The Tyrant's Secret fetish Chapter 58

Ye jun

"You’re on duty," she said. "Make sure he sleeps. No all-nighters. No stressing."

Si-woo smirked at again. "Lucky you."

I glared back. "Thrilled."

Dinner dragged on. Mom kept talking. Dad kept checking his phone. Si-woo kept picking at his food. I kept stealing looks at him. Every ti our eyes t he raised an eyebrow. Like he was daring to say sothing.

When we finally finished Mom stood up. "Dishes later. You two go rest. Or pretend to rest. I don’t care. Just no fighting."

Si-woo pushed his chair back. "I’m heading up."

I watched him go. That slow walk he tried to make look cool. The second he disappeared up the stairs sothing twisted in my chest again. Hot and sharp.

He thought he could keep doing this. Keep smirking. Keep winning.

Not tonight.

I waited a few minutes. Mom got busy with her show in the living room. I slipped upstairs quiet.

His door was cracked. I pushed it open.

He was already at his desk. Laptop open. Pencil moving fast.

He did not look up. "Told you not to follow."

I shut the door behind . "I know.

The door clicked shut.

I stood there breathing like I’d run a marathon, staring at the wood grain like it personally betrayed .

Si-woo’s low chuckle rolled out from the bed. "You should see your face. Thought we were about to get disowned and shipped to military school?"

"Shut up," I hissed, but the adrenaline crash hit and my knees wobbled. I dropped onto the edge of the mattress, rubbing my face. "I thought she saw. I thought we were done."

He reached over, flicked my ear. "She saw you being your usual overprotective spaz self. Which, honestly, tracks. Now get off my bed before you wrinkle the sheets with your guilt sweat."

I flipped him off without looking. "You’re the one who yanked down, asshole."

"Yeah, and you kissed back like your life depended on it. We’re even."

I wanted to argue, but my stomach growled loud enough to announce it to the whole house. "Whatever. Downstairs. Before she cos back with a wooden spoon."

Mom argued we had desert together too but I think she just missed as and wanted to see us more.

Mom piled food on both our plates like we were starving orphans she’d just rescued. Dad sat at the head of the table scrolling emails, occasionally grunting at whatever disaster was happening at work. Si-woo picked at his rice with the enthusiasm of a man facing execution, cap still jamd low over the stitches.

"So," Dad said without looking up, "that project. The sumr line pitch. You said it’d be ready by end of week."

Si-woo sighed through his nose. "It will be. I’m on it."

After desert Dad disappeared into his office to yell at soone over Zoom. Mom started clearing plates, humming like nothing traumatic had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Si-woo pushed back from the table, already reaching for his phone.

"I’m heading up," he announced. "I hope this was the last dinner of today. "

I watched him go, that slow, careful walk he was trying to play off as swagger. The second he disappeared up the stairs sothing hot and an twisted in my chest.

He thought he could just keep pushing, keep blackmailing, keep smirking like he owned every inch of this fucked-up ga.

Ti to flip the board.

I waited ten minutes long enough for Mom to get distracted with her K-drama in the living room, then slipped upstairs. His door was cracked. I pushed it open without knocking.

Si-woo was already at his desk, laptop open, sketchpad out, pencil moving in quick, angry strokes. He didn’t even look up. "Told you not to follow."

"I know," I said, shutting the door behind with my foot. "That’s why I didn’t co in lingerie or anything dramatic. Just here to learn."

He finally glanced over, eyebrow raised. "Learn what, exactly?"

"Designing." I crossed my arms, leaned against the door. "The whole thing. Sketches, fabrics, budgeting, managent. All of it."

He laughed once, sharp. "No."

"Yes."

"Hard pass. Go play Minecraft or whatever you do when you’re not trying to murder ."

I didn’t move. Just watched him. "You sure? Because I know sothing you think I don’t."

His pencil stopped. "Enlighten ."

I walked over to his bed slowly, casually and picked up the little utility knife he kept in the side drawer for cutting fabric swatches. The sa one he’d used to open packages last month while ranting about deadlines. I flipped it open.

His eyes tracked the blade.

I pressed the tip to the inside of my forearm, right where the skin was thin but the veins were safe-ish. Not deep enough to bleed out. Just enough.

One quick slice.

Blood welled up imdiately, bright red against my skin.

Si-woo sucked in a breath so hard it sounded painful.

I did it again. Two more shallow cuts, parallel, neat little lines.

His pupils blew wide. His hand clenched on the pencil so tight it snapped.

"Stop," he said, voice rough. "Ye Jun. Stop."

I tilted my head. "Why? You’re not in the mood for anything, right? So this shouldn’t bother you."

He was breathing too fast now. Eyes locked on the blood dripping slow down my arm.

I watched his sweats tent. Obvious. Imdiate.

Holy shit.

He actually got hard from this.

From watching cut myself.

I almost laughed hysterical, disbelieving because what the actual fuck.

"You’re insane," I whispered, but I didn’t stop staring at the proof right there in his lap.

"Put the knife down," he growled, but it cracked at the end.

"Teach ."

He dragged a hand over his face. "Fine. Fuck. Fine. Just stop bleeding on my floor."

I closed the knife, set it aside. Blood still trickled.

He stood up wobbly, still half-hard and grabbed my wrist, dragging to the bed. Sat down. Then he shocked the hell out of by lifting my arm to his mouth.

His tongue flicked out, dragging slow over the first cut.

I froze.

He licked again, tasting the blood, eyes half-lidded now, pupils huge. His other hand shoved into his sweats, wrapped around himself, stroking fast and rough.

"Si-woo..."

"Shut up," he muttered against my skin. "Just....shut up."

He kept licking, sucking lightly at the cuts like they were candy, while his hand moved faster on his dick . His breathing turned ragged, hips jerking. It took maybe thirty seconds, maybe less, before his whole body locked up. He groaned low against my arm, cum spilling over his fist, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

He slumped forward, forehead against my shoulder, panting like he’d run ten miles.

I sat there stunned, arm still raised, blood and spit sared across it.

"That," I said slowly, "was the most psycho thing I’ve ever seen."

He laughed weak, breathless. "You started it, freak."

I couldn’t even argue. Because yeah. I had.

He finally pulled back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Clean up. Then sit. You want to learn? Watch."

I grabbed wipes from his desk drawer, cleaned his hand, his dick, tucked him back into his sweats while he just leaned back against the headboard looking wrecked and smug at the sa ti.

Then he turned back to the laptop.

For the next hour he worked like nothing happened. Sketches flew sharp, elegant lines, fabric swatches pinned next to color palettes, numbers typed into spreadsheets for costing, supplier lists, production tilines. He muttered explanations under his breath like he was talking to himself, but he didn’t stop from leaning over his shoulder, watching every move.

I was impressed. Annoyingly impressed. The guy was concussed, freshly jerked off after licking my blood, and still producing better work than most people on their best day.

When he finally saved and closed the file I stood up.

"Night," I said, heading for the door.

He didn’t try to stop this ti.

Back in my room I sat at my own desk, opened a blank docunt, pulled up the reference photos I’d secretly screenshotted from his open tabs earlier.

Tried to copy one of his sketches.

Couldn’t.

The lines looked wrong. The proportions were off. The color balance looked cheap. Even when I traced it digitally it felt flat, soulless.

I slamd the laptop shut.

He was better. Objectively. Undeniably.

And I hated it.

If I wanted to beat him really beat him, make him feel even a fraction of the helplessness he’d shoved down my throat for years I couldn’t just learn.

I had to take.

Steal the whole damn design. Submit it first. Let him watch win with his own work.

But he’d never leave anything unguarded. Not now. Not after tonight.

I needed help.

I grabbed my phone.

Titi picked up on the second ring.

"Yo," she said, voice sleepy. "It’s like two a.m. here. This better be good."

"I need you," I said, already pacing. "I need to ruin him. Properly this ti. And I need your brain. You in?"

She was quiet for half a second.

Then she laughed, low and excited.

"Tell everything, bitch. Start from the part where you almost killed him and work your way to whatever insane plan you’ve got now."

I took a breath.

And started talking.