To her soulmates she was the most intoxicating concoction of apples and baked goods.
Amber was sweet, juicy, and swollen, dripping from the inside and bursting with nectar; so full that she was begging to erupt over a nice slab of the crispiest, most buttery crust in the world. And it would spill— sleek over glossy, tender flesh; tart and yet so sweet it could quench all thirst and end all hunger.
It sounded delicious to her, made her tummy grumble from the literary porn. She assumed her existence must simply make them hungry, bring forth the starvation that lingered within bottomless depths. But to them, it was something nut worthy, something that they could cream over.
Something that was making them ten seconds away from orgasm, and yet nothing came out of the panicked squeezed shafts and finger webs twisting over swollen cock heads. She heard them all—their voices, twisting and breathless—with her body propped against the wall, listening to desperation.
The first five minutes of not understanding had been awkward torture.
She'd spent the first minute, shoulder against the wall, teeth upon lips that were not hers. She heard the unbothered slaps of fists against pelvis, cock fisted between hands like a horny teenager who'd just found a use for the appendage that hung from his groin. She listened to the low whispery 'fuck', and then the angry groans that escaped his throat.
Sieon was acting strange.
Amber had been confused by their steady escape when she'd swept into the kitchen wondering what she had fucked up this time. All seven left like the winds at sea, fast and whistling in her ears, ran before she could catch expressions and register feelings. She chased Sieon down like a hound after blood.
Her soulmate had stormed into the bathroom to fuck his own palm with the knowledge that she was outside and confused as fuck over their new predicament. She waited for him to cum, stood outside the toilet in a hotel that they were supposed to leave an hour ago. Then pondered the reasons why he seemed to be acting like a teenager who'd just had his first taste of erotica.
Sieon stepped out, more pissed than she'd ever seen him. It was if the apocalypse had begun, and he'd just met the devil. Twisted, and mean, he'd glared at her, eyes so dark and so evil she'd been stunned into silence, stepped back because God he looked like he could punch her. And he was ready to because she was him, not her.
Then there was a twist in his eyes, a flicker of raw goddamn desperation. A twitch of his nose, a small sniffle led to the melting of an iceberg. He crumbled, warmth flooding a breath-taking face. Her first understanding of the situation was a drawn-out hiss through his teeth. His musk was thicker from sweat, hotter because it was fresh and dripping from a sexual escapade.
She tasted him like this once, bronze, flustered and wet as his hips snapped against hers, cock so hard she felt it twitch inside walls that weren't made to feel so much. His curls had been soaked; skin so dewy it glistened, fit, filthy and toned. And on his finger was a band of brilliant red roses.
Sieon rarely fucked her with frustration, was a good boy on good days, but when he was angry, he made her cum two times harder, and three times faster. His fingers always rubbing a bruising tempo on her clit, and his lips marking her skin with hickeys that would not leave for days. He'd broken records in her sex life.
She knew because he forced her to count the seconds.
His first words were weird. "You're making me horny."
"Huh," she'd exhaled, brow stiff. The explanation of his crazed escape was a stupid animalistic reason that made no sense. But it was nice to know that he now loved JieMi. She appreciated the heads up, understood the allure.
"But," he interrupted her thoughts, wet his lips as if he wanted her kisses. "I can't cum."
She paused, then cleared her throat, felt more awkward than ever in a meat suit that had a dick that was sticky against her thighs. She shifted on her feet, tried to discretely dislodge the flaccid worm from her skin. "Cool."
"It's not JieMi," his voice was a stream of exhaled pants, tight as his eyes roamed up and down her face. And she felt then as he pressed into her, nose brushed against her neck that he was looking for more than just the body. "It's you—It smells like you. He smells like you."
There was submission in his gaze, and a new power that she now had. His eyes grew darker as he sniffed, and she was forced quickly back into that locker with JieMi humping her ass, his scent in her nose, his fingers in her hair.
The understanding blossomed within her.
She laughed; giddy chuckles that didn't feel real. "Good to know that you can tell that I'm in here—"
"Amber, it's bad, really bad." He hissed, and she noticed now that he wasn't breathing and yet he stared at her like a deranged mad man. "I feel like a dog. Or a cat in heat, or maybe JieMi who's fucking everything that exists, and anything that looks like he can rub his cock on. I don't know, but I'm not interested in fucking the sink. God, am I so damn interested in finding your sexy body and railing your brains out. I'm literally feral. And you're goddamn, son of a bitch Wang JieMi." The last bit was pissed and sandwiched against the wall she felt chills.
"Oh," she opened and closed her mouth, took a step back. "Should I leave?"
He closed his eyes. "It's burned into my sinuses. Doesn't work if you leave. I think I want you more when I can't smell you and taste you in my throat." He glanced at her, glared and she understood now that looking at her made him sane. "They'll realise soon and come creeping back when they know that they need to see JieMi to stay alive." They arrived just as he finished, and she heard the shift of feet on the floor, the creak of the door. She stared at equally dark eyes, so black they swallowed—a cosmic universe, an endless darkness.
They were a wreck, and she was the reason.
Her scent was making them devastatingly horny, but not enough to take JieMi into their and ravage her the way they wanted to. But they were hungry enough to ask for permission to touch a body that was not hers, texted JieMi begging for reprieve of his human rights as the true owner of the body.
He agreed only because her sweet, sweet darling understood the torture of animalistic needs and the control of the soul.
Just one taste.
But their hands on her waist didn't feel right. And she stared at the rather comical scene as Sieon's lips curled, as he sized her up. She smiled at MinJae whose hands squashed her body into better shapes, moulding rather than caressing. She stifled a giggle when Hikaru grimaced at the abs and the muscles that rippled, thick and heavy over bone.
JieMi felt wrong, was the best way they could explain it. JieMi was not her.
And to that she said: 'no shit Sherlock'.