Title: The Taste of Arrogance
The limo ride back from the auction was a silent torture. Kang Bok Soo sat across from me, his face impassive, as if he hadn't just used me as a human shield against his ex-girlfriend. The scent of his expensive cologne filled the confined space, making my head spin. Every time the limo hit a bump, our knees almost brushed, and that electric tension, now laced with fury, sizzled between us.
My wrist still burned where he had gripped it. The audacity. The sheer, calculated cruelty of his public display. He had exposed me, a nobody, to the hungry eyes of the press, all to make a point to Seo Min-Joo.
When we finally reached the agency building – where he had a late-night meeting – I exploded.
"How could you do that?" I demanded the moment the limo door closed and the driver was out of earshot. "You used me! You put me in front of those cameras, and they'll never forget it. I'm your assistant, Mr. Kang, not your… your prop!"
He turned slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light of the parking garage. He didn't deny it. He just walked closer, effectively pinning me against the limo.
"A prop?" he murmured, his voice low, dangerous. "Do you think I would use just any prop, Peter Bella?"
My breath hitched. "What is that supposed to mean?"
He raised his hand, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to hit me. Instead, his fingers gently, almost imperceptibly, brushed a stray strand of hair away from my face. His touch was feather-light, yet it set my skin ablaze.
"It means," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my lips, "that you looked quite… captivating tonight. Especially when you were angry."
The non-verbal flirtation was back, bolder than ever, mixed with a chilling possessiveness that made my core clench. He was turning my outrage into an invitation, my vulnerability into a weapon against me.
"Don't do that," I breathed, trying to push past him, but he blocked my way. "Don't pretend this is about anything but your ego."
His eyes burned into mine, holding me captive. He leaned closer, so close I could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle scent of his skin now mingling with the cologne. My heart hammered against my ribs, echoing in my ears.
"My ego?" he challenged, his voice a low growl that vibrated through my chest. He reached out and cupped my face, his thumb stroking my cheekbone with an agonizing slowness. "What if it's not my ego, Peter Bella? What if it's something else?"
He was so close I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes. My gaze dropped to his mouth, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I knew what he was doing. He was tempting me, pushing me to my breaking point. He was daring me to give in to the fire that had been building between us since I first saw him.
"Mr. Kang," I managed, my voice thin, desperate. "What do you think you're doing?"
He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. His eyes were intense, challenging me to resist. He knew I was already lost.
"I think," he murmured, his thumb now tracing the line of my jaw, "I'm finally claiming what's mine."
And then, he finally, devastatingly, kissed me.
It wasn't gentle. It was possessive, demanding, and utterly consuming. His mouth crushed against mine, tasting of arrogance and power, but also a hidden, desperate hunger. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me against his hard, muscled body until there was no space left between us. My hands, without conscious thought, found their way to his shoulders, gripping the expensive fabric of his tuxedo as if to steady myself from a fall.
My mind screamed no, but my body betrayed me, responding with an intensity that shocked me. Every insecurity, every doubt, every moment of my life where I felt undesirable—it all melted away under the raw, undeniable heat of his kiss. It was the most forbidden, the most dangerous, and the most exhilarating sensation I had ever experienced.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, demanding entry. I gasped, and he took the opportunity, invading my mouth with a confidence that left me breathless. It was a kiss that promised danger, passion, and complete surrender.
When he finally pulled back, a long, agonizing second later, my lips were tingling, bruised, and swollen. My breath came in ragged gasps. His eyes were dark, victorious, holding a triumph that was almost terrifying.
He still held me captive, his hands tight on my waist.
"Now," he breathed, his voice husky with desire, his eyes burning into mine, "you can tell me I'm just playing with my ego."
He didn't need to say anything more. The kiss had spoken volumes. My resistance was broken. I had fallen. Completely and utterly.