Velvet desire

The iron gates of the Seoul International Primary School groaned as they swung open, admitting the sleek, obsidian-tinted Maybach that looked like a predator stalking into a sanctuary. Inside the car, Kim Taehyung watched the playground through the one-way glass, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, restless beat against his thigh. He was a man who held the city’s jugular in his hand; a king whose name was whispered in prayer by those who feared him and in screams by those who crossed him.

But here, in the quiet afternoon sun, he was just a husband waiting for his wife.

His dark eyes narrowed, the pupils dilating until the honey-brown irises were nearly swallowed by blackness. He saw her. Jisoo was standing near the oak tree, her floral sundress billowing slightly in the breeze. She looked like an angel misplaced in a world of filth. She was laughing, her hand resting on the shoulder of a small child, but it wasn't the child Taehyung was looking at.

It was the man standing beside her. Mr. Choi, a literature teacher whose existence Taehyung had tolerated only because Jisoo insisted on keeping her "normal" life.

Taehyung’s breath hitched, a low growl vibrating in his chest, when he saw Choi lean in. The man was smiling, saying something that made Jisoo tilt her head back. Then, it happened. Choi reached out, his fingers brushing a stray hair away from Jisoo’s face, his thumb lingering for a fraction of a second against the soft cream of her cheek.

The interior of the car suddenly felt like a vacuum. Taehyung’s world turned crimson.

"Sir?" his driver, Namjoon, whispered, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. "Should I—"

Taehyung didn't answer. He was already out of the car.

The playground went silent as he strode across the asphalt. He didn't look like a parent; he looked like death draped in a three-piece suit. His aura was heavy, suffocating, and the teachers who knew his reputation instinctively backed away.

Jisoo turned, her eyes widening. "Taehyung? You’re early."

He didn't look at her. His gaze was locked on Choi, who had frozen, his hand still hovering in the air. Taehyung stepped into the man’s personal space, his height towering over him.

"Did you touch her?" Taehyung’s voice was a low, melodic silk that hid a razor blade.

"I... I was just helping her with a stray hair, Mr. Kim," Choi stammered, his face paling to a ghostly white.

Taehyung reached out, grabbing Choi’s wrist with a grip that made the bones creak. "This hand," Taehyung whispered, leaning in close so only the teacher could hear. "If it ever enters her orbit again, I will have it severed and delivered to your mother in a gift box. Do you understand the gravity of your mistake, or do I need to demonstrate?"

"Taehyung, stop!" Jisoo cried out, stepping between them. she placed her small, warm hands on his chest, her touch the only thing in the universe capable of dampening the fire in his veins. "He was just being nice. Please. You’re scaring the children."

Taehyung looked down at her. The madness in his eyes flickered, fighting with the primal need to claim her. He let go of the teacher’s wrist, and Choi stumbled back, nearly tripping over a bench before sprinting toward the faculty building.

"Home. Now," Taehyung commanded. He didn't wait for her response, his hand snaking around her waist and pulling her flush against his side, his thumb digging into her hip with possessive force.

The drive back to the penthouse was silent and suffocating. Taehyung sat with his head back, his eyes closed, but his jaw was clenched so tight it looked like marble. Jisoo sat beside him, her heart hammering against her ribs. She knew this mood. It was the hunger. The obsession that bordered on a sickness.

The moment the elevator doors to their private floor hissed shut, Taehyung pinned her against the mirrored wall. His mouth crashed onto hers, not in a kiss, but in a claim. He tasted of expensive tobacco and the metallic tang of repressed rage.

"You are mine," he growled against her lips, his hands roaming over her body with frantic desperation. "Every inch. Every breath. No one touches what belongs to me."

"I know, Taehyung," she gasped, her hands tangling in his dark hair. "I’m yours. Only yours."

He pulled back, his eyes dropping to her chest. The silk of her dress was tight, and he could see the slight dampness beginning to bloom against the fabric. Since the birth of their daughter six months ago, Jisoo’s body had become his sanctuary in a way she never expected. Even after the baby had been moved to a nursery with a wet nurse for the nights, Taehyung had refused to let Jisoo stop lactating. He had become addicted to it—to the taste of her life force, to the way it calmed the voices in his head that told him to kill.

"I want it," he rasped, his voice breaking. "I need it now, Jisoo. It’s been three hours. I’m burning up."

He didn't wait for her to move. He scooped her up, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried her toward their master suite. He didn't stop at the bed; he walked straight into the sprawling, black marble bathroom and kicked the door shut.

He set her down on the vanity, his hands trembling as he unzipped the back of her dress. He peeled the fabric down, exposing her heavy, aching breasts to the cool air. The sight of her—flushed, beautiful, and overflowing with the milk that was meant only for him—made a low, guttural sound escape his throat.

"Please," he whispered, his eyes dark with a desperate, childlike need.

Jisoo reached out, cupping her breast and offering it to him. "Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you."

Taehyung leaned in, his lips latching onto her with a hunger that was both primal and worshipful. The moment the warm, sweet liquid hit his tongue, the tension bled out of his shoulders. He groaned, his eyes rolling back as he drank greedily. He used his hands to massage her, helping the flow, his fingers kneading her soft flesh with a mix of reverence and greed.

To the world, he was a monster. To her, he was a man starving for a peace he could only find at her breast.

He switched to the other side, his movements frantic until he was satisfied. When he finally pulled away, a thin trail of milk escaped his lips, dripping onto his white button-down shirt. He looked wrecked, his hair disheveled, his eyes glassy with a dark, post-fixation high.

"Better?" she whispered, wiping his lip with her thumb.

"Never enough," he muttered, his voice thick. "I want to drown in you."

He turned on the shower, the steam quickly filling the room with a warm haze. He stripped his clothes off with violent efficiency, his scarred, muscular body a map of the violence he dealt in daily. He helped Jisoo out of her dress, his touch softening as he guided her under the cascading water.

The heat of the shower amplified the scent of her skin—vanilla and milk. Taehyung pulled her back against his chest, his front pressing against her spine. He let the water wash over them, his hands sliding over her soapy skin, mapping every curve.

"That man touched you," he whispered into her ear, his teeth grazing her lobe. "I should have killed him."

"Taehyung, no," Jisoo turned in his arms, the water slicking her hair back. "You promised you wouldn't do that anymore. Not unless it was business."

"You are my business," he snapped, his grip tightening on her waist until it bruised. "You are my only business. If I see another man look at you like he wants to taste you, I will burn this city to the ground just to see you in the glow of the embers."

He lifted her, her back hitting the wet tiles of the shower wall. He entered her in one swift, punishing thrust, a cry of both pain and pleasure escaping her lips. He moved with a feral intensity, his movements echoing the violence of his soul. Every thrust was a reminder of his ownership, a stamp of his possession.

"Say it," he commanded, his eyes boring into hers. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," she choked out, her head lolling back against the tile. "I’m yours, Taehyung. Only yours."

The steam rose around them, blurring the lines between love and madness. Taehyung pushed harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against her chest. He was a king who ruled with an iron fist, but in this shower, under the spray of the water, he was a slave to the woman in his arms.

As they reached the peak together, Taehyung buried his face in the crook of her neck, his body shaking with the force of his release. He clung to her as if she were the only thing keeping him from drifting into the abyss.

Later, wrapped in silk sheets, Taehyung lay with his head on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. One hand was draped protectively over her stomach, while the other toyed with the lace of her nightgown.

"I'm going to fire the security team," he said quietly into the darkness. "They let him get too close."

"Taehyung, please. It was just a second."

"A second is all it takes for someone to take you away from me," he whispered, his voice cracking with a rare vulnerability. "I can't lose you, Jisoo. You’re the only thing that makes the blood on my hands feel like it’s not there."

He shifted up, his eyes searching hers in the moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He looked down at her breasts, still full, still calling to him. He leaned down, taking her into his mouth again, a slow, rhythmic pull that was about comfort rather than hunger.

Jisoo stroked his hair, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. She knew he was a monster. She knew the things he did when he left their home. But she also knew the way he looked at her—as if she were the sun and he was a planet that would freeze to death without her light.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised, her voice a soothing balm to his fractured psyche.

Taehyung pulled back, his eyes dark and obsessive. "I know you aren't. Because if you ever tried, I’d lock you in a golden cage and throw away the key. I’d rather see you wither in my arms than bloom in someone else’s."

He kissed her then, a deep, possessive seal on his promise. He was the King of the underworld, and she was his Queen, his obsession, and his lifeblood. And as long as she stayed, as long as she fed the fire within him, he would keep the world at her feet, stained in the blood of anyone who dared to look her way.