His Hunger, My Need

Back at his apartment, the air was thick with the scent of our desire. He didn't bother with words, instead pulling me into his embrace and capturing my mouth with his own. His kiss was a declaration, a fierce claim that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed over my body, reassuring and possessive, as if trying to erase any trace of the jealousy that had dared to creep in.

With a growl, he picked me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the bedroom. The rain had stopped, but the sound of our breaths and the occasional distant rumble of thunder seemed to echo our passion. He laid me down on the bed, his body covering mine, and I felt his hardness pressing against my thigh.

He kissed me deeply, his tongue dancing with mine, as he worked my jeans open. His hands slid inside, cupping my ass and pulling me closer to him. "You're all I need," he murmured, his voice thick with want. "The others, they're nothing compared to this."

I felt him enter me, and all thought ceased. His movements were slow and deliberate, each stroke a promise that no one else could make him feel like this. I moaned his name, my nails digging into his back as he filled me completely. "Only you, Hikari," he whispered, his eyes locked with mine. "Only you make me this crazy."

The pleasure built, a crescendo that seemed to go on forever. His thrusts grew more urgent, his breaths harsh in my ear. "Say it," he demanded, his voice a low rumble. "Tell me you love me."

And as I felt the peak approaching, I did. "I love you, Kim Seon Yung," I gasped, my voice breaking on the words. It was as if a dam had burst, and all the doubt and fear flooded out of me, leaving only love in its wake.

He stilled for a moment, his eyes searching my face. Then, with a groan that seemed torn from the depths of his soul, he plunged into me one last time, and we climaxed together, our bodies shuddering with the force of our release.

Afterwards, we lay tangled in the sheets, his arms wrapped around me tightly, as if he was afraid I'd slip away.

In the afterglow of our love-making, the storm outside had cleared, leaving the city bathed in a soft, ethereal light. But the storm in our hearts had just begun to brew, a tumultuous mix of love, obsession, and the unspoken power dynamics that came with our newfound relationship.

The words echoed in the quiet of the room, a stark reminder of the intensity of our love. "Am I still jealous?" I murmured, my eyes searching his. The truth was, in that moment of passion, all thoughts of the kiss in the film had been washed away. His touch, his kiss, his possession of me had been so absolute that there was no room for anything else.

He leaned down, his warm breath tickling my ear. "If you're not, tell me you're mine," he whispered, his voice a dark promise. "Tell me you won't ever think of leaving."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his gaze on me. "I'm yours, Seon," I breathed, the words slipping out before I could think better of it. His eyes lit up with triumph, and he claimed my mouth once more, his tongue delving deep as if to seal the deal.

As we lay there, our hearts racing in sync, I realized that I had crossed a line. The line between love and obsession had blurred into nothingness, leaving only the all-consuming need to be with him, to feel him, to be the only one who could satisfy that hunger in his eyes.

Days turned into weeks, and our relationship grew more intense with each passing moment. His touch was a drug, his voice a siren's call that I couldn't resist. And with each passing day, I felt myself becoming more and more entwined in his world, my own life fading into the background.

The whispers started soon after, rumors spreading like wildfire through the entertainment industry. They said he had a new muse, a young writer whose work was suddenly gaining traction. They said we were inseparable, that he had never been more inspired, more obsessed with anything in his life.

But with fame came scrutiny, and the paparazzi were always just a step behind. Every move we made was documented, every touch and kiss a headline waiting to happen. The pressure mounted, and the cracks began to show.

One night, as we lay in bed, the silence between us thick and oppressive, he rolled over to face me. "Are you happy, Hikari?" His eyes searched mine, looking for an answer that I wasn't sure I had.

"I'm with you," I said, my voice a mere whisper. "That's all that matters." But the doubt remained, a sour taste in my mouth. Was this what love was supposed to feel like? Or was I just another notch on his bedpost, another girl to claim and discard when the thrill wore off?

He pulled me closer, his arms a steel band around me. "You're everything to me," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my raw nerves. "And I'll prove it to you."

The days that followed were a whirlwind of love and passion, of late-night writing sessions and even later-night confessions. He showed me a side of himself that no one else had seen, the vulnerable, insecure artist behind the rockstar facade.

And with each shared secret, each moment of unbridled desire, the love between us grew stronger, the doubt slowly fading into the background. I was his, and he was mine. And nothing, not even the prying eyes of the world, could change that.

But as the storm clouds gathered once more, I couldn't help but wonder if our love was destined to be nothing more than a brief, bright flame that would burn out as quickly as it had ignited. Or if, together, we could weather the storm and emerge stronger than ever before.

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