คุณชาย แห่ง ประตูมังกร

∆EZEKIEL POV∆

"Ah… Ummm... No...." Yelps like moans escaped my lips. 

"Take it easy, it hurts. Don't push hard," I continued the broken plea. 

What replied me are heavy breaths and I tried thrashing under the iron-like hold pinning him down. 

"Shut up and lift your hips," A voice ordered from behind, coming out as hoarse and husky. 

It made something pool up in the bottom of my stomach. 

Another rough sigh escaped my lips as I felt my legs widen involuntarily. The blurred image pinning me down continued his relentless thrusts, not slowing down even for a minute. 

Moans tore from my lip as the coarse hands held my thighs in place. 

Slim, veiny fingers played with my nipples and a soft whine escaped my lips.  "More please!"' 

I arched my back slightly, giving in to the pleasure coming from him. I felt so filled up and tight but somehow content. 

My vision blurred with pleasure, wet sounds and moans were becoming hard to differentiate and in the heat of the moment, a question that was definitely not needed at that moment floated in unbothered. 

"How on earth did I end up like this?" It poked at my chest but the pleasure was pulling me down. 

I could see white blankets covering my eyes, and then glimpses of earlier this evening began floating in uninvited. 

The hospital is cold in the way only hospitals can be, too clean, too bright, like it’s designed to strip warmth out of people. 

The smell of antiseptic clung to the back of my throat, and it felt suffocating. 

I’ve walked these corridors so many times that my feet move on their own, but today every step felt heavier, and slower, like I’m dragging something broken behind me.

The doctor stood in front of me with a file pressed to his chest. 

Same white coat, and same neutral expression. The kind of face that has learned how to deliver bad news without flinching.

"Mr. Ezekiel," he said, and my spine straightened instantly.

I couldn't let him continue as I was afraid of hearing something I couldn't handle. "How is she?"

He exhaled softly, the smallest pause, and that pause told me everything before he even opens his mouth.

"Your sister’s condition worsened overnight."

Those words landed, dull at first, then too sharp, I took a step closer, while my heart slamming violently against my ribs. "Worsened… how?" 

He glanced at the file, then back at me, his eyes remained steady and practiced, "Her heart is failing faster than we anticipated. Medication is no longer enough in her case." 

"No," I whispered, the sound tearing out of me before I could even stop it. "You said we had time." 

"We thought we did," he replied gently, and somehow that made it worse. "But right now, surgery is the only option." 

Hope surged, fragile and desperate. 

"Then do it," I said quickly almost desperately. "Please. Do whatever you have to do, please.... Save my sister!" 

He hesitated.

That hesitation terrified me.

"There’s a donor match available," he continued, and I felt dizzy with relief for half a second, just half a second, before he finished, "but the procedure, the post-operative care, the imported medication.…" 

"It costs nearly ten million dollars," He finally named the amount.

The number doesn’t make sense at first, it sounds like something impossible, something unreal, like he’s talking about a different life, and a different person.

I repeated it slowly, my mouth went dry. "That’s… that’s impossible!" 

"I understand this is difficult," he said, voice calm, distant. "But without the surgery, I’m afraid she won’t survive." 

The words blurred together. 'Won’t survive.' 

My ears ringing, a high, piercing sound that drowned everything else out. I staggered back a step, my legs suddenly became unreliable, and my hand slapped against the cold wall to keep myself upright.

Across the glass, I can see her, too small in the bed with a peaceful face, and machines breathing for her like she’s forgotten how.

My chest tightened painfully. "She’s all I have," I said, and I don’t know if I’m begging him or the universe or myself. "Please… there has to be another way."

The doctor’s expression softened just a fraction. "I’m sorry." 

That’s it. 

Two words, final and absolute.

He gave me one last look, sympathy mixed with inevitability, then turned around and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as if nothing in the world has just ended.

I stood there, staring at the glass, at my sister’s pale face, at the rise and fall of her chest. 

My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms, but I don’t feel the pain.

All I can think is the question screaming inside my head, over and over again.

"Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? And worse, what happens to her if I can’t?"

The answer pressed down on me, crushing, and merciless.

I’m running out of time.

I don’t remember deciding to leave the hospital.

One moment I’m standing there, staring at my sister through the glass, and the next I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles ache. 

The engine roared to life, and I drove, too fast, too reckless, cursing under my breath at red lights, at the road, at myself.

"Useless!" That word keeps echoing in my head.

I cursed my job, my empty bank account, my helplessness and my inefficiency to protect the only person I've to call as a family.

I cursed the world for asking me to pay a price I could never afford. The road blurred, the city lights streak past, and before I even realised where I’m going, my car slowed to a stop.

A bar.

Neon lights flickered against the windshield like a quiet invitation. 

For a second, I just sit there, breathing hard with a tightened chest and mind full of many thoughts.

I know I shouldn’t go in.... I know drinking won’t save her.

But I also know I can’t go home, I can’t go back to that hospital room either.

Because I can’t sit alone with the sound of machines and the weight of what’s coming.

My legs moved automatically before my mind can argue.

I stepped out of the car, the night air was heavy and loud, and I slowly pushed the door to open it.

Music crashed into me, laughter, and the smell of alcohol, as if life going on like nothing is wrong.

I headed straight for the bar counter.

One drink became two, and two became too many. 

The burning in my throat is welcoming, it hurts in a way that drowned out everything else. 

With every glass, the world softened, blurred at the edges, and for the first time all night, I stop feeling like I’m about to break apart.

I got drunk because I don’t know what else to do, and because for a few stolen moments, being drunk felt better than being powerless.

"Hey, handsome." 

Someone tapped on my shoulder. I lifted my head slowly only to see a distorted face in my vision.

"What do you want?" The rough words left my mouth clearly expressing my disinterest in having conversation at that moment.

He smiled shamelessly, and leaned closer than necessary. "You." 

"Fuck off." I rolled my eyes and dropped my head back onto the table, done with the creepy conversation with a creep.

His hand reached out, fingers closing around my arm, stopping me mid-movement.

"I don’t think so," he said in a low and smug voice, "I’d rather take you to my room." 

"I said...." I shoved myself up, the chair scrapped loudly as it toppled over behind me.

"Back off." 

The voice isn’t loud, in fact it doesn’t need to be.

Chills ran down through my spine, every hair on my body standing on end as the command sliced through the noise of the bar. 

The grip on my arm loosened instantly, the man’s face drained of color as he turned, his eyes widened while unfiltered fear was all over his face.

"I don’t repeat myself." 

The stranger stood there, close, calm, and utterly unmoved, his presence alone enough to make the other man retreat a step, then another, before disappearing into the crowd without another word.

I exhaled shakily, as my pulse still racing.

"Wow, that's cinematic!" I murmured, staring at the empty space he left behind. "Thank you." 

"Thank you?" He tilted his head, one eyebrow lifting as he assessed me, slow and deliberate. 

My face tightened into a frown under his gaze. 

"Just a thank you?" 

"What am I supposed to..." 

"Thank me without words instead." His voice dipped down smoothly, "I’d enjoy that."

I froze. Just for a second.

My eyes betrayed me, dropping to his mouth from that handsome face. His lips looked dangerous, too close, too inviting in a way I never felt before.

The urge to taste those lips became heavy and uncontrollable.

"You know what," I sighed, and the heat rushed to my face. "Fuck this!" 

I closed the distance in two unsteady steps and crashed my mouth onto his.

His lips are even better than I expected, they tasted like honey and melted against mine. 

The taste of him flooded my senses, stealing whatever fragile restraint I had left..

After that, everything became a blur.

Hands, breath, the bar fading into noise as we collided with bodies and curses on our way out. 

I barely registered the car door opening before I’m pushed inside, the world narrowing down to heat and movement and the feel of him far too close.

By the time we reached wherever we end up, my thoughts are useless, and scattered beyond recovery.

All I know is that I don’t want him to stop.

Chills ran down my spine at the thoughts and I shivered involuntarily. 

"Cold?" Something warm brushed against my earlobe, and when I tilted my head slowly, all that met my gaze was his face, still frustratingly blurred because of my intoxicated state.

"No," I managed to say, shaking my head softly before planting a kiss on the stranger's lips. 

Lips so soft and warm that I wouldn't mind dying with them connected to my lips. 

"Am I being too gentle?" The handsome stranger asked from behind as he continued thrusting in. 

I didn't answer immediately, images of this evening still occupied a greater space in my subconsciousness. 

"What exactly are you thinking about when I'm in you?" The stranger's lips curled in disbelief. 

"Hmm… it's nothing," I replied, arching my neck so he could gain access to it. 

A rough sigh escaped his lips as he pressed his lips against mine. 

The wet lips trailed down my lips and found their way to my neck, biting down on it and sucking it. 

"Heavens!" I bit down on my lips and turned sharply to the figure before moving my hips to meet the thrusts. 

The face became a little clearer. Sweaty skin, kissable lips, and a small scar on right above his eyebrow.

The stranger seemed not to have noticed me staring as he increased his pace making a yelp escape my lips. 

"Focus on me, little one," He ordered and bit down on my lips following the sharp jolt of pain with a flicker of the tongue, supposedly licking off the pain. 

I was infact satisfied with it. 

The thrusts became even more faster, proving hard to keep up with, and became more frenzy. 

"Easy," I pleaded but he didn't listen, probably didn't care. 

Skilled hands massaged my body, running through my nipples and waist. A loud moan tore from my lips before I finally lost the last bit of my consciousness.

Morning came violently bright.

Sunlight sliced through the curtains, stabbing straight into my skull. I groaned under my breath and dragged a pillow over my face, trying to bury myself back into the dark.

My body felt heavy, and deliciously sore in places I shouldn’t think about in daylight.

I rolled toward the other side of the bed, expecting warmth.

Instead, I met emptiness.

Cold, flat, and untouched.

My eyes snapped open.

I sit up too fast, the room tilted for a second before settling. 

"This isn’t my apartment, it’s too huge, too expensive, too unfamiliar, and definitely not the hospital... So where...."

Last night crashed into me all at once.

The bar.

The kiss.

His hands.

His voice.

"Mr. Stranger?" My voice came out fragile and smaller than I intended. 

Silence answered me.

"Hey, are you there?" Louder this time, a little desperate.

I swing my legs off the bed and stand, ignoring the ache that reminds me none of it was a dream. 

I checked the bathroom, it is empty, the hallway is also empty.

The place felt abandoned, completely stripped of the heat that filled it hours ago.

He’s gone.

No note.... No message.... No trace.

The sheets are the only proof that someone else was here. That I wasn’t alone. That I wasn’t imagining the way he held me.

"Fuck," I breathe, anger rising fast and sharp. "I didn't even ask for his name but jumped straight into making out, what's wrong with me?" 

I punched the blanket in frustration, and something clicked beneath it.

The television flickered to life, and I froze.

A news anchor filled the screen, her voice sounded urgent but controlled.

"Breaking news.... Another high-profile murder has shaken the nation." 

Images flashed across the screen, police tape fluttering in the wind, flashing sirens, blood stains on polished marble floors.

Another brutal murder, and another cleanup waiting to happen.

My jaw tightened, as I already know the name before she says it.

"Authorities believe these killings are connected, the pattern is precise, everything appearing to be pre-planned, and all signs point to one man."

The screen cuts to a shadowed image.

"Zachary, the ruthless mafia king. To the public, a myth, and to law enforcement, the most dangerous man in the country."

The name landed like a punch to the chest.

At that moment only, a vibration disrupted my thoughts, as I checked it's my mobile, vibrating violently on the bedside table.

I grabbed it with unsteady fingers.

"Zeke," the voice on the other end barks, "Chief is looking for you. Where the hell are you?"