Chained To My Bad Boy's Wild Love

“Hey!” Esther shouted, her voice cutting through the roar of the rain around them.

Gaara had jolted awake only to seize her, dragging her into the sudden heat of his embrace.

Before she could form another word, he pushed her back until her spine pressed against the car. And then, without warning his mouth crashed recklessly against hers.

Esther’s breath caught, a sharp gasp trapped in her throat. She froze, wide-eyed, stunned by what had just erupted between them. Yet when his tongue pried at the seam of her lips, coaxing them open, an involuntary sound escaped her. A faint, helpless moan. The taste of him flooded in, sharp with alcohol, mingled with the lingering flavors of the meal they had shared.

At first, Esther was far too stunned to push Gaara away. Her mind reeled, her body frozen by shock. But within moments, she no longer cared about what was right or wrong. The intoxicating rush of desire swallowed her whole, blinding her to reason, stripping her of every logical thought.

Damn it! oh God… my first kiss.

Her inner voice screamed in disbelief. Never in her wildest imagination, she picture her first kiss unfolding like this: beneath a torrent of rain, her back pressed mercilessly against the cold metal of a car, while her lips were stolen by none other than Gaara Maxwell.

Gaara Maxwell, the name that carried the weight of every reckless whisper on campus. The notorious bad boy, wrapped in an aura of danger and temptation.

And yet here she was, kissing him back.

His hands, which had been braced firmly against her shoulders, began to drift lower, gliding down with deliberate slowness until they settled at the curve of her waist.

“Mmph…!” Esther gasped when Gaara pulled her hips closer, forcing their bodies to align with aching intimacy. The heat of his touch burned through the drenched fabric clinging to her skin, and before she could even catch her breath, his right hand slipped beneath the soaked knit of her thin sweater.

With practiced ease, his fingers found the clasp of her bra, undoing it as though the barrier had never existed. His hand slid further, bold and unyielding. First caressing, then tracing her trembling form with strokes that sent her spiraling.

“Ngh…” The sound escaped her throat, a trembling mix of desire and panic. The sensation was too wild, too consuming, and fear laced through the rush of pleasure. She was terrified that she would no longer be able to flee, terrified of losing control over the storm of responses Gaara was drawing from her as his kiss deepened, hotter, hungrier, demanding more of her with every stolen breath.

In the next heartbeat, Esther jolted violently. The thought struck her like a slap: He’s drunk. He’s aroused. And I’m nothing more than the woman who happened to be here.

That realization clawed through the haze of pleasure, dragging her back to herself, scattering the intoxicating storm that had been swallowing her whole. Her sanity snapped back into place. Summoning every ounce of strength, Esther shoved at him with trembling hands, but Gaara did not budge. His body was a wall, unyielding.

At last, sensing her resistance, Gaara lifted his head. Relief surged through her chest only for it to vanish a second later. Because instead of retreating, his lips merely found a new path, trailing along her jaw, brushing her chin, before descending lower to the curve of her neck.

Her breath hitched sharply. His left hand slid from her waist upward, gripping firmly as he tilted her head back, forcing her throat to the mercy of his lips. His right hand, still inside the damp barrier of her clothes, grew more insistent, bolder, wilder.

“Oh my God…” The words broke free in a whisper, her eyes lifting helplessly to the storm-darkened sky. Rain poured over her face, blending with the heat of her skin, and she clung to the rain she loved so dearly as if it could wash away the madness. This was insanity. She knew it. And yet her body melted beneath his touch, unraveling, powerless to deny the dangerous pleasure he ignited.

She was caught between terror and surrender. Her mind screamed no, while every nerve in her body betrayed her.

And then—

“HEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING OVER THERE?!”

The sharp voice of a woman cut through the thunder of the rain, and Esther startled as though struck. Gaara, too, flinched, and in that instant of distraction she seized her chance shoving herself free from his grasp.

In a blur, Esther scrambled to fix her clothes, though there was little she could truly mend. Her sweater clung to her skin, drenched and disheveled, the fabric already ruined by the relentless downpour. Her trembling fingers tugged at the edges, desperate for modesty, desperate to erase the traces of what had almost happened.

“Gaara, you… you should go inside.” Her voice came out in a thin, shaky whisper, barely audible over the rain. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Shame burned too hot in her chest, too raw to endure. So instead she pressed her hands against his back, urging him forward, guiding him up the steps toward the waiting door.

And there, framed in the doorway stood a girl.

She was petite, her damp shoulder-length hair plastered against her cheeks, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her face was flushed, a conflicted storm of anger and embarrassment coloring her expression.

Esther’s stomach dropped. She knew, without a shred of doubt, that the girl had seen every reckless, humiliating fragment of what had just taken place in the rain.

“Who are you?” the girl demanded sharply, her voice cutting like a blade as her eyes locked on Esther. “Are you Master Gaara’s girlfriend?”