where his fingers had dug in, the ache mixing with this stupid thrill because yeah, he was cracking, I could see it in the way he wouldn’t et my eyes anymore.

But it hurt too, hurt that he kept pulling back, like wanting was so weakness he couldn’t afford, and here I was throwing myself at him like an idiot, begging for scraps.

Fuck that. I wasn’t done.

Later, I caught him in the hallway near the elevators, talking to so intern about a project.

I walked up, interrupted mid-sentence. "Sir, need you for a sec. Urgent."

The intern blinked. "Uh, should I... "

"Go," Si-woo snapped at her, then turned to . "What?"

I yanked him into the empty copy room, door clicking shut. "This."

Pushed him against the machine, kissed him hard, teeth clashing, hands in his hair.

He froze for a second, then kissed back furious, one hand fisting my shirt, the other on my ass pulling closer.

Yes, I thought, grinding against him, finally...

Then he shoved off, wiping his mouth. "Enough."

"No," I panted. "Not enough. You want more. Take it."

"You’re pathetic," he spat, but his voice shook. "Chasing like this."

"Yeah? Then why’d you kiss back?" I stepped forward. "Why’s your dick hard every ti I touch you?"

"Because you’re a slut about it." He grabbed my chin. "But I’m not falling for your gas."

I licked his thumb. "Too late."

He groaned, shoved away again, and bolted out the door.

I laughed to myself in the empty room, but it ca out choked because damn, that kiss had wrecked, lips bruised, and he just left like it was nothing.

Asshole.

The rest of the day I kept it up texts from my office: "Thinking about you bending over your desk?" with a winky emoji.

He replied: "Delete this."

: "Make ."

No response.

Then I "accidentally" emailed him a report with a post-it note stuck on: "Miss your hands on ."

He stord into my office an hour later, door slamming. "What the fuck is this?"

I leaned back in my chair, smirking. "A reminder."

He crumpled the note, threw it at . "Stop. Now. Or I’ll... "

"You’ll what? Fire ? Can’t. Fuck ? Won’t." I stood, crowding him. "So what, hyung? Gonna hit ? Go ahead. I might like it."

His fists clenched. "You’re insane."

"Your fault." I grabbed his tie, yanked. "Fix it."

He batted my hand away. "No."

Then he left again.

By closing ti, I was exhausted horny, angry, sad all mixed up because every rejection stung worse than the last, like he was carving pieces out of with each shove, but I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, because giving up ant he won for real.

I packed my bag slow, figuring he’d already gone ho to jerk off alone or whatever he did to ignore this.

But then my door banged open, and there he was tie askew, hair ssed like he’d been running hands through it, eyes wild.

"Get up," he said, voice rough.

"Why?" I snapped, but my heart jumped.

He grabbed my arm, yanked out of the chair. "We’re going."

"Going where? Hey.... "

He dragged down the hall, ignoring my protests, fingers bruising my wrist.

"Si-woo, let go.... "

"Shut up."

Elevator up, not down.

Top floor.

Private room access.

He pulled in the door clanging shut behind us.