TSBIRBV Ch 295(NSFW)

Chapter 295. Secret Tryst (7)(NSFW)

The moment those words left his lips, Haryang seized Yegyeol’s damp mouth and devoured it.

The obscene, wet sounds of lips meeting and parting—chup, chup—painted the night in a darker shade. Yegyeol thought fleetingly that he could no longer breathe, yet instead of pushing away, he only clung tighter. His fingers threaded through Haryang’s black hair, tugging lightly, pleading silently for him to come closer.

Haryang obliged. His eyes, his breath, his lips—all glowed red, as if the air itself were tainted with heat and desire.

With each step they took up the stairs, another piece of clothing fell away. When the last shoe, still dangling from Yegyeol’s foot, finally dropped to the floor, they had reached the top.

Completely bare, Yegyeol let out a soft, unrestrained sigh. Haryang’s gaze traced him slowly—every knuckle, shoulder, and hollow of his collarbone flushed with a feverish glow. He inhaled sharply, as though struck by a red-hot iron straight through the mind.

He didn’t know when this had begun.

Was it when Yegyeol first began to cry?

Or when those trembling fingers peeled off the mask?

Or perhaps it had been earlier still—when their lips met, even with half a face still hidden?

But when Yegyeol threw his arms around him, whispering hold me, every question burned away into nothing.

Haryang’s hands—hands that had never once been gentle—slid down between his thighs. Even when he grasped the most sensitive part of him, Yegyeol’s eyes gleamed not with fear but with feverish excitement.

As Haryang’s fingers worked him, his tongue trailed upward, licking the tears from Yegyeol’s lashes. The warmth transferred through each kiss was intoxicating, sweet as wine. Yegyeol’s scent overwhelmed him—he had never been drunk on liquor, but this boy’s breath alone could unravel him.

While Yegyeol straddled him, panting, his hands fumbled with Haryang’s belt until it came undone. A small, impish smile flickered on his lips—then Haryang leaned down to swallow it whole.

“Haa… ahh…”

Yegyeol’s back arched again and again, his hips trembling with each wave of stimulation. His nails dug into Haryang’s shoulders hard enough to draw blood—if his Senior Brother weren’t as unbreakable as diamond, he surely would have.

He clung desperately, surrendering body and soul to that dizzying pleasure.

“Haa—!”

White liquid splashed across Haryang’s dark robe. Though Yegyeol came quickly, his shaft remained hard, eager for more.

Haryang stroked his back soothingly, like calming a frightened child, then pushed open the nearest door with a rough kick. The unused room was tidy—almost too tidy for what they were about to do.

Setting Yegyeol on the bed, Haryang stripped off his own clothes. His hands were unsteady, tearing at fabric in his haste.

Then he climbed atop him.

The moonlight through the window carved the shadow of a black beast onto the floorboards.

Yegyeol looked up at him through a haze of heat. His skin glistened faintly; his breath was thick with desire. He was irresistible.

Haryang buried his face in Yegyeol’s neck and breathed him in deeply. The boy who once smelled faintly of youth now carried the fragrance of countless shared nights—the scent of devotion, of sweat, of sin.

He knew every inch of that body. Where to touch to make him cry, where to bite to make him open his legs, what part of his flushed skin tasted sweetest.

Now that ripened body trembled beneath him, ripe for the taking.

Haryang gripped Yegyeol’s hips and spread him open. His fingers teased at the tight entrance nestled between, rubbing gently. The resistance of that still-closed place only thrilled him further.

He loved this—the slow unveiling of flesh, the patience of watching soft skin bloom red beneath his touch. The look in Yegyeol’s eyes, dazed with yearning yet fixed solely on him, was pleasure beyond compare.

“Just a little…”

His elegant fingers brushed over Yegyeol’s lips. The younger man opened his mouth without being told, drawing those fingers in.

He licked, sucked, and teased them with his tongue—his every motion scandalous, wickedly deliberate.

“…Wet them for me.”

Haryang’s voice dropped lower, his eyes darker.

He was fighting to keep control.

Yegyeol loved that about him—the way this calm, unshakable man could be driven to the brink. He wanted to push him further, to see him crumble on top of him, heavy and breathless.

So he sucked harder, greedily, his cheeks hollowing with each pull, eyes glimmering with mischief as he looked up.

Haryang’s gaze, blackened by lust, never left him. The fingers pressed down on his tongue, rubbing against the roof of his mouth—the very spot that always made him shudder during a kiss.

“Ah—!”

A broken gasp spilled out. Haryang slowly withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening with saliva.

He lifted Yegyeol’s leg and kissed the back of his knee. As Yegyeol jerked at the ticklish touch, those wet fingers slid inside him.

His body, lewdly trained, took them in tight. Even when he added a third finger, Yegyeol moaned not from pain but from the strange, spreading heat.

It was already too good.

He rubbed his cheek against Haryang’s hand, his thighs trembling. Clear fluid dripped from the tip of his shaft, proof of his undoing.

“Master… my Senior Brother…”

Please, come inside.

The words never fully left his lips, only mouthed silently in the feverish air.

“If it hurts…”

Haryang’s breath brushed his lips.

“…tell me.”

Without any promise of gentleness, he pushed in.

The hard length drove deep, rough and urgent. Yegyeol gasped, eyes wide open, mouth trembling in shock.

It reached places inside him that no one but Haryang had ever touched.

A tear slipped down his cheek. He reached for his own stomach—his lower belly bulged slightly under the pressure.

Sweat—or was it heat—ran down his spine. His body had never cooled since the moment this began.

“Haa…”

Haryang exhaled a long, ragged breath.

Looking down, he covered Yegyeol’s hand with his own and pressed firmly against the swollen spot.

“Hh—ah, haa…!”

“Do you feel it?”

His whisper brushed Yegyeol’s ear; his tongue—no, his teeth—followed, biting lightly before sucking on the mark he left.

It was as if he were claiming him—marking what was his.

A tender predator devouring his prey.

“I’ve filled you completely.”

Tears streamed down Yegyeol’s face again—not from pain or grief, but from the overwhelming sense of being owned.

Their fingers intertwined beside his head as Haryang began to move—slow at first, yet every thrust deep and powerful enough to lift him from the bed.

“Hh… hah, haah!”

He tried to call his name, but all that came were breathless cries. Saliva gathered at the corners of his lips.

He looked like a man feasting on pleasure itself.

“Gyeol-ah… Yegyeol…”

The voice rasped like iron scraping stone—yet the face was unmistakably Haryang’s.

That discordance twisted the pleasure into sin. With his eyes closed, Yegyeol could not tell who was holding him—his Senior Brother or the Black Ghost.

Perhaps it didn’t matter.

He had lied to Haryang so many times that deceit itself had become a habit.

That guilt—the perverse thrill of it—only made everything sharper, brighter. Being inside Haryang felt like betrayal and redemption all at once.

Thinking himself irredeemable, Yegyeol clung tighter around his neck.

“Hh—!”

Haryang bit his ear, and Yegyeol trembled violently. He couldn’t tell anymore who was devouring whom.

Haryang licked the tears from his eyes again and again. Each time he did, Yegyeol flinched, afraid he might lick his very eyeballs next—and that fear, too, stoked the fire.

The man’s obsession was relentless, his movements growing rougher, faster.

The heat between them only blazed higher, never easing.

“Black Ghost… ah—!”

At the name, Haryang’s thrusts turned violent.

“Senior Brother—! Ah, hah, hhng—!”

Yegyeol’s desperate cries sweetened the air, and Haryang sank deeper, harder, until their bodies fit together perfectly, every ridge and hollow aligned.

As if they were made to be one.

Yegyeol bit his cheek softly, his tongue flicking in trembling delight.

“Mas… Master. More… please…”

Haryang groaned, barely human, and crushed their mouths together. He bit Yegyeol’s lower lip, then devoured the inside of his mouth with a deep, consuming kiss.

Even as they gasped for breath, he didn’t stop. Their chests pressed tight, pinning Yegyeol down—driving him deeper into the mattress, or perhaps into something even lower.

To bear this suffocating heat, this sinful weight, Yegyeol sank further, deeper, willingly.

“Yes… your master is right here.”

The whisper, barely audible, spread across the sheets—part tenderness, part corruption.

The disciple took in his Senior Brother’s length,

and the master violated his only pupil.

What other bond under heaven could be this twisted, this doomed?

“I may not have the power to give you a child…” Haryang murmured, eyes glinting with feverish light.

“…but I’ll make sure your belly never empties again.”

At the press of his palm against his stomach, Yegyeol laughed—radiant, trembling, delirious.

A dizzying peace, sinful and sweet.

Savage pleasure, violent devotion.

All the things that should never intertwine

now wrapped endlessly around each other—

without end, without mercy.