Chapter 13
720words
I moved into a new rental apartment, trying hard to pull myself together.
During this time, Jonathan contacted me several times. I only gave brief replies when he asked about my health.
He also tried to meet up with me. But after thinking it over for a long time, I refused.
I was afraid that the moment I saw him, I'd lose control. I'd want to hug him, kiss him, sleep with him. I'd want to make him completely mine.
But at the same time, I stayed painfully clear-headed, afraid that this beautiful dream would end up being nothing more than an illusion.
Jonathan didn't push me or cling to me.
Sometimes, I'd scroll through his social media. He rarely posted—just updates about morning runs or night jogs.
I felt like a creep, zooming in on his photos, greedily taking in every detail of him.
Work gradually started becoming difficult. I had a vague feeling that maybe Jasper was pulling strings behind the scenes.
But I couldn't afford to quit, so I gritted my teeth and endured it, even as my salary kept getting cut.
When the pressure was so overwhelming that I felt like I was going to break, I came home late one night from working overtime and saw Jonathan standing downstairs.
By then, autumn had already arrived.
He was wearing a dark gray trench coat, standing beneath my apartment building, tall and striking, as if carved by the gods. A cigarette dangled between his slender fingers.
It was the first time I'd ever seen him smoke.
The moment he saw me, he immediately stubbed it out.
I stood frozen, stunned, the cold sandwich in my hand falling to the ground.
Jonathan strode toward me. Without hesitation, without giving me a chance to refuse, he pulled me into a tight embrace and kissed me.
That kiss was deep and overwhelming, with the faint bitterness of nicotine seeping into my lungs—intoxicating.
Within moments, I was on my tiptoes, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, responding to him with equal fervor.
I missed him so much. I missed kissing him, holding him, losing myself in him.
We kissed all the way upstairs. While I fumbled with the keys, he hugged me from behind, his lips finding my earlobe.
That kiss made my whole body weak, my fingers trembling so much that I couldn't get the key into the lock.
When the door finally opened, he carried me inside, pressing me against the shoe cabinet.
I clutched at his trench coat and shirt, my hands roaming over the firm muscles of his waist and abdomen.
It felt like an electric current shooting from my fingertips, spreading through my entire body.
I couldn't hold back the soft moans that escaped me, which he took as an invitation, deepening the kiss—hot, desperate, consuming.
Just when things were about to spiral completely out of control, Jonathan somehow managed to rein in his desire.
"I'm going to take a shower first," he said, his voice thick with restraint, his eyes darkened with longing.
I loved seeing him like this—pulled down from his pedestal, drowning in desire because of me.
As he turned to leave, I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, holding him tightly. "I want to shower with you," I whispered.
My rental apartment was tiny, and the bathroom was even smaller. The water pressure was weak, and I felt a little cold.
So Jonathan held me close, his body radiating heat.
His hands were warm, too—sliding through my wet hair, fingertips grazing my scalp, sending shivers down my spine.
He leaned down to kiss me, his fingers brushing aside damp strands near my temple, gently caressing the cool skin of my earlobe.
I closed my eyes, no longer wanting to suppress my feelings.
"Dr. Clayton," I murmured, "don't you want to give me another check-up?"
I took his hand, guiding it slowly to my chest.
His desire surged, and he couldn't wait until we made it back to the bedroom.
Right there—beneath the misty spray of warm water, in a space so cramped we could barely move—we tangled together again and again.
Until finally, exhausted, I drifted into a deep, sweet sleep, nestled in the crook of his arm.
