The Tyrant's Secret fetish Chapter 54

Ye jun

Si-woo’s eyes opened slowly. They looked heavy, like he had to fight to keep them open. He was squinting and looked angry right away, even before he knew where he was or what day it was. I was still sitting in that uncomfortable plastic chair next to his bed. My face was pressed against the tal rail because I had cried so much that my whole body felt tired. My neck hurt from staying in the sa position for hours. My eyes burned like they were full of sand. My shirt was hard and sticky from dried blood and tears and snot. I knew I looked terrible, like soone had pulled through dirt and left there.

He blinked once. Then again. His hand moved up. It was weak and shaky, but it still reached my face. His fingers found my jaw. They rested there like they knew exactly where to go. His thumb moved softly under my ear. It was too gentle. Too kind. This was the sa guy who had spent the last year making so mad I wanted to hit him, and then making want to kiss him right after. The sa asshole.

"Ye-jun," he said. His voice sounded rough and scratchy, like small stones in his throat. "You look like shit. Were you... scared?"

I lifted my head fast. My neck made a popping sound. His fingers did not move from my jaw. They kept right there. And just like that, tears ca again. They rolled down my cheeks fast. Big, ugly tears. I could not stop them. The mont he spoke, everything from the last few hours ca back hard. The fight. The push. The sound of his head hitting the table. The blood everywhere. I thought he was gone.

"Scared?" I said. My voice was loud and shaky. "Are you kidding right now? You almost died, you stupid idiot. Your head hit the table and made this awful wet noise. Then you just stopped moving. I thought I killed you. I really thought I killed you. I sat here the whole ti thinking I actually ended your life. And the only thing you say when you wake up is ’were you scared’? Don’t ever do that to again, Si-woo. Never. I an it. If you ever make watch you bleed like that one more ti, I will finish you myself. I swear."

He let out a small laugh. It was tiny and weak. Then he winced because even laughing hurt his body. I hated how much better I felt just hearing that small laugh. It ant he was still here. Still breathing. Still talking shit. His hand moved from my jaw. It slid slowly to the back of my neck. He pulled closer. His arm could barely move, but he still tried. He still wanted near.

"Prove it then," he said.

"Prove what?"

"That you were really worried." His eyes were half closed. The drugs they gave him made everything look foggy. But that small smirk was already coming back on his face. The one I hated and loved at the sa ti. "Kiss . Right now. Or I will think you are only here because you feel guilty. Free guilt trip. That’s all."

I should have told him to go to hell. I should have stood up. Walked out of the room. Left him there with his stupid smirk and his stupid bandages. But my heart did this quick jump in my chest. Before I could think, before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned in. Our mouths t hard. It was not a soft kiss. It was rough. We were both angry and needy at the sa ti. His lips tasted like so weird pills. Like tal from the blood. I could taste all of it.

His fingers went into my hair. They were weak, but still strong enough to be bossy. He twisted them and pulled. Not too hard, but enough. I made a sound into his mouth. It was half a moan and half a whine. It was embarrassing. My body did not care that we were supposed to hate each other right now. It just wanted more. He pulled harder. It felt like he was trying to drag closer. Like he wanted to get inside through the kiss. And I let him. I let him do it. For that one mont, nothing else existed. Not the beeping machines. Not the bruises on my arms. Not the fact that I was the reason he was in this bed with stitches in his head. None of it mattered.

I kissed him back just as hard. My hands found his shoulders. I held on tight. I was scared if I let go he would disappear again. His tongue touched mine. It was slow at first. Then faster. We were breathing into each other’s mouths. Short, quick breaths. I could feel his chest move under the thin hospital blanket. Up and down. Alive. He was alive. That made kiss him deeper. I wanted to taste every part of him. Prove to myself he was really here.

He made a small noise too. Low in his throat. It vibrated against my lips. His fingers tightened in my hair again. He tugged even closer. Our noses bumped. It hurt a little, but I did not care. I pressed my forehead against his when we needed air. We were both breathing heavy. My heart was pounding so loud I thought he could hear it. His hand stayed in my hair. He did not let go.

"You still cry like a baby," he said. His voice was quiet now. Rough from the kiss and the pain.

"Shut up," I said. But there was no real anger in it. I wiped my face with the back of my hand. More tears were there. I hated how weak I looked. "You almost died. What do you expect?"

"I expect you to stop being so dramatic." He tried to smirk again. It ca out crooked because one side of his face was swollen. "But you can’t. That’s why you’re still here."