The Babysitting Contract | j.jk

13 • dance

What little rational thought left jumps ship from my head, especially when a set of sturdy hands grip my hips from behind and a head ducks into the crook of my neck.

I freeze.

Despite the feverish heat of my skin, shivers scatter down my spine as the stranger pulls me flush against them, their nose skimming a path from my ear to my collarbones before they map the trail up again with hot, open mouthed kisses.

Woah.

Time seems to grow lethargic, sluggish, as I remain rooted in place, breath snagged, heart tripping, mind reeling, eyes blown wide because holy fucking hell.

And much to my embarrassment, Jeongguk is laughing.

With his eyes locked on mine through the throngs of people, he cocks a brow, almost as if to send me a silent message. When I obviously don't understand it, he shakes his head before signing, You good?

I shakily nod my head, knowing that I don't want this, whatever this is, to stop anytime soon.

He shoots me a grin. Then do something.

A mixture of panic and anticipation clogs my throat. Like what?

Jeongguk smirks, pushing himself off the wall. Before my inhibited brain can fully understand what he's doing, he begins to perform a familiar victory dance, moving his body in such a way that it looks like a wave passes languidly past one arm, through his torso and into his other arm.

He's doing my victory dance.

All tension drains from my body as I throw my head back in drunken laughter.

Which, coincidentally, gives the stranger better access to my neck.

And it seems too good an opportunity for them to pass up.

I gasp at the foreign feeling of lips at a sensitive spot on my throat, sucking and nipping at the tender skin. As they rock their hips to the beat music, the stranger continues to sloppily work wonders with their mouth, driving all common sense and sanity from my form. Mosaics of colours swirl past my closed lids as a different kind of heat begins to ebb outwards from my core — a blazing, needy warmth that leeches the tightness from my bones and urges me to move, move, move.

Rolling my hips, I tentatively reach my free hand up behind me and rake my fingers through a short crop of soft hair. This elicits a hum of approval from the stranger and wins me a stinging, giddy jolt of pain as teeth graze and then bite into my skin, soothed afterwards by a balm of sensual kisses.

So this is a hickey.

Too enraptured by the newfound sensation, I don't register the stranger spinning me around until we're standing face to face and close enough that I can smell the sharpness of liquor of his breath.

I slowly drink him in. The stranger is no longer that but a familiar boy of midnight hair, pale skin, feline eyes and raw, ruby lips.

Min Yoongi.

Though we've never outright spoken, I know of him — as does everyone else in this damn party. It's hard not to, especially when this boy before me reigns supreme over Bangtan High with Jeongguk and their band of friends.