❝𝗕𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗧. ── 𝗝.𝗛𝗦

016

Naomi's shivers, surprised by the way the pad of his finger circled softly over her clit, occasionally dipping down to gather more of the creamy wetness leaking out of her. "Jesus Mimi, are you always this fucking wet?" He moans, his tongue flicking out to taste her lipgloss like he hasn't already had enough. He's greedy, wants everything he can get from her. Everything.

She was just as perplexed as him, definitely just as aroused. Trembling with every movement, Naomi reached up and brushed his streaked hair out of his face, fingers raking through the locks that once casted his face in shadows. "Hobi-"

"Shh, shh, baby. I got you." His whispers linger in the humid air around him, summer heat and sexual tension don't mix very well in appears. But his voice is tender, soft and placid in her ear almost as if to assure her as his finger eases into her. All the hate and resentment left her the moment his finger entered her, soon to be accompanied by two of them. His rings stopped him from going down to the knuckle much to both of their disappointment, but it was still enough for him to stroke her walls in search of her g-spot.

He cooed softly with each whimper she let tremble past her lips. Vendetta forgotten just for this small window of time where none of that really mattered, Naomi was just marking something off her bucket list. Fuck Jung Hoseok, know what his lips feel like on hers, know what it may feel like to be the object of his affection even if he doesn't mean it. It's alright; Naomi doesn't mean it either. Neither of them really has to.

She used to think one needed to have love to have sex. To be fair, she was still rather young to even begin to understand such and act but she understood that it was intimate...and loud if Yoongi and Jimin were anything to go off of. But they so very obviously had some love between them. As complicated and maybe unstable that love might have been.

Naomi isn't so naive now. She's grown up fast over these past couple of years and has come to realize through maybe a harshly taught lesson from life that you don't have to feel anything for anyone to have sex with them. In fact-you can hate someone and still fuck them. It's certainly hard but it's possible. She's doing it right now.

She hated the way his hair felt like silk between her fingers, how his almond eyes never broke contact with hers, his signature scent of gasoline, oil, and hard work left her delirious and wanting more, how he kept whispering in her ear while he fingered her. Naomi hated all of it, hated him. Who knew such a negative emotion could feel so good. She was clinging to him, heated skin sticking to his wherever it was exposed while her legs clamp against his hips. "Hobi r-right there."

Naomi hated the way he smirked against the curve of her neck, the rattle of his throat as he hummed. "Right here?" His fingers curled against the soft ridge inside of her, right against that sweet spot. Hoseok's voice was almost teasing as he continued to whisper into her ear. "Big girl words, Mi."

"Go fuck yourself, Hoseok." She tugged his hair in protest to his teasing. Naomi felt her stomach twist into elaborate knots at the sound of his chuckling. A whimper almost left her when his free hand guided her head back to look at him. "Why would I do that when I can fuck you instead?" And then he was kissing her again. Her lips taste like red. Crisp apples, ripe strawberries, supple cherries. What he would fucking give to have his lips on hers for the rest of eternity.

Naomi gasped in protest when Hoseok removed his fingers from her trembling pussy. He smiled when he held them up to the moonlight, fingers coated down to his rings in her essence. Without hesitation, Hoseok slips his fingers into his mouth, eyes glittering along with his piercing as he gazed at her. He licked his fingers clean and then leaned in to kiss her, his tongue easing into her mouth with little to no resistance whatsoever.

She could taste herself on his tongue, his piercing pressing into hers while the vibrations of his moans find a way to touch every last inch of her. Her fingers grasp at his shirt, balling the fabric up in her fists as she pulled him closer.