The oppressive silence that followed the kiss was a tangible entity, heavier than the rich fabric of Seo-yeon's gown, more suffocating than the cloying scent of roses that saturated the suite. It wasn't the comfortable hush of intimacy, nor the tender quiet of new beginnings. Instead, it was a silence that neither soothed nor softened, a prelude to a storm brewing beneath the surface of their meticulously constructed union.
Joon-woo's fingers, which had momentarily clenched about her waist, were a possessive grip, as if to reassert the balance the kiss had so wildly disrupted. He appeared to want to smother the small flame he'd witnessed leap to life in her eyes, a rebellious spark he hadn't expected. His fingers were a wordless statement.
you are mine; your responses are mine to own.
