You didn’t answer with words.

You kissed him.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was sharp. Starving. The way a dying person drinks water.

His lips caught yours with a low growl — restrained, but not soft. Like he’d been holding back for too long and now finally, finally had permission.

Your hands clutched his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like you needed something to anchor you.

And he gave it.

All of it.

He kissed like a secret you were never supposed to know.

Like he wanted to leave marks. Not on your skin—on your soul.

Tongue sliding over yours, thumb brushing your cheek, his body pressing you back until your spine met the cold wall of mirrors. Your breath caught, and he swallowed the sound.

“Aren't you such a Good girl,” he murmured against your lips.

The words melted your knees.

He felt it.

“You’ve been waiting for someone to say it,” he said, voice low, teasing.

“Haven’t you?”

You nodded, barely able to speak.

“Then listen carefully.”

His lips brushed your ear, sending a shiver through your entire body.

“You’re mine now.”

You didn’t fight it.

You didn’t want to.

Because something inside you uncoiled with those words. Something you hadn’t let free in years. Maybe ever.

Not control. Not obedience.

Just belonging.

When he pulled back, he didn’t let go of you.

His thumb rested at your jaw, the heat of his body still pressing into yours, his voice velvet and final.

“You said no when we first met. But your soul’s been saying yes since the moment you laid eyes on me.”

You shivered.

He smiled, but it wasn’t cruel this time. It was something far more dangerous.

Tender.

“Welcome home little lamp.”

A few days later...

You didn't know when it stopped feeling like temptation and started feeling like worship.

Maybe the moment you stopped resisting.

Or maybe it was last night, when he sat at the head of the long candlelit table, eyes on you the entire time, speaking of truth and freedom and submission while the others watched.

No one else could hear the way he spoke to you—not truly.

But his voice? It lived inside you now.

You dreamt of it.

You ached for it.

And tonight… he finally took you.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breath and the way his boots echoed softly across the polished floor. You stood before him in nothing but his shirt—black, oversized, smelling of him. The fabric kissed your thighs, and still, it felt too much.

“Take it off,” he said.

You obeyed.

Not out of fear.

But out of need.

He watched, seated on the edge of the bed like a king in his temple, legs spread just enough to make your mouth water. He didn’t move. Just watched as you peeled the shirt off, slow, letting it fall to the ground.

Naked.

Bare.

Exposed.

You felt cold and hot at once. Nervous and starved.

“You know what you are now, don’t you?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Yours.”

“Louder.”

“Yours,” you whispered.

“Always.”

A slow smile curved his lips. His rings glinted as he patted his thigh.

“Come kneel.”

You dropped to your knees between his legs. The floor was cold. His pants were warm. Your eyes flicked up to his, and the way he looked at you—like a god accepting sacrifice—made your thighs clench.

“Look how obedient you are now.”

“My little lamb,” he murmured, brushing your cheek.

“You don’t even realize how filthy you’ve become, do you?”

Your mouth parted. You couldn’t answer.

“Open.”

You did. Tongue out. Ready.

He slid his thumb across your lips, then dipped it inside—pressing against your tongue as you sucked, slow and eager.

“You used to run from me,” he said, watching you.

“Now you beg for my hands. My mouth. My cock.”

A low growl followed.

“You’re sick for me. Say it.”

Your voice was thick around his thumb.

“I’m sick for you.”

“And you love it.”

You moaned.

He finally stood.

Undid his belt—slow enough to make your pulse spike—and let it hang open. His shirt stayed on.

Always black.

Always perfect.

He unzipped his pants, and when his cock sprang free, thick and already hard, you almost choked on the anticipation.

“Eyes on me,” he said, stroking it slowly, thumb gliding over the head.

“You’ll cum from my voice alone one day,” he promised.

“You’ll scream my name without me laying a finger on you.”

Then his eyes darkened with something heavier.

“But tonight… you’ll use your mouth.”

He sat before you, cock thick and flushed in his hand, and you knew what he wanted—what he expected.

And God, you wanted to give it.

“Show me how desperate you are.”

You leaned in slowly, eyes on his the entire time, until your lips hovered just above the tip.

He didn’t guide you.

He didn’t have to.

Your tongue flicked out first, tasting the bead of precum at the head. Salty, warm, his. You kissed the crown, then dragged your tongue down the length of him, slow, savoring. His breath hitched above you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Look at you, kneeling to serve your god.”

The praise made your core clench.

You wrapped your lips around him and slid down—deep. Taking your time. Letting your throat open for him.

His hand threaded into your hair, but he didn’t force you. He just held you there, watching, groaning softly as you sucked and licked, wet and eager. Your hands gripped his thighs, needing him closer, needing to make him feel everything he’d carved into you.

“You’re so fucking obedient now,” he whispered, thumb wiping the drool from your chin.

“Dripping just from sucking me off, aren’t you?”

You moaned around him.

“That’s it. Worship me properly.”

You hollowed your cheeks, going deeper, faster. You could feel his hips twitch, his thighs tighten.

His head tilted back, breath growing heavier.

“Don’t stop,” he growled.

“Let me fuck your mouth like you were made for it.”

He started to move then—slow thrusts into your throat, hand tight in your hair, his praise turning into low curses.

“God, look at you. So pretty like this. So fucking devoted.”

You choked a little when he pushed deeper, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not when he was praising you like that. Not when you were making him fall apart.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, voice ragged.

You obeyed without hesitation—one hand slipping between your legs as he used your mouth, soft groans echoing around the room like prayer.

“I should spill it all down your throat,” he snarled.

“Claim you here first. Make sure every part of you remembers who owns you.”

You moaned—yes, please, do it.

His movements grew rougher.

You held on.

And when he finally came, he did it with a growl—deep inside your throat, his body tensing, hand clenching in your hair, his other on your cheek as he held you in place.

You swallowed it all.

Of course you did.

He pulled out slowly, your lips glossy, chin slick, eyes glazed with lust and tears.

You looked up at him, breathless. Wrecked.

He cupped your face and kissed you softly on the forehead—so gentle it made your heart ache.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

He pulled you up suddenly, mouth crashing into yours as he spun you onto the bed. You barely had time to gasp before he was on top of you—pressing you into the sheets, his hips grinding against yours.

His mouth devoured you.

Teeth scraping. Tongue dominating. Kisses like claims. Like blood oaths.

“Say my name,” he whispered, trailing kisses down your throat.

“Say it like a prayer.”

“Hongjoong,” you moaned, eyes fluttering.

He bit down on your neck—not gentle. Not cruel. Just enough to make your hips jerk.

“Again.”

“Hongjoong—fuck—please—”

He growled, one hand sliding down between your thighs, fingers parting you, dipping into the wet heat he’d created without a single touch until now.

“Already dripping,” he murmured. “You were made for this. For me.”

He didn’t fuck you right away.

No.

He teased.

His fingers played with you—slow, torturous circles. Not enough to let you fall apart. Just enough to keep you trembling. Just enough to make you beg.

“You want to cum?” he asked, lips brushing your ear.

You nodded desperately.

“Beg.”

“Please—Hongjoong—I need it—I need you—”

He chuckled darkly.

“I know you need me little lamp.”

His fingers pushed deeper—curling perfectly—while his other hand held your throat, thumb resting against your pulse.

“I’m in your head. Your blood. Your fucking soul.”

You shattered with a cry, body arching, clenching around his fingers.

“That’s right,” he groaned.

“Cum for me, my lamb. Show them all who you belong to.”

But he wasn’t finished.

You barely had time to breathe before he took off the rest of his pants and pushed his cock inside you—deep, all at once, splitting you open on a groan that made your eyes roll back.

“You take me so well,” he hissed, gripping your thighs, dragging you closer.

“Like this cunt was built for me.”

You moaned—high, broken, ruined.

He fucked you slow at first. Cruel. Measured.

Then harder.

Deeper.

Until the bed rocked. Until your voice was gone. Until your nails dug into his back and your entire body shook with need.

“Good girl,” he growled.

“Taking your god like you were made to.”

Your second orgasm hit like lightning. Your legs shook. Your body spasmed around him.

He didn’t stop.

“You’re going to give me one more,” he whispered, kissing your jaw.

“I’m going to fill you up, and you’re going to thank me.”

You sobbed.

“Please—yes—please—”

He grabbed your throat again—light pressure, just enough—and kissed you as he slammed into you once more, groaning through clenched teeth.

“Mine,” he gasped.

“Fucking mine.”

You broke.

Fully.

Your third orgasm rolled through your body like fire, and his followed—hot, deep, relentless.

He didn’t pull out.

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t have to.

You were his altar.