The fragile control Jumin had over himself snaps and in one movement he’s grabbed your arm and pulled you to his chest. He can feel how warm you are through the sheer fabric of the dress. You smell like his shampoo. Still clutching your wrist in one hand, he uses the other to tilt your chin up and press his lips to yours. The kiss demands you yield, his mouth moving against yours until you part your lips to let him in. You let out a little gasp as he turns to crowd you into the corner, pressing your back up against his floor-to-ceiling fish tank.
The gasp isn’t nearly enough. He wants—no, needs to hear you say you belong to him. That Zen means absolutely nothing. He wants you to forget that there’s anyone who exists in this world except for him. He slips his arm around your back to press you closer and is surprised to touch bare skin. The dress exposes much of your lower back and he runs a finger down the curve of your spine. You arch your hips towards him and a little moan escapes your lips.
“Be mine,” Jumin says in a low voice, bending to suck at the pale skin just under your jawbone. “You can’t belong to anyone else.”
“I… ah…” your voice falters as he kisses down to your collarbone. Good. Almost there.
“Tell me you wouldn’t let Zen do this,” Jumin says as he kisses the skin at the top of your shoulder and sinks his teeth into your flesh. He tastes a tiny bit of blood on your skin and laps it up with his tongue. You barely seem to be supporting your own weight, and your body weighs heavily against the arms holding you to him. Your fingers scratch against the sleeves of his shirt, clutching and releasing the fabric as though you’re searching for an anchor to tether you to the earth.
“Oh God,” you say breathlessly. It’s not what he needs to hear, though.
“You wouldn’t let Zen do this,” he repeats, sliding his hand down your back to outline the curve of your butt. He continues to run his hand down your leg, past the bottom of your dress until he reaches the underside of your knee and pulls your leg towards him. You obediently wrap it around his body and he picks you up off the ground, forcing you to straddle his waist. Your dress rides up around your hips and the hands supporting you are separated from your bare skin by a mere strip of lacy fabric. “…Would you?”
“No, no…” you whisper in his ear, your arms wrapped around his shoulders.
He sucks at the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, kisses it gently, and teasingly grabs it between his teeth. You moan and your legs tighten around his waist. Your skin is hot and your breathing quite shallow. You trace frenetic patterns between his shoulder blades with your fingertips, sometimes digging your nails in when he squeezes you tight. Jumin presses your back against the wall and grinds his body against you. “Tell me Zen can’t make you feel the way I can,” he growls.
“Just you, Jumin,” you pant. He presses you closer and you moan again. “I’m yours,” you say, “I’m all yours.” You put your hands on either side of his head and pull him away from your neck to cover his lips with yours. The kiss tastes salty and metallic like the blood he licked off your shoulder. Satisfied at last by your response, Jumin carries you over to the bed and gently lowers you onto the sheets.