Ji

jake let out a quiet chuckle to himself, the sound slicing through the stillness of the room like it didn’t belong there—but somehow made perfect sense. you frowned lightly, eyes darting to him with a flicker of confusion.

“I’m sorry... it’s just—” he exhaled a half-laugh, head tilting slightly as if the words themselves amused him too much “—the way you pretend we’re just friends. It’s funny.”

your breath caught in your throat. for a split second, your chest stalled. “…aren’t we?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as your gaze snapped back to the ceiling.

this time, his laugh was lower.

darker.

dangerous.

It rumbled from deep in his chest, the kind that made the heat of the room feel different—less cozy, more charged. the kind that made goosebumps rise along your arms, even in the warmth.

“then stop letting me touch you like this.”

your breath hitched the moment his fingertips slipped under the hem of your hoodie—barely there, but enough to send a signal straight to your spine. the sharp inhale you couldn’t hide only fueled him more. you could feel him leaning closer, his voice lowering with every word.

“stop leaning into me every time you get cold.”

his breath ghosted over your neck, searing hot in the otherwise quiet room. his lips hovered just above your skin, so close you could feel the shape of them even without contact.

“stop calling me at 2AM just because you can’t sleep.”

you bit your lip, jaw tensing with frustration. not at him. but because he wasn’t wrong. that’s what made it worse.

you finally turned to face him, unable to ignore the tension anymore. his eyes held a kind of depth you couldn’t quite name. dark, unreadable, pulling you in.

“If it’s not mean anything,” jake murmured, voice low and laced with something heavy, “then don’t look at me like that.”

his gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes, like he couldn’t decide where to land. like he wanted to say more, but knew this alone was already too much.

jake shifted on the bed, slow and deliberate, eventually settling himself above you. he didn’t move right away, just looked at you. watched the way your hair lay where he’d just run his fingers through, how peaceful you looked underneath him. then, his gaze dropped to the hoodie you were wearing—of course, it was his.

you didn’t move—you couldn’t. you didn’t want to pull away, but taking the first step felt too terrifying.

so jake did it for you.

he leaned in, slowly, resting his head against your shoulder. the fabric of the hoodie—his hoodie—had already soaked in your scent. he inhaled it.

“don’t treat me like I’m just some guy,” he murmured. his hand slid under the hem of the hoodie again. he didn’t go any further—just rested it there, needing the feel of your skin. “not when you’re lying in my bed like this, in the middle of the night.”

his voice wasn’t sharp. It was raw. laden with emotions he clearly hadn’t meant to show but couldn’t hold back anymore.

your throat tightened. words still refused to come. jake lifted his head, his eyes locking on yours. lips parted slightly as he whispered,

“If I'm wrong… just say it."

his eyes flicked to your lips. licked his own lips instinctively. with a flicker of courage, he leaned in—not enough to kiss you, not quite. but close enough for you to feel his breath brushing against your mouth, warm and trembling.

“because I don’t know how much longer I can take this…”

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Your breath hitches when he leans back slightly on his heels. His tongue darts out, lips glistening. You can still feel him on you. The way he groaned into you, voice vibrating against your flesh, still echoes in your ears. The way he looked up while his mouth was buried between your thighs, like you were divine, like worship was the only thing he knew.

And then, his fingers. Two of them, slick and shining. He brings them to his lips.

Slowly. Deliberately. Almost cruel in the way he stretches out the moment.

You watch—frozen, dripping, panting—as he licks. them. clean. Tongue curling around each digit, savoring you like you’re something rare, something worth tasting again and again.

His eyes? Never leave yours.

“Mmh…You taste better than I imagined.” His voice is low, gravelly, the kind of tone that rumbles through your chest and coils hot in your stomach. The moment you hear it, something stirs violently inside you—your pulse skipping, thighs clenching helplessly against the sheets.

It’s not just the words. It’s the way he says them. Lazy. Certain. He already knew you’d be this good, you were made for him to devour.

“That look on your face."

"Say thank you.”

You blink. You didn’t know if it was because you had cum twice in a row, but it takes a moment—too long—for the meaning to register.

“What?” you whisper, breathless, wide-eyed, as though you can’t quite believe he expects you to find the strength to speak.

He crawls up. Slow, towering over you,palms landing on either side of your head. His face is right above yours now. Hair slightly messy. Eyes devouring. "I made you come twice with my mouth, and all you did was lay there, crying my name. Say thank you.”

The knowing grin on his lips made you forget to speak. Of course he was sure of himself, it satisfied his ego to know that his cock wasn't even necessary to make you cum multiple times, that your body could unravel under just his mouth, his hands, his gaze.

“Thank you…” you whisper, voice trembling, barely audible.

“Good girl.” And just like that, his fingers return to your lips. He taps once, daring you to obey. “Now suck.”

You do. Of course you do. You taste yourself on him, sweet and salty, and it drives you wild knowing he’s the one who made it all happen.

And when he moans softly, watching your lips wrap around his knuckles, that low, rumbling sound vibrating through your chest?

Yeah.

You realize you’re completely his.

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