My Boyfriend Is an Executioner
Copyright© 2026 by HyunnaPark
Chapter 4: Beom
The air in the alley behind the Nam estate is chilly and stifling. My heart thumps and my throat tightens. What a night.
Beom is sitting under the tree, the one that hangs over Nam’s estate. I’m not surprised at all. He stands up when he sees me.
“Beom, you’re safe!”
He sweeps me up in a big embrace and I’m off my feet. My black bag drops to the ground. His fuzzy beard scratches my chin and nose.
I can feel his heart beating in his body. The night’s chill retreats. My face gets hot where his cheek presses against mine.
His arms hold me up and his hands touch my shoulders. Those hands are full of life and certainty. With every breath, he squeezes me and, for a brief moment, everything’s okay.
But that moment ends fast.
“I did something,” I whisper to him, my arms and legs clinging to his body.
He sets me down and holds my wrists, turning them over. Mia’s hairpin is still in my hand. Beom sees it, and I can tell he recognizes it.
“Is this the kind of person I am?” I ask. I can’t look at him, and my eyes stay on the ground between us.
He takes the hairpin from my hand. Beom looks me in the eye and holds my gaze. “You are Na-young.”
Yes, I’m Na-young, and I did this. “I feel so cold.”
He nods. He frowns and the corners of his eyes droop. His forehead touches mine and everything’s quiet. The scar on his face looks like the trail left by a falling tear from this angle. With a long, deep sigh, he tells me that he knows and that he loves me.
“Na-young, I kind of like you,” he says.
That’s how he confessed his feelings to me the first time, when his head was on my lap and I was trying to slow the bleeding on his face enough to see if his eye was damaged. Tears came to my eyes, and they do again.
He always says I didn’t say it back that day, but that’s not how I remember it.
I pull my head back and take his face in my hands. My thumb traces his chin, feels that scruff that makes me laugh when it itches my face.
“Kiss me again,” I say to Beom.
He does. His breath is hot on my face. Our eyes lock and he’s my whole world.
My legs wrap around his waist and I’m off the ground, my body held up by Beom’s raw strength and physical power. The bark scratches my shoulders through the cloth.
There’s no Lady Nam, no investigators, no vinegar or mugwort. Just the skirt of my hanbok as he slides it up my calves. Our mouths meet. His free hand tugs at my loincloth until it falls away.
My smile makes my cheeks sore. His eyes are dark pools. They smolder for me, only for me. My shoes fall to the ground and I reach down for the leather strap that holds his pants up. My fingers know how he ties it. I could undo it in the pitch black with frozen hands.
My Beom.
The air chills my neck, wet from Beom’s kisses and gentle bites. He didn’t used to bite me, but I like it and now I think he likes doing it, too.
My tongue licks up his neck. I feel like an animal, hot and hungry. He makes me feel this way.
Beom’s pants fall and I push his loincloth down with my feet. He’s hard between my legs and that animal heat starts to take over. I rub my sex against him until I’m wet and slippery and sticky.
His brows furrow and his breath quickens. He wants me, wants my body.
My insides flare, hotter than burning charcoal. He lifts me up, holding my whole body with one arm. We’re face to face, we kiss but our eyes stay open. He lowers me until he’s just touching my sex.
I want him so bad right now. After this night, I just want to feel anything that I asked for.
Our gaze stays locked as he enters me, until I can’t take it and my head rolls back.
He’s slow at first, patient, until my body fully opens and accepts him. He knows me, he knows my body like he knows his sword.
But I don’t want it slow. He knows that, I can see him smiling and teasing me.
The first night we met, both of us had something we needed to forget and we clawed each other’s clothes off in the washroom at Jinny’s. It was frantic, and no words were spoken. We both just ... knew.
Slow’s never been our style.
I whimper, I can’t help myself. My hands tug at the back of his rough cloth shirt, like they’re trying to tear it open. It doesn’t rip, so I pull my own hanbok jacket open, baring my breasts to the delicious bite of the night air.
My back rubs against the tree as he pushes into me and makes my fingers clutch his tunic. My hair falls over my naked shoulders. I hear myself whine each time his hips buck against me. My legs curl up, with my knees almost at his shoulders.
His breathing picks up and stops, turning into a restrained grunt. He pulls me tight against him, and I can feel my body on the brink, too.
I clamp my arms tight around his powerful chest.
For a heartbeat I see red, like blood on my hands. Tonight, I took a man’s life. I can never undo that. For the rest of my life, I, too, am an executioner.