“I’m not doing it,” he tells me, but we’ve been through this before, with the maid and the box. He’ll do it, even if he hates himself for every action he takes. Same for me. We’re in the same boat here, hating ourselves so badly that we’re burning up to ash on the inside. He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head violently. “I can’t do that to him.”
“Kwang-seon,” I start, and his eyes snap open. He stalks toward me, and I end up backing up until I’m pressed against the shiny white tiles that cover the bottom half of the wall. He slams his palms on either side of me, leaning down so that our mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.
“Don’t call me by my real name,” he snarls out, angry but with no outlet for his rage. Just me. Only me. “And don’t bow at me. Don’t speak to me in Korean. Don’t touch me. Don’t compliment me. Don’t—”
My hands come up, my fingers resting on either side of his face. In every place we touch, my body aches. I’m pretty sure I’m crying, but the tears are silent, creating salty tracks down my cheeks. Closing my eyes, I lean in, pressing my lips softly against his.
We’re both trembling, both hurting, both flooded with guilt.
A sob escapes me as I dig my fingers harder into Chasm’s cheeks, pressing my mouth to his again, kissing him the way I’ve wanted to since that day at the lake when he said fuck it and brushed his lips across mine.
I lean against him, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t deepen the kiss, doesn’t even open his mouth for me. Still crying, still shaking, I open my eyes to find that he’s watching me. Everything about him says tense, angry, upset, but he doesn’t move either closer to me or further away.
“I’m so sorry, Parrish,” I sob out, pressing my mouth even harder against Chasm’s, feeling him soften just slightly against me. He draws back suddenly, breathing hard, his face a broken, anguished thing.
“Be careful of your nose,” he tells me, and then he’s tilting his head and sliding his lips against mine. His tongue pushes against my mouth, encouraging me to open for him. He’s so skilled at this, so experienced, I immediately figure that I must’ve been wrong about the virgin thing. Chasm … might be telling the truth about his dating prowess.
He takes over the interaction, working his tongue against mine, taking my lips like he’s tasting me, like he’s drinking me in and absorbing my very essence. I do the same, allowing myself to taste him behind the wall of guilt I’ve built around myself.
The Slayer has given me little choice in the matter.
I know it.
Chasm knows it.
It’s the most exquisite form of torture, being given something you want so badly, but at a cost that’s far too great to swallow. Parrish is the one who will pay this cost, who will hurt the most, and in turn, Chasm and I will hurt.
Well-played, asshole, I think at the Slayer, sliding my hands along Chasm’s jaw to rest in his silky hair. If this were a chess game, I’d be in check. But is there a way out of this? Can I move my piece? Capture his? If this were a video game, and I was down to my last life, could I figure out how to get another? How to gain more points? How to beat the level?
My fingers play with Chas’ hair, twirling it around my fingers as he works his mouth against mine, a deep groan building in his chest that seems to reverberate the very air molecules around us. I can feel him all over me, even though he’s only touching me in one place. His lips continue to work diligently against mine, his tongue delving deeper, the male sounds in his throat huskier and more desperate.
He does not, however, move his hands from their position against the wall. Instead, he seems to be doing everything in his power to keep that distance between us.
My own hands drop down to Chasm’s shoulders and that’s when he pulls back, his mouth glossy from kissing me. He steps away, removing my hands and pushing them against my chest. We’re both breathing heavily, faces flushed, lips swollen.
“This isn’t right,” he says, but almost like he’s pleading. “Parrish is my best friend. He’s always been there when I needed him, always. He’s hurting, and he’s all alone, and … fuck. Little Sister, this is …” He gestures between us with a single finger. “This is so messed-up. It’s so fucking fucked.”
“I know,” I choke out, putting my hand over my mouth and closing my eyes. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. If I didn’t … if I hadn’t developed feelings for Chasm, the Slayer’s directive would hold little power. If I hadn’t made those feelings so goddamn obvious, he might not have seen the opportunity. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
