❛ Ryul x soloist fem! reader ❜
MDNI
Explicit sexual content, heavy sexual tension, secret dating, industry pressure, bold language, overstimulation, smut, unprotected sex, praise kink, degrading kink, Ryul is a gigantic tease and also obsessive ;), Includes oral and fingering, slow burn, use of princess (a lot)
Synopsis: In the high-stakes world of K-pop, "Ice Princess" Park Sun-hee’s flawless facade begins to crack under the heat of her rivalry with the enigmatic Kim Ryul. What starts as backstage tension at Music Core quickly spirals into a dangerous game of attraction and stolen moments. As their professional competition blurs into a complicated, high-tension romance, Sun-hee must choose: maintain her polished public image or risk everything for a connection that finally makes her feel seen.
Park Sun-hee had perfected the art of keeping her face blank by age nineteen. Three years later, it was muscle memory—eyes steady, lips slightly parted, brows relaxed. The cameras loved it. The fans screamed for it. Tonight, though, standing backstage at Music Core with her in-ears buzzing static, her fingers curled tight around her mic.
Ryul smelled like menthol cigarettes and the cheap cologne stylists doused him in before every stage. It clung to him even now, two hours after his set, lingering in the cramped hallway outside the green room like an unspoken challenge. Sun-hee caught the scent before she saw him—sharp, chemical, unmistakable. She kept walking, heels clicking against the linoleum, gaze fixed straight ahead.
The hallway stretched too long, or maybe Sun-hee’s strides were too short. Either way, Ryul’s voice cut through the hum of distant stage crew chatter before she could round the corner. “You’re really gonna walk past me like that?” His tone was lazy, but the undercurrent was all blade—the same way he rapped, syllables sharp enough to draw blood.
Sun-hee slowed without stopping, her shoulders tensing under the silk of her stage blouse. The scent of him—smoke and synthetic bergamot—curled closer. "Like what?" she murmured, finally turning. Her voice was honey-smooth, rehearsed. She'd used it in interviews for years.
Ryul leaned against the wall, one shoulder propped against a peeling backstage poster. His grin was all teeth, the kind that made Sun-hee’s pulse stutter despite herself. "Like you don’t know me," he said, voice dropping low enough that the crew shuffling past wouldn’t catch it. His fingers twitched at his side, like he was fighting the urge to reach for her.
Sun-hee remembered the first time she had seen Ryul. It was at his debut party, and her friend had dragged her along. She was already well established and couldn't care less about some underground rapper turned idol. But when he performed, his flow was so raw, so unfiltered, it made her spine tingle.
Sun-hee exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled, the way she did before hitting a high note live. Ryul’s gaze tracked the movement, lingering on the flutter of her collarbone under the stage lights leaking from the hallway. "I know you," she said, thumb brushing the mic’s grip. "Enough to know you’re trouble."
Ryul’s grin widened, the kind that showed the faintest hint of a dimple she’d seen once—just once—when he was drunk at an after-party, head tipped back mid-laugh. “Trouble’s subjective, princess.” His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges as he’d just woken up. “Or do you prefer ‘unnie’?”
Sun-hee’s fingers tightened around her mic, the plastic creaking under her grip. Princess. The word slithered down her spine, hot and mocking. She hated that he knew it got to her—hated that he’d noticed the way her breath hitched the first time he’d said it, months ago, when they were shoved together at some godforsaken year-end awards show afterparty. “Call me that again,” she said, voice cool, “and I’ll make sure your next comeback gets buried under mine.”
Ryul laughed, low and dark, the sound curling around Sun-hee like smoke. “You’d miss me too much,” he said, pushing off the wall. The movement brought him closer—close enough that she could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his lower lip caught between his teeth for half a second before he spoke again. “Admit it. You’ve been thinking about me since the Seoul Music Awards.”
A stage director came around the corner with clip board in hand. "Sun-hee, you're on in 5," he barked. She blinked. Ryul was still standing too close, smelling like sin and Seoul nightlife. Without breaking eye contact, she handed her mic to the nearest staff member. The plastic was warm from her grip.
"I told you to never mention that again."
Ryul’s grin didn’t waver, but his eyes darkened—just enough that Sun-hee felt it like a brush of fingers against her throat. “Or what?” he murmured, stepping into her spacease he owned it. Behind them, the stage director cleared his throat, impatient, but Ryul didn’t so much as glance away. “You’ll kiss me again?”
She sucked her teeth, brushing past him as she cleared her throat. "Maybe I'll do worse," she muttered, loud enough for only him to hear. The director shuffled impatiently, clipboard tapping against his thigh like a metronome. Sun-hee didn’t hurry—she never did—but the heat crawling up her neck betrayed her. That night at the awards afterparty had been a mistake. A lapse. The kind of thing that happened when Ryul’s hands were too warm around a shot glass, a nd Sun-hee’s corset had been laced too tight.
The director cleared his throat again, louder this time. This time, she moved, giving him one last glance before walking away. Ryul watched her go, the sway of her hips exaggerated by the stage heels, the way the backstage lights caught the sequins sewn into her blouse like scattered stars. He could still taste the sharp tang of soju on his tongue from that night—could still feel the way her fingers had dug into his shoulders when she’d kissed him, sudden and desperate, in the shadow of a fire exit.
The stage lights hit like a physical weight—blinding, searing—as Sun-hee stepped into her opening pose. The crowd roared, a wave of sound so thick it vibrated through her ribs. She breathed in, slow, deliberate. The scent of Ryul’s cologne still clung to her, stubborn as a stain, even under the sweat-slick heat of the spotlights.
Sun-hee’s performance was flawless—sharp angles and calculated smirks, every flick of her wrist timed to the beat. The cameras loved her, zooming in close enough to catch the sweat beading at her temples, the way her lips curled around the lyrics like she was savoring them. But her mind was elsewhere—back in that dim hallway, Ryul’s voice curling around her like a dare.
The moment her final note faded into the stadium’s echo, Sun-hee dropped her pose with mechanical precision, the roar of the crowd dissolving into white noise in her ears. Backstage was a blur of staff murmuring into headsets, stylists darting forward with blotting papers, but she barely registered them. Her skin still prickled with the ghost of Ryul’s proximity, the way his breath had hitched when she’d threatened him—worse—like he’d been hoping for it.
She was escorted back to her dressing room, the adrenaline of the performance still buzzing under her skin. Sun-hee barely heard the compliments tossed her way—her mind replaying Ryul’s smirk, the way his fingers had twitched like he wanted to reach for her. The door clicked shut behind her, and she exhaled, peeling off her damp blouse with a grimace. The mirror reflected flushed skin, the faintest tremor in her hands. just stupid, she thought, digging her nails into her palm.
Sun-hee’s phone buzzed against the dressing table before she could even reach for a makeup wipe. The screen lit up—*Unknown Number*—but the message preview made her stomach tighten.
The message was one line: You looked good out there. Almost as good as you did under me.
Sun-hee’s fingers hovered over the screen, her thumbnail catching the edge of her phone case. The dressing room air was suddenly too thick, too warm. She could still hear the muffled chaos of backstage—the distant thump of bass from the next performer, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors—but it all blurred into static. The message glowed up at her, bold and unapologetic. Almost as good as you did under me.
Sun-hee’s pulse hammered against her ribs, quick and erratic, as she stared at the text. Her thumb swiped the notification open—no signature, no follow-up, just that single line burning into her retinas. She knew it was him. Of course, it was him. Who else would dare?
I'm blocking you. she typed and sent it as she turned her phone face down on the table. The vanity mirror reflected the flush creeping up her chest, the way her teeth worried her lower lip raw. She counted the seconds in her head—three, five, seven—before her phone buzzed again. Sun-hee inhaled sharply through her nose before flipping it over.
The new message was shorter, sharper: Try.
Sun-hee’s breath hitched—just once—before she tossed her phone onto the couch. It bounced once, landing face-up, the screen still glowing with Ryul’s challenge. *Try.* As if she wouldn’t. As if he hadn’t memorized the exact shade of pink her cheeks turned when she was furious. The dressing room’s AC hummed too loudly, the vent above her rattling like a reminder of how flimsy privacy really was in this industry.
She needed to get change. That’s what she told herself as she snatched the first outfit hanging in her dressing room—a loose hoodie and leggings, something anonymous. The silk of her stage blouse stuck to her skin as she peeled it off, the air biting against the sweat-slick curve of her spine. The mirror caught the way her hands shook just slightly as she tugged the hoodie over her head, the fabric swallowing her frame whole.
Sun-hee's fingers fumbled with the hoodie's drawstrings, tightening them like a noose around her own throat. The fabric smelled like backstage—stale coffee and hairspray—but underneath it all, the ghost of Ryul's cologne lingered, stubborn as a bad habit. Her phone buzzed again from the couch, the vibration skittering across the leather like a live wire. She didn't look.
Sun-hee’s fingers froze mid-air, hovering over the discarded phone as another buzz shuddered through the couch cushions. The dressing room’s overhead lights flickered once—just enough to cast her reflection in jagged shadows—before steadying. She exhaled through her nose, sharply, and snatched the device up with more force than necessary.
The message was another single line—Block me then. Run. I like it when you run.
Sun-hee’s thumb hovered over the block button, the pad of her finger trembling just enough to betray her. The screen blurred—whether from sweat or the sting in her eyes, she wasn’t sure—but the words seared into her anyway. Run. Like she was prey. Like he’d already won.
Sun-hee’s thumb jammed down on the block button, the screen flashing red before fading to black. She tossed the phone back onto the couch, this time with enough force to send it skidding toward the edge. The silence that followed was thick, punctuated only by the distant thump of bass from the ongoing show. She stared at her reflection—hoodie swallowing her frame, lips bitten raw, eyes too bright—and hated how much she looked like someone who’d just lost a fight.
The dressing room door clicked open just as Sun-hee was shoving her stage clothes into her bag—too quick, too careless, the sequins catching on the zipper. Her manager came in, smile bright and gentle as always, “The car is here to take you home, Sunnie. Amazing job today."
Sun-hee nodded at her manager’s praise, the motion stiff, mechanical. “Thanks,” she murmured, slinging her bag over one shoulder with practiced ease. The weight of it—the sequined blouse crumpled inside, the phone she’d blocked Ryul on—felt heavier than usual. The hallway outside her dressing room was quieter now, the post-show rush thinning into late-night exhaustion. Staff members shuffled past with armfuls of equipment, their voices hushed, their footsteps muffled by the carpet.
The car ride home was too long. Seoul’s neon glow streaked past the tinted windows in smears of pink and gold, but Sun-hee barely registered them. Her fingers drummed against her thigh—once, twice—before she caught herself and forced them still. The driver hadn’t spoken since she’d slid into the backseat, and for that, she was grateful. Her phone burned a hole in her bag, silent now. Blocked. She’d done it. So why did her pulse still thrum like she was mid-performance?
The penthouse elevator doors slid open with a near-silent hiss, revealing the dimly lit foyer of Sun-hee’s apartment. She toed off her shoes with more force than necessary, the left one skidding across the hardwood and thumping against the baseboard. The silence of the space—usually a relief after hours under stadium lights—felt oppressive tonight. Too empty. Too still.
Seoul's skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a sea of neon and shadow, but Sun-hee barely glanced at it as she dumped her bag onto the marble countertop. The penthouse was immaculate—cold, untouched—the way management preferred it for her public image. She dragged a hand through her hair, nails scraping lightly against her scalp, and exhaled. The silence was suffocating.
She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, the condensation beading on her fingers as she twisted the cap off too hard. The first gulp was cold enough to sting her throat—enough to distract her from the way her pulse still hadn’t settled. The penthouse was too quiet. Even the hum of the refrigerator grated on her nerves tonight.
The water bottle crumpled in her grip, the plastic crackling like distant applause. Sun-hee tossed it into the recycling bin with a flick of her wrist, missing the mark—it hit the rim and clattered to the floor. She left it there.
Making her way to her room, Sun-hee ignored the twitch in her fingers—the one that usually meant she was reaching for her phone. The bedroom was dark, the blackout curtains drawn tight from this morning. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. Instead, she kicked off her leggings and let them pool on the floor, stepping out of them with a huff. She decided to go take a bath, hoping to wash away the lingering scent of stage makeup and Ryul’s cologne.
Sun-hee made it into her large bathroom before she paused—her reflection in the vanity mirror caught her off guard. Disheveled hair, smudged eyeliner, lips still swollen from biting them raw under the stage lights. And her eyes—too dark, too wide, like she’d been caught in a lie. She turned the tap on too hot, steam rising in thick clouds as she poured in jasmine bath oil, the scent cloying compared to Ryul’s lingering bergamot.
Shepulledd her hoodie off as she was left in her panties and bra, she sighed as she adjusted herself in the mirror, letting her fingers trace over her exposed collarbone. Sun-hee paused—her fingers hovering over the faintest bruise just below her jawline, half-hidden by the strap of her bra. A souvenir from that night at the awards afterparty, faded now but still stubbornly present. The steam from the bath curled around her bare shoulders, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest.
Sun-hee took off her bra first, tossing it onto the counter with a quiet huff. The water was still running, filling the tub with swirling tendrils of steam that clung to her skin. She caught another glimpse of herself in the fogged-up mirror—the curve of her waist, the dip of her hips, the way her breath hitched just slightly when her fingers brushed over that bruise again. Stupid. She shouldn’t have let him leave a mark. Shouldn’t have let him close enough to.
Next was her panties—peeled off with more care than her bra, the lace catching briefly on her thigh before she kicked them aside. The water had reached the perfect temperature now, hot enough to pinken her skin but not quite burn. Sun-hee stepped in, the heat seeping into her muscles instantly, but it did nothing to dull the memory of Ryul’s smirk, the way his fingers had twitched like he wanted to trace the same path her own hands were taking now.
Why could she never get him off of her—out of her skin? Even submerged in scalding water, fingers digging into her own thighs hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents, Sun-hee couldn’t shake the phantom press of Ryul’s mouth against her pulse point. The bathwater sloshed violently as she twisted to grab her phone from the counter—stupid, reckless—only to remember she’d left it in her bag. Blocked. She’d blocked him.
The bathwater had gone lukewarm when Sun-hee finally stirred, her fingers pruned and her muscles lax. She dragged herself out with more effort than she’d admit, water sluicing off her skin in rivulets that pooled on the marble floor. The towel she grabbed was too rough against her overheated skin, the friction sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the AC humming overhead.
The towel slipped from Sun-hee’s fingers before she could finish drying off, landing in a damp heap at her feet. She stared at it for a beat too long—another thing left undone, another mess she’d have to clean up later. The bathroom mirror had fogged over completely now, erasing her reflection as ifshe hadd never been there at all.
Sun-hee stepped into her bedroom, still damp from the bath, the cold air raising goosebumps along her bare arms. She grabbed the first sleep shirt she could find—one of those oversized band tees she’d stolen from a stylist years ago, not bothering to put a bra on, she tugged it over her head just as her phone buzzed from inside her discarded bag. The sound was muffled, distant, but it still made her fingers twitch mid-motion.
The buzz came again—persistent, demanding—as Sun-hee stood frozen in the middle of her bedroom, the oversized tee hanging loosely off one shoulder. She exhaled sharply through her nose, fingers curling into the fabric at her thighs. *Blocked.* She’d fucking blocked him. So why—?
The buzzing stopped. Then started again—three sharp pulses, like a code. Sun-hee’s nails bit into her palms. No. She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. But her feet moved anyway, carrying her to the bag slumped by the door, the sequins of her discarded stage blouse glinting accusingly from the half-open zipper.
Sun-hee’s fingers trembled as she dug through the bag, the sequins scratching against her skin like tiny, mocking teeth. Her phone was buried under crumpled receipts and a half-empty lipstick tube, the screen flashing with another notification. The preview text made her throat tighten: You really think blocking me works?
Sun-hee’s thumb hovered over the notification—halfway between deleting it and unlocking the screen—when another buzz vibrated against her palm. The preview this time was longer: Unblock me. Or I’ll start calling from unknown numbers. Her breath hitched. Ryul had never been one for empty threats.
Sun-hee’s thumb jammed the power button, shutting off the screen with a decisive click. She tossed the phone onto her bed as it had burned her, the mattress swallowing it with a soft thump. Enough. She wouldn’t play his game tonight. Not when her skin was still tender from scrubbing away stage makeup, not when the memory of his voice—princess—coiled low in her stomach like a live wire.
She moved to her drawer to grab a pair of panties—black lace, something she’d bought on a whim and never worn—when the sound of her apartment buzzer cut through the silence like a gunshot. Sun-hee froze, fingers clutching the fabric so tight the lace strained. *No one* came unannounced. Not to her penthouse. Not at this hour.
The buzzer sounded again—sharper this time, insistent—and Sun-hee’s pulse kicked into overdrive. She dropped the panties back into the drawer and padded barefoot to the intercom, her reflection in the hallway mirror catching the wild flicker of her gaze. The screen flickered to life, revealing the lobby camera feed. Empty. Just marble floors and the muted glow of the security desk lamp. Then—movement. A shadow stepped into frame, too tall, too familiar, and her stomach dropped.
What the hell was he doing here?
The intercom screen flickered again, catching the sharp angle of Ryul’s jaw as he tilted his head up toward the camera—like he knew she was watching. His hood was pulled low, but the smirk was unmistakable, the same one he’d worn backstage when he’d dared her to block him. Sun-hee’s thumb hovered over the intercom button, her pulse hammering against her ribs. Ignore him. That’s what she should do. What any sane person would do.
"I'm not letting you in, Kim Ryu,l go home," Sun-hee hissed into the intercom, fingers gripping the edges of the console hard enough to turn her knuckles white. The screen flickered—a lazy half-shrug from Ryul, his hands sliding into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels like this was just another game.
The intercom crackled with Ryul’s exhale—warm, amused, like he’d been expecting her resistance. "You blocked me," he said, voice tinny through the speaker but still dripping with that infuriating confidence. "Had to deliver my messages in person."
Sun-hee’s fingers twitched against the intercom button. "You’re insane," she muttered, loud enough for the mic to pick up. The screen flickered again—Ryul’s smirk widening, the dimple she hated appearing just for a heartbeat.
The intercom buzzed again—longer this time, Ryul’s finger holding the button down in a mocking echo of her own hesitation. Sun-hee’s nails bit crescents into her palms. "Go away," she snapped, but her voice wavered on the last syllable. The screen flickered once more, catching the slow drag of Ryul’s tongue over his lower lip before he spoke.
"Baby, stop playing and let me in," Ryul's voice crackled through the intercom, lower now, rougher. Sun-hee could hear the smirk in it—could picture the way his fingers were probably drumming against his thigh with that same restless energy he had backstage. She exhaled sharply through her nose, her thumb still hovering over the unlock button.
Sun-hee’s thumb twitched—once, twice—Park Sun-hee dont—before she jammed the unlock button with enough force to crack the plastic casing. The buzz of the lobby doors unlocking echoed through the intercom like a death knell. She didn’t wait to see Ryul’s reaction, didn’t give herself time to second-guess. The screen went black as she ripped her hand away, her reflection in the darkened glass staring back at her—oversize shirt slipping off one shoulder, hair damp and tangled, pupils blown wide. Pathetic.
The elevator's ascent was too slow—or maybe Sun-hee's pulse was too fast, hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She paced the length of the foyer twice before forcing herself still, fingers twisting in the hem of her oversized shirt. The penthouse's silence was oppressive now, every tick of the clock audible over the distant hum of Seoul's nightlife twenty floors below.
The elevator pinged—soft, almost polite—but Sun-hee jerked like it was a gunshot. She didn't move toward the door, didn't unlock it. Let him knock. Let him beg. Her bare feet stayed rooted to the cold marble as the seconds stretched thin, each one a razor’s edge between defiance and surrender.
The knock came—sharp, impatient—and Sun-hee’s breath hitched. She could almost see him through the door, one shoulder propped against the frame, that infuriating smirk already in place. Another knock, louder this time. “Open the door, princess.” Ryul’s voice was muffled through the wood, but the edge in it was unmistakable. A demand, not a request.
The third knock rattled the doorframe. Sun-hee’s fingers curled tighter in the fabric of her shirt. "I changed my mind," she called out, voice steadier than she felt. "Go home."
The silence after her words stretched too long—long enough for Sun-hee to count the frantic beats of her own pulse. Then, the scrape of Ryul’s shoes against the hallway tile was slow and deliberate. "Liar," he murmured, close enough now that she could imagine his breath ghosting over the door’s surface. The handle jiggled—once, testing—and Sun-hee’s throat went dry.
Sun-hee’s breath caught as the doorknob twisted—just once, a silent dare—before going still again. She could hear Ryul’s exhale through the wood, warm and impatient. Her fingers clenched around the hem of her shirt, the fabric damp with sweat from her grip. Walk away, she willed him silently. Just fucking walk away.
The silence stretched so long that Sun-hee almost convinced herself he'd left. Then—metal clicked. The door swung open with a whisper of hinges, revealing Ryul leaning against the frame with a hotel keycard dangling between his fingers. "Forgot you gave me this?" His grin was all teeth, the dimple she hated flashing as he pocketed the card with a slow, deliberate flick of his wrist.
Sun-hee’s breath left her in a sharp exhale, her fingers tightening in the fabric of her shirt. “You kept that?” she hissed, stepping back as Ryul crossed the threshold, his presence filling the penthouse foyer like smoke. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them in the dim silence.
Sun-hee’s pulse roared in her ears as Ryul took another step forward, the scent of his cologne—bergamot and something darker—filling the space between them. His gaze dragged over her, slow and deliberate, lingering on the way her oversized shirt slipped off one shoulder, baring skin still flushed from the bath. "You look good like this," he murmured, voice rough. "All undone."
Sun-hee’s fingers twitched toward the hem of her shirt, pulling it higher on her thigh—a reflexive motion, one she regretted instantly when Ryul’s gaze darkened. He stepped closer, the hardwood creaking under his weight, and she could smell the faint sting of whiskey on his breath. "You shouldn’t be here," she said, but the words lacked their usual edge. They sounded like a plea.
Ryul’s chuckle was low, vibrating through the foyer like a live wire. He reached out, fingers brushing the damp tendrils of hair clinging to Sun-hee’s neck, and she hated how her breath caught at the contact. "You keep saying that," he murmured, thumb tracing the fading bruise below her jaw, "but you’re the one who unlocked the door."
Sun-hee jerked her head away from Ryul’s touch, but her body didn’t retreat—couldn’t, with the wall suddenly cold against her back. His fingers lingered in the air between them, suspended like an unbroken promise. "I changed my mind," she repeated, softer now, as if the words could undo the way her pulse leapt under his gaze.
"You're repeating yourself, baby," Ryul murmured, crowding her against the foyer wall with the lazy confidence of a predator who'd already won. His knee slid between Sun-hee's bare thighs, the rough denim scraping against her sensitive skin—too much and not enough all at once. She could taste the whiskey on his breath when he exhaled, sharp and intoxicating, as his thumb traced the frantic pulse at her throat. "You can block me all you want. You’ll always let me in eventually."
The foyer lights flickered as Ryul leaned in, his exhale warm against Sun-hee’s parted lips. She could feel the heat of him through the thin cotton of her shirt—the way his chest rose and fell just slightly too fast, betraying the calm his smirk insisted on. His fingers traced the curve of her jaw, calloused from guitar strings, lingering where her pulse hammered against her skin. "See?" he murmured, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "You’re shaking."
Sun-hee’s breath hitched as Ryul’s fingers curled around the back of her neck, his grip just shy of painful. The cold wall bit into her bare shoulders, but the heat of him pressed against her front made her skin prickle with sweat. "You're such an asshole," she whispered, but the words lacked venom—dissolving into a gasp when his teeth grazed her earlobe.
Ryul's laugh was a dark hum against Sun-hee's throat, vibrating through her like the bassline of a song she couldn’t escape. His fingers tightened in her hair, tipping her head back just enough to expose the column of her neck. "You love it," he muttered, lips skimming the frantic flutter of her pulse. The accusation hung between them, sticky and undeniable.
Sun-hee’s nails dug into Ryul’s shoulders as his mouth trailed lower, teeth scraping the delicate skin above her collarbone. A shudder ripped through her—half protest, half surrender—before she shoved him back with a soundless gasp. "We can’t—" Her voice fractured as Ryul’s knee pressed higher between her thighs, the friction sparking heat low in her stomach. We can't keep meeting up, people are gonna—"
Ryul’s grin curled against Sun-hee’s throat, hot and knowing. "People already talk," he murmured, dragging his lips up to the hinge of her jaw. "Let them." His fingers tightened in her hair, tilting her head back further until the arch of her neck strained against his grip. The scrape of his teeth sent a jolt down her spine—too sharp, too familiar.
Sun-hee’s gasp dissolved into the quiet of the penthouse as Ryul’s fingers slid under the hem of her shirt, rough palms mapping the dip of her waist. The fabric bunched between them, damp with the heat of their skin, and she hated how her body arched into his touch like it was starved for it. "Stop—" she breathed, but his name tangled in her throat when his thumb brushed the underside of her breast, feather-light and mocking.
The penthouse lights flickered again—just once—as Ryul’s fingers twisted in Sun-hee’s shirt, dragging her forward until their hips collided. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, but Ryul didn’t give her time to recover. His mouth crashed into hers, all teeth and desperation, the taste of whiskey and mint sharp on her tongue. Sun-hee’s hands flew to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie like she meant to shove him away. She didn’t.
The kiss was wildfire—reckless and consuming, Ryul’s hands gripping Sun-hee’s hips hard enough to bruise. She arched into him with a soundless gasp, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his hoodie like she couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or shove him away. Ryul took the choice from her, backing her against the wall with a thud that rattled the framed artwork beside them. The glass trembled in its frame, a silent witness to the way Sun-hee’s breath hitched when Ryul’s teeth caught her lower lip.
He lifted her leg around his hip without breaking the kiss, the rough fabric of his jeans scraping against her bare thigh—too much friction, too little mercy. Sun-hee gasped into his mouth when his hand slid under her shirt, palm branding the skin of her stomach before sliding higher. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast, deliberate, teasing, and she bit down on his lip hard enough to taste copper.
Ryul didn’t flinch at the bite—just laughed into her mouth, low and rough, as his fingers tightened around her bare waist. "Always so fucking mouthy," he murmured against her lips, thumb circling her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt. The teasing touch sent a jolt of heat straight to Sun-hee’s core, and she hated how her hips jerked forward instinctively, seeking friction against the hard line of his thigh.
Sun-hee’s back hit the wall with a muffled thud, Ryul’s forearm braced beside her head to cage her in. The penthouse air was too thick, too warm—charged with the scent of jasmine bath oil and Ryul’s cologne, a dizzying contrast that made her head spin. His free hand slid higher under her shirt, fingers splaying across her ribcage like he was counting each frantic breath. "You’re shaking," he murmured again, lips grazing the shell of her ear. The words weren’t a question. They were a victory.
"Just shut up," Sun-hee gasped, but Ryul’s mouth was already moving down her throat, his teeth catching the delicate skin just above her pulse. His fingers tightened around her waist, dragging her flush against him until she could feel the hard line of his erection pressing into her thigh. The friction sent a bolt of heat through her, sharp and undeniable, and she hated how her body responded—arching into him like she was starved for it.
The foyer clock ticked loudly in the sudden silence as Ryul pulled back just enough to meet Sun-hee’s gaze—his pupils blown wide, lips slick with her smudged lip balm. His thumb dragged over her bottom lip, slow and deliberate, before he murmured, "You taste like you were waiting for me." The accusation curled between them, hot and unavoidable. Sun-hee’s retort died when his hands picked her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist on instinct as he carried her to the kitchen island without breaking stride.
Sun-hee’s thighs tightened around Ryul’s waist as he hoisted her onto the cold marble countertop, the shock of the surface against her bare skin drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. Ryul didn’t give her time to adjust—his hands slid under her shirt, rough palms skimming her ribs before gripping her waist hard enough to leave fingerprints. The fabric bunched around her shoulders, exposing the curve of her breasts, and Sun-hee barely had time to register the vulnerability before Ryul’s mouth was on her collarbone, teeth scraping the delicate skin there.
The marble countertop was cold against Sun-hee’s bare thighs, the contrast of Ryul’s burning touch making her skin prickle. His mouth trailed lower, teeth scraping the swell of her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt, and she arched into the contact with a choked-off gasp. "Fuck," she breathed, fingers twisting in his hair—pulling tight enough to hurt, but Ryul only groaned against her skin, the vibration sending heat pooling low in her stomach.
Sun-hee's gasp fractured into a whimper as Ryul's teeth closed around her nipple through the thin cotton, the damp fabric clinging to her skin like a second layer of sensitivity. His tongue flicked over the peak—once, twice—before he sucked hard enough to make her thighs clamp around his hips. The marble counter dug into her bare ass, cold and unyielding, but all she could focus on was the scalding heat of his mouth moving lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties with deliberate intent.
Sun-hee's back arched off the counter as Ryul's fingers slipped beneath the lace, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The sound that escaped her was half-protest, half-plea—raw in a way that would've mortified her if she could think past the static filling her skull. His answering chuckle vibrated against her stomach, lips tracing the quiver of muscle beneath her navel. "Already?" he murmured, the words a hot brand against her skin. His fingers flexed, the rough pads catching on lace. "You're fucking drenched."
Sun-hee’s fingers scrabbled against the marble countertop as Ryul’s teeth grazed the delicate skin of her inner thigh, his breath hot through the damp lace. The counter’s edge dug into the backs of her thighs, sharp enough to ground her—almost. "You’re—" Her voice cracked when his thumb pressed against her clit through the fabric, slow circles that burned like a brand. "You’re such a fucking liar," she gasped, hips jerking into the contact despite herself. "You said—messages—"
Ryul’s laugh was dark, muffled against the damp lace as his fingers curled possessively around Sun-hee’s thigh. "I am delivering my message," he murmured, dragging the fabric aside with agonizing slowness. The cold air kissed her exposed skin before his tongue replaced it—hot, wet, deliberate—and Sun-hee’s fingers flew to his hair, gripping hard enough to hurt. He didn’t flinch, just hummed against her, the vibration ricocheting through her nerves like a live wire.
Sun-hee's spine bowed off the countertop as Ryul's tongue traced a slow, filthy path up her slit. The marble pressed cold against her bare skin, but her thighs trembled with heat where his rough palms pinned them open. "Ryul—" His name splintered into a moan when his mouth closed over her clit, sucking just hard enough to make her vision blur. "Oh god..."
Sun-hee’s fingers twisted in Ryul’s hair, her hips bucking against his mouth as his tongue dragged another filthy stripe up her slit. The marble counter dug into her back, sharp and unforgiving, but she couldn’t focus on anything except the way Ryul’s breath hitched against her wet skin—like he was savoring her, memorizing the taste. "You're—" she gasped, but the words dissolved when his thumb replaced his tongue, rubbing tight circles over her clit while his fingers teased her entrance. The stretch burned, just shy of painful, and Sun-hee’s thighs trembled around his shoulders. "Fuck, wait—"
Sun-hee's gasp fractured into the penthouse air as Ryul's fingers curled inside her—slow, deliberate, the stretch burning in a way that made her nails scrape against marble. The countertop was slick with condensation from her overheated skin, the cool surface a stark contrast to the fevered press of Ryul's mouth moving against her inner thigh. "Look at you," he murmured, lips brushing the crease where leg met hip, his breath hot and uneven. "So fucking greedy."
Sun-hee's thighs jerked when Ryul's fingers crooked inside her—that spot, right there—and the marble countertop groaned under her shifting weight. His chuckle vibrated against her inner thigh, smug and knowing, as he dragged his free hand up her stomach to pinch her nipple through the damp fabric of her shirt. "Say it," he murmured against her skin, tongue tracing the indents his teeth had left earlier. "Say you missed this. Say you missed me."
Sun-hee’s breath hitched, her fingers clutching Ryul’s hair tighter as his words coiled around her like smoke—thick and inescapable. The counter’s edge dug into the backs of her thighs, grounding her even as his fingers thrust deeper, curling just *so* until her hips jerked involuntarily. "I—" The word cracked, swallowed by the wet sound of his fingers moving inside her, slick and obscene.
Sun-hee’s head thudded back against the marble as Ryul’s fingers twisted inside her, his thumb pressing relentless circles against her clit—too much and not enough all at once. The penthouse lights blurred above her, the edges of her vision fracturing into white static with every pulse of pleasure coiling tight in her stomach. She could hear herself—short, punched-out gasps that sounded foreign even to her own ears—but the sound was drowned out by the filthy wet drag of Ryul’s fingers fucking into her at a brutal pace.
"Oh fuck...gosh, Ryul, I-I miss you..." The admission slipped out between Sun-hee's gasps, raw and unguarded, her hips jerking against Ryul’s fingers as the words hung in the air like a confession.
He spreaded he legs farther apart, her thighs trembling as Ryul’s fingers slowed inside her—just enough to make her whine, the sound embarrassingly loud in the penthouse’s silence. His smirk burned against her inner thigh, lips trailing higher as his thumb circled her clit with agonizing precision. "Say it again," he murmured, the words vibrating against her damp skin. "Louder."
The marble countertop groaned under Sun-hee’s shifting weight as Ryul’s thumb pressed harder, the slick sound of his fingers moving inside her drowning out the hum of Seoul’s skyline beyond the windows. Her hips jerked—once, twice—before she dug her nails into his scalp with a broken sound. “Ryul—”
Sun-hee’s words dissolved into a shuddering gasp as Ryul’s fingers withdrew abruptly, leaving her clenching around nothing. The sudden emptiness punched a whimper from her throat—one she barely recognized as her own. Ryul’s grin was all sharp edges in the dim kitchen light, his fingers glistening as he brought them to his lips. "Tastes better when you beg," he murmured, sucking them clean with a deliberate slowness that made her stomach flip.
Sun-hee’s nails scraped against the marble countertop as Ryul stepped back, his smirk widening at the way her hips instinctively chased his touch. The cold air against her wet skin was a slap of reality—her shirt bunched under her arms, her thighs spread shamelessly open, her pulse hammering where his teeth had marked her throat. *Pathetic.* The word burned through her skull, but her body didn’t care, trembling with unmet need.
Sun-hee’s breath came in short, ragged bursts as Ryul loomed over her, his chest rising and falling just slightly too fast to feign indifference. The penthouse lights caught the sheen of sweat at his temples, the way his fingers flexed at his sides like he was resisting the urge to grab her again. She could see it—the way his jaw clenched when her thighs shifted against the marble, the damp patch on the counter glistening under the dim kitchen bulbs.
The silence between them was thick enough to choke on—Sun-hee’s chest rising and falling too fast, Ryul’s fingers twitching at his sides like he was counting the seconds before he touched her again. Then, with a soundless exhale, he stepped forward, his hips slotting between her thighs with practiced ease. The denim of his jeans scraped against her bare skin, rough enough to make her gasp, and his hands bracketed her hips, thumbs digging into the sharp jut of her pelvic bones. "Look at you," he murmured, voice rough with something that wasn’t quite amusement. "Still shaking."
The kitchen island’s edge bit into Sun-hee’s thighs as Ryul crowded closer, his knee nudging her legs wider with a quiet insistence that made her breath hitch. His hands slid up her bare sides—rough palms catching on the damp cotton of her shirt—before dragging her forward until she could feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against her through his jeans. Sun-hee’s nails scraped against the marble as his lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate through her bones.
Sun-hee’s breath stuttered, her thighs tightening around Ryul’s hips as his teeth grazed her earlobe—sharp, teasing. The marble counter was cold against her bare skin, but his body burned where it pressed into hers, a live wire of tension coiled too tight. "You know what I want," she muttered, but the words lacked conviction, dissolving into a gasp when his thumb brushed the inside of her thigh.
The penthouse lights flickered as Ryul’s fingers tightened around Sun-hee’s hips, his exhale hot against her throat. "Say it," he murmured, dragging his lips down the column of her neck with deliberate slowness. His teeth scraped the sensitive skin where her pulse fluttered—a silent threat, a promise. "Or I walk out that door right now."
Sun-hee’s throat worked around the words, her fingers clenching against the cold marble as Ryul’s teeth pressed harder into her pulse point—not enough to break skin, but enough to make her hips jerk forward instinctively. The rough fabric of his jeans rasped against her bare thighs, igniting sparks of friction that burned straight to her core. "Don’t—" The protest died in her throat when Ryul pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his dark eyes flickering with something dangerously close to amusement.
Sun-hee's breath caught—sharp, jagged—as Ryul's fingers traced idle patterns along her bare thigh, the calloused pads rough against her oversensitive skin. His smirk curled against her pulse point, slow and knowing, as his thumb pressed into the soft flesh of her inner thigh just hard enough to make her toes curl against the marble. "Say it," he murmured again, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Or I swear to god, Sun-hee, I'll leave you like this."
Sun-hee’s nails dug into Ryul’s shoulders as his lips hovered just above her ear—close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath but not close enough to satisfy the ache coiling low in her stomach. The counter’s edge bit into her thighs, the sharp pain a grounding counterpoint to the way Ryul’s fingers flexed against her bare hips, possessive and impatient. "Say it," he repeated, voice rougher now, fraying at the edges like even his control had limits.
Sun-hee’s breath hitched as Ryul’s fingers tightened around her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh just above her panties. The penthouse air was thick with the scent of jasmine and sweat, the only sound the ragged rhythm of their breathing. "Fine," she whispered, the word scraping against her throat like sandpaper. "I want you."
Ryul's smirk curled against Sun-hee's throat, slow and satisfied, his exhale hot against the damp skin where her pulse hammered. "Took you long enough," he murmured, fingers flexing against her hips as he dragged her forward until the hard line of his cock pressed flush against her through his jeans. The friction drew a ragged gasp from Sun-hee's lips—one she barely recognized as her own—and Ryul's teeth grazed her earlobe in retaliation. "Now ask nicely."
Sun-hee’s nails bit into Ryul’s shoulders, her breath coming in shallow bursts as his teeth scraped the shell of her ear. The words clogged her throat—too much pride, too much heat—but his fingers tightened on her hips, demanding. "Ask," he repeated, voice rough with restraint. The pressure of his cock against her throbbed through her like a second heartbeat, maddening and insistent.
The penthouse air crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on, as Sun-hee's lips parted—then hesitated. Ryul's thumb traced lazy circles on her inner thigh, just shy of where she burned for him, his breath hot against her ear. "I said," he murmured, voice dipping into something darker, "ask nicely, princess."
Sun-hee’s fingers twisted in Ryul’s hoodie, her knuckles pressing into the hard planes of his chest as she swallowed the last stubborn shred of pride lodged in her throat. “Please,” she breathed, the word cracking open like overripe fruit—too sweet, too exposed. The moment it left her lips, Ryul’s grip on her thighs tightened, his exhale shuddering against her neck like he’d been holding it for years.
The countertop rattled as Ryul hauled Sun-hee forward, his fingers digging into her thighs hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in her skin. His laugh was a rough scrape against her throat—half victory, half surrender—before his mouth crashed into hers again, all heat and teeth and whiskey. Sun-hee’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him groan into her mouth, and the sound vibrated through her like a second pulse.
The kitchen island groaned under Sun-hee’s shifting weight as Ryul’s hands slid under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly until her back hit the marble again—this time with him between her legs, his hips pressing hers down with a roughness that stole her breath. His lips never left hers, the kiss devolving into something messier, all tongue and teeth and the sharp tang of copper where she’d bitten him earlier. Sun-hee’s legs locked around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back as if she could fuse them through sheer will.
The sound of Ryul’s belt buckle clattering against the marble floor was obscenely loud in the penthouse’s silence. Sun-hee barely had time to register the cold air against her thighs before his hands were on her again, rough and impatient, dragging her to the edge of the counter. His jeans rasped against her bare skin as he stepped between her legs, the denim rough enough to make her gasp. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice ragged at the edges as his fingers traced the damp lace still clinging to her hips. "So fucking pretty when you finally stop lying."
Sun-hee's gasp was swallowed by Ryul's mouth as he hooked his fingers into the lace of her panties, yanking them down her thighs with a roughness that sent sparks skittering up her spine. The cold marble bit into her bare skin as he spread her legs wider, his exhale hot against her inner thigh—too close, too much. "Ryul—" His name fractured into a moan when his thumb brushed her clit, the contact electric after the agonizing tease.
Sun-hee’s back arched off the counter as Ryul’s fingers slid higher, tracing the wet heat between her thighs with a precision that made her toes curl against the marble. The cold surface beneath her was forgotten, eclipsed by the scalding press of his thumb against her clit—slow circles that burned like a brand. "You're so fucking wet," he muttered against her throat, the words rough with disbelief. His teeth grazed her pulse point, sharp enough to make her hips jerk. "All this time—just for me?"
The marble countertop dug into Sun-hee’s lower back as Ryul’s fingers curled inside her again—two this time, stretching her with a slow, deliberate drag that made her thighs tremble. His thumb pressed against her clit in tight, relentless circles, and she couldn’t tell if the sound echoing off the penthouse walls was her gasp or the scrape of Ryul’s belt buckle against the floor. "Fuck—fuck—" Her voice splintered as his fingers crooked just right, the pleasure cresting too fast, too sharp.
The penthouse lights flickered—once, twice—as Sun-hee’s vision blurred at the edges, "Y-you're such a damn tease," she gasped, her fingers scrabbling against the marble countertop as Ryul’s thumb pressed harder against her clit, the friction bordering on painful. His laugh was a dark, breathless thing against her throat, lips trailing lower to where her pulse hammered beneath sweat-slick skin.
Sun-hee's gasp tore through the penthouse as Ryul's fingers twisted inside her—just enough to make her spine arch off the marble, her thighs clamping around his wrist like a vice. The counter's edge dug into her lower back, sharp enough to ground her even as his thumb circled her clit with ruthless precision. "You like it," he murmured against her throat, the words vibrating against her damp skin. His teeth grazed her pulse point—not quite a bite, but the threat alone made her hips jerk. "Don't lie now."
"Yes," Sun-hee gasped, the confession ripped from her throat as Ryul's fingers curled inside her again—that spot, right there—her hips jerking forward of their own volition. The marble groaned beneath her shifting weight, the cold surface slick with sweat where her thighs trembled against Ryul's hips. His thumb pressed harder against her clit, rough circles that burned through the last shreds of her resistance.
The penthouse lights flickered again—a brief, stuttering interruption—as Ryul’s fingers twisted deeper inside Sun-hee, his thumb relentless against her clit. The sound of skin against skin was obscenely loud in the silence, punctuated by Sun-hee’s ragged gasps and the occasional creak of the marble counter beneath her shifting weight. Her hands tried to push at his shoulders, her body betraying her with every arch of her hips into his touch. "You're—fuck—you're not playing fair," she managed, the words fracturing as his fingers crooked just right.
Sun-hee’s nails carved crescent moons into Ryul’s shoulders as his fingers dragged out of her—slow, torturous—leaving her clenching around nothing. The sudden emptiness punched a whimper from her throat, raw and unfiltered, and Ryul’s smirk curled against her collarbone like he’d won something. "Tell me," he murmured, lips brushing the sweat-damp skin above her breast. His free hand slid between them, fingers tracing the waistband of his jeans with deliberate slowness. "You want it like this? Bent over the counter like some cheap hookup?"
Sun-hee’s breath hitched at Ryul’s words, the crassness of them sending a jolt of heat straight to her core despite the flare of indignation that followed. Her fingers tightened in his hair, yanking his head back until their eyes met—his pupils blown wide, lips parted around ragged breaths. "Don’t—" Her voice cracked, throat dry from panting. "Don’t fucking talk to me like that."
He grabbed her hand and pinned them above her head as the other one firmly choked her— not too much, but enough to make her gasp. "I'll talk to you however the fuck I want," Ryul growled, his breath hot against her ear. "Especially when you're this wet for it." His fingers dug into her wrists, the pressure just shy of painful, and Sun-hee's hips jerked instinctively, seeking friction against the rough denim still separating them.
Sun-hee’s gasp fractured into a choked moan as Ryul’s grip tightened around her throat—just enough pressure to make stars dance at the edges of her vision, her pulse hammering against his palm like a trapped bird. The counter’s edge bit into the small of her back, a sharp counterpoint to the searing heat of his body pressed against hers, his erection grinding against her through the rough fabric of his jeans. "Bastard," she managed, the word more breath than sound, but Ryul only chuckled darkly, his teeth scraping the shell of her ear.
The chokehold loosened just enough for Sun-hee to drag in a ragged breath—right as Ryul’s teeth sank into her shoulder, blunt and bruising. Her gasp dissolved into a moan when his free hand shoved her thighs wider, the denim seam of his jeans grinding against her bare clit with a roughness that made her spine bow off the counter. "You’re fucking *dripping*," he muttered against her skin, the words vibrating through her like a live wire. His thumb swiped through the mess between her thighs, dragging it up to circle her clit in slow, filthy strokes. "Even now—still pretending you hate this? I know you want my dick, baby."
Sun-hee's breath came in sharp, staccato bursts as Ryul's fingers pressed harder between her thighs—his thumb circling her clit with a merciless precision that had her toes curling against the cold marble. The chokehold loosened further, his palm sliding up to cradle her jaw instead, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark with something predatory, his lips parted around uneven breaths. "Say it again," he murmured, his voice rough as gravel. "Tell me you want my dick inside you."
Sun-hee's pulse stuttered under Ryul's grip—his fingers pressing just enough to remind her how easily he could tighten them again. The penthouse air clung to her skin, humid with their mingled sweat and the lingering bite of whiskey on his breath. "I—" Her voice cracked, swallowed by the obscene sound of his thumb dragging through her slickness again.
Sun-hee's protest died in her throat as Ryul's thumb pressed harder against her clit, the rough circlets sending sparks up her spine. "I want it, please give it to me," she gasped, the words ripped from her like a confession. The moment they left her lips, Ryul's grip on her jaw tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to make her pulse jump under his fingers. His smirk was a slow, dangerous thing, curling at the edges like he'd been waiting years to hear her say exactly that.
The countertop rattled as Ryul surged forward, his teeth sinking into Sun-hee’s lower lip hard enough to draw another gasp. His free hand yanked at his jeans, pulling them all the way off this time, the rough denim scraping her inner thighs as he kicked them aside. The sudden press of his bare skin against hers was electric—hot, urgent, undeniable—and Sun-hee’s legs locked around his hips instinctively, her heels digging into the small of his back.
The penthouse lights flickered—once, twice—as Ryul dragged Sun-hee’s hips to the very edge of the counter, the marble biting into her thighs hard enough to leave marks. His hands were everywhere at once, rough and impatient, shoving her shirt up past her ribs until the cold air prickled her overheated skin.
He lined up his dick with her entrance and pushed in—slow, deliberate, the stretch burning in a way that made Sun-hee's nails carve fresh crescents into his shoulders. Her gasp was lost against Ryul's mouth, swallowed by the bruising press of his lips as he bottomed out, hips flush against hers. The marble groaned beneath them, slick with sweat where her thighs trembled against his hips. "Fuck," Ryul muttered against her throat, the word ragged with restraint. "Still so tight—like you fucking missed me."
Sun-hee’s breath fractured against Ryul’s collarbone as he pulled out—slow, torturous—only to thrust back in with a roughness that knocked the air from her lungs. The counter’s edge dug into her thighs, the pain sharp and grounding beneath the overwhelming heat of him moving inside her. His fingers tightened around her hips, bruising in their grip, and she could feel the way his muscles trembled with restraint—like he was fighting the urge to fuck her into the marble. "Look at me," he growled, his voice ragged at the edges, and when she didn’t immediately obey, his hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back until their eyes locked.
Sun-hee’s vision blurred as Ryul’s grip in her hair tightened—just shy of painful—forcing her to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown wide, dark with something feral, his breath hot and uneven against her parted lips. The stretch of him inside her burned, deliciously unbearable, every ragged thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure up her spine. "You feel that?" he murmured, his voice rough as gravel, hips rolling in a slow, deliberate circle that made her toes curl against the marble. "How fucking perfect you take me?"
Sun-hee's thighs trembled around Ryul's hips, her body arching into each thrust as the counter's edge dug deeper into her skin—sharp enough to leave marks, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The penthouse air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the only sound their ragged breathing and the slick slap of skin against skin. Ryul’s fingers tightened in her hair, tilting her head back further until her throat was bared to his teeth, his lips dragging wet, open-mouthed kisses along her pulse. "Say it again," he demanded, voice fraying at the edges as his hips snapped forward, driving her higher up the counter. "Tell me who you belong to."
Sun-hee’s gasp splintered into a moan as Ryul’s thrusts turned punishing, the counter’s edge rattling beneath them with each snap of his hips. His grip in her hair tightened—just enough to make her scalp sting—forcing her to hold his gaze as he fucked her with relentless precision. The words tangled in her throat, caught between pride and the undeniable pleasure coiling tighter with every drag of his cock inside her.
The marble counter shuddered beneath them with each sharp thrust, Ryul’s hips driving forward with a rhythm that left Sun-hee’s thoughts scattered. His fingers tightened in her hair, tipping her head back further until her throat arched, exposed and vulnerable. "You daddy, god ryul—" The words spilled out unbidden, fractured by a gasp as his teeth scraped her pulse point.
The moment the words left Sun-hee’s lips, Ryul’s rhythm stuttered—just once—before his grip on her hair tightened, dragging her head back until her throat strained taut beneath his lips. His exhale was ragged against her damp skin, teeth scraping the delicate column of her neck as his hips snapped forward with renewed urgency. “Say it again,” he demanded, voice thick with something darker than triumph. The counter’s edge groaned beneath them as he fucked her harder, deeper, each thrust punctuated by the slick slap of skin against skin. “Louder.”
She let out a loud moan as he thrusted deep into her, the sound echoing off the penthouse walls—raw, unfiltered, dripping with the kind of desperation she'd spent months pretending she didn't feel. Ryul's lips curled against her throat, his breath scalding as he murmured, "That's it, princess. Let the whole fucking building hear you." His teeth grazed her pulse point, sharp enough to make her hips jerk, and Sun-hee's fingers scrabbled against the marble, her nails leaving faint white streaks in their wake.
The counter's edge dug deeper into Sun-hee's thighs with every snap of Ryul's hips, the pain a bright counterpoint to the pleasure coiling tighter in her stomach. His fingers flexed against her scalp, tugging her head back further until her throat arched taut beneath his lips—exposed, vulnerable. "Louder," he repeated, voice rough as gravel, teeth scraping her pulse point in silent threat.
She let out another loud moan, her head tilted back in pleasure, Ryul's name torn from her lips like a prayer as his thrusts turned erratic, his control fraying at the edges. The penthouse air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the only sound their ragged breathing and the obscene slickness of skin against skin. Sun-hee's nails scraped uselessly against the marble, her thighs trembling around Ryul's waist as he fucked her with a desperation that matched her own.
Ryul's fingers tightened in her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze—his pupils blown wide, lips parted around uneven breaths. The look in his eyes was feral, possessive, something dangerously close to reverence as he murmured, "Look at you." His thumb brushed her lower lip, smearing the remnants of her ruined lipstick. "Fucking ruined for me."
Sun-hee felt her orgasm start to brew low in her stomach—inevitable, undeniable—as Ryul’s thrusts lost their rhythm, turning jagged and desperate. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, blunt nails leaving crescent-shaped indents she knew would bruise by morning. The marble beneath her was slick with sweat, her thighs trembling where they locked around his waist, holding him close as if she could fuse them through sheer willpower alone.
"Oh fuck Ryul i'm about to—"
Sun-hee's warning dissolved into a broken gasp as Ryul's thrusts turned punishing—hard, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her until her vision blurred at the edges. His fingers tightened in her hair, forcing her to hold his gaze as her thighs clamped around his hips like a vice. "I know," he gritted out, his voice ragged with restraint. His thumb swiped roughly over her clit, the friction bordering on painful, and Sun-hee's back arched off the counter with a shattered cry.
Sun-hee's orgasm tore through her like a live wire—her back bowing off the marble counter as Ryul's fingers dug into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. The sound that ripped from her throat was raw, unfiltered, echoing off the penthouse walls as pleasure seared through her veins in white-hot waves. Ryul's name splintered from her lips like a curse and a prayer tangled together, her thighs clamping around his waist as if she could fuse them through sheer desperation alone.
Sun-hee’s nails carved fresh crescents into Ryul’s shoulders as her orgasm crashed over her—wave after wave of pleasure burning through her nerves, turning her muscles to liquid heat. The counter rattled beneath them, slick with sweat where her thighs trembled around his hips, her gasps muffled against the sweat-damp fabric of his hoodie. Ryul’s grip tightened in her hair, forcing her head back further until their eyes locked—his pupils blown wide, lips parted around ragged breaths. The look in his eyes was something feral, possessive, his smirk curling at the edges as he murmured, “Fuck, look at you.” His thumb swiped over her parted lips, smearing the remnants of her ruined lipstick. “Taking me so fucking good.”
She was so fucked out she couldn't take any of it; her legs went limp as she still had aftershocks running through her body. Ryul was still inside her, his hips flush against hers, his fingers tangled in her hair. Sun-hee's breath came in ragged bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to regain some semblance of control. But Ryul wasn't done—his grip tightened, his lips brushing her ear in a way that sent a fresh shiver down her spine. "You think that's it?" he murmured, voice rough with amusement. "You think I'm done with you? No baby im going to cum all over you."
Sun-hee’s thighs trembled around Ryul’s hips, still clenching around him in the aftershocks of her orgasm, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The marble counter was slick beneath her, her skin sticky with sweat, and her fingers clung to his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping her from dissolving entirely. Ryul’s laughter was a low, rough vibration against her throat as his fingers traced the damp curve of her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Still so fucking pretty when you’re ruined." His thumb brushed over her lower lip, smearing what was left of her lipstick, and Sun-hee’s breath hitched at the possessive gleam in his eyes.
Ryul's fingers dug into Sun-hee's hips like he meant to leave permanent imprints in her skin, his thrusts turning erratic as his control finally shattered. The counter groaned beneath them—marble slick with sweat, edges biting into her thighs—and Sun-hee barely registered the sting over the overwhelming heat of him inside her, every ragged snap of his hips dragging a whimper from her swollen lips. His breath came in sharp bursts against her throat, teeth grazing her pulse point in a way that made her toes curl, "Shit, baby."
Sun-hee barely had the breath to gasp before Ryul’s hips stuttered against hers—his rhythm fracturing into something jagged, desperate. His fingers dug into her thighs hard enough to leave bruises, his groan ragged against her throat as he pulled out at the last possible second. The first hot stripe of cum landed across her stomach, searing against her oversensitive skin, and Sun-hee’s back arched off the counter with a startled whimper. Ryul’s breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as he painted her with the rest—thick and messy, streaking up her ribs, catching the underside of her breasts. His thumb swiped through the mess deliberately, smearing it over her flushed skin with a possessiveness that made her pulse jump.
Sun-hee's chest heaved as Ryul's thumb dragged through the mess on her stomach, the touch impossibly hot against her cooling skin. She watched, dazed, as he brought his fingers to her mouth, pressing them against her parted lips with a silent command. The taste was sharp, salty, musky, and something undeniably him, and she shuddered as her tongue swiped over his fingertips without thinking. Ryul's exhale was ragged, his fingers tightening against her jaw as he murmured, "Fuck, look at you." His thumb traced her lower lip, smearing the last remnants of his release. "Still so greedy."
Sun-hee’s fingers trembled where they gripped Ryul’s wrist, her lips still parted around his thumb—warm, slick, tasting of salt and him. The penthouse air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the marble counter beneath her cooling against her overheated skin. Ryul’s smirk was lazy now, satiated, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her jawline as if memorizing the shape of her surrender.
"You’re fucking wrecked," he murmured, voice rough with amusement, dragging his palm down the column of her throat to where his cum still glistened on her collarbone. His touch was proprietary, possessive, like he was cataloging every mark he’d left on her. Sun-hee shivered when his fingers dipped lower, skimming the curve of her breast, sticky with sweat and his release. "Look at this mess," he tutted, though the dark satisfaction in his eyes betrayed him. "My mess."
Sun-hee’s breath hitched when Ryul leaned down, his tongue swiping a hot, deliberate stripe up her sternum, cleaning his own spend from her skin with a thoroughness that made her toes curl. The counter dug into her back as she arched into the contact, her body betraying her again, still thrumming with oversensitivity. "Stop—" she gasped, though her hands fisted in his hair instead of pushing him away.
"I can't take anymore im tired ryul," She whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper as her body trembled with oversensitivity. Ryul chuckled lowly against her collarbone, his lips brushing the damp skin there with surprising tenderness considering how rough he'd been moments before. "I know, princess," he murmured, the endearment softer now, less teasing. His hands—the same ones that had pinned her wrists above her head and left bruises on her hips—slid beneath her trembling thighs with unexpected gentleness, lifting her effortlessly off the marble counter. Sun-hee's legs wobbled as her feet touched the floor, her knees buckling instantly, but Ryul caught her with an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.
Sun-hee's knees buckled the moment her feet touched the floor, her legs still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Ryul's arm tightened around her waist instantly, pulling her flush against his chest—his heartbeat thudding rapid-fire against her ear, his skin slick with sweat where her cheek pressed against his collarbone. The penthouse air was thick with the scent of sex and whiskey, the counter behind her still warm from their frantic coupling.
Heledd her to the bathroom with slow steps, his palm pressed firm against the small of her back—steadying, grounding. The penthouse tiles were cool beneath Sun-hee’s bare feet, a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from Ryul’s skin where their bodies brushed. She swayed once, her knees still unsteady, and his grip tightened instantly—his fingers splaying possessively across her hipbone. "Easy," he murmured, the word rough but softer now, stripped of its earlier bite. The shower hissed to life before she realized he’d reached past her to turn the faucet, steam curling around their legs like fog.
The steam curled around them like a second skin. Ryul knew her house better than she did—his fingers adjusting the shower’s temperature without hesitation before guiding her under the spray. Sun-hee flinched at the initial heat, her oversensitive skin prickling, but Ryul’s palm smoothed down her spine in a slow, grounding stroke. "Breathe," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear as the water sluiced the sweat and cum from their bodies. His touch was unexpectedly methodical now—rinsing her hair with fingers tangled gently in the strands, wiping the smudged mascara from beneath her eyes with his thumb—as if the same hands that had pinned her wrists and left bruises were now determined to erase every trace of their earlier roughness.
"Why didn't you just leave after?"
Ryul’s fingers paused where they were tracing idle patterns down Sun-hee’s water-slicked spine, the steam between them thickening with the weight of her question. His exhale was a slow, deliberate thing against her temple, his lips brushing the damp strands of hair clinging to her skin. "You really asking me that?" he murmured, voice roughened by exhaustion and something darker, quieter. His palm flattened against the small of her back, pressing her closer under the spray until the heat of his chest seared through the water’s sting.
The shower tiles were cold against Sun-hee’s forehead when she leaned into them, the water sluicing down her back in hot rivulets that did nothing to ease the tremors still coursing through her limbs. Ryul’s hands moved over her with a precision that bordered on clinical—soaping the hollows of her elbows, rinsing the sweat from the nape of her neck—but his fingers lingered at the bruises forming on her hips, thumbing the marks with a possessiveness that made her breath hitch.
Sun-hee's breath fogged the shower tiles as Ryul's hands slid up her sides—slow now, almost reverent, mapping every dip and curve like he was committing her to memory. The water had cooled slightly, easing the sting on her oversensitive skin, but his touch still burned wherever it lingered. "You know why," he murmured at last, his voice low beneath the rush of the shower. His lips brushed the knob of her spine, damp hair tickling her shoulder as he pressed closer. "You know."
The water pressure stuttered—once, twice—as Ryul’s fingers tightened on Sun-hee’s hips, his grip possessive even now. Steam curled around them in thick tendrils, obscuring the fresh bruises blooming along her collarbone where his teeth had been moments earlier. His exhale was a hot brand against the nape of her neck, lips brushing the damp strands clinging to her skin. "Turn around," he murmured, voice roughened by exhaustion and something darker, quieter.
Sun-hee's fingers dug into the wet tile as she turned under Ryul's hands—her reflection fractured by the steam-streaked glass, lips still swollen from his teeth, collarbone mottled with fresh bruises. The water sluiced between them in silver sheets, blurring the hard lines of his shoulders where she'd clawed at him earlier. His palms settled heavy on her hips, thumbs brushing the faint crescents left by his belt buckle, and something low in her stomach twisted when his gaze darkened at the sight.
"I know we're supposed to be rivals," Sun-hee whispered against the steam, her voice cracking as Ryul's thumbs pressed into the bruises circling her hips. The water had cooled to a tolerable heat now, but his touch still burned—a paradox of gentleness and possession that made her knees weak. "But its something about you that keeps pulling me back."
He looked at her softly—ridiculously soft for someone who'd had her pinned against marble and choking on his name minutes earlier. Steam curled between them as Ryul reached out, fingertips brushing a damp strand of hair from Sun-hee's forehead with a tenderness that contradicted every bruise blooming beneath the shower's spray. "Yeah?" His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet now, thumbs tracing the marks he'd left on her hips like he was proud of them. "What's that something, princess?"
Sun-hee's breath caught when Ryul's fingers brushed the tender skin beneath her ribs—too light, too careful for the boy who'd fucked her raw against the counter. The water turned his lashes dark, his gaze sharper than the tiles digging into her back, and for a dizzying moment, she wondered if he could hear how loud her pulse was over the shower's drumbeat.
Youu see me," Sun-hee whispered, the admission slipping out before she could catch it. The words hung between them, fragile as the steam curling off their skin. Ryul went still—his fingers frozen against the bruise blooming beneath her collarbone, his breath hot and uneven against her temple. The water sluiced over his shoulders in rivulets, tracing the paths her nails had carved earlier, and for a heartbeat, the only sound was the shower's relentless pulse.
Ryul’s eyes didn’t flicker. He didn't offer a smirk or a clever comeback to mask the vulnerability she’d just shoved into the small, humid space between them. Instead, he let his hand slide from her collarbone to the side of her face, his thumb catching a bead of water at the corner of her mouth.
"I see the parts you don’t let the cameras catch," he said, his voice dropping to a register that felt like it was vibrating inside her own chest. "The way you clench your jaw when the stylists pull your hair too tight. The way you look at the stage like it’s a cage you built yourself."
He stepped closer, closing the final inch of distance until their wet skin made a soft, sticky sound as they met. He wasn't just touching her now; he was grounding her. His other hand found the small of her back, pulling her flush against his heat, forcing her to feel the frantic, heavy thud of his heart against her own.
"You're not a project to me, Sun-hee. You’re not a rival. You’re the only person in this industry who makes me feel like I’m not just a product on a shelf." He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as the water hammered down on them both. "I didn't leave because I don't want to go back to being a stranger to you. I can't."
Sun-hee let out a shaky breath, her forehead sliding against his. "They'll find out, Ryul. Eventually, someone will see. The way you look at me during award shows... It’s not subtle."
"Then let them look," he muttered, his lips ghosting over hers—not with the hunger of the counter, but with a desperate, quiet promise. "Let them speculate. As long as I get to be the one who sees you like this—without the lights, without the script—they can say whatever they want."
He tilted her head back, his gaze searching hers one last time before he pulled her back under the spray. The water washed away the soap and the sweat, but it couldn't wash away the marks he’d left or the words she’d finally admitted. In the silence of the steam-filled bathroom, the "Ice Princess" had finally melted, and the boy who was supposed to be her competition was the only one there to catch the pieces.
"Stay," she whispered, the word lost in the rush of the water.
"Always," he promised, and this time, he meant it far beyond the limits of the night.
