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“Fuck,” I let slip out, pounding into him mercilessly. “How do you feel so good?”
“Experience— fuck, right there.” Minho moaned out.
I had him bent over the back of my couch, so I couldn't see his face. It might seem impossible, but I felt like he wasn't enjoying it. All the noises he was letting out felt forced, like a cover. After a few more cautious thrusts, I finally pulled out and tapped his leg to get him to sit up and turn around.
“Chan— what the fuck?” He gasped out, putting up an angry front. Had I been anyone else, I would have thought I made the wrong decision in stopping. But, I know I'm not wrong. I've known Minho for almost a decade now, and it's never been hard to read him.
“You’re not even hard. Why are you faking it?” I confronted him. If I had to guess based on his startled expression and the hesitation, I would say I was spot on.
Or: Minho is a manwhore. A slut, if you will. The entire campus knows it. The moment the tequila kicks in, he's guaranteed to be making out with his next 'victim'. But the party-going persona is just a front; no one knows the real Lee Minho except for a handful, and he wants to keep it that way.