No One Can Predict Riyeon (4)
"Mmm…."
Back at Injae's place, Riyeon was sleeping with pure, blissful satisfaction. She hadn't slept this deeply, this completely, since middle school. It might have been because she'd dozed off again so soon after waking, but this was nothing like those nights when rest never seemed to stick no matter how long she stayed in bed.
The two of them had been nodding off side by side when Injae spread out the blanket and they simply lay down together. By the time he came back from washing his hands and feet, Riyeon was already buried under the covers, out cold. The space was tight, so Injae settled just a little apart from her—but the moment she sensed the faint shift under the blanket, Riyeon, eyes still shut, latched onto his arm.
Just like that morning, she hugged his arm tight, pressed her face against it, and sank into the deepest sleep of her life. Maybe that was why, when she opened her eyes again, she woke cleanly—no dizziness, no leftover fatigue clinging to her bones.
She blinked a few times, clearing the hazy blur from her vision, and found the arm she was still holding. Tilting her gaze up a little, she could see Injae's face, sound asleep. Only he had twisted his neck the other way, away from her, so all she got was the back of his head.
"……."
Yawning, Riyeon lifted her free hand and tapped his face. He scrunched his brow once at the tickle and otherwise didn't move. She tried to turn his face toward her, but it was too heavy. In the end she simply grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his head around.
"Nnnngh~!"
Injae screwed up his face in protest, but thankfully he didn't wake.
"Heehee."
Now she could see him properly. The arm she held carried his scent. She looked at Injae and breathed him in. She could have done this for hours. She almost wished she could.
She was still grinning to herself when a question suddenly rose in her own mind.
When did I even start liking him this much?
Before the whole "Mizuki drug-bulgogi" disaster in Even After Knowing Everything of You, Injae had been nothing more than a competent, cost-effective HR manager—an office omega, basically. He radiated a clear I have zero interest in getting close to any of you energy, paired with a constant Why can't you people just do your jobs properly aura, so if Riyeon had been forced to sort him into a category, it would have been the "don't like him, don't care" pile. Separate from that attitude, though, she had always acknowledged one thing: the second you asked him for help or wanted him to teach you something, he flipped into an unexpectedly good-natured HR guy.
A good person, just not the type she ever warmed to.
That had been her standing evaluation of Injae.
Then the two of them got jointly terrorized by that trash author Jeonhannan via Even After Knowing Everything of You, screamed about it together in the office, went drinking on the spot, went home, and when she woke up the next morning, the first thought that hit her was this:
He's actually a really decent guy.
He listened well, slipped in thoughtful little considerations without making a show of it, and—most of all—there was something about that faint smile and easy composure he wore when you actually faced him head-on that made you want to spill every story you had without realizing it. That was all it was. But for Riyeon, Injae was the first person who had ever earned that kind of assessment.
For a girl who had already been burned by betrayal after betrayal—large and small—long before she even entered the cold world of adult society, who had basically given up trusting people, "he's a decent guy" was the highest praise she knew how to give.
And once she started paying attention to a decent guy, the fire became impossible to control.
Going from "decent guy" to "decent man" didn't take long. The entire time she spent showering that morning was enough; by the time she reached the office, the shift was complete. Going from "decent man" to "man I want to keep talking to" happened the moment she sent a single chat message.
A man who answered her in real time—not about work, but about her tastes, her interests. And not half-heartedly, either. A man who, while doing his own job, still made the effort to keep up his end of the conversation. It was an overwhelming thrill. She got so excited she started firing off every random thing that crossed her mind—except most of that "every random thing" was about the NTR disaster in Even After Knowing Everything of You, so looking it up while chatting produced this weird, bittersweet balance of joy and emotional freefall.
She hated it when conversations with Injae ended. If even a single minute or second went by without a reply, she choked on a cocktail of hurt, disappointment, and jittery impatience. Being alone only made it worse—she just kept thinking about the manga and torturing herself. Sometimes she scrolled back up through their entire chat history and read it all over again. She had no idea why that was so fun, so exciting. And if a new message arrived while she was rereading? Even better. She bit her lip to keep the corners of her mouth from climbing.
Don't show it. If I like him this hard first, there's no going back. Not yet. I don't know if the end of this road is pure love or betrayal.
But I already like him way too much. Not just looking at him—just thinking about him makes me happy. Why?
The same way Injae had once questioned himself, Riyeon now asked the same thing of herself. Why had she fallen for him this hard?
In manga, there was always a trigger, then a stretch of lingering awareness, and only after enough episodes stacked up did the feelings swell until the character finally realized. Her case was nothing like that. The trigger and the sudden awareness, sure—that part matched. After that, though, she was a runaway train with no brakes. She had plunged straight in.
Honestly, Injae didn't have a handsome face or a great body. And yet she wanted to keep looking at him. He was dieting, talking about losing weight, but the way he looked right now wasn't bad at all.
And that little self-interrogation produced a catastrophic side effect. The moment she asked herself Why do I like Gam Injae?, she inevitably had to think about him. And the second she thought about him in order to find a reason, she was already just… thinking about him, grinning like an idiot. She was supposed to be analyzing. Instead she was pure, brainless fan-girling. Before she knew it she was the one reaching for her phone to message him again.
What scared her more was the night she'd been drunk in a taxi on the way home, firing off messages—the more she texted him, the more sober she got. Mostly because she was pissed he wasn't replying, but everything was so new to Riyeon that she had zero self-awareness about it.
What even is this. This process is messed up. This is completely irrational. So why does it feel this good?!
She glared at the sleeping Injae with narrowed eyes.
"Heheh…."
She didn't last ten seconds before her face melted into a soft, helpless smile.
"Ah—!"
A jolt of pleasure skimmed across her crotch and Riyeon nearly jumped out of her skin. At some point, still clinging to the arm she was hugging, she had clamped her legs around it and started rubbing. This was bad. She liked dirty content, and she'd gotten herself off plenty of times alone—so she knew exactly how worked up she was. She had no idea when the grinding had started. What she did know for certain was that it had been going on for quite a while, and her panties were already past the point of no return, soaked through.
"S-stop…."
Who was she even talking to? She said stop, and her hips kept sliding, slow and deliberate. This was nothing like masturbating against a pillow or a plushie. Rubbing herself on the arm of a guy she liked—her crush, no less—was addictive enough to rival any drug.
"Hah…! Haah…!"
Soft little moans, almost indistinguishable from breathing. The tempo of her pussy grinding against Injae's arm kept climbing. Not just faster—staccato, rubbing and then breaking off, bouncing, catching again. Probably because her clit was making contact.
"No… no…."
She had to stop. She couldn't stop. And of course she had worn a skirt today, thin fabric and all—disaster. The crotch of her panties wasn't just wet; it was plastered to her skin. If she kept this up, the dampness would soak through the skirt and leave its mark on Injae's arm, maybe even his fingers.
"Haah… ahh…."
Who cares why I like him. Right now I like him so much I could die. It's not like I'm doing this with some weirdo—Injae is an S-rank catch with room to spare. Same tastes, same conversational wavelength, and if you screw up he gives you one firm word about it and then lets it go. A man who actually takes the lead for someone as incomplete as me in so many ways. Other women might look at his bank account, but Riyeon didn't care. She had money. All she needed was a good person. As long as he wasn't buried in debt from stupid spending, everything else was fine.
More importantly… rubbing this lightly isn't going to get me there. The feeling keeps climbing, but if I stay like this I'm going to stall out halfway.
Disasters always arrive on the back of carelessness and coincidence.
"Hah—!"
Riyeon, squirming and panting on her own, finally slipped—her own wetness sending her sliding right off Injae's arm. She dropped with a lurch and grabbed for his body on pure instinct, and in that same instant she realized the shape of whatever she'd just seized was extremely… distinctive.
Hard, for one. Too thick to fully wrap her hand around. She followed the length downward and found a springy little pouch at the bottom.
She had a pretty good idea what it was.
Gulp.
She meant to swallow quietly. What came out sounded like she'd just downed a bottle of cola.
"Haa… haa… fwooo…."
Even her breathing came out thin and shaky. Staring hard at Injae's closed eyelids, Riyeon carefully guided her hand to the waistband of his pants. He'd gone to bed in something comfortable—polyester sweatpants—so aside from the elastic band, nothing stood between her and what she wanted. Being that careful made even lifting the waistband feel like hard work. But she managed to work a finger underneath, then caught the underwear beneath as well, and slowly, carefully, eased her whole fist inside.
When the tip of her finger finally brushed something blunt and solid, her whole body trembled with the thrill of success.
"Haah… haa…!"
Separated from his arm and exposed to the cool air, her crotch had cooled a little, leaving only the dampness behind. But for Riyeon, who had just locked onto new prey, that barely registered.
Gulp.
She swallowed another mouthful of pooled saliva and slowly worked her hand farther down along the blunt column. It wasn't rock-hard the way the doujinshi always made it sound. It was flesh, after all—there was a soft quality to it—but firm enough. The shaft alone would have been plenty, but Riyeon wanted to touch all of him, feel all of him. Lower. Lower still. Her greed had no ceiling.
And then—
"Ah…!"
A soft leather pouch of flesh, a little too big for one hand, settled into her palm, overflowing.
"Oooohhh!"
A whole new world. Springier than slime, softer, denser. She applied the tiniest bit of pressure and felt the stones inside. Careful! This was a critically important object—for her crush and for her. With a sense of duty, responsibility, and genuine affection, Riyeon gently kneaded the pouch. The way the little stones nestled so obediently in her hand without losing their shape was almost endearing.
"Huff…! Huff!"
She clamped her mouth shut, but the breath exploding out of her nose was still far too rough. Her heart hammered. This was the first time she had ever touched a man's. Shit. Then I have to take responsibility for this, right? She thrashed through a crisis that wasn't really a crisis, and when she finally opened her eyes after that agonizing decision—Injae was looking down at her.
"Yu Riyeon, what are you…"
"Shut up."
But the whites of Riyeon's eyes were already shot through with red.
"Move and I'll fuck you."
A string of drool slipped free the moment she opened her mouth. She hurriedly slurped it back, then focused everything on the sensation in her fingers.
"Heheh! Heh…!"
No matter how pretty her face was, grinning like that with her mouth hanging open, she looked every bit the pervert.