When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 24

My fingers slid down the front of his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath. I hesitated for a second, then slowly pushed the fabric up, revealing inch after inch of his skin—sculpted and warm beneath my fingertips. The moonlight filtering through the window cast shadows across his defined torso, every ridge and dip of his muscles catching the soft glow.

He watched me, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. "You like what you see?" His voice was husky, playful, but there was a nervous edge to it, as if my answer actually mattered.

I swallowed, my face heating as my fingers traced down the firm lines of his abs. "I—um—" I bit my lip, looking anywhere but his face.

He chuckled, low and deep, his hand catching mine, pressing my palm flat against his chest. "Don't look away," he murmured, guiding my touch down the planes of his stomach, over the hard ridges of muscle. "I want to see your eyes when you touch me."

My breath hitched as I finally met his gaze, my fingers continuing their slow exploration. The warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my touch—it was all so new, yet so familiar, like something I’d longed for without even realizing it.

Then, his lips were on mine again, more tender this time, savoring, as if trying to commit this moment to memory. My hands slid up his shoulders, over his toned arms, feeling the strength in them as they held me close.

His fingers skimmed the hem of my top, hesitating slightly. "May I?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, my pulse racing, and he slowly lifted the fabric, exposing more of me to him. His touch was reverent, his eyes tracing every inch of bare skin with something that felt dangerously close to worship. He leaned down, pressing a kiss just above my collarbone, lingering there as if he needed a second to steady himself.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against my skin.

A shiver ran through me—not just from his words, but from the way he said them. Like he meant them. Like he had waited so long to say them.

I reached up, my fingers threading through his hair as I pulled him down for another kiss.

His lips moved down my collarbone, warm and slow, like he was savoring every inch of my skin. My breath hitched as he kissed lower, down my chest, his touch igniting something deep inside me. My fingers curled into the sheets, my body arching ever so slightly as he kept going—down my stomach, soft kisses trailing over every dip and curve—until he stopped just above the button of my jeans.

My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. His lips brushed over the waistband, just enough to make my entire body tense with anticipation. And then he looked up at me.

His dark eyes held mine, filled with something deep, something I couldn’t quite name. “Should I stop?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried weight, sincerity.

I swallowed, my chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Stop? When he looked at me like that, when his touch made my entire body feel like it was burning from the inside out? When I had waited for so long just to be close to him again?

I shook my head, my voice barely audible. “No.”

His lips parted slightly, like he’d been holding his breath, and then, with deliberate slowness, he sat up. My stomach tightened as his fingers brushed over my waist, moving to the button of my jeans. He didn’t rush, didn’t fumble. His touch was gentle, reverent, like he was memorizing every second.

The first button popped open. My breath caught.

His fingers lingered at the next one, his eyes locked onto mine. His hands were warm against my skin, his touch sending shivers up my spine.