Beneath the Devil’s Touch

The silence between them was deafening. Thick. Heavy. Drenched in an emotion she couldn't name.

She stood in the grand bedroom, her back pressed against the cold wall, her chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. Taehyung watched her from across the room, his sharp eyes gleaming under the dim chandelier light. He had taken off his suit jacket, draping it lazily over the armchair, leaving him in a crisp black dress shirt that clung to his frame. The top buttons remained undone, exposing the smooth skin of his collarbone.

The devil in silk and shadows.

His presence filled the room, suffocating yet addictive. He made no move toward her, nor did he speak, yet she could feel his control wrapping around her like invisible chains. He wanted her to break the silence. He wanted her to surrender first.

But she wouldn't.

She swallowed hard, willing herself to find her voice. "What do you want from me?"

Taehyung tilted his head, his smirk barely there, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. "I already told you, sweetheart. Everything."

Her fingers curled into fists. "I'm not yours to take."

His dark chuckle sent a pulse of something dangerous through her veins. He moved then—slow, deliberate steps bringing him closer until he stood mere inches away. He reached out, his fingers ghosting over her wrist before trailing up her arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"You say that," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, "but your body tells me otherwise."

She jerked away, pressing herself further against the wall, but there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

"You think this is a game?" she hissed, her frustration bleeding into her tone.

His smirk vanished, replaced by something darker, something that made the air in the room feel heavier. He leaned in, his breath fanning over her cheek.

"This is no game," he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. "I don't play games, sweetheart. When I want something, I take it. And I don't let go."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She wanted to fight. Wanted to push him away, but the way he looked at her—like she was his greatest conquest, his obsession—made her knees weak.

"You should hate me," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Taehyung's fingers lifted to her chin, tilting her face up until their eyes locked. "I don't do things I should." His thumb traced her bottom lip, his touch possessive. "I do what I want."

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment. She sucked in a breath as Taehyung exhaled, his gaze flicking toward the entrance, irritation flashing across his face.

"What?" he snapped.

The door creaked open, revealing one of his men. "Boss, there's a situation downstairs."

Taehyung's jaw ticked, his grip tightening for a brief second before he released her. He didn't move back, though. Instead, he reached for her wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with the same quiet dominance he always carried.

"Stay here." His voice left no room for argument.

And then he was gone.

She let out a shaky breath, her body finally slumping against the wall. The room felt colder without him in it, but she wasn't foolish enough to mistake that for safety.

This wasn't over.

It was just beginning.

Minutes stretched into an hour. The silence gnawed at her, making her restless. She paced the room, eyeing the massive windows that overlooked the city. The thought of escaping crossed her mind, but she knew better.

Kim Taehyung wasn't the type of man you escaped from.

The door opened, and she spun around just as he walked in. But he wasn't alone.

Blood stained his shirt. Not his, but someone else's. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hands—tainted with crimson—were the only sign of the violence he had left behind. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes…

His eyes burned with something primal.

She took a step back instinctively, but he was faster. He reached her in two strides, gripping her waist and pulling her flush against him. The scent of metal and whiskey filled her lungs, and she trembled as his fingers dug into her skin.

"You're shaking again," he murmured, his voice dark, laced with something dangerous. "Are you scared of me?"

Her throat was dry. She should have said yes. She should have fought him, screamed, done anything but stand there, trapped in his hold, her body betraying her every thought.

His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head back. His gaze flickered to her lips. "Say it," he demanded.

Her breath hitched. "I…"

The words refused to come.

Taehyung's smirk was slow, victorious. "That's what I thought."

And then his lips crashed against hers.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet. It was raw, consuming, laced with possession, and something darker than desire. His tongue slid against hers, demanding, taking. His fingers curled into her hair, keeping her locked in place, as if daring her to fight him.

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

Heat coiled in her stomach as he pressed her against the wall, his body a cage, his mouth relentless. Her hands fisted his bloodstained shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

She hated him. She hated how he made her feel—weak, breathless, utterly consumed by him.

When he finally pulled away, her lips felt bruised, and swollen. He studied her, his thumb tracing her bottom lip, his lips curving into something smug, knowing.

"You'll stop fighting it soon enough," he murmured, his voice like silk wrapped around steel.

She glared at him, her chest heaving. "You're delusional."

His smirk deepened. "And you're mine."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the sound of a phone ringing cut through the tension. He sighed, pulling away just enough to retrieve his phone from his pocket.

His expression darkened as he answered. "What?"

A pause. Then a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"I'll handle it."

He ended the call, his gaze snapping back to hers.

"Go to bed," he ordered.

She narrowed her eyes. "You can't just—"

His fingers brushed against her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Go. To. Bed."

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving her standing there, her body still humming from his touch, her mind a chaotic mess of thoughts she didn't want to have.

She hated him.

But she feared the day she might stop.

To Be Continued....