He squeezed his thighs together and flinched, trying to trap the heat pooling lower and lower inside him. My body, which had still been innocent not long ago, now wanted Eden Reed again and again. Part of me longed to experience once more the pleasure I’d learned through him, while another part was ready to cross into an unknown world I still didn’t fully understand. That had already been decided the moment I reached out and touched near his heart.
The thumb and forefinger that had just passed through my mouth wiped the dampness against my chin. I was savoring his long middle finger. The fingertip sliding along the roof of my mouth didn’t push deep enough to threaten my throat, and that disappointed me.
“If you’re still confused, that’s a problem.”
Eden curled his finger like a hook and pressed against the inside of my cheek. A wet sound slipped from my automatically parted lips. As he toyed with my tongue, slick with saliva, he met my gaze.
“Yeah, I’m the culprit.”
Now that he’d finally admitted his guilt, his attitude was sincere—but there wasn’t a trace of remorse in it. He pulled his wet fingers from my mouth and wiped them against my neck and shoulder. Breathing a little unevenly, I said,
“Not there. Touch my chest.”
“If you answer my question.”
“What question?”
“I asked earlier. What would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?”
Eden dragged the question I’d casually brushed aside back in front of me. He was persistent.
“Men who bargain aren’t attractive.”
“Really?”
No. Looking into your eyes, it wouldn’t feel like a waste to give you everything.
I slowly raised my body, wiping away the saliva at the corner of my mouth along with the boiling desire inside me. Resting my hands on Eden’s shoulders, I leaned closer little by little.
“Give me time to think.”
“Will one minute do?”
“That depends on how passionately you help me. My brain works best when I’m kissing.”
Between sucking at his chest with my lips and kissing him so fiercely it felt like my tongue would be torn out, I chose the latter. Even as I drew closer and closer, he didn’t push me away.
“You won’t be able to think about anything else.”
“Other than you?”
“Yeah. Other than me.”
My eyelids slowly drifted shut. Not just mine—Eden’s too. Even half hidden, his eyes shone more clearly than ever.
We kissed with all the lust we felt for each other. He supported the back of my neck with one hand and parted his lips. Our tongues tangled recklessly as we shared breath. At a glance it looked faithful to the usual formula of a kiss, but all gentlemanly restraint had been stripped away.
We pressed against each other like we intended to devour one another. Predator and prey at once. Our chests, slanted together, pounded heavily as they announced each other’s presence. The friction of bare skin rubbing against bare skin sharpened every sensation.
Just like he warned me.
My head filled entirely with Eden Reed. Breathing harshly, I bit and released his lips over and over. The moment a gap appeared between us, Eden seized the chance and forced the question on me again. He seemed ridiculously curious. Pushing him down beneath me, I said,
“Haa… I… mm… I’d stay with the person I cherish.”
His eyes narrowed. Suspicion—or dissatisfaction.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s unexpected.”
So it was the latter. My answer had strayed from what he expected, and he looked slightly disappointed. Very much like an exemplary student obsessed with finding the correct solution.
“I thought you’d be the type to fight against predetermined fate instead of accepting it. Whether it was God, some absolute being, or a villain.”
Lying on top of him, I curled my wet lips into a grin.
“I probably would’ve, if there hadn’t been someone I cherished. But not now. Probably never again from now on. I want to stay with that person. Even if death threatens me, even if some tragedy is waiting for me, then that’s enough.”
That was true. Back then, I’d simply decided to accept my destined death. It hadn’t taken much to change my mind. Betrayal, disappointment, and emptiness.
Breaking free from the hazy memory, I absently touched the back of my neck, hot with rising heat.
I turned around, but Eden was gone.
***
Just like I’d told the stalker yesterday, the morning started early. I walked past the black sedan parked in front of the apartment and stretched out my arm. When I gestured like someone hailing a taxi, an SUV pulled up in front of me. A man with neatly combed-back hair smiled warmly through the driver’s side window.
Benjamin Richardson, the manager I’d hired at the beginning of last year, was responsible for communicating with the agency and managing my schedule.
Ben, who had experience managing several models, looked like a salesman. He smiled often, but his specialty was smiling while letting other people’s words go in one ear and out the other. He claimed that talent was useful when dealing with irritable people. Which was exactly why Director Able disliked him.
“Morning.”
As I got into the car and greeted him, Ben turned around and cheerfully handed me a coffee.
“It’s been a while for us, huh?”
“About three weeks.”
“I heard you went to see Ms. Able alone. Somerset, don’t steal my job from me. I enjoy dealing with her. How should I put it? She’s too honest, so her reactions are huge.”
Apparently, he enjoyed the fact that Able found him irritating. What terrible taste.
“Maybe you’re the one causing it, Ben?”
“Am I? Hahaha. By the way, you look like you’ve lost weight since I last saw you. What if your measurements changed?”
I took a sip of coffee and rubbed a hand over my thigh. I’d done an intense workout at dawn to shake off yesterday’s alcohol and loosen up my stiff body, so my muscles felt pumped full.
“I think I’m the same. And if I did lose weight, that’s something to celebrate. This is a world that gets more excited the thinner you are. Stop worrying and compliment me instead.”
“I can’t do that. Somerset, your strong physique is your greatest asset. Besides, you never had extra fat to lose in the first place.”
“Why do I build muscle so easily? Usually people gain weight when they eat and lose it when they move.”
“Wow, that’s such a deceptive thing to say. Don’t say that around other people. They’ll hate you for it.”
“If they want to hate me, then let them.”
It was impossible to be loved by everyone in the world anyway. Even at this moment, somewhere out there, someone hated me and was expressing that hatred toward me. For once, my thoughts turned cynical.
It was because of a column I’d stumbled across that morning. When I turned on my phone screen, the unfinished article popped up.
[Is Somerset Quinn really such a good product? He still sells well, and if he maintains his quality, he’ll no doubt continue to sell for a while longer…]
A journalist who’d praised me not long ago had quoted his own earlier column and dissected me from the exact opposite angle.
[Even if you adore a flashy outfit, wearing it only twice a month is enough for people to say, “You’re wearing that again?” At some point, no matter how much we treasure those clothes, we stop reaching for them so often. Even when we think about taking them out, our hands drift instead toward the ordinary clothes scattered across the closet. Somerset Quinn’s appeal operates on the same principle as something harmful.]
He pessimistically predicted that Model Somerset Quinn’s shelf life would soon come to an end. He spoke like a prophet with a high success rate, but really, it was closer to hurling curses. He held no personal grudge against me; he was simply using me as provocative material for clicks. Was this column, which pondered harmful people, itself beneficial?
If I’d been vulnerable to betrayal, I probably would’ve stared at the article in despair over and over. Maybe the journalist had hoped Somerset Quinn would pound his fists against the ground or even self-harm, but I had absolutely no intention of falling for such pathetic motives. Rather than policing myself, it was far easier to erase the article from my mind.
I put my phone into my bag and listened to the music drifting through the car. Ben’s playlist was a little tacky, but at least it had no jarring songs, which made it easy enough to listen to. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingertips against them in a slow massage. Ben lowered the volume.
“Want to take a nap? I’ll wake you when we get there.”
“No. The studio’s close anyway.”
“If you underestimate Manhattan traffic, you’ll regret it. Though a born-and-raised New Yorker like you probably knows that better than anyone.”
The studio was on Madison Avenue. Wedged between luxury boutiques, the small building looked ordinary from the outside, but the interior was filled with antique furniture and artwork that gave it the atmosphere of medieval Europe. Ben explained that the owner had once decorated it out of a passion for interior design, and after inheriting it, their child now rented it out for profit.
After lightly greeting the staff, I headed to the waiting room on the third floor. Like a doll, I sat still while countless hands styled me and dressed me in clothes. During all of it, the editor relentlessly drilled “wildness” into my head. They explained the concept of the photoshoot in every possible way, but in the end, everything boiled down to wildness.
When I heard the phrase “humanized beast,” I barely managed to stop myself from laughing out loud. If there was a beast-like man in a medieval European setting, wouldn’t he just look like a slave?
I engraved into my mind that I needed to keep that doubt from turning into concern and stood in front of the camera.
As the editor continued giving detailed instructions and repeated directions, Ben—mixed in among the staff—raised both arms high and silently clapped. His hyperactive cheering nearly made me burst out laughing.
I focused again and continued the shoot. Once one session ended, I changed clothes, had my hair fixed, touched up my makeup, listened to the editor’s explanation, and shot again. The process repeated over and over.
In the middle of moving things along quickly, there was a short break while they adjusted the lighting. Since I’d already changed outfits, I stood waiting while Ben circled around me and asked,
“Want to grab dinner together after the shoot? Danny’s treating.”
“Danny… you mean Daniel Ayl, the one you used to manage?”
“Yep. I think he’s on the verge of losing his mind from dieting. He says he at least wants to watch someone else eat.”
I pictured the gaunt male model. When I’d seen him backstage before, his bones had practically been protruding through his skin. If he lost any more fat, he’d be nothing but leather stretched over a skeleton.
“No thanks. I’m going home to rest.”
I didn’t know the details of his situation, but as someone in the same profession, I was certain it wouldn’t be good for his mental health to watch me devour delicious food.
“He invited us to one of the most famous restaurants around. It’s nearly impossible to get a reservation there.”
“Ben. Did you already forget calling me deceptive?”
