“Wait…!”
Ji-woo’s hands were flat against his chest, but trying to push Seo Tae-joon away was like trying to move a stone wall. He held her gaze for a second before his mouth found hers again, his nose pressing into the soft curve of her cheek. When his warm palm moved to cover her, a shocking heat bloomed through the thin fabric of her panties. Her resistance crumbled. A jolt, sharp and unfamiliar, shot through her—something she had never felt before in her life.
His thumb began to move in slow, deliberate circles. She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying to swallow the sounds building in her throat, but it was useless. His forearm was a band of steel around her waist, holding her fast. His breathing was as ragged as hers, his chest heaving against her. With every searing kiss and every knowing touch, a soft moan escaped her lips.
Sensing her response, Seo Tae-joon tangled a hand in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. It turned fierce, hungry. All the while, his hand never stopped its relentless rhythm, stoking the fire inside her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and a liquid heat pooled low in her belly.
Seo Tae-joon swore under his breath. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, tugging them aside. The spray from the shower suddenly hit her bare skin, the shock of the water making her gasp. Ji-woo’s breath came in ragged pants as she struggled to steady herself.
“Seo Tae-joon,” she managed, her voice a mumble against his skin. “You’re sick.”
His movements stilled. Ji-woo gasped for air, her lungs burning as she fought to even out her breathing. His dark eyes met hers. “Yes, I am,” he said, his voice low and rough. “This is.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
Ji-woo bit her lip, flustered. His hand had resumed its teasing exploration, scattering her thoughts. With a surge of desperation, she shoved him with all her might. “Seo Tae-joon,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “Just listen to me. The doctor said your syndrome has a lot of symptoms. Aggressiveness, impulsivity… hypersexuality. You’re fitting the description perfectly. This—what you’re doing right now—it’s the illness!”
Seo Tae-joon just stared at her, his expression strangely innocent. “Just calm down,” she pleaded, her voice softer now. “This could just be a symptom. This compulsion, these urges… it could be the syndrome talking. So please, just stop for a moment.”
He scoffed, a short, humorless sound. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, but his eyes were dangerously dark. “That’s nonsense,” he said. “And you want to believe it.” He pushed himself away from her, leaning back against the cool tile of the opposite wall. “Doctors aren’t always right. But you were convinced so easily. Do you really think I don’t know what my own body wants?”
He splashed water on his face, then raked his wet fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded, his voice laced with bitter irony. “Let’s say my brain is scrambled, and I just happen to get hard every time I look at you.”
The water traced paths through the dried blood on his temple, running in pinkish rivulets down his cheek. “And since I’m not well,” he continued, a threatening edge to his voice, “does that mean I can act as sick as I want?”
Before she could react, he lifted her from the floor and threw her onto the bed. The harsh movement sent a spike of fear through her, reminding her of their second encounter—the day he’d woken from his vegetative state and lunged for her.
“S-Seo Tae-joon…” she stammered, but he was already crawling over her, caging her in.
“Yes?”
“Please. This is…”
“It’s because of my illness,” he interrupted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “Or whatever helps you sleep at night.” He grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, pulling her close. His mouth crushed down on hers, aggressive and demanding. Ji-woo went rigid, a helpless tear slipping from the corner of her eye.
Just as suddenly, Seo Tae-joon stopped. His eyes focused on the moisture tracking down her temple, and he fell silent, his expression unreadable. He frowned, and then a long, pained sigh escaped him, as if he were the one in agony.
Why is he looking like that? she thought wildly. I’m the one who’s terrified! “Don’t do this,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “Don’t take your anger out on me like this. This isn’t you.”
She barely knew him, really—only that he had once been a murderer. But the man he’d become since waking up wasn’t this person. He had never been aggressive or violent toward her. He’d respected her boundaries, listened to her opinions. He had seemed to care for her.
“Then how much more of this am I supposed to take from you?” He stared down at her, his eyes weary. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to stop myself from just… taking you?” He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight.
Ji-woo flinched, shrinking back into the mattress. “You tried to abandon me on that mountain,” he accused, his voice low and raw. “You practically pushed me at another woman. You dismiss everything I feel and blame it on this damned syndrome.”
“Tell me,” he demanded. “Was any of that fair?”
His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion. She suddenly saw the toll the day had taken on him. Waking up to a confrontation with Hwang Jo-yoon, climbing a tree for the first time, enduring that social gathering, the hospital check-up… and then fighting off a wild boar. He had to be utterly drained.
And through it all, she had treated him like a patient, a diagnosis. It was clear now that her clinical distance was destroying him. He seemed to hang on her every breath, and she realized his exhaustion wasn’t just physical. The injury to his head had to be taking a mental toll as well.
“Or maybe,” he suggested, his voice quiet and sharp as glass, “you’re just toying with me because I’m broken.”
Ji-woo lowered her gaze, a hot flush of guilt creeping up her neck. It wasn’t completely untrue.