When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 20

The same taste.

A quiet, desperate part of me had feared that maybe time had altered everything, that maybe I had imagined the way he made me feel all those years ago.

But this—

This proves that nothing was ever in my head.

Because Han Wool still feels like home.

I tighten my grip on his shirt, pressing myself closer to him, my body responding before my mind can keep up. He exhales through his nose, his hands tightening around me, as if he feels it too.

As if he doesn’t want to let go either.

But then—

He slows.

His lips soften against mine, his movements languid now, almost hesitant. And finally, after what feels like forever, he pulls away—just slightly, just enough for me to feel the loss.

I’m still breathless, still reeling, my lips tingling with the ghost of his touch.

I don’t want it to be over.

I don’t want him to let go.

Han Wool watches me carefully, his own breathing uneven. His thumb ghosts over my wrist, his touch barely there, yet still enough to make me shiver.

Then, his voice comes out low, teasing.

“Tongue?”

My head snaps up, my heart hammering against my ribs.

His lips parted, as if he’s afraid I'll reject, but his eyes remain unreadable.

The question sits between us, heavy, charged.

I hesitate, then—slowly—I nod.

Han Wool’s gaze flickers over my face, his expression unreadable. Then, after a pause, he tilts his head. “Do you know how it works?”

I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because I want to see what he’ll do. Maybe because some reckless part of me wants him to teach me.

Either way, I shake my head. “No.”

He exhales a small chuckle, but there’s something else behind it—something darker, something knowing.

His eyes darken, and a small, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “When we use tongue,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, “you have to open your mouth… just a little.”

I swallow, my breath uneven.

“So I can move with you,” he continues, gaze flickering between my lips and my eyes. “Let me show you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. His hand gently cups the side of my neck, thumb grazing just below my ear, tilting my face up toward him. Then, slowly—so painfully slowly—I feel the warmth of his mouth press against mine again.

This time, he deepens the kiss.

A slow, teasing stroke of his tongue parts my lips, tasting me, guiding me. The sensation is foreign but intoxicating. I exhale sharply, gripping the front of his shirt for support as a heat rushes through me.

He hums against my lips, the vibration sending a shiver down my spine. “Relax,” he whispers, pulling back just enough so our breaths mingle. “Let me in.”

I do.

His tongue meets mine, coaxing me to move with him. It’s slow at first, a gentle exploration. But then—

Something shifts.

The hunger grows.

My fingers curl tighter into his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slide down my sides, gripping my waist firmly as he presses me against the wall, his body warm and solid against mine.