Part 3

Part Three of Three. 13k words.

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It takes your eyes a few moments to actually open. They’re heavy for some reason, as though your body itself was resisting the inevitable arrival of dawn and hoping to spend just a few more minutes in the wonderful bliss of sleep.

But the dawn is merciless. Your eyes eventually pull open, adjusting to the bright beams of light piercing the blackout curtains she’d probably left open the night before. She herself is absent from the bed, but the warmth beneath your arm splayed out on her side of it meant she hadn’t left too long ago. With a grunt, you swing your legs onto the floor and sit on the edge of the bed for a while to allow the rest of your senses to actually come online.

You rub your eyes. You stretch muscles tired from the previous night’s activities - your hips, mostly, and your thighs. A slim smirk appears on your lips as you rise from bed and find last night’s boxers to throw on before heading into the kitchen.

The rest of the large, lavish apartment greets you as you emerge from the bedroom. Hardwood and marble, glass and oak - all modern, sleek, furnished like a glossy brochure from one of Vancouver’s high-end real estate offices. 

And there she is, at the kitchen, half of her hidden by the marble and polished oak of the kitchen island. You watch as she pulls two mugs - a matching pair, one with her initials on it and one with yours - from the cupboard and places them onto the whirring, ridiculously expensive coffee maker that neither of you really needed, but had somehow become something neither of you could live without. 

She’s wearing a t-shirt - yours, of course, although the lines that separated what was yours and hers had been blurred to the point of irrelevancy since you bought this apartment together a year ago. 

She’s so small in it. She was always small, but today she’s drowning in the soft cotton, the soft, worn fabric draped over her slim frame and resembling a loose, short dress more than anything else. As she emerges from behind the kitchen island her long, slim legs come into full view. Even from your vantage point in the bedroom hallway, you can see the slight blushing and bruising around her upper thighs and hips, evidence of last night’s indulgences. 

She stretches her arms above her head, her back arching slightly as she lets out a small, soft little yawn. The shirt rides up, up over most of that cute little ass of hers and confirming the fact that she was, indeed, wearing nothing else. The sun peeks through the gap between her thighs - the skin between them glistens as the sunlight catches on something wet or moist. Your cum from last night or her new arousal, you didn’t know nor care. You knew only that the sight of it stirred something inside you, chasing away the last vestiges of drowsiness and pulling you into full wakefulness.

“Come here,” she says, softly, without turning around to look at you. Of course she knew you were there. Of course she wanted to give you a little show first, with that performative little stretch of hers.

You leave the hallway and approach her, eyes drinking in the sight of her with every slow, measured step.

When you reach her, she leans back against you, her body molding to yours. You kiss the back of her head as your arms wrap around her tiny little frame - gentle, chaste gestures compared to what came before and what was probably to come soon.

Something like a soft purr leaves her throat. You can’t see it, but you know that her lips are pulling up the corners of her mouth in a soft little smile. You don’t waste any time. Your hands find their way beneath the shirt - one finds a small, round breast, relishing the soft weight of it in your palm; the other slips between her legs, finding her slick and ready, just as you’d thought she would be.

She says your name. It is soft and breathy as it leaves her lips, heavy with yearning as your fingertips glide along her slick, soft flesh. 

You say hers.

“Taeyeon.”

The sound of her name as it leaves your mouth triggers something inside you. The feel of her body pressed against yours, her stiff nipple against your fingers and cunt dripping onto your palm - it sends you somewhere long past, a day you’d left behind…

Her lips open. When she speaks again it’s barely above a whisper.

“Fuck me. Don’t stop until--”

You remember--

---

“--you fucking cum in me!” she spits, four years ago. 

“Fuck, Ryujin,” you hiss. You bring the tip of your cock between her legs. She rocks her ass back against you, needy, impatient. Angry.

“Just fucking do it,” she says between her teeth. “This is all I’ll ever be to you anyway, all we’ll ever be-”

You silence her by entering her with a deep, hard thrust that punches the air from your lungs and hers. 

You’re there again, in Ryujin Shin’s apartment.

Her apartment is small, cramped - a far cry from the luxurious penthouse you’d buy with Taeyeon three years later. Half-packed moving boxes litter most of it, each haphazardly filled with the sundries of a young woman’s life. Her messy, looping handwriting labels each one - clothes, kitchen, random shit. The movie posters and abstract art that once breathed life into the walls are gone, rolled or folded into a box, leaving behind cold, empty voids where they once painted its cold walls with vivid colors.

The sound of a police siren off the street filters in through the open window. It mirrors the alarm and desperation in Ryujin’s voice.

“Just fuck me,” she says, even as you begin to slide in and out of her tightly grasping cunt. “Just, fuck--, oh, just fuck me.”

Your hand leaves her breast. It wraps around her torso, pressing her back tighter against your chest. Her fingers dig into your forearm, as though wanting to bind you to her, keep you from the inevitable parting that was at this point only days away. She winds her free hand back behind her to grasp your skull, nails digging into your scalp as her head lolls back against your shoulder.

“Please,” she hisses, a note of desperation now amidst the anger. “Just fuck me. I’m your fucktoy, that’s all I am-”

You want to silence her. Want to tell her she’ll be more than that. Want to comfort her, want to tell her that you’ll find a way to fix things, find a way where she can stay here in Vancouver, with you, and not end up on the other side of the planet next week-

But you couldn’t bring yourself to lie. Not when you weren’t sure what the future held for the both of you. Maybe she didn’t need to hear them. Maybe she already knew that whatever you said wouldn’t be enough, whatever promises you made would be hollow.

And so you let yourself indulge in the enticing if temporary pleasure you took from her body with each thrust into her tight, wet heat. There is an intensity, a needy impatience to her tonight that had not been there before. She’s miserable, frustrated, sad - at you, the world, the email in her inbox that would uproot her from her home and send her to the other side of the planet for the foreseeable future. She’s heartbroken, most of all, because just when she thought she could allow herself to be happy the universe decided that she wasn’t worthy of it.

She channels the anger, channels the sadness, turns the painful aching in her chest. She turns it into something dark, something dangerous.

She throws her hips back against you as much as she can. She clenches tight around you, her cunt pulsing and quivering around your shaft as it drills into her over and over again with a fast, harsh pace that matches the frustration in her own movements. 

“Ryujin,” you begin, her name leaving your lips like a curse. “Fuck-”

“Shut up,” she spits, “shut up. Just fucking shut up--”

It was all too much. Her cunt, her anger, the flight next week waiting to take her away from you just as you’d finally found each other - it was all too much. You latch on to the guilty, disgusting pleasure worming its way up your spine. It wasn’t pure or pleasant, but you could feel it taking you over, just as it was taking over the young woman that had been reduced to a quivering, shaking mess in your arms.

“Fucking cum,” she spits, saliva flying from her lips. “Fucking cum in me, leave me a part of you--”

“Ryujin--”

You bury yourself inside her. As deep as you can go. Your cock quivers and your world goes blank as you fill her with thick, possessive ropes of thick white cum. She trembles in your arms, legs having long since given up on keeping her upright, relying only on your arms to keep her where she was. The feel of the cum pooling in her womb triggers her own orgasm, and she cums in your arms.

The pleasure is there, coursing through your bodies - and yet it is temporary, replaced quickly, all too quickly, with fatigue and something like disgust. Discontent. Dismay.

Ryujin’s hands finally leave your forearms, where they’d dug deep furrows in her pleasure. She holds herself against the wall, finally supporting her own weight again. 

Your cum drips from her cunt, still stuffed with your softening cock. It leaves a slick slide of glistening whiteness down the softness of her inner thigh.

You catch your breath. You look down between you, at the trembling cheeks of her ass. You move slightly with your hips and she lets out a sigh at the movement inside her cum-filled cunt. You begin to withdraw, but she stops you.

“Don’t,” she says, a whisper. “Just a little longer.”

You sigh. Fatigue sets in, accompanied by unwelcome reality. You press your forehead to the back of her skull, your arms wrapping themselves around her torso once more. It’s all you can do, all you can give her. You hold her close. 

You look for the words, but they still aren’t there. The ones that are won’t be enough, and ones that you want to say never come.