𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 || JJK x READER

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛

A strong smell of tobacco enveloped me.

It went up my earlobe, sending shivers, fervent electric shocks down my spine.
Electricity that had its short circuit between my legs.

Slowly his fingers grazed my jaw, my cheek, my lips.

That tattooed hand, the current ruin of my thoughts, in plain sight, leaving my eyes to adore the majesty of his arm.
So captivating, so well-trained.

Now two fingers were holding my chin. My frightened eyes sank into his, dark and sinister, letting him take possession of what little sense I had left.

Those eyes moved closer and closer to mine, asking me, indeed forcing me to let them take possession of my gaze, my breath, then my life and even my soul.

I slowly squinted my eyes, trying to abandon myself to unknown sensations. I was completely unprepared when he grabbed me by the hair and, with my head bent backwards, I couldn't help but gasp.

A warm breath warmed my neck.
A rough, deep voice made every part of my being wince.

"Miss Kim, you seem to have got yourself into quite a pickle by setting yourself against me."

It was impossible for me to maintain that position so I let myself be carried away by the pressure of his hand against my hair and abandoned myself to the floor beneath me.

He astride me smirking mockingly as his tongue gave no rest to that piercing which gave him an even darker look.

I could not sustain his gaze, allowing myself to close my eyes for a moment.

The next moment my arms were pinned to my wrists parallel to my shoulders, while my neck was violently attacked with lips, tongue and teeth.

A beast thirsting for fresh meat stood over me and I was the little lamb innocently passing by.

I stifled a sigh but it was impossible to stop the moan that formed between my lips.
It was just impossible to stop him.

"Sir Jeon, please..."

I closed the pages of my diary in horror.
Was my mind so sick and my body so needy and curious as to mould into Sir Jeon the object of my desires?

He was a handsome man, certainly attractive.
But he was also older than me by at least ten years, he was going to be my tutor for a while and I his student, or assistant, but most of all he was a cranky, rude sadist.

My mind was simply searching for features that would catch my attention. Or perhaps it had been drawn by the darkness emanating from that artist.

There was certainly nothing more.
He was far too surly and presumptuous to give me even the pretext to have a harmless and civilised conversation.

He gave me to understand that he enjoyed making me beg, humiliating me. Probably the time I would spend in his study would be of no use to me, given his way of being.

Yet, out of conscience and for the benefit of the doubt, I was obliged to present myself at his door.
Out of desperation and also a little out of guilt, since I had ruined one of his detestable paintings.