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    Chapter 89(NSFW)

     

    “Ha, ngh.”

     

    The breath he had been holding shattered into fragments and scattered into the void. Yet Cheon Wooshin did not pause the absorbed invasion despite the stifled cry. Wet squelches accompanied the thrusting fingers; clear fluid coated the digits and glistened transparently across the back of his hand. He stared with relentless fixation at the pliant folds helplessly ravished beneath the mechanical, erratic motion.

     

    “Fuck, unbelievable.”

     

    The curse twisted from his lips; the corner of his mouth jerked irritably. In that instant, sharp fangs glinted between parted lips.

     

    “A slut, yet why so impossibly tight?”

     

    Still buried within, Cheon Wooshin spread index and middle finger wide. Lee Yeonwoo’s lower body convulsed.

     

    “Hnnngh!”

     

    The relentless sensations struck without warning; the ring clenched involuntarily. Lee Yeonwoo remained unaware of his own renewed erection. The shaft, lifting its head once more, quivered and throbbed. A liquid too clear and thin to be semen filled the urethra and spilled over. Cheon Wooshin’s lip curled in mocking amusement.

     

    “Where did you learn to wag your tail for just anyone?”

     

    He added another finger and pistoned with rapid, wet slaps. Fluid trickled down his wrist.

     

    “Who the hell are you to tame me?”

     

    Spilling words that refused coherent sequence, Cheon Wooshin ravaged below without mercy. Lee Yeonwoo’s mind began to bleach pure white. The pinned hips could only tremble powerlessly; he could no longer distinguish whether his hands braced the floor or pushed away.

     

    Every stimulus was novel; he felt utterly lost. Above all, while consciousness tangled in chaos, his accursed body responded with brutal honesty. The member rising toward his abdomen twitched in plea for release. Lee Yeonwoo ground his forehead into the floor, gnawing his lips.

     

    Abruptly the world spun. Ceiling lights flared; Cheon Wooshin’s shadow engulfed him. The instant a thigh lifted, something heavy pressed below. Simultaneously, a scraping intrusion surged inward. The sensation of forcible dilation struck Lee Yeonwoo like a thunderbolt.

     

    “
!”

     

    A thickness on an entirely different plane from fingering sent destructive waves from the small of his back. It bordered not on stimulation but agony. Head thrown back, Lee Yeonwoo exhaled into empty air.

     

    “Ha, haa!”

     

    Vision whirled. Unable to endure the pain, he curled his spine into a bow yet could utter no sound. Only belatedly realizing penetration had occurred did he flutter his lids rapidly—an effort pitifully inadequate to regain composure.

     

    Breathing in ragged gasps, Lee Yeonwoo struggled to parse the onslaught. Senses, failing to interpret the shock, rioted madly. The room spun; vision shuddered. In that moment the shaft forced deeper, cramming inward. Instinctive revulsion and terror sent limbs flailing.

     

    “No, I hate this!”

     

    What on earth was this? Was the first time meant to hurt so? Or was it his inexperience? Or perhaps the sheer size of Cheon Wooshin? Being the first, he knew nothing.

     

    Cheon Wooshin’s torso drew nearer. Broad shoulders eclipsed sight. Mere darkness, yet it felt as though crushed beneath. The air itself seemed stolen; breath lodged in his throat. Lee Yeonwoo floundered. Panic seized him; pupils clouded.

     

    “Relax.”

     

    At the curt command the passage yielded abruptly. A dry gasp exploded; Lee Yeonwoo clutched Cheon Wooshin’s chest, panting.

     

    “W-wait
”

     

    As though heeding the plea, the shaft withdrew slowly. Yet it was no kindness—merely adjustment for the next thrust. Seizing the moment the ring constricted, he drove forward again. The depths parted gradually, inexorably.

     

    “Hn, ngh
 ugh.”

     

    Cheon Wooshin tilted his head, observing the pained reactions. Entry was slow, merciless. No quarter for resistance. The sensation of invading unmoistened depths crashed over him. A muffled *plop* seemed audible. At the lightning stimulus Lee Yeonwoo jolted, limbs trembling.

     

    Pleasure or pain—distinction dissolved into meaninglessness. Overwhelming foreignness summoned dry retching; the violated interior burned. Crushed by the taut sensation, even breathing faltered.

     

    “T-team leader, it hurts. It hurts.”

     

    Even while senses bludgeoned him into haze, Lee Yeonwoo’s only anchor was the man before him. Desperately he called the name. Yet Cheon Wooshin merely pressed the nape of his neck.

     

    “I loosened you so much, yet still tight.”

     

    The voice was neither tender nor sneering—simply devoid of warmth. At that toneless cadence Lee Yeonwoo blinked silently. Each blink dulled his gaze further until light vanished.

     

    Heat prickled around his eyes; vision blurred milky. Lee Yeonwoo startled at the involuntary welling of tears. Withdrawing the arm that had covered his face, he clenched his molars and pressed his eyelids. An instinctive bid to escape the torrent—yet grief surged unchecked.

     

    He did not want to see Cheon Wooshin’s face. A sharp object seemed to stab one corner of his heart. The knowledge that he coupled with someone else wearing Cheon Wooshin’s skin felt wretched, strange, hollow, pathetic. What emotion was this? Above all, the filled part hurt unbearably. Pelvis forcibly parted; viscera shoved upward. Who knew connection could ache so—and feel so empty.

     

    He knew retreat was forbidden; promises bound him. Moreover, the present Cheon Wooshin would seize any whimper of weakness and savor it.

     

    No escape. Then he must ignore the deluge, endure with lesser pain. Eyes squeezed shut, Lee Yeonwoo regulated ragged breaths. Cold tears tracked from the corners. No matter how he thought, it felt torn below. Of course it would be—taking something so monstrously large without tearing would be stranger.

     

    Suddenly longing seized him—for none other than Cheon Wooshin. Ironically, the strong, gentle man he had fought to protect. The wish that he remain steadfast and unharmed had driven this battle against the impostor.

     

    Purpose clarified; softening resolve stiffened slightly. Though ignorant of precise actions to ease the act, Lee Yeonwoo at least attempted to relax tension through measured breathing.

     

    Seconds passed; the silent air grew heavier. Heightened senses—blind to sight—could not long withstand Cheon Wooshin’s wordless pressure. Impatience mounting, Lee Yeonwoo spoke.

     

    “Are you
 still?”

     

    “
”

     

    No answer. Unable to read gaze or expression, the silence terrified more. Perhaps side effects had worsened.

     

    “Still?”

     

    The thought trembled his voice. Belatedly sensing ominous presence, Lee Yeonwoo lowered the arm shielding his eyes. Heat radiated from a face smeared with sweat and tears.

     

    Cheon Wooshin, who had seemed vanished, still gazed down. Backlit, his face lay in shadow. Utterly composed in contrast to Lee Yeonwoo’s disheveled ruin—save for the eyes. Cheon Wooshin straightened. Simultaneously the shaft, barely lodged at the glans, withdrew with deliberate slowness.

     

    Silently he surveyed the surroundings. Movements languid. Not a blink. The expanded gaze returned, drinking in Lee Yeonwoo’s entire form—naked lower half, legs splayed wide. The glistening member slick with every fluid, the gaping thighs, etched cruelly into his pupils like a specimen preserved. Recognition of their deeds fractured Cheon Wooshin’s pupils into stillness.

     

    “This is
”

     

    A resonant baritone shattered the quiet.

     

    Shock remained veiled. Cheon Wooshin covered his mouth. Through loosely parted fingers escaped a transparent, incredulous exhale.

     

    “What in the world
”

     

    Dilated pupils shuddered, then quaked violently. The mask-like impassivity revealed emotion solely through those black eyes.

     

    “
”

     

    Shock rippled across Lee Yeonwoo’s tear-streaked face. The eyes he met were a blizzard-swept alp, a storm-lashed desert isle. Involuntary, unstoppable quiet horror prickled every hair.

     

    And in that instant Lee Yeonwoo recognized this as the moment he had most dreaded—gaze piercing him as though throat transfixed.

     

    Why now? Why this meaningless continuation? Acknowledging the shameless, brazen resentment, his throat constricted as though swallowing venom.

     

    Cheon Wooshin had returned.

     

     

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