The tension in the room shifted, the air thickening with a new, electric heat. Pinned beneath Meical's weight, Min-jae could feel the hard ridge of him, a relentless pressure against the curve of his ass even through the layers of fabric and towel.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a wild, frantic rhythm that seemed to echo in the quiet room.
"Don't pretend you don't know exactly what I'm doing, Kaizar. I'm not even hiding it." Meical's voice was a low, rough growl against the shell of his ear, a stark contrast to the gentle man from their walk.
His breath was hot, sending a fresh wave of shivers cascading down Min-jae's spine.
His hands, once casually around his waist, slid down, pressing firm and possessive on Min-jae's hips, grinding him back just enough to make his intention—fuck, his intention was clear.
Min-jae's protest was a weak, breathy thing. "Meical, wait—"
