Chapter 505: Do not harass Jo-Pil
"Please... Help me."
The words felt like they were dragged out of my throat with glass. I didn’t recognize my own voice. It was high, thin, and completely broken.
The room went dead silent for a split second, and then it happened. All four of them flinched at the same time, like I’d physically struck them. I could feel it—the air was getting heavy, thick with the scent I was pouring out. It was too much. I was drowning in it, and so were they.
Seo-Jun let out a short, jagged scoff that sounded more like a growl.
"And you expect us to just miraculously ignore this?"
He didn’t wait for an answer. He stormed over to the bed and grabbed my jaw. His grip wasn’t bruising, but it was firm, forcing my head up so the others had no choice but to see me. He wanted them to see the mess I was.
My hair was stuck to my forehead, my face was flushed a dark, feverish red, and I couldn’t stop the tears from leaking out from under my eyelids.
"I don’t know about you guys," Seo-Jun hissed, his eyes locked onto mine with a terrifying, hungry light, "but this face is clearly asking me to fuck him."
I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. I just looked at him, my vision swimming, my brain screaming for the pressure in my trousers to just go away.
"That’s because he’s in heat," Min-Cheol said. He stayed back, one hand clamped firmly over his nose and mouth. He looked pale. Out of all of them, he was the most sensitive to scent, and I could tell he was struggling just to stay standing. "He’s not in his right mind, Seo-Jun. He doesn’t know what he’s saying."
Seo-Jun didn’t let go of my jaw. He leaned in closer, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip, his own breath hitching as he caught the full force of my pheromones point-blank.
"Well," Seo-Jun claimed, his voice dropping into a dangerous, jagged whisper, "neither am I."
Seo-Jun didn’t give them another second to argue. He leaned down and crushed his lips against mine, ignoring whatever the others were shouting. It wasn’t like the fake kiss in the library with Ki-hoon; this was messy, desperate, and smelled like the expensive whiskey he’d been nursing at the bar.
I should have fought him. I should have been disgusted. But my body was a traitor. The second his mouth met mine, a jolt of electricity shot straight to my gut, and I found myself leaning into him, my fingers curling into the expensive fabric of his shirt.
Then, his hand moved.
He reached down, his palm heading straight for the agonizing ache in my pants—the spot that felt like it was about to burst. I held my breath, my hips lifting off the bed in a pathetic, expectant jerk. I was dying for that contact, for anything to numb the fire.
But just before his fingers could make contact, someone moved.
Ki-hoon’s hand shot out like a lightning bolt, clamping down on Seo-Jun’s wrist with a grip that looked like it could crush marble. He yanked Seo-Jun’s hand away from my groin, forcing him back a step.
"Do not harass Jo-Pil," Ki-hoon claimed. His voice was terrifyingly calm, but his eyes were like two dark pits of ice.
Seo-Jun clicked his tongue, a sharp, ugly sound. He glared at Ki-hoon, his face twisted with a mix of lust and genuine rage.
"Stop getting in my way, dammit!" Seo-Jun hissed, trying to wrench his arm back. "He’s practically leaking through his trousers, Ki-hoon! He wants it! Look at him!"
I squeezed my eyes shut, mortified, as a low whine escaped my throat. I did want it. That was the problem. The heat was making me crave the very thing that would ruin me.
"He wants relief, not you," Jin-Yeok stepped in, his voice tight. He was watching the two of them with a predatory stillness. "If you touch him while he’s like this, you’re not helping him. You’re just taking."
"And what are you doing?" Seo-Jun barked, gesturing to the three of them. "Standing there and watching like perverts? At least I’m willing to do something about it!"
The room was spinning, a blurred mess of white walls and the dark silhouettes of the four men standing over me. The arguing, the shouting, the way they were clashing for territory—it all felt like background noise to the fire screaming inside my skin. My brain was gone. There was no wallflower left, no plan, no pride. Just the ache.
My hand moved before I could think. It felt heavy, like I was lifting it through water, but I reached out and snagged the sleeve of Ki-hoon’s jacket. He stiffened, his eyes dropping to mine, but I didn’t let go.
With a strength I didn’t know I had left, I pulled his hand toward me.
I guided his large, cold palm down, past my ribs, until I pressed it firmly against the front of my trousers—right where the pressure was the most agonizing. I let out a broken, jagged sob as the contact hit. Even through the fabric of the suit, his hand was the only thing that felt real.
"Please," I choked out, the tears finally spilling over and hot tracks down my temples. My hips bucked into his hand, a mindless, rhythmic plea for the friction I couldn’t give myself. "Just... someone. Anyone. Please touch me."
The room went deathly silent. Even Seo-Jun stopped snarling.
I could feel Ki-hoon’s pulse thrumming through his fingertips against me. His hand was trembling—the ’monk’, the stoic Alpha who seemed to have no desires, was shaking under the weight of my desperation.
I looked up at him through my blurred vision, my hair matted to my face, begging him with my eyes to just finish what Seo-Jun had started.
"Jo-Pil," Ki-hoon rasped. His voice sounded like it was being torn out of him.
"Don’t pull away," I whimpered, clutching his wrist to keep him there. I was pathetic. I was a mess. I was exactly what I promised my father I wouldn’t be, but the relief of his weight against that fire was the only thing keeping me from screaming.
"He’s begging, Ki-hoon," Jin-Yeok said, his voice strained and tight from the other side of the bed. "You can’t tell him no now. Not after he’s the one who reached for you."
I felt Ki-hoon’s fingers twitch against the fabric. He was looking at my tear-streaked face, his expression shattering into something raw and unrecognizable.
The tension between them didn’t go away—it just shifted, focusing entirely on the spot where his hand was pressed against me.
"If I touch you," Ki-hoon whispered, his eyes dark with a terrifying intensity, "I’m not going to be able to stop."
