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A Queen and her Knight

"Are you planning on going clubbing dressed like this, Mum?" my son questioned me, leaning casually against the doorframe of my bedroom. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his school trousers, looking at me with those serene, intelligent blue eyes that always made my heart flutter. It was criminal how handsome he was turning out to be, a perfect blend of youthful innocence and a growing masculinity that I had been privy to in ways a mother never should be.

I turned to face the mirror, smoothing my hands over the tight sequined mini-dress that clung to my curves like a second skin. The fabric was scandalously short, barely covering the tops of my thighs, and the neckline plunged deep, offering a generous view of my ample cleavage. I knew I looked good. The dress hugged my waist and flared slightly over my hips, accentuating the long legs that I knew drove him crazy.

"Do you think it's too much, love?" I asked, flashing him a bright, bubbly smile that I hoped would distract him from the sheer amount of skin on display. I watched his gaze drop, trailing slowly down my body, taking in the sheer black stockings that led down to my high heels.

"Not at all," he replied, his voice keeping that tranquil, composed cadence, so at odds with the heat radiating between us. "You look beautiful, as always. But if you go out looking like that, you’ll have to fight them off with a stick."

A warm, pleasant hum buzzed in my chest at the compliment. I loved how he looked at me—not just as a mother, but as a woman he desired. It was a dangerous, addictive thrill. I turned away from the mirror and sauntered towards him, my heels clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. The air in the room felt thick, charged with that familiar, electric tension that always seemed to spark when we were alone.

"They can look all they want," I murmured, stopping just inches from him. I reached out, flattening my palm against his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart. "But they can't touch. Only you get to touch, don't you, sweetheart?"

He closed the gap between us; his arms circled my waist, pulling me against him. His face was so close to mine. I felt his breath on my neck, and it made me shiver. He kissed my neck; his lips were soft and gentle. I moaned softly and arched my back, pressing my body closer to his. I ran my fingers through his brown hair, pulling him closer to me. His hands moved down to my bum, squeezing firmly. I loved how confident he was becoming, how he took what he wanted from me.

"Only me," he whispered against my skin, his voice vibrating through me.

I couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up, mixed with a desperate gasp as his teeth grazed my collarbone. It was absurd, really. I was supposed to be heading out to Roppongi to dance and drink, to lose myself in the thumping bass and coloured lights, yet here I was, melting in the arms of a fifteen-year-old boy who was rapidly becoming the only thing that could satisfy the insatiable hunger inside me.

"Are there any chances for you to remain here or for me to come with you as your knight?" He asked, his voice muffled slightly against my skin, the vibrations of his words sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in my abdomen.

I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, my hands resting on his shoulders. "My knight? Are you planning to fight off all the bad men with a sword, then?" I teased, though the idea was tempting. The thought of having him by my side, his possessive eyes on me all night while I danced, made my thighs clench together. "If you promise not to make a scene if someone tries to flirt with me... I want you to be there with me to have fun, not to be my guardian."

My sweet boy nodded. I instructed him on what to wear, forcing him to put on something a bit more sophisticated than his usual school attire. It felt delightfully sinful, dressing him up like my own personal doll, preparing him for a night where the lines between mother and lover would be blurred amidst the neon lights of Tokyo.

The taxi ride into Roppongi was a blur of passing streetlights and the electric anticipation humming beneath my skin. My hand rested on his thigh the entire way, my fingers tracing teasing circles higher and higher, relishing the way his breathing hitched. He stayed calm, outwardly tranquil, but I could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the predator waiting to be unleashed.

When we finally stepped out of the cab, the city assaulted our senses in a dizzying wave of sound and colour. The bass from the nearby clubs was a physical thump in my chest, vibrating through the soles of my high heels. I took his arm, pressing my body against his, revelling in the possessive glances he shot at anyone who dared to look my way. We walked past the queues, the bouncer recognising me and ushering us inside with a knowing grin.

The club was a sensory overload, a swirling vortex of neon lasers, pounding bass, and the sweet, musky scent of expensive perfume and desire. I held onto his arm tightly as we navigated the throng of bodies, feeling like the queen of the night with her handsome young prince. The heat was palpable, but nothing compared to the fire burning in my blood as I felt his protective presence beside me.

We made our way towards the VIP section, a raised platform swathed in velvet ropes and bathed in purple light. There, waving enthusiastically amidst the bottles of champagne and ice buckets, were my girls. Mina, with her feline eyes and mischievous smirk; Nayeon, glowing with that bunny-like charm; and Tzuyu, tall and elegant, looking like a runway model who had wandered in for a drink.

"Sana! Over here!" Nayeon shrieked over the music, her eyes widening as she took in my entourage. I dragged him over to the plush, crescent-shaped booth, watching their faces drop in varying degrees of shock and appreciation as they got a good look at him. He stood there, calm and composed, looking utterly delectable in the dark button-down I’d picked out for him. It was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of the smooth skin beneath, the shirt tucked neatly into his trousers.

The booth, however, presented a minor logistical dilemma. It was designed for four, perhaps five people at a squeeze, but there were four of us, and the table was cluttered with buckets of Moët and assorted cocktails.

"Oh, bother", I pouted playfully, looking around the tight space. "It seems we're a seat short, aren't we?"

Tzuyu, ever the graceful one, started to shift towards the edge to make room, but I was already moving. I wasn't about to let my knight sit on the hard cushion outside the circle, nor did I want him pressed up against Nayeon, no matter how much I adored her.

With a mischievous glint in my eye, I turned to my son, patting my thigh invitingly. "I suppose you’ll just have to be my chair for the night, sweetheart. Unless you object to having the best view in the house?"

He didn’t miss a beat. He settled onto the plush leather seat, his legs spread slightly in that inherently masculine way, and looked up at me with a raised brow. "I think I can manage that," he murmured, his voice steady, though I caught the subtle darkening of his pupils.

I didn't hesitate. I gathered the hem of my short dress and turned, sinking onto his lap. The sensation was immediate and electric. I felt the firm muscles of his thighs beneath my bottom, and as I wiggled to get comfortable, I couldn't ignore the distinct, hardening length pressing against my backside. A flush of heat shot through me, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. Being this full and heavy against him, in public, of all places, was a wicked thrill.

His arms instinctively wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest, grounding me amidst the dizzying atmosphere of the club. I settled back against him, revelling in the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. It was a possessive hold, one that silently claimed ownership, and I felt a heady rush of adrenaline knowing that my friends were watching every second of it.

"Well, hello there," Mina purred, leaning her elbows on the table to get a better look. Her dark, feline eyes roamed over his face with undisguised interest, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Sana, you really didn't do this handsome young man justice in your stories. He’s absolutely gorgeous."

I felt a sharp pang of jealousy in my chest, primal and fierce, but I suppressed it with a bright, bubbly laugh. I leant back, resting my head on his shoulder, and tilted my chin up to look at him. "Isn't he, though? I told you he was special. But try to control yourselves, ladies. He’s a bit shy."

"He doesn't look very shy to me," Tzuyu countered, her voice cool and sultry as she took a slow sip from her flute of champagne. Her gaze was heavy, lingering a little too long on the way his hands rested possessively on my hips, his thumb tracing idle circles against the bone. "In fact, he looks like he knows exactly what he's doing. Those eyes... they aren't innocent at all."

I felt him stiffen slightly behind me—not in fear, but in recognition. It was the hunter acknowledging he was being watched. He didn't flinch under Tzuyu's scrutiny; instead, he met her gaze evenly, that tranquil mask firmly in place, though I could feel the rapid thrum of his heart beating against my spine.

"He’s just composed," I corrected them, waving a hand dismissively, though my pulse quickened at their praise. I reached for the bucket, grabbing a bottle of Moët. "Don't scare him off, you lot. He’s used to quiet nights at home, not..." I gestured vaguely at the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor below, "this chaotic madness."

"He is far too composed for a boy his age," Nayeon chimed in, her bunny-like teeth flashing as she grinned. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his arm—a touch that lingered a second too long for my liking. "Usually, boys are tripping over their own tongues around us. You seem... unbothered, young man."

I felt the muscles in his jaw tighten against my shoulder, a subtle shift that only I would notice. He didn't pull away, but his hand on my hip gave a firm, reassuring squeeze, silently reminding me—and perhaps her—that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

"I prefer to observe," he replied smoothly, his voice cutting through the thumping bass with an ease that surprised me. He lifted his glass of champagne, his blue eyes locking with Nayeon's over the rim. "And right now, the view is quite extraordinary."

Nayeon’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink at his smooth retort, and she let out a surprised, delighted laugh, pulling her hand back as if she’d been burned. "Oh, he’s got a tongue on him, too! Sana, where on earth did you find this one? You’ve been hiding a diamond in the rough."

"I told you he was full of surprises," I preened, swirling the golden liquid in my glass. The possessive pride swelling in my chest was intoxicating. Seeing my friends—women who were used to men fawning over them—rendered slightly flustered by my son’s quiet confidence was a massive ego boost. I shifted my weight on his lap, grinding down slightly, and felt his breath hitch imperceptibly against my ear. I knew exactly what I was doing to him. The friction, the heat, the public nature of our seating arrangement—it was all calculated to drive him mad, and I could feel the rigid proof of it beneath my thigh.

"I like him," Mina decided, her dark eyes narrowing speculatively. She poured a fresh glass of champagne and slid it across the table towards him. "He’s got a presence. It’s... intense. You don’t see that in boys his age. Usually, it’s all pent-up aggression and awkwardness. He’s calm. Controlled."

I watched him take the glass with that same steady hand, offering Mina a nod of gratitude that was polite yet kept a distinct air of detachment. "Thank you", he said, his voice low and smooth, managing to make a simple pleasantry sound like a command. "It is... interesting to meet the women Sana speaks of so often."

"Speaks of us?" Tzuyu arched a perfectly sculpted brow, setting her glass down with a deliberate clink. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze locking onto his with predatory curiosity. "I wonder what exactly she says. Do tell!"

He took a slow sip of the champagne, his eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s. "Only that you are beautiful, lively, and... intense", he replied, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. The playfulness in his tone was so subtle; if I didn't know him so well—if I didn't feel the way his fingers were gripping my hip possessively—I might have missed it.

"Intense?" Tzuyu repeated the word rolling off her tongue like dark chocolate. She seemed to taste the subtext there, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. Though I have a feeling you're the one who enjoys a bit of intensity, aren't you?"

I felt the vibration of his low chuckle against my back before I heard it. It was a rich, surprisingly deep sound for a boy of fifteen, and it sent a shiver of delight straight down my spine. "I suppose you could say I appreciate focus," he answered smoothly, his hand idly stroking the silk of my dress just above my hip.

"Oh, I bet you do," Mina chimed in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that she didn't bother to hide. She leaned in closer, invading our personal space just enough to be daring. "So, tell us, handsome. Does Sana boss you around at home, or are you the one in charge there? You seem very... obedient."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, I felt the hand resting on my hip glide slowly downwards, his fingers splaying wide over the curve of my thigh, pulling me tighter against him until there was absolutely no space left between us. The movement was subtle, hidden beneath the table and the shadows of the VIP booth, but the message was clear. He was staking his claim, right in front of them.

"I think you’ll find," he said, his voice dropping an octave, silencing Mina’s playful teasing instantly, "that we have a very equal partnership. Isn't that right, Sana?"

I looked down at him, my breath catching in my throat at the dark, predatory look in his blue eyes. He wasn't the shy, tranquil boy I had dressed up an hour ago; he was something else entirely now—something dangerous and thrillingly possessive.

"Equal?" Mina repeated, her feline eyes narrowing as she picked up on the shift in the air. She tapped a manicured nail against her glass, a knowing smirk curling her lips. "Is that what we're calling it? It looked an awful lot like you were taking orders back at the door, sweetheart."

"He lets me think I'm in charge," I interjected quickly, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. I took a hasty sip of my champagne to hide the flush rising in my cheeks, the bubbles doing little to quell the heat pooling in my stomach. I shifted on his lap again, trying to find a position that didn't press his hardened length so directly against my bottom, but it was a futile effort. He was rock hard, and he wanted me to know it.

"He's very good at that," Tzuyu observed, her gaze still fixed on him with an intensity that usually made lesser men wither. She swirled her drink, the ice clinking softly. "Listening, observing. But smart boys know when to stay quiet and when to... speak up."

Nayeon let out a loud, unladylike snort, breaking the heavy tension that had settled over the table. She reached for the bottle of vodka, topping up her glass with a generous pour. "Oh, don't mind Tzuyu," she said, waving a dismissive hand in our direction. "She’s just salty because she hasn't found a man who can keep up with her yet. You're doing alright, kid. As long as you can keep Sana smiling, you're good in my books."

"I second that", Mina purred, her gaze softening as she took a long sip of her drink, though her eyes continued to flicker between us, clearly enjoying the show. "There is something very... alluring about a young man who knows his place. Or yours," she added with a wicked grin.

I felt the tension in his jaw ease slightly against my shoulder, the predator receding just enough to let the tranquil mask slip back into place. He was incredibly adaptable, shifting seamlessly from the dominant lover to the polite, composed son whenever the situation required. It made my head spin.

"Would you girls mind a question?" He asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the thumping bass and the steady hum of conversation.

"Anything for you, handsome," Nayeon replied instantly, leaning forward with a playful glint in her eyes, clearly enjoying the attention.

He didn't look at her, though. His gaze remained fixed on the dance floor below, watching the writhing mass of bodies with a detached, analytical interest, even as his hand continued to stroke my hip, his thumb rubbing slow, maddening circles against my skin. "Sana mentions she often comes here to... let loose. Does she attract a lot of attention when she's alone?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication, before the girls erupted into a chorus of laughter. It was a bright, musical sound, but underneath it, I could sense the shift in atmosphere as they exchanged knowing glances.

"Attract attention?" Mina repeated, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. "Sweetheart, Sana doesn't just attract attention; she absorbs it. When she walks onto that floor, she becomes the centre of gravity."

"It's true", Nayeon added, leaning back and draping her arm over the booth behind her, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You have to beat them off with a stick. Men, women... they all want a piece of her. She’s a firecracker, that one. Always has been."

Tzuyu hummed in agreement, her gaze drifting from the chaotic dance floor back to us, her eyes lingering on the possessive grip he had on my waist. "She's right. Sana feeds off the energy. She loves being looked at, being wanted. But she rarely goes home with anyone. Usually, she just likes to tease and leave them wanting." Tzuyu’s eyes locked onto his, a challenge glittering in their depths. "She seems to have found a solution to that problem lately, hasn't she?"

I felt the muscles beneath me bunch and tighten, a subtle reminder of the power contained in that youthful, lean frame. He didn't rise to the bait, though. Instead, he took another slow sip of his champagne, his eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s.

"It's up to her to say it," he replied with a calm voice. "I can only grant you; she knows she can rely on me."

The table went quiet at that, the bass-heavy thrum of the club seeming to swell in the sudden silence. Tzuyu held his gaze for a long, lingering moment, her analytical expression cracking just enough to reveal a flash of genuine surprise. Then, a slow, appreciative smile spread across her face.

"Smart and dangerous", Tzuyu murmured, lifting her glass in a silent toast. "I like that. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?"

"I told you", I beamed, wiggling my hips again, unable to resist the urge to torment him just a little more. I felt the heavy ridge of his erection twitch beneath me, a silent response to my movement. "He’s perfect."

His hands moved down to my thighs; his touch was light like a feather. "Objectively", he stated. "You are all gorgeous women, and I cannot fathom why there is no one at your side."

Mina let out a soft, incredulous laugh, the sound like silk rubbing together. She tipped her head back, exposing the slender line of her throat as she looked up at the ceiling lights. "Oh, darling," she sighed, bringing her gaze back down to him with a heavy, hooded look. "It’s because we eat men like you for breakfast and spit them out before lunch. Finding someone who can handle us is... a full-time occupation."

"Especially when you have high standards," Nayeon added, though her eyes softened as she looked at him. She swirled the vodka in her glass, the ice clinking rhythmically. "Most boys are either terrified of us or trying to get into our knickers within five minutes. You don't seem to be doing either. It’s... refreshing."

"I have everything I need right here," he said simply, his voice vibrating through my back where I leaned against him. The hand on my thigh gave a gentle squeeze, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just above the lace of my stockings. The friction was maddening, a slow burn that was making it increasingly difficult to maintain the bubbly, carefree façade I usually wore around them.

"I'm sure you do," Mina purred, her gaze lingering on his hand where it disappeared under the hem of her dress. The dark, knowing look in her eyes suggested she suspected exactly what those fingers were up to beneath the table. "But surely you don't intend to keep Sana all to yourself every night? That’s rather greedy, isn't it?"

"He’s young, Mina," Nayeon teased, though there was a slight edge to her voice. She leaned closer, invading his space again, her perfume—a sweet, intoxicating mix of jasmine and vanilla—clouding my senses. "He’s in the prime of his youth. He should be out having fun, making mistakes, breaking hearts. Not playing the devoted husband."

I felt a ripple of unease pass through him, a subtle stiffening of his spine against my back. The tranquil mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of that protective, territorial instinct I admired so much. He didn't like the implication that he was missing out, or worse, that I was holding him back.

"He isn't missing out on anything," I said quickly, perhaps a bit too sharply, keen to defend my darling boy before his tranquil veneer could crack completely. I reached up, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, a soothing gesture meant to calm us both. "He’s exactly where he wants to be. Besides, who says he can't have fun with me? We have plenty of fun."

"Fun," Mina repeated, drawing the word out until it sounded positively filthy. She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his face. "I'm sure you do. But variety is the spice of life, isn't it, handsome? Surely your mother has told you about our... little traditions?"

The air in the booth seemed to thicken, charged with a sudden, heavy tension. I knew exactly what Mina was hinting at. Our nights out often ended in a blur of tangled limbs and shared partners, a hedonistic free-for-all that we had indulged in for years. But this was different. This was him. The very idea of sharing him, of watching Mina or Nayeon run their hands over the body that was currently pressed so intimately against mine, sparked a violent rush of jealousy that I wasn't entirely prepared for.

"Mina, calm down," Tzuyu interjected smoothly, though her eyes danced with wicked amusement as she watched the interplay. "You're going to scare the poor thing."

"Don't talk like you are not interested, Tzuyu," Mina retorted. "I saw you ogling him."

Tzuyu didn't deny it. Instead, she swirled the champagne in her glass, her eyes fixed on me with a predatory glint that made my skin prickle. "I'm just appreciating the view, darling. There's no harm in looking. Though I must admit," she paused, her gaze dropping to my lips, "I am curious to see if he tastes as good as he looks."

My son stiffened beneath me, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on my thigh. It wasn't fear; it was a territorial warning. "Hold your knickers, ladies," I told them. "Before even considering doing anything to him, you have to ask me. He is my son, and although I've never been greedy, I'm not exactly ready to share him. Especially when I know how good he is."

I felt his chest expand against my back as he took a deep breath, his tranquil mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of dark amusement. He didn't seem offended by their hunger; if anything, he appeared to view it as a scientific curiosity, like a specimen under a microscope that had just learnt it could bite back.

"Wouldn't be helpful to blow a bit of steam to dance?" He asked, his voice a smooth counterpoint to the rising tension at the table.

Tzuyu let out a low, appreciative hum, setting her glass down with a decisive click. "He’s got a point," she declared, standing up in one fluid, graceful motion. The hem of her slip dress rode up just enough to show miles of leg, but her eyes were fixed squarely on us. "Sitting here is all well and good, but the music is calling. I’d love to see how our young knight moves."

"I second that," Nayeon chimed, already wiggling out of the booth. She grabbed my hand, her grip firm and insistent. "Come on, Sana! Bring your boy and let's go show this floor how it's done."

I allowed Nayeon to pull me up, the sudden loss of contact making me feel oddly cold despite the stifling heat of the club. My son rose smoothly behind me, adjusting his cuffs with that infuriatingly calm demeanour, though his eyes burnt with a dark, possessive light as he glanced at the other women.

I saw him offering his hand to Mina and Tzuyu with that old-school, gentlemanly charm that seemed so incongruous with his youth, yet fit him perfectly. Mina accepted immediately, her eyes glinting with mischief, while Tzuyu simply smirked, placing her elegant fingers in her palm with an air of regal acceptance. Nayeon, ever the bundle of energy, was already dragging me towards the pulsing heart of the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with practised ease.

The transition from the plush, purple-hued sanctuary of the VIP booth to the main floor was jarring. Here, the air was thick with humidity and the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. The bass was no longer just a sound; it was a physical force, vibrating in my lungs and rattling my teeth. Strobe lights slashed through the darkness, illuminating the writhing mass of bodies in fragmented snapshots of ecstasy.

We found a small pocket of space amidst the chaos, and I immediately turned to him. The girls formed a loose circle around us, a protective yet predatory formation that isolated us from the rest of the club. Nayeon was the first to start moving, her body fluid and rhythmic, her arms raised high as she lost herself in the beat. Mina and Tzuyu followed suit, their movements more sultry, more calculated, designed to draw the eye.

"Well then, my knight," I shouted over the deafening roar of the bass, stepping into his personal space. "Show us what you've got. Don't leave me hanging!"

I didn't wait for a verbal response. I couldn't. The music was a frantic, electro-house beat that demanded movement, a primal rhythm that vibrated in my very marrow. I turned around, pressing my back against his chest, and began to move. I let my body take over, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate circles that I knew would drive him insane. My hands came up, tangling in my hair, arching my back to press my bottom firmly against the front of his trousers.

His response was immediate and electrifying. His hands, of course, settled firmly on my hips, gripping me with a confidence that made my knees weak. He didn't just stand there; he moved with me, matching the roll of my hips with a fluidity that contradicted his usual tranquil stillness. It was a dominant rhythm, a silent assertion that he was the one leading this dance, even if I was the one setting the pace.

I could feel every inch of him against my backside, hard and insistent, separated only by the thin layers of our clothes. The friction was maddening, a delicious tease that promised so much more. I leaned my head back against his shoulder, letting out a breathless laugh that was swallowed by the pounding music. I felt invincible, grinding against the most handsome man in the room, who just happened to be my son.

"Looks like our knight can move," Mina purred, appearing in front of us. She didn't stay at a distance; she closed the gap, moving with a feline grace that brought her body flush against mine. She placed her hands on my waist, her fingers brushing tantalisingly close to where his hands held me.

Mina’s presence was like a sudden wave of heat, her dark eyes locking onto mine with a mischievous glint as she pressed closer. The three of us were fused together in a rhythm that felt illicit and dangerously thrilling. My son didn't falter; if anything, his grip on my hips tightened, anchoring me against him while Mina invaded our space from the front. I was sandwiched between the two of them, caught in a crossfire of desire and tension that made my head spin.

"Having fun, knight?" Mina mouthed, her lips brushing against my ear, though her gaze was fixed pointedly over my shoulder at him. Her hands slid down to my waist, teasingly close to mine, her fingers tracing the sequins of my dress.

"He seems to be enjoying himself," I managed to gasp back, feeling the hard evidence of his enjoyment digging into my lower back. He was rolling his hips in time with the bass, a slow, dirty grind that mimicked exactly how he moved when we were alone in my bed.

"Careful, Mina," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, managing to cut through the relentless thud of the bass. His lips grazed the sensitive shell of my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the music. "You're playing a dangerous game getting this close."

Mina didn't so much as flinch. Instead, she threw her head back and laughed, a dark, sultry sound that seemed to resonate in her chest. She pressed even closer, her body flush against mine, trapping me between her softness and his overwhelming hardness. "I like danger," she mouthed back, her eyes flicking down to his hands on my hips before meeting his gaze again. "And I think you do too."

Before the tension could snap something vital inside me, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from the side, pulling me slightly away from the centre of our heated triangle. It was Nayeon, vibrating with an infectious, bubbly energy that cut through the heavy fog of lust.

"Come on, you two! Don't hog all the fun!" Nayeon shouted, her voice a bright bell against the deep thrum of the bass. She tugged me away with surprising strength, breaking the seal between my back and his chest. I stumbled slightly, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving me feeling bereft and dizzy, but Nayeon just laughed, spinning me around until I was facing her. "Let's show these kids how it's done, Sana!"

I threw my head back and laughed, the sound bubbling up from my chest, instantly swept up in her chaotic energy. We danced together, moving in sync like we had done a hundred times before, our bodies mirroring each other, hands roaming freely over each other's arms and waists. It was familiar and safe, a grounded anchor amidst the storm of illicit desire swirling in my head.

But I couldn't keep my eyes off him.

He stood there for a moment, a solitary pillar of calm amidst the chaotic sea of writhing bodies, his blue eyes tracking my every movement with an intensity that made my skin flush. He looked dangerous, a predator waiting patiently for his prey to return to the fold. But he wasn't alone for long.

Tzuyu, graceful and silent as a panther, slid into the space I had vacated. She didn't bounce or shimmy like Nayeon; she flowed, moving with a hypnotic, liquid grace that drew the eye instantly. She stopped right in front of him, close enough that I could see the challenging arch of her brow even from a few feet away.

I watched, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs that had nothing to do with the music, as she began to dance around him. It was a calculated seduction, a slow orbit designed to test his composure. She turned, pressing her back to his chest, mimicking the position I had just occupied, and rolled her hips in a slow, agonising grind.

A sharp, visceral pang of jealousy pierced through the haze of alcohol and bass, sharp enough to make me falter in my steps. Seeing another woman—any woman, let alone Tzuyu with her model-good looks and effortless grace—press her body against his felt like a violation. He was mine. The possessive instinct that roared to life inside me was terrifyingly primal, far beyond the protective maternal urges I was used to.

I was about to pull away from Nayeon, ready to march over there and stake my claim with my claws bared, when I saw how he reacted.

He matched her movement without crossing the line, a fluid, synchronised grind that was technically perfect yet emotionally detached. His hands rested lightly on Tzuyu’s hips, not with the hungry, proprietorial grip he used on me, but with the polite, distant restraint of a dance partner executing a choreography. He looked over her shoulder, his gaze instantly finding mine amidst the flashing lasers and swirling crowd. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk, a silent reassurance that shouted, 'I'm right here, Mum.' I’m only playing the game.

It was the look in his eyes that undid me—the calm, unwavering blue anchor that held me steady whilst the club threatened to spin out of control. He knew I was watching. He knew exactly what he was doing, stoking the fires of my jealousy just to prove a point: he could handle them, but he belonged to me.

"Earth to Sana!" Nayeon’s voice cut through my trance, accompanied by a playful shove to my shoulder. "You're staring like a lovesick puppy! If you keep looking at them like that, you might burn a hole in Tzuyu’s back."

I blinked, tearing my gaze away from the sight of Tzuyu grinding against my son, and forced a laugh that sounded slightly strangled even to my own ears. "Can you blame me?" I shot back at Nayeon, trying to regain my bubbly composure. "I have the hottest date on the floor. It’s only natural I want to keep my eyes on the prize."

Nayeon cackled, throwing her head back, her blonde hair whipping around her face. "Possessive, much? I like it. It’s fierce." She grabbed my hand, spinning me around again, but my body was resisting the momentum, yearning to be back where the heat was radiating from.

"I'm just saying, he’s quite the catch." Nayeon leaned in close, shouting over the beat. "Even if he is a bit... young for the usual crowd. He handles himself well."

The track transitioned from a frantic electro-house beat into something deeper, a sensual R&B remix that thrummed through the floorboards like a slow, steady heartbeat. The change in tempo was my cue. I peeled myself away from Nayeon, ignoring her playful pout of protest, and cut a path through the dancing crowd with single-minded determination.

I didn't walk; I stalked.

Tzuyu was still grinding against him, her movements fluid and hypnotic, but as I approached, she sensed the shift in the air. She turned her head, a knowing smirk plastered on her face, and stepped aside with the graciousness of a queen relinquishing her throne—though her eyes lingered on him with a hunger that made my blood boil.

I didn't hesitate. I stepped straight into the space she’d vacated, claiming my territory with a possessive determination that surprised even me. Pressing my back against his chest, I felt the immediate, hard contact of his body, solid and reassuring. The contrast between Tzuyu’s distant grace and the heated reality of him was stark.

"Missed me?" I purred, tilting my head back to look up at him, letting my body roll sensually to the slower, sultry rhythm of the new track.

His hands instantly found my hips, his fingers digging in with that familiar, hungry grip that had been absent when he danced with Tzuyu. "Immensely", he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "She dances well, but she doesn't feel like you."

I let out a breathless sigh, letting his words wash over me, soothing the jagged edges of my jealousy. "She certainly doesn't," I agreed, grinding my hips back against him with a deliberate, slow roll that left him in no doubt about who he belonged to. "And don't you forget it, knight."

He didn't reply with words, but the sharp intake of breath I heard against my neck and the way his hands flexed on my waist were answer enough. We moved together in the dim light, isolated in our own little bubble of lascivious intent while the club throbbed around us. The music was slower now, a heavy, sensual beat that allowed for bodies to press closer, for movements to become more suggestive, more intimate.

I was lost in the sensation of him—the hard planes of his chest against my spine, the thick ridge of his erection nestled against my bottom, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of our shared arousal. It was intoxicating, a heady cocktail that made me feel bold and invincible.

After a bunch of songs more, we all retreated to the booth, breathless and glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. The alcohol had flowed freely, and the girls were positively buzzing, a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter as we collapsed onto the plush leather. My son sat down first, looking remarkably unruffled save for the darkened intensity in his eyes, and I immediately reclaimed my place on his lap, draping my arm around his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"So", Nayeon drawled, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Are we doing this, or what? My place is empty, and I just bought a new bottle of gin that is screaming to be opened."

I stiffened slightly, the implication hanging heavy in the air. We often ended our nights at one of our apartments, continuing the party in more intimate surroundings. But tonight, I wasn't just with the girls. I felt the muscles beneath me tense in agreement; he had no intention of becoming a plaything for the group, no matter how much they seemed to covet him.

"I won't let you play with him," I replied. "But I am going to be merciful; you can watch."

The silence that descended over the booth was absolute. For a moment, even the relentless thumping of the bass seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the sheer weight of my declaration. The three of them stared at me, their expressions a frozen tableau of shock, quickly followed by a dawning, wicked comprehension.

"Watch?" Tzuyu repeated, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. She slowly placed her glass on the table, the movement deliberate and predatory. She leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of intrigue and lascivious hunger. "Do you mean...?"

"Exactly what I said," I confirmed, feeling the thrill of the forbidden course through my veins like liquid fire. I shifted slightly on his lap, relishing the way his hardness pulsed against me, a silent testament to his arousal at the prospect. "You want to see if the knight can match the fair maiden's stamina? You want to see if he's truly as good as I claim? Then you can sit back, sip your gin, and enjoy the show."

A collective shiver seemed to run through the group. Nayeon’s mouth fell open slightly before snapping shut with a click of her teeth, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated delight. Mina let out a low, appreciative hum, her gaze darkening as it bored into us, already undressing him in her mind. But it was Tzuyu’s reaction that satisfied me the most. She didn't look away; she leaned in, hungry and unblinking, accepting the challenge I had laid down.

"Bold", Tzuyu breathed, her voice barely audible over the music. "I didn't think you had it in you to share even a glimpse, Sana. But I accept. If I have to settle for watching, I intend to see everything."

Nayeon’s apartment was a sleek, modern expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows and white furniture, currently bathed in the soft, amber glow of the city lights below. The air was thick with anticipation and the sharp scent of gin as we filed in, the chaotic energy of the club having dissolved into a focused, predatory tension.

I felt my son’s hand resting firmly against the small of my back, a silent anchor in the storm. He was calm, exuding that tranquil aura that always made my heart race, but I knew him well enough to sense the coiled spring beneath his composed exterior. He was ready.

"Drinks first, I think," Nayeon announced, heading straight for the kitchen. She returned moments later with a crystal decanter and four tumblers, pouring generous measures with a shaky hand that betrayed her own excitement. "To the show," she toasted, her eyes glinting as she handed a glass to Tzuyu, then Mina.

Mina accepted hers with a languid grace, her eyes never leaving my son, who politely declined the alcohol with a soft "No, thank you. I prefer to keep a clear head for... performance."

"Smart boy," Tzuyu murmured, taking a slow sip of her drink before gesturing towards the expansive white rug in the centre of the living room. It lay before the floor-to-ceiling windows like a stage, the city lights of Tokyo sprawling out beneath it, a glittering backdrop for the depravity about to unfold. "The floor is yours. Don't disappoint us."

I felt a tremor of nervous excitement race down my spine, mixing with the champagne’s potent buzz. This was it. The ultimate exhibition. I was about to let my friends witness the most intimate, forbidden part of my life. I looked up at him, searching for any sign of hesitation, but found only that dark, bottomless ocean of blue staring back at me, filled with a quiet, burning intensity.

I took a deep breath, letting the alcohol fizz in my veins, giving me that extra push of courage I needed. I didn't wait for him to make the first move; the night had been about me taking what I wanted, and I wasn't about to stop now. I reached for the hem of my sequined dress and, with a fluid motion, pulled it up and over my head.

The air in the room was cool against my heated skin, but the looks from my friends were incinerating. I stood before them in nothing but my sheer black stockings, suspender belt, and a pair of lace panties that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I kicked the dress aside, hearing it rustle softly on the hardwood floor.

"Ready to see what all the fuss is about?" I asked, my voice breathless and high, pitching it to carry across the room.

The three of them didn't answer with words. Instead, they settled onto the long, white sectional sofa like queens awaiting a spectacle, their drinks held loosely in their hands but their eyes fixed unblinkingly on me. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on, a heady mix of voyeuristic curiosity and raw lust.

My son, ever the composed actor in my play, stepped forward. He didn't look at them; his attention was entirely focused on me, stripping away the audience until it felt as though we were the only two people in Tokyo. He reached out, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my waist, sending a jolt of electricity through my system.

"You are breathtaking," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant solely for my ears despite the acoustics of the room.

He didn't wait for a response, nor did he give me time to succumb to the sudden rush of bashfulness that threatened to colour my cheeks. With a gentle but insistent pressure on my shoulders, he guided me down onto the plush white rug. The fibres were soft against my knees, a stark contrast to the hard floor of the club, and the sensation of being centred in the room—like a prize exhibit—made my blood hum with a mixture of shame and exhilaration.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the three of them shifting on the sofa. Nayeon had perched on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white as she gripped her glass, her bunny-like eyes wide and unblinking. Mina had reclined, her dark gaze hooded and heavy, trailing over my exposed skin with a slow, deliberating heat that felt like a physical touch. And Tzuyu... Tzuyu was simply watching, her chin resting in her palm, a small, satisfied smirk playing on her lips as if she were observing a particularly interesting experiment.

My son knelt before me, blocking out the city lights, his frame dominating my vision. He reached out with those long, elegant fingers and hooked them into the lace of my panties. The drag of the fabric against my thighs as he slid them down was agonisingly slow, a tease that drew a ragged gasp from my throat. When they pooled at my knees, he helped me extricate my legs, leaving me clad only in stockings and suspenders.

The cool air of the apartment kissed my heated skin, raising gooseflesh along my thighs, but the heat in his eyes was enough to burn me alive. He didn't rush. His hands, those large, capable hands that had been teasing me all night, trailed back up my legs, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, urging them apart.

I obeyed without thought, opening myself to him, to them. The sheer debauchery of the situation hit me with a dizzying rush—I was Sana, the bubbly, vivacious friend, usually the one teasing the men, but here I was, exposed and vulnerable on my knees before my fifteen-year-old son while my best friends watched like hawks.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a rough scrape of sound that seemed to echo in the silent room. "So eager."

I didn't care about their eyes on me anymore; all that mattered was the dark, predatory glint in his blue gaze. He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over my exposed, slick folds, and I shivered violently. The anticipation was a taut wire pulled tight inside my abdomen, ready to snap.

"Do not take your eyes off her," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip crack. He didn't look back at the sofa to see if they obeyed, but I heard the collective intake of breath and the rustle of fabric as they shifted to get a better view. "I want you to see who she belongs to."

With a groan that sounded more like a growl, he buried his face between my thighs. The first drag of his tongue against my clit was electric, a shockwave that ripped a cry from my throat and bowed my spine. He didn't start slow; he attacked with a hunger that mirrored my own insatiable need, licking and sucking with a fervour that made my head spin.

The sensation was overwhelming, a white-hot surge of pleasure that obliterated the thought of our audience from my mind, at least for a moment. His tongue was wickedly clever, flicking and circling my clit with a precision that spoke of hours of practice—practice that I had happily provided. He knew exactly how to flatten it to maximise surface area, then curl it to tease that sensitive bundle of nerves, driving me closer to the edge with every pass.

"God, look at that," Nayeon’s voice drifted to me, sounding distant and warped, as if she were speaking underwater. "Look at how he devours her. I've never seen a man eat pussy like that."

"He certainly doesn't eat like a fifteen-year-old," Mina agreed, her tone thick with appreciation. "Sana, you lucky bitch. His technique is... impeccable."

"Impeccable?" Tzuyu’s cool, analytical voice cut through the haze of my pleasure, forcing me to blink my eyes open and focus on the three women watching us. She hadn't moved from her relaxed pose, but her eyes were dark, fixed intently on the point where my son’s mouth met my body. "It’s not just technique, Mina. It’s devotion. Look at the way he holds her thighs. He’s not just doing it for the pleasure; he’s worshipping."

She was right. Even in the throes of my rapidly unravelling control, I could feel it in the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my hips, anchoring me to him. He was devouring me with a single-minded intensity that went far beyond simple lust. He was proving a point to every woman in that room—*and* to himself. I was his. Completely.

He shifted his attention, dragging his tongue lower to circle my entrance, collecting the slick arousal that was practically dripping from me. The sound of his lapping was obscenely loud in the quiet room, a wet, rhythmic noise that made my face burn even as my hips bucked instinctively against his face.

He groaned against me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine and making my toes curl in the carpet. The sound was primal, a possessive rumble that seemed to say mine and mine alone. He brought a hand up, those long, slender fingers that had been resting so innocently on my thigh all night now sliding effortlessly inside me. The stretch was exquisite, a sudden, full pressure that made my breath hitch in a broken sob.

He didn't pump aimlessly; he curled his fingers upwards, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside me with unerring accuracy, while his mouth resumed its assault on my clit. It was a double-pronged attack of sensory overload, a masterclass in pleasure that had my thighs trembling around his head. I could feel the pressure building rapidly, a tight, coiling knot in my stomach that threatened to snap at any second.

"She's close already," Tzuyu observed, her voice maddeningly calm and analytical. "Look at the way her stomach muscles are contracting. He’s found the spot, hasn't he?"

"He certainly has," I managed to gasp out, my voice sounding ragged and foreign to my own ears. I couldn't have stayed quiet if I’d tried. The dual sensation of his fingers crooking inside me, stroking that hidden place with devastating precision, and his tongue working my clit with relentless, rhythmic pressure was too much to bear. "He... oh god... he knows exactly what he's doing."

"He's relentless," Mina murmured, her voice husky with desire. I could hear the distinct sound of glass clinking against a coaster; she was shifting, unable to sit still. "Look at the control he has. Most boys would be rutting by now, but he’s taking his time. Savouring it."

My son didn't react to their commentary, save for a low, vibrating hum against my flesh that sent fresh jolts of electricity arcing through my nervous system. He was locked in, entirely focused on the task of unravelling me. He increased the pace of his fingers just slightly, a subtle adjustment that felt like turning up the dial on an electric current, while his lips sealed around my clit and sucked hard.

The dam broke. It wasn't a gentle tide but a violent, crashing wave that obliterated every thought in my head. My back bowed off the floor, a sharp, keening cry tearing from my throat as the orgasm slammed into me with the force of a freight train. My vision blurred, the expensive lights of the Tokyo skyline streaking into indistinguishable lines of colour, and for a moment, I was weightless, suspended in a void of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

He didn't stop. He rode me through it, his tongue flicking mercilessly against my over-sensitive clit while his fingers continued to curl inside me, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until I was a trembling, sobbing mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled away, the cool air rushing in to replace the heat of his mouth felt almost like a physical blow. I lay there gasping, my chest heaving, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Through the haze of my afterglow, I could hear the ragged breathing of my friends from the sofa, a collective sound of arousal that matched my own.

He rose slowly, towering over me like a colossus, his face glistening with my essence in the low light. It was an obscenely beautiful sight. He didn't immediately reach for his belt; instead, he looked down at me with that tranquil satisfaction, as if I were a canvas he had just finished painting.

"You know what to do," he urged me.

The command hung in the air, thick with authority and an unspoken challenge. My body, still humming with the residual tremors of my orgasm, moved on autopilot. I wanted to please him, to show these women—these beautiful, cynical women who thought they knew everything about pleasure—that what we had was something else entirely.

I pushed myself up from the floor, my muscles feeling like jelly, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins gave me strength. I knelt before him, reaching out with trembling fingers to the leather belt of his trousers. The buckle clinked softly in the quiet room, the sound sharp and distinct against the backdrop of heavy breathing.

I looked up at him, my eyes wide and submissive, seeking his approval. He gazed down at me, his expression unreadable but for the darkening of his blue eyes, which burned with a possessive fire. He didn't help me; he simply watched, letting me serve him, letting me put on the show he had demanded.

I undid the button with trembling fingers; the sound of the zipper sliding down seemed deafening in the hushed apartment. With a tug, I freed him, his erection springing forth to slap heavily against his abdomen. The sight of him never failed to steal my breath—thick, flushed, and angrily erect, the veins standing out in stark relief against the pale skin.

"Oh my," Nayeon whispered, the sound breaking the spell. "Sana... you weren't exaggerating. He's... magnificent."

I wrapped my hand around the base, savouring the familiar, velvety heat of him. He was steel encased in silk, throbbing in my grip. I leaned in, inhaling his scent—musk, sex, and that clean, unique smell that was purely him—before darting my tongue out to lap at the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tasted salty and bitter, a flavour that made my mouth water and my core clench in desperate need.

I wrapped my lips around the head, sucking gently, swirling my tongue over the sensitive slit. A low hiss escaped him, his hand moving to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, but he didn't force me down. He held me there, a grounding weight, letting me set the pace even though we both knew he was the one in control.

I took him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his impressive girth, hollowing my cheeks as I bobbed my head. I could feel the eyes of my friends boring into us, their gaze a physical weight that only heightened the intensity. I wanted them to see. I wanted them to see how well I took him, how perfectly we fit together.

"Look at the enthusiasm," Tzuyu murmured, her voice thick with a rare, unguarded lust. "She really is insatiable, isn't she?"

"He's lucky to have found a match," Mina replied, her voice raspy. I heard the distinct clink of ice against glass as she took a desperate sip of her drink, as if she needed it to cool down. "Most men would have spent themselves by now. Look at him. He’s holding back."

The praise washed over me, mingling with the salty taste of him on my tongue. I redoubled my efforts, taking him deeper until the tip hit the back of my throat, suppressing the gag reflex through years of practice and sheer determination. I wanted to devour him whole, to prove that I was the only one who could handle him like this.

"Enough", he said suddenly, his voice tight with restrained effort. His hand in my hair tightened, not to hurt, but to still my movements. "I don't want to finish in your mouth. Not tonight."

The word was a command, sharp and absolute, cutting through the heavy, lust-charged air like a knife. I froze immediately, my lips still wrapped around the velvety head of his cock, my eyes darting upwards to meet his gaze. His jaw was set tight, a muscle fluttering beneath the skin, and his blue eyes were dark, swirling storms of need and dominance.

He pulled me up by my hair, not roughly, but with an insistent, guiding force that made me gasp as I was hauled to my feet. My legs felt shaky, weak from the orgasm that still hummed in my nerve endings, but he steadied me with a hand on my waist, spinning me around to face the sofa.

"Look at them," he murmured against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Look at your audience."

I blinked, the sudden reorientation of the room sending a fresh wave of dizziness through me. I was facing them now—the three women who had been my confidantes, my partners in crime, and now my voyeurs. Nayeon was leaning so far forward I thought she might tumble off the sofa, her eyes wide and glassy, darting between my face and the imposing figure looming behind me. Mina had abandoned all pretence of composure, her legs crossed tightly, a flush creeping down her neck. And Tzuyu... Tzuyu’s gaze was fixed on my son’s face with an almost frightening hunger.

"He really is magnificent, Sana," Tzuyu breathed, her voice barely carrying over the sound of her own ragged breathing. "I hope you appreciate what you have there."

"I do," I whimpered, the truth of it hitting me with the force of a physical blow. I appreciated every inch of him, every dark, possessive thought that crossed his mind.

I felt the heavy heat of him against my lower back, a stark reminder of what was to come. He didn't give me a moment to gather my scattered thoughts. With a firm hand between my shoulder blades, he guided me down, bending me over until my hands braced against the soft cushions of the sofa, right in front of Nayeon.

My face was inches from Nayeon’s knees. I could smell her perfume—sweet and cloying—and feel the radiant heat coming off her body. She was trembling, her eyes wide and locked onto mine, mirroring the shock and exhilaration coursing through my own system.

"Are you ready, Mum?" he asked, his voice a low, dark rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and straight into my very core.

"I was born ready, sweetheart," I breathed, arching my back to present myself to him, a wanton offering amidst the expensive decor. The position was humiliating and exhilarating all at once. I was bent double, my face inches from my best friend's lap, about to be taken by my son while the city lights watched indifferently through the glass.

I felt the blunt, heat-heavy head of his cock nudge against my entrance, slicking itself through my wetness. The anticipation was a sweet torture. Behind me, he was the picture of composure, but I could feel the tremor in his thighs where they brushed against the back of my legs. He was just as affected as I was, despite the mask.

"Look at me, Sana," Nayeon whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before she gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. Her eyes were swimming with a mix of shock and dark fascination. "I want to see your face when he... when he claims you."

"Then watch closely," he growled, the sound barely human, and then he drove forward.

The invasion was absolute. He didn't ease into it; he took me with a single, powerful thrust that seated him to the hilt, sheathing every inch of his hard length inside me. The force of it punched the air from my lungs, a ragged, silent scream tearing at my throat as my body stretched to accommodate him. My fingers dug into the expensive fabric of Nayeon’s sofa, knuckles turning white as I braced myself against the sudden, overwhelming fullness.

"Fuck!" I gasped, the word exploding from me as my head fell back, my eyes squeezing shut. It felt like he was splitting me open, a perfect, burning stretch that obliterated every thought in my head except for the sheer, blinding reality of him inside me.

It was a possession, pure and simple. He didn't wait for my body to adjust to the sudden, searing intrusion; he withdrew almost entirely, leaving me feeling achingly empty, before slamming back in with a force that made my teeth rattle. The sofa creaked in protest, a rhythmic accompaniment to the wet, obscene sound of our bodies colliding.

"Look at her face," he commanded, his voice a guttural growl that seemed to come from deep within his chest. One hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, anchoring me in place, while the other tangled in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to force my gaze upwards. "Don't look away. I want them to see who owns you."

My eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus through the haze of overwhelming sensation. Nayeon was right there, her face a mask of enraptured shock. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps that mirrored my own. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking at me, drinking in the expression of twisted ecstasy on my face as if it were the finest champagne.

"God, she's taking all of it," Mina murmured from her perch on the arm of the sofa, her voice sounding distant and warped, as if I were hearing it underwater. Her dark eyes were fixed on the point where our bodies joined, watching the ruthless, rhythmic thrusting with a clinical fascination that only heightened my shame. "Look at how she stretches around him. It’s... mesmerising."

"He’s ruining her for anyone else," Tzuyu added, her tone cool but laced with a thick, heavy heat. She hadn’t touched her drink since the performance began; her hands were resting on her knees, clenched into tight fists. "I’ve never seen anything like this. The power... it’s intoxicating."

I could feel the heat of their gazes like a physical weight, burning my skin, but the pleasure was a tidal wave that threatened to drown me completely. He was hitting a depth inside me a place that made my vision blur and my toes curl against the plush rug. The wet, slapping sound of skin against skin was obscene, echoing in the high-ceilinged room, but it was the sound of his ragged breathing, hot and heavy against my ear, that undid me.

The pressure inside me built to an unbearable crescendo, a tight coil of heat wound deep in my stomach that was ready to snap. Every thrust knocked a fresh cry from my lips, raw and unfiltered music to his ears. The stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that made me feel possessed, owned, entirely at his mercy.

"Look at them, Mum," he gritted out, his rhythm never faltering, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the hushed room like a vulgar metronome. "We are giving them a show."

"They certainly can't say they didn't get their money's worth," I gasped out, my voice trembling with the force of his thrusts. I was vaguely aware that this night was costing Nayeon a fortune in champagne and booth fees, but the performance she was giving was worth infinitely more.

My fingers were clawing at the sofa cushion, knuckles white, as I tried to anchor myself against the onslaught of pleasure. He was pounding into me with a relentless, calculated rhythm, each stroke hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I felt like a ragdoll in his hands, completely at his mercy, and I loved every second of it.

"She's beautiful like this," Tzuyu murmured, her voice sounding strained. She shifted closer, her eyes never leaving my face. "You've broken her, haven't you? Shattered that bubbly exterior and left her raw."

"She isn't broken," he corrected, his voice a smooth, dark velvet that cut through the ragged sounds of my breathing. He slowed his pace just fractionally, grinding his hips against my bottom in a way that made me see stars, emphasising his point. "She's free. Aren't you, Sana?"

I couldn't form words, only a high, broken whimper that spilt from my lips. He was right. In this moment, stripped of all pretence and social niceties, bent over before my closest friends with my son buried deep inside me, I had never felt more liberated. The bubbly, energetic mask I wore for the world was gone, leaving only the raw, burning need that defined us.

"Look at me," Nayeon breathed, her hand trembling as she reached out. She didn't touch me—she wouldn't dare, not without his permission—but her fingers hovered just inches from my flushed cheek, her eyes wide and glassy, reflecting the chaotic mix of shock and lust swirling in the room. "I've known you for years, Sana. I've seen you dance, I've seen you drink, I've seen you with men. But I've never seen you look like this."

"Like what?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely recognisable over the wet slap of flesh and the ragged gasps tearing from my throat. The question was a desperate attempt to maintain some shred of dignity, but it came out sounding wrecked and needy.

"Like you've finally found something real," Nayeon whispered, her eyes tracing the contours of my face as if memorising a map of ecstasy. "Like you're not pretending anymore."

It was the truth, and it cut deeper than his thrusts. I wasn't pretending to be the cool, experienced older woman nor the dutiful mother. I was just a vessel for pleasure, caught in a storm of my own making. My body was singing, every nerve ending firing in a symphony of sensation that threatened to short-circuit my brain. I could feel the sweat trickling down my spine, cooling in the air conditioning before being instantly reheated by the friction of his body against mine.

"Baby, I'm so close," I moaned. "Don't stop."

"I have no intention of stopping," he replied, his voice steady despite the ragged rhythm of his breathing. "I want to feel you fall apart around me."

His hand released my hair and snaked around my waist, finding my clit with unerring precision. The calloused pad of his thumb pressed down, circling the tight bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. It was the final straw. The coil inside me snapped, releasing a tidal wave of pleasure that obliterated everything else.

The world didn't just shatter; it disintegrated. A white-hot supernova exploded behind my eyelids, wiping out the expensive apartment, the city lights below, and the three women watching my every move. My body seized, arching into a rigid bow as the orgasm ripped through me with the force of a tsunami. I screamed, a raw, guttural sound that was swallowed by the plush cushions of Nayeon’s sofa, my inner muscles clamping down around him like a vice, desperate to keep him inside, to milk him for everything he was worth.

"God, yes!" I sobbed, the words tumbling out incoherently as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me, drowning me in ecstasy. My fingers tore at the fabric beneath me, my knuckles white, my entire existence narrowing down to the thick, hard length pulsing inside me and my thumb still rubbing ruthless circles against my oversensitive clit.

He didn't let up. He rode me through the storm, his thrusts becoming shallower, harder, driving into my convulsing body with a relentless precision that prolonged the agony until I was a trembling, gasping wreck. He was owning it, owning every second of my fall from grace, and the sheer power of it was intoxicating.

"Get on your back," he told me. "I don't want you to exhaust yourself on the sofa."

The command in his voice left no room for argument, though I doubt I could have formed a coherent sentence even if I’d tried. My legs were trembling violently, the aftershocks of my orgasm still rippling through my nervous system like electric shocks. He withdrew from me slowly, the sudden emptiness aching and profound, making me gasp at the loss.

He gripped my waist, steadying me as I slid down from the edge of the sofa onto the plush white rug. The fibres were soft against my overheated skin, a welcome contrast to the cool air of the room. I looked up at him, sprawled out on the floor like a sacrificial offering, my chest heaving and my skin slick with sweat. I felt utterly wrecked, exposed in the most primal way, yet as I looked into those tranquil blue eyes, I saw a reflection of myself that wasn't shameful but revered.

I manoeuvred myself onto my back, the movement slow and heavy, my limbs feeling like they were made of lead and honey. The rug beneath me was soft, caressing my shoulder blades, but it was nothing compared to the scorching heat of his gaze raking over my exposed body. I spread my legs instinctively, an open invitation, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. The city lights cast long, dancing shadows across his form as he loomed over me, a dark god against the glittering backdrop of Tokyo.

The audience on the sofa had gone eerily quiet, save for the ragged, synchronized sound of their breathing. They were leaning forward, a three-headed hydra of voyeuristic hunger, their eyes glued to the space between my thighs.

"He's... he's not done?" Nayeon whispered, her voice cracking slightly. She sounded almost frightened, but there was a feverish glint in her eyes that betrayed her arousal. "After that?"

"He has not come yet, Nayeon," I managed to pant out, a breathless, euphoric laugh bubbling in my chest as I looked up at the ceiling, the city lights spinning lazily above me."

My son ignored our words . His attention was entirely consumed by me, a heavy, palpable weight that pinned me to the floor more effectively than his body ever could. He settled between my spread thighs, the heat of his skin radiating against mine, searing me. He paused for a moment, his hands resting on either side of my head, framing my face, and simply looked at me. His blue eyes were dark, the pupils blown so wide they almost eclipsed the iris, swimming with a tumultuous mix of love, lust, and a fierce, terrifying pride.

"You look like a goddess," he murmured, the words spoken so softly they were almost lost in the quiet of the room. "My goddess."

Before I could respond—before I could preen or tease or even draw breath—he shifted his weight and sank into me. The return of his thick length inside my sensitive, convulsing channel forced a sharp cry from my lips. It was a tight fit, a stretch that burned so sweetly it bordered on pain, but I welcomed it. I needed it. I needed to be filled by him, to be completed by him, in front of the whole world if necessary.

"Is it too much, Mum?" he asked, his voice strained but still retaining that veneer of calm that he wore like armour. He held himself still, buried to the hilt, giving me a moment to adjust to the overwhelming intrusion.

"Never," I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his lower back to pull him impossibly closer. The movement caused him to slide against that sensitive spot inside me, making us both groan. "I want all of you. Every inch."

He didn't need any further encouragement. He began to move again, a slow, deliberate grind that allowed me to feel every ridge, every vein of him. This position was different; it was more intimate, more exposing. I was completely splayed out, unable to hide a single reaction, and he was looming over me like a conqueror claiming his territory.

"A slow rhythm suits this," he murmured, more to himself than to the room. He lowered his weight onto his elbows, caging me in, bringing our faces so close that our noses brushed. The frantic, pounding pace from before was gone, replaced by a deep, rolling grind that felt impossibly intimate. In this position, I couldn't hide from him. I couldn't lose myself in the sensation; I had to feel every inch, every drag of his skin against mine, every deliberate rotation of his hips.

"Kiss me, baby", I breathed against his lips, my eyes fluttering shut. The need for connection, for that final anchor amidst the storm of sensation, was overwhelming. "Please."

He obliged me without hesitation, sealing his mouth over mine in a kiss that was slow, deep, and devastatingly tender. It was a stark contrast to the ruthless way he was fucking me, a duality that made my head spin. His tongue swept into my mouth, dominating the rhythm there just as he was dominating the rhythm between my thighs, tasting me, claiming me. The taste of him—mingled with the lingering scent of gin and perfume from the air—was intoxicating.

The intimacy of the position, the slow, deliberate drag of his hips, and the gentle sweep of his tongue were unravelling me in an entirely different way than before. This wasn't just about physical release; it was an emotional dismantling. I felt exposed, not just physically to my friends but spiritually to him. I was pouring my soul into his kiss, letting him see the raw, unfiltered need that drove me.

The kiss broke, leaving me gasping for air, my lips tingling and swollen. He didn't pull away far, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with my own ragged exhalations. The slow, torturous rhythm of his hips never faltered, a relentless, deep grind that was stoking the fires of my arousal all over again, building something different this time—heavier, deeper.

He shifted slightly, rising up on his hands to change the angle, and the new depth made me cry out, my nails digging into the shoulders of his crisp white shirt. He hadn't even bothered to undress fully, and the sight of him—the buttons straining, the fabric dishevelled while he ruined me—only added to the illicit thrill.

"Look at them," he whispered against my lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my chest. He didn't break eye contact, forcing me to hold his gaze while he spoke. "Look at your friends. They are mesmerised."

I managed to tear my gaze away from his face, turning my head slightly towards the sofa. My neck felt weak, my body boneless, but the sight that greeted me sent a fresh jolt of electricity through my veins.

My friends were statues of frozen desire, their drinks forgotten in their hands. Mina was perched on the very edge of the cushion, her dark eyes wide and unblinking, fixed intently on the joining of our bodies. Nayeon had her hand pressed over her mouth, her cheeks burning a bright, feverish crimson, her bunny-like eyes shimmering with a mixture of shock and unmistakable arousal. Even Tzuyu, the cool and collected ice queen, looked unravelled. She was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, her gaze locked onto my face with a burning intensity that felt like a physical touch.

"Let's give them a proper finale," he proposed.

The word finale hung in the air like a promise, dark and sweet as molasses. He didn't give me time to wonder what he meant. With a strength that never ceased to thrill me, he gripped my waist and rolled us. The world spun—white ceiling, city lights, the shocked faces of my friends—until I was straddling him, my knees sinking into the plush rug on either side of his hips.

But he didn't let me settle astride him facing him. His hands guided my hips, turning me like a doll until my back was to his chest. It wasn't until he planted his feet flat on the floor and urged me to lean forward that I realised what he intended. This wasn't just cowgirl; this was reverse cowgirl, a position designed entirely for the benefit of our audience.

"Lean back," he commanded, his voice a low thrum against my spine. "I want them to see everything."

I obeyed instantly, bracing my hands on his thighs for leverage and arching my back until my heavy breasts were thrust towards the sofa. The angle shifted him inside me, hitting a spot so deep and sensitive that I saw stars. I was spread wide, completely on display, my slick, stretched centre inches away from the hungry gazes of Mina, Nayeon, and Tzuyu.

"God, look at that," Nayeon breathed, her voice barely a whisper. She had abandoned her drink entirely, her knuckles white as she gripped her knees. "You can see everything. I can see... I can see him inside you."

The obscenity of her words sent a jolt of pure electricity through me. I looked down at myself, at the place where we were joined, and saw what she meant. My folds were glossy and swollen, wrapped tightly around his thick shaft as it pistoned in and out of me. It was pornographic, intimate, and utterly mesmerising.

His hands gripped my hips, guiding me to move, and I didn't need to be told twice. I lifted myself, the friction of his withdrawal leaving me gasping, before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. I set a brutal pace, riding him with a desperate, rhythmic need that was fuelled as much by the exhibitionism as by the physical pleasure. Every time I descended, the wet slap of our bodies echoed through the silent room, a vulgar metronome to the ragged breathing of our audience.

"You're taking it so deep, Sana," Mina murmured, her voice thick with arousal. She leaned in closer, her dark eyes fixed on the sight of my son's cock disappearing inside me. "Look at how you stretch around him. It's... it's art."

Art. The word floated through my hazy mind. It felt primal, beyond art, but the intensity in Mina’s gaze suggested she saw a beauty in this raw, filthy act. I looked at them, really looked at them. Nayeon was squirming, pressing her thighs together as if trying to alleviate an ache. Tzuyu’s eyes were blazing, tracking the movement of my breasts as they bounced with every thrust.

The rhythm I set was punishing, a frenetic bounce that had my thighs burning and my breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps. I was chasing something, a high that hovered just out of reach, a precipice I was desperate to throw myself off. The friction of him dragging against my inner walls was exquisite, a tight, hot coil winding tighter and tighter in my belly, but it wasn't enough. I needed more.

"Touch me," I cried out, throwing my head back against his shoulder, my damp hair sticking to my flushed skin. "Please, baby. Make me explode."

He didn't hesitate. One hand left my hip, sliding down through the slick sweat coating my stomach until his fingers found my clit. He didn't tease this time; he rubbed tight, fierce circles over the swollen nub, matching the relentless rhythm of my hips. The dual stimulation was electric, a shockwave that had my vision whitening out.

The pressure built with terrifying speed, a roaring tidal wave that obliterated every thought in my head. His fingers were a blur on my clit, ruthlessly exploiting that sensitive bundle of nerves while his cock hammered into that secret place inside me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the terrifyingly tight coil of pleasure winding in my abdomen, ready to snap.

"Don't hold back," he growled in my ear, his voice a dark command that cut through the haze. "Let them see what you really are."

It was too much. The visual of my friends watching, the feeling of being so incredibly full, the relentless circling of his thumb—it all converged into a single, blinding point of no return. I threw my head back, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my body seized up.

My vision shattered into a million fragments of white light. The world as I knew it ceased to exist; there was only the blinding, electric pulse originating from my core and radiating out to my extremities with the force of a supernova.

I wasn't just climaxing; I was detonating.

A guttural, animalistic cry tore from my throat, raw and unfiltered, as the dam broke. The coil inside me snapped with a violence that left me breathless, and then came the flood. It wasn't a metaphor. My body convulsed violently, arching away from his chest, and a sudden, sharp jet of fluid erupted from me, spraying out in a hot, clear arc towards the sofa.

I was vaguely aware of the shocked gasps that erupted from the sofa, followed immediately by the wet, splattering sound of my release hitting the coffee table and, judging by the startled cries from Mina and Nayeon, the front of their dresses. But I couldn't stop. The sensation was blinding, a torrential release that ripped a scream from my lungs and left me shaking uncontrollably.

The fluid sprayed in powerful, rhythmic pulses, drenching the expensive upholstery and my friends in a clear, glistening testament to the pleasure he was wringing from them. I watched through blurred, tear-filled eyes as Nayeon recoiled slightly, her hands flying up to shield her face, though her eyes remained wide and fixed on the source. Mina, ever the bold one, simply sat there, mouth agape, letting the liquid rain down on her chest, mesmerised by the sheer force of it.

But he didn't let me stop. He didn't give me a moment to come down from the high. Even as my body twitched and spasmed in the aftershocks, he kept his fingers working my clit, the stimulation almost agonising against my oversensitive flesh. His other hand held my hips down, impaling me on his length, refusing to let me retreat from the intensity.

He was relentless, a machine of singular purpose. Even as I convulsed, the aftershocks of that cataclysmic release still rippling through my limbs, he didn't pause. His hips continued to snap upwards, driving into that overly sensitive, spongy spot with an accuracy that was almost terrifying. The wet, slapping sound was louder now, obscene and squelching, fuelled by the slick warmth of my own climax.

"No... please, it's too much," I sobbed, my head lolling back against his shoulder, my body heavy and boneless in his grip. I felt like a ragdoll, entirely at his mercy, unable to do anything but take the punishing rhythm he dictated. The overstimulation was a sharp, biting pain that bled dangerously close to pleasure, blurring the lines until I didn't know where one ended and the other began.

"You can take it," he murmured against my ear, his voice a low, dark rumble that vibrated through my chest. "You're not done, Mum. Not until I have cum."

His words were a trigger. The moment he uttered that command, I felt the impossible happen. My body, which I thought had been drained dry, seemed to draw from a hidden, endless reservoir of arousal. The sensation shifted from agonising overstimulation to a rapidly climbing crescendo of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

"I can't... I'm going to... again!" I screamed, my voice cracking as the coil tightened once more, impossibly fast.

He didn't let up. He jackhammered into me, his hips snapping upwards with a speed and force that stole the breath from my lungs, while his fingers tortured my clit with ruthless precision. The friction was indescribable, a blazing heat that seared me from the inside out.

The second peak didn't just arrive; it exploded with the force of a bomb. My entire body went rigid as a board, a silent scream tearing from my throat as the pressure inside me imploded. My inner muscles clamped down around him like a vice, desperate to milk him and to pull him deeper as the universe fractured apart.

Then, the dam broke again.

It was even more violent than the first. A torrent of clear, hot fluid erupted from me, a gushing wave that surged out with unstoppable force. I heard the liquid spray through the air, a sharp, hissing sound that was immediately followed by the wet slap of it hitting the women on the sofa.

The sound was wet and heavy, a distinct splattering as the arc of fluid sprayed across the short distance to the sofa. I watched, dazed and convulsing, as Nayeon let out a high-pitched squeal, throwing her hands up in a futile attempt to shield herself, but the sheer force of it drenched her front, soaking her blouse and leaving her dripping. Tzuyu, closest to the spray, didn't flinch away; she merely squeezed her eyes shut as the liquid hit her chest and face, her mouth open slightly as if catching rain, her composure shattering entirely.

I was a broken record, screaming as my body expelled wave after wave of liquid, a humiliating, liberating deluge that ruined Nayeon's pristine rug and soaked my friends to the bone. I was painting them with pleasure, marking them as witnesses to my absolute debasement.

"God! Sana!" Mina shrieked, though her voice was thick with awe rather than anger. She was wiping her face, but her eyes were glued to the spasming juncture of my thighs, watching the liquid gush out of me around his cock. "You're... you're soaking us!"

"Look at the mess you've made, Sana," Tzuyu breathed out, her voice ragged and utterly devoid of its usual composure. She wiped a glistening trail of fluid from her cheek with the back of her hand, her dark eyes wide and fixed on me with a terrifying intensity. "You've absolutely ruined us."

I couldn't answer. I couldn't do anything but tremble and gasp, my lungs burning for air that wouldn't seem to come. My body was still twitching in the throes of the most violent orgasm of my life, my inner muscles still fluttering weakly around the thick hardness buried deep inside me.

"Turn around," he whispered. "I need to see your face while I finish."

I didn't think I had the strength to move. My limbs felt like lead, heavy and uncooperative, but the dark authority in his voice cut through the fog of my exhaustion. With a soft, whimpering sob, I managed to lift myself off him, the sudden loss of his thick length leaving me feeling achingly empty and gaping.

I turned, my movements clumsy and graceless, swinging my leg over his hips to face him. The rug beneath me was soaked, a dark, damp testament to what had just transpired, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the boy looking up at me with eyes that burnt like blue fire. He was still fully dressed, his shirt sticking to his chest in patches of sweat and his trousers open just enough to free himself. The contrast between his composed attire and my utter ruin made my heart hammer against my ribs.

"Come here," he murmured, reaching out to grip my waist. He pulled me down, positioning me so that I was straddling his thighs, his angry, flushed erection standing proud between us, slick with my essence.

I didn't need to be told twice. I braced my hands on his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart beneath the damp cotton, and lifted my hips. I sank onto him, the stretch familiar and welcome, taking him to the hilt in one fluid motion. We both groaned at the contact, a sound of relief and desperate need.

He began to pound into me, his hips snapping with a desperate, relentless rhythm that signalled his own end was near. He abandoned the slow, torturous grind for a frantic, seeking pace, driving into me with a force that rattled my teeth. The wet, squelching sounds of our coupling were obscene, echoing in the sudden, heavy silence of the room, louder than the distant hum of the city outside.

"You've been amazing, Mum," he gritted out, his voice barely recognisable, rough with strain and raw emotion. "Absolutely perfect."

"So have you, my love," I sobbed, overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of his passion. I collapsed against his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex that clung to him like a second skin. I held on for dear life as he used my body, chasing his release with the single-minded focus that defined him.

The world narrowed down to the friction of our bodies and the ragged sound of our breathing. He was moving with a desperate, jagged rhythm, his hips snapping upwards to meet my downward rolls, driving himself impossibly deep. I could feel the swell of him inside me, the thick veins pulsing against my sensitive walls, signalling that he was hovering right on the edge.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice cracking slightly on the words. He gripped my chin, forcing my head up so I had to meet those burning blue eyes. "I want to see you when I cum."

I locked eyes with him, my vision swimming with tears of overstimulation and overwhelming love. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead, matting his brown hair to his skin. He looked beautiful, feral, and entirely mine. I clenched my inner muscles around him, rippling my walls along his length, trying to pull him over the precipice with me.

"Mum, I'm cumming," he whined, his voice cracking and losing all of that cool tranquillity he wore like armour. It was the sound of the boy, not the man, breaking through in the final moments of ecstasy.

"Let go, baby," I whispered, cupping his flushed face in my hands, my thumbs stroking his damp cheeks. "Fill me up. It’s yours."

With a raw, guttural groan that seemed to be wrenched from the very depths of his soul, he obeyed. His grip on my waist became bruisingly tight, anchoring me down as he buried himself to the hilt one last time. I felt him pulse inside me, a thick, hot throb that signalled the start of his release. His whole body stiffened, his back arching off the floor, and then he was flooding me with

The sensation was intense and intimate—a deep, scorching heat that spread through my core, claiming me in a way that went far beyond the physical. Rope after rope of his cum painted my insides, marking me, filling me until I could feel the slick warmth threatening to overflow. He cried out my name, a broken, desperate sound that was the sweetest thing I had ever heard, his eyes squeezing shut as the ecstasy overwhelmed him.

"Yes, baby, that's it," I crooned, pressing soft kisses against his damp forehead as he shuddered through the final throes of his release. "Every last drop. It’s all yours."

I held him close, my fingers combing through his sweat-slicked hair, offering comfort as the waves of pleasure subsided into a heavy, satiated languor. Inside me, I could feel the warmth of his essence, a glowing reminder of what we had just shared, a tangible claim that made me feel possessed most wonderfully. His grip on my waist slowly loosened, his fingers trailing idly over my spine as his breathing slowed, the frantic thumping of his heart against my chest gradually returning to its steady, tranquil rhythm.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were our ragged breaths mingling together and the distant, rhythmic hum of the city air conditioning. It was a bubble of peace amidst the chaos of the night, a quiet afterglow that felt sacred.

The bubble of peace, however, was destined to burst. As the fog of ecstasy began to lift, replaced by the cool clarity of the apartment's air conditioning, the reality of our surroundings crashed back in. The scent of sex and expensive gin was heavy in the air, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of utter debauchery.

I slowly lifted my head from the crook of his neck, my muscles protesting the movement. I felt wrecked in the best possible way, a delicious ache radiating from my centre out to my fingertips. But as I shifted, I became acutely aware of the silence from the sofa—a silence that wasn't peaceful, but stunned.

I turned my head, my damp hair sticking to my cheek, and looked at my friends.

My gaze travelled over the scene, and I couldn't suppress the breathless, slightly hysterical giggle that bubbled up in my chest. It was a picture of utter devastation. The pristine white aesthetic of Nayeon’s apartment had been thoroughly violated.

Nayeon sat frozen, her expensive designer blouse soaked through, turning the sheer fabric transparent where it clung to her skin. Her blonde hair was plastered to her forehead in damp tendrils, and her mascara was beginning to run, giving her a smudgy, raccoon-like appearance. Mina was in a similar state, wiping her hand across her face in a daze, looking like a cat that had been caught in a downpour. And Tzuyu... Even Tzuyu, the unshakeable ice queen, looked thoroughly unravelled. Her cheek glistened with the evidence of my climax, and her dress was spotted with damp patches; her composure drowned in a literal wave of fluid.

"Well," I gasped out, my voice hoarse and wrecked, sounding miles away from the bubbly tone I usually adopted. "I guess we really made a splash, didn't we?"

The silence stretched, taut and trembling, before Nayeon let out a high-pitched, disbelieving laugh. She looked down at her drenched blouse, then up at me, her eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of shock and sheer, unadulterated awe.

"A splash?" she choked out, wiping a stray droplet from her chin. "Sana, you didn't just make a splash. You created a monsoon season in my living room. I’m going to need a squeegee to get this out of the carpet."

Mina shook her head slowly, droplets of fluid flying from her dark hair like a wet dog shaking itself dry. She ran a hand through her damp tresses, her feline eyes glued to where I still sat atop my son, our bodies still joined in the aftermath. "I've seen a lot of things in this city," she murmured, her voice husky and filled with genuine respect. "I've seen orgies that would make a porn star blush. But I have never... never seen anything like that. That was... biblical."

Tzuyu reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table, pulling out a handful and dabbing ineffectually at the sticky trail on her cheek. She didn't look angry, though; if anything, the cool, analytical mask had slipped entirely to reveal a woman deeply, thoroughly shaken.

"Biblical" is one word for it," Tzuyu said, her voice lacking its usual smooth polish, sounding slightly breathless. She tossed the used tissues onto the growing pile of debris on her pristine table. "I think the technical term is 'female ejaculation', but 'biblical' seems more appropriate given the volume." She paused, her dark eyes fixing on my son with an expression that was half-fear, half-worship. "You really broke the dam, didn't you?"

I felt a surge of possessive pride warm my chest, even as my cheeks burned with the remnants of shame. I leaned back, allowing my son to support my weight, feeling the sticky, slick heat between us where our bodies were still connected. The reality of what we’d done—the sheer, unadulterated depravity of it—was settling in, but instead of regret, I felt a strange, light-headed euphoria.

I glanced down at him, my chest swelling with an affection that was so fierce it almost hurt. He was recovering quickly, that tranquil mask slipping back into place over the boy who had just screamed my name in ecstasy. He looked up at me, his blue eyes clear and focused, though a faint blush still dusted his cheekbones—a charming reminder of his youth.

He gently helped me dismount, the separation leaving me achingly empty and a thick, warm trickle of his release escaping me, sliding down my inner thigh in sticky rivulets. The sensation was lewd, a clear reminder of his claim, and I made no move to hide it. Let them look. Let them see exactly who I belonged to.

As I scrambled to my feet, my knees wobbling like a newborn fawn, I felt the full extent of the mess I had made. The plush white rug was a disaster zone, a dark, sodden map of our debauchery. I looked back at my friends, expecting to see disgust, or at the very least, a plea to leave.

Instead, I was met with a tableau of dazed fascination. Nayeon was still dabbing at her wet blouse with a cocktail napkin, though the effort was entirely futile; the sheer fabric was plastered to her skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Yet, she wasn’t looking at her clothes with annoyance. Her eyes were fixed on the slick warmth trickling down my inner thigh, her expression a mix of scientific curiosity and raw arousal.

"I think I need a shower," Tzuyu announced, breaking the heavy silence. She stood up slowly, her designer dress sticking to her in awkward places, but she carried herself with a regal sort of calmness. She looked down at us—my son, who was calmly tucking himself back into his trousers with that maddeningly serene demeanour, and me, standing naked and shivering in the centre of a vast wet patch. A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face. "That was... without a doubt, the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed. And I have seen the pyramids."

"I second the shower," Mina purred, rising with a feline grace that was slightly compromised by the squelch of her heels against the wet rug. She stepped closer to us, invading my personal space to press a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek. She smelled like gin, expensive perfume, and me. "You really are a lucky woman, Sana. To find a man who can do that... let alone one who looks like him." She turned her dark gaze to him, offering him a sultry wink. "You're welcome back anytime, knight. Just... maybe bring a tarp next time."

My son offered Mina a small, polite nod, accepting her teasing with that same unflappable calm he displayed when I handed him his maths homework. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied smoothly, reaching out to adjust the strap of my bra, which had slipped down my shoulder during the festivities. "Though, I suspect Sana prefers spontaneity over plastic sheets."

"Spontaneity is good," Nayeon groaned, finally abandoning her futile attempts to salvage her blouse. She peeled the wet fabric away from her skin with a sticky thwack, looking down at the damage with a mixture of horror and amusement. "But next time, let's be spontaneous in the shower. Or a tiled room. Somewhere with drainage."

"I'll call the cleaners," Tzuyu said, already pulling her phone from her clutch, her thumb flying across the screen. She paused, looking over the rim of the device at us, a genuine, appreciative smile curving her lips. "And don't worry about the rug, Sana. It was worth the price of admission. That was... a masterpiece."

"You'd better order some food as well," Nayeon chimed in, dropping the sodden cocktail napkin onto the table with a wet splat. She stretched her arms above her head, her joints popping audibly, a testament to the tension she had held while watching us. "I’m starving. Watching a performance like that works up an appetite."

My son, who had just finished buttoning his trousers and was now smoothing down the front of his shirt, looked at Nayeon with a polite tilt of his head. "What is on tonight's menu?"

"Something greasy and entirely inappropriate for this time of night," Nayeon declared, rubbing her stomach which gave a surprisingly loud, unladylike growl. "Pizza. The kind with extra cheese and pepperoni that clogs your arteries just by looking at it. We need comfort food after that... athletic display."

"Pizza sounds adequate", my son agreed, his tone suggesting he was discussing a diplomatic treaty rather than a takeaway order. He turned to me, his eyes scanning my body with a critical, assessing gaze. "But first, Mum, you need to clean up. You’re trembling."

I looked down at myself and realised he was right. My skin was prickling with gooseflesh, the rapid cooling of my sweat and the drying fluids making me shiver violently. I felt sticky, used, and utterly magnificent. I reached out for him, needing his grounding presence, and he immediately stepped into my embrace, wrapping his arms around my naked form and sharing his body heat.

He rubbed his hands up and down my arms, generating friction to warm my chilled skin, before pressing a kiss to my forehead that was filled with a tender, protective affection. It was a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic dominance he had displayed just moments ago, but that duality was what made him so intoxicating.

"I'll take care of you," he murmured against my skin, his breath warm and steadying. "Let's get you sorted."

He didn't seem to care that I was naked and sticky and that my friends were watching our every move with bated breath. He simply scooped me up into his arms, bridal style, with an effortless strength that made my head spin. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—sweat, sex, and that clean, comforting smell that was uniquely his.

"A gentleman to the last," Mina purred, her voice thick with admiration as she watched him carry me towards the hallway. "Don't be too long, you two. The pizza won't wait forever."

The bathroom was a sanctuary of white marble and polished chrome, a stark contrast to the sticky, chaotic wreckage of the living room. As he set me down on the cool tiled floor, the silence enveloped us, heavy and soothing. He didn't immediately turn on the water; instead, he stood behind me, his hands resting gently on my shoulders, his warmth seeping into my chilled skin.

"You were incredible," he murmured, his voice low and reverent, echoing off the tiled walls. "I've never seen you let go like that."

I leant back into him, closing my eyes as I felt the tension drain from my muscles. "I couldn't help it," I admitted softly, a shy smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "You made me feel... things I didn't know I could feel. And knowing they were watching..." I shivered again, but this time it wasn't from the cold. "It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once."

He turned me around gently, his expression softening as he cupped my face in his hands. His blue eyes, usually so tranquil and guarded, were swimming with a depth of emotion that made my breath hitch. He looked at me not as the sultry woman who had just performed for an audience but with the tender, protective gaze of the boy I had raised.

"They were terrified of you," he corrected, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Mina and Nayeon... they've seen everything, or so they thought. But tonight, you showed them a power they couldn't comprehend." He brushed a stray damp hair away from my forehead, his touch feather-light. "And Tzuyu... she respects strength above all else. You earned her worship tonight."

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, a strange mixture of maternal pride and feminine satisfaction warming me from the inside out. "I just wanted to make you proud," I whispered, reaching up to cover his hand with mine.

"You always make me proud, Sana," he replied, his voice steady and sincere, stripping away the last of my lingering insecurities with a single sentence. "But tonight... tonight you were the protagonist of a story they won't ever forget."

With that, he reached past me, his arm brushing against my shoulder, and turned the chrome dial of the shower. The water hissed to life, cascading from the wide rainfall head in a steamy deluge that instantly began to fog up the glass enclosure. He checked the temperature with his hand, ensuring it was perfect before guiding me inside.

The feeling of the hot water hitting my skin was transcendent. It washed away the sticky, cooling evidence of our exertions, the fluids and sweat swirling down the drain at my feet. I stood under the spray, letting it soak my hair and run over my face, feeling myself slowly return to my body after being so thoroughly shattered apart.

He joined me a moment later, the small space instantly feeling warmer and more intimate with his presence. But unlike the frantic, needy coupling of moments ago, his touch now was purely utilitarian and tender. He reached for the expensive, jasmine-scented body wash that sat in a caddy on the wall and poured a generous amount into his palm.

"Tilt your head back," he instructed softly.

I obeyed, closing my eyes as he began to lather the soap into my hair. His fingers were strong, massaging my scalp with a slow, rhythmic pressure that made me hum with contentment. It felt so domestic, so strangely normal after the depravity we had just indulged in, that it brought a lump to my throat. This was the boy who needed help with his homework, now washing my hair with the care of a lover who had worshipped every inch of me.

He took his time, working his way through the tangles with a patience that belied his youth. The scent of jasmine filled the steamy air, replacing the musk of sex and gin that had clung to us like a second skin. I stood there, eyes closed, surrendering to the sensation of his fingers moving deftly against my scalp. It was a stark, beautiful contrast to the way his hands had gripped my hips only minutes ago—bruising, demanding, and possessive. Now, they were gentle, reverent almost, treating me as though I were something fragile and precious that needed to be pieced back together.

"Rinse", he murmured, guiding me gently under the spray.

I ducked my head, letting the hot water wash away the thick lather, the suds cascading down my back and over my curves before swirling into the drain. When I straightened up, wiping the water from my eyes, he was waiting with a face cloth soaked in more soapy lather.

He moved with a deliberate, unhurried grace, starting at my shoulders and working his way down. The cloth was warm and soft, gliding over my skin in soothing circles. He washed away the sweat and the lingering scent of the club, his touch attentive and thorough. There was nothing sexual in the way his hands roamed over my body now; it was purely an act of devotion, a silent acknowledgement that he had taken me to the brink of destruction and was now carefully putting me back together.

I watched his face through the steam, the droplets of water clinging to his long eyelashes. He looked so focused, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, as if cleaning me were the most important task in the world. It made my heart ache with a fierce, overwhelming love.

"You're staring," he murmured, not looking up from where he was gently scrubbing my arm.

"Can you blame me?" I replied softly, my voice echoing slightly in the tiled enclosure. "I'm just admiring the view. You're incredibly handsome, you know that? And to think, just a little while ago you were making a mess of me with those very hands."

He paused, his hand resting on my hip, and finally looked up. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, the water running in rivulets down his handsome face. "I think we established that the mess was mostly of your making, Mum. Though I suppose I acted as the catalyst."

He moved lower, his hand guiding the cloth over my stomach, washing away the sticky residue that had dried there. The touch was soothing and hypnotic, making my eyelids grow heavy. The heat of the shower, combined with his gentle ministrations, was lulling me into a state of blissful lethargy.

"And a very effective catalyst you were," I sighed, leaning into his touch as he ran the cloth down my thigh, careful around the sensitive skin. "I feel like I've been wrung out and put back together again. I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."

He knelt before me, the water streaming over his shoulders and dampening his shirt, which he was still wearing, the wet fabric clinging to his torso. It was a surreal image—my fully dressed son, on his knees in a shower, bathing me with the devotion of a penitent monk. He washed my legs with meticulous care, lifting one foot and then the other to clean the soles, his grip firm and sure.

"You let go of all your inhibitions," he opined, looking up at me from beneath his wet lashes. "It was beautiful to watch. The way you surrendered to the pleasure... it was honest. Raw." He pressed a kiss to my knee, a chaste, tender gesture that contrasted sharply with the debauchery we had left outside. "The girls were right to be awestruck. You were magnetic."

I felt a blush rising, not from shame, but from the sheer intensity of his gaze. Even here, under the guise of caretaking, he was stripping me bare. "You make me feel safe enough to be raw," I whispered, running my fingers through his soaking wet hair, pushing the strands back from his forehead. "I know you'll catch me when I fall."

He stood up, water cascading down his clothed form, and squeezed a little more body wash into his hand. "Then I'll always be here to catch you." He reached around me, his hands gliding over my back, washing away the tension that had settled there. His fingers found the dip of my spine and traced it down, a soothing, repetitive motion that made me want to purr like a contented cat.

"Though", he continued, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of that dry, analytical wit creeping back in, "I suspect Tzuyu is currently calculating the fluid dynamics of what just occurred. She looked like she'd witnessed a miracle or a natural disaster."

"I think she witnessed both," I laughed, the sound echoing brightly off the wet tiles, finally feeling the last of the heavy tension in my chest dissolve. "A natural disaster of the very best kind. Did you see her face? I think I actually broke Tzuyu. The unshakeable ice queen, covered in... well, me."

"It was a look of scientific wonder," he agreed, his hands moving to wash my stomach, the cloth gentle against my sensitised skin. "Mina, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to join in. She has a voracious appetite, that one; I felt her eyes on me the entire time."

"Jealous?" I teased, arching a brow at him, though a familiar sharp pang of possessiveness pricked at me nonetheless.

"Perhaps a little," he admitted with a refreshing honesty that made my heart skip a beat. He didn't avert his gaze; he held mine steadily, the water plastering his brown hair to his forehead. "But not because I wanted her. It was more... overwhelming. Like standing too close to a fire. But you..." He stepped closer, the wet fabric of his shirt pressing against my bare skin, his hands settling on my waist. "You are the one who burns me, Mum. In a way that no one else ever could."

The possessive flutter in my chest settled into a warm, glowing hum. I reached up, undoing the buttons of his sodden shirt with clumsy fingers. The fabric was heavy and clinging, and I wanted to feel his skin against mine, not the barrier of wet cotton.

"Let's get this off you," I murmured, pushing the shirt down his shoulders. He obliged, shrugging out of it and letting it fall with a wet slap to the tiled floor. "You're overdressed for a shower, knight."

He offered no resistance, simply standing there with that tranquil patience as I revealed the body beneath the soaked fabric. The sight of him never failed to steal the breath from my lungs. He was lean and sculpted; the definition of his muscles cast in shadow by the dim lighting of the shower, water coursing down the lines of his chest and stomach in rivulets that traced the paths I had mapped with my tongue and hands a hundred times before.

"Better?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as I ran my palms over his shoulders, feeling the warm, slick skin beneath my fingertips.

"Much", I murmured, stepping closer until our bodies were flush, the water cascading over us both. The contrast was thrilling—my soft, yielding curves pressed against his hard, firm planes. "Now you look like part of the ensemble."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him under the spray with me, letting the water saturate us both until we were drowning in the warmth. The scent of jasmine swirled around us, heady and sweet, masking the lingering traces of sweat and sex. I rested my forehead against his, the steam wrapping us in a private little world where nothing existed but the rhythm of our breathing and the steady beat of his heart against my chest.

"Do you think they'll ever look at me the same way again?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper over the rushing water. The thought had been niggling at the back of my mind—a tiny crack in the armour of my euphoria. I had just performed the most intimate act imaginable in front of them, crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.

He pulled back slightly, framing my face with his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "They will look at you with more respect," he said firmly, his blue eyes piercing through the mist. "Before tonight, to them, you were Sana—the bubbly, beautiful friend who loves a party. Now..." He paused, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. "Now, you are a force of nature. You showed them a side of yourself that is raw and real. People either fear that or worship it. With them? I suspect it will be the latter."

The thought settled over me, warm and comforting, like the steam filling the small glass cubicle. I believed him. He saw the world with such clarity, such terrifying precision, that his analysis was rarely wrong. If he said they would worship me, then they would. It was a heady power trip, one that rivalled the physical pleasure we had just indulged in.

"Worship", I repeated, testing the weight of the word on my tongue. I looked up at him, a playful glint returning to my eyes as the water continued to cascade over us. "I suppose I could get used to that, though I prefer being worshipped by you in... more practical ways."

He huffed a soft laugh, the sound vibrating against my chest where our bodies were pressed together. "I think I’ve demonstrated my capacity for practical worship quite thoroughly tonight. But", he added, his hands sliding down my back to rest on the curve of my bottom, squeezing gently, "I am always willing to reaffirm my devotion.”

We stayed like that for a while, locked together under the steaming spray, the water running over us in a rhythmic, soothing cascade. The conversation faded into a comfortable, heavy silence, the kind that only exists when two people are entirely in sync. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart, feeling the tension of the night finally bleed out of my muscles, leaving me loose and languid. There was no need for words now; the washing had been an act of communion, a silent promise that despite the storm we had unleashed, we were grounded, we were whole, and we were together.

Eventually, the water began to cool, signalling that it was time to face the world again. He reached out, turning off the tap with a decisive click. The sudden silence was deafening for a moment, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of the residual water from the showerhead.

He stepped out first, grabbing two thick, fluffy white towels from the heated rail. He wrapped one around his waist, covering the lean, powerful lines of his body, before holding the other open for me. I stepped into his embrace, sighing contentedly as he wrapped the towel around me, tucking the corner in securely to keep the warmth trapped against my skin. He dried me with the same gentle attention he had washed me with, patting the water from my hair and smoothing the towel over my shoulders and arms, treating me like something precious he had just polished.

"I think that's sufficient," he murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork, though his eyes lingered on the patch of skin exposed at my chest where the towel gaped slightly. "Unless you intend to prune?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "Heaven forbid. Wrinkles are the enemy." I quickly rubbed the towel over my legs and tucked it tighter around myself, revelling in the plush softness against my skin. "Robes?"

"Indeed", he opened the linen cupboard, retrieving two thick, white waffle-kimono robes. He helped me into mine first, guiding my arms through the sleeves and tying the sash around my waist with a tenderness that made my heart flutter. Once I was covered, he shrugged into his own, the white fabric contrasting starkly with his tanned skin and damp, dark hair. We looked like spa refugees, albeit ones who had just engaged in the most debauched activity imaginable.

"Ready to face the music?" he asked, offering me his arm with a courtly grace that made me want to giggle.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, looping my arm through his and resting my head briefly against his damp shoulder. "Though I suspect the music has been replaced by the sound of chewing."

We walked back down the hallway, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps. The air outside the bathroom was cooler, carrying the rich, savoury aroma of melting cheese, pepperoni, and baked dough. It was a grounding, homely scent that clashed beautifully with the lingering memory of sex and expensive perfume.

When we emerged into the living room, the scene had transformed. The harsh, erotic tension that had saturated the air earlier had dissipated, replaced by a cosy, chaotic camaraderie. The lights had been dimmed, casting a warm, amber glow over the space, and the massive wet patch on the rug—which had looked like a crime scene minutes ago—had been tactfully covered by a throw blanket.

The girls were clustered around the coffee table, which was now cluttered with open pizza boxes and fresh glasses of soda and water. They were no longer the sleek, predatory observers of earlier; they looked like a group of friends having a sleepover, albeit in designer dresses that were slightly worse for wear.

"Look who's alive!" Nayeon announced through a mouthful of cheese, waving a half-eaten slice in the air. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, wearing a fluffy dressing gown she had clearly conjured from her bedroom, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. "We were about to send a search party or just eat all the pepperoni."

"Rescue accepted, but unnecessary", my son replied with that dry, tranquil wit of his, offering a polite nod to the group as he guided me towards the sofa. "Though I believe the pepperoni is safe with us."

Mina, who was reclined on the chaise longue with a slice of pizza poised daintily between her fingers, smirked as we approached. Her eyes, still holding that dark, predatory glint, swept over us. "You look positively glowing, Sana. Honestly, it's unfair. Most people look like death warmed up after... that level of cardio. You look like you've just had a month at a Swiss spa."

"It's all down to the excellent aftercare service," I teased, sinking gratefully onto the soft cushions. I kept the robe tight around me, relishing the feeling of cleanliness and warmth. My body felt heavy, used in the best possible way, a delicious ache lingering in my muscles that served as a constant reminder of what had transpired.

My son sat beside me, close enough that our thighs touched beneath the fabric of our robes. The contact was grounding, a silent reminder of the shift in our reality. He didn't reach for the food immediately; instead, he poured me a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, his movements precise and economical.

"You need to rehydrate," he declared quietly, pressing the cool glass into my hand. His blue eyes scanned my face with a clinical intensity that softened into affection. "Physiologically speaking, you lost a lot of fluids tonight."

I took the glass, fighting back a blush that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. "I think we established that rather spectacularly," I murmured, taking a long sip. The water was crisp and cold, exactly what I needed. I looked over at Tzuyu, who was sitting in the armchair, her legs tucked beneath her. She was watching us with that analytical gaze of hers, swirling a glass of soda thoughtfully.

"It is a matter of simple thermodynamics and biological limits," Tzuyu replied, her voice regaining its usual silky smooth cadence, though her eyes remained fixed on me with a new, unsettling intensity. She took a slow sip of her drink, condensation dripping onto her finger. "The human bladder shouldn't be capable of that volume without spontaneous rupture. I'm half-tempted to ask for a medical analysis."

I nearly choked on my water, spluttering slightly as I set the glass down. My son immediately reached out, his hand resting firmly and comfortingly on my lower back, rubbing small, soothing circles.

"I assure you, no medical intervention was required," he claimed calmly, his tone cutting through Tzuyu’s clinical curiosity with a polite finality. "It was merely a... intense release of tension. Perfectly natural, given the circumstances."

"Natural?" Tzuyu repeated, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. She set her glass down with a soft clink, her gaze drifting from my face to his, a flicker of genuine amusement breaking through her analytical veneer. "I've studied biology, sweetheart, and what happened out there was nothing short of a statistical anomaly – a delightful, terrifying anomaly." She picked up a slice of pizza, eyeing it with a sudden voraciousness. "But I suppose we can leave the scientific inquiry for another night; I'm starving."

"Please do", I replied, my voice regaining some of its usual bubbly strength as the food and water revitalised me. "I'm not sure my ego could survive a post-coital peer review of my... performance."

"Performance?" Mina laughed, a low, throaty sound, as she shifted on the chaise, making room for Nayeon to steal a crust from her box. "Sana, darling, that wasn't a performance. That was an exorcism. You were channelling something primal." She looked at my son, her eyes softening with a genuine warmth that caught me off guard. "And you... you have very steady hands for a boy of your age. You kept her safe."

"I'm her knight," he responded her. "It's my duty and outmost pleasure to keep her safe."

The table went quiet at that, save for the rhythmic crunch of Nayeon attacking her pizza crust. It wasn't an awkward silence, but rather a heavy, contemplative one, as if the title he had claimed so casually carried a weight none of us had anticipated. Mina paused, her slice halfway to her mouth, and looked at him with a new-found softness that stripped away her usual feline sarcasm.

"Her knight," she repeated, rolling the phrase around her mouth like a fine wine. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his where it rested on his knee. It wasn't a sexual advance this time, but a gesture of genuine respect. "You really mean that, don't you? It’s not just a roleplay thing for you."

"I take my responsibilities seriously," he replied, his voice low and calm, his blue eyes meeting hers without flinching. "And Sana is the most important responsibility I have.”

"Mina has a point, you know," Nayeon mused around a mouthful of spicy pepperoni, washing it down with a generous swig of soda. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes darting between us with a speculative gleam that I knew all too well. It was the look she gave a pair of shoes she wanted to borrow, or a holiday destination she was determined to drag us all to. "You can't hoard a treasure like that forever, Sana. It’s... greedy."

I froze, my hand hovering halfway to the pizza box. The air in the room shifted instantly, the cosy camaraderie cooling into something tenser, heavier. My son’s hand on my back stilled, his fingers pressing slightly more firmly against my spine—a silent signal of support, or perhaps a warning. I looked at Nayeon, expecting to see a joke in her bunny-like smile, but her expression was deadly serious.

"Don't look at me like I'm asking for your kidney," Nayeon laughed, though her eyes remained fixed on him with a hungry curiosity. "I'm just saying... an exclusive contract is so last season. Why not open the bidding? Think of the fun we could have."

"I'm not asking for a bidding war," Mina interjected smoothly, her voice like dark velvet. She had abandoned her pizza, her focus entirely on us. "I'm asking for a loan. A... private exhibition. One on one." She glanced at Tzuyu, then back to me, her feline gaze heavy with intent. "We saw how he handles you, Sana. We felt the energy in this room. We’re curious to know if that focus... that intensity... translates. Surely you can understand the scientific curiosity?"

"And the sheer boredom," Tzuyu added dryly, though her eyes betrayed her. She wasn't bored; she was fascinated. "We’ve exhausted the dating pool in Tokyo. It’s either boys who play games or men who want to buy us. He..." She gestured towards him with her pizza crust. "He is a paradox. I want to deconstruct him."

"He's not a puzzle to be solved, Tzuyu," I said, my voice sharper than I intended, the protective flare sparking instantly in my chest. "And he's certainly not a toy to be passed around like a novelty bottle of champagne."

I looked at them—my three best friends, the women I had shared clothes, secrets, and beds with for years. They were gorgeous, successful, and accustomed to getting what they wanted. But this wasn't a designer handbag or a table at a VIP club. This was him. My son. My knight.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, broken only by the low hum of the city air conditioning. I felt the weight of their gazes, hungry and expectant, and for a moment, I felt the old Sana—the bubbly, people-pleasing pushover—trying to resurface. But then I felt his hand shift on my back, his thumb stroking my spine with a steady, grounding rhythm. He wasn't panicking. He was waiting. Trusting me.

I looked down at him, really looked at him, expecting to see a flicker of panic or perhaps a burning desire to say 'yes' to three of the most beautiful women in Tokyo. But he was perfectly composed, his profile serene in the warm light of the room. He took a casual sip of his water, his Adam's apple bobbing gently, completely unbothered by the auction taking place over his head. If anything, he seemed faintly amused by the notion that he was a prize to be won.

He wasn't just a boy I was hiding away; he was a partner who had just held my hand through a hurricane of pleasure and come out the other side holding me up. The idea of sharing that—the depth of his focus, the way he made me feel safe and wildly exposed all at once—it wasn't an act of charity. It was an act of pride. I wanted them to know exactly what I had. I wanted them to understand the quality of the man—no, the male—I was raising.

But I wasn't about to send him into the lion's den alone. The very thought of Mina's sharp nails or Tzuyu's cool, dissecting gaze on him without me there to anchor him made my stomach twist with a nausea that had nothing to do with the champagne. I wasn't jealous of the pleasure; I was terrified of the disconnect. What we had was a symbiotic thing, a feedback loop of love and lust that required us both to function.

"You want to borrow him?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a murmur as I turned the idea over in my mind. It was a dangerous thought, volatile and thrilling, like playing with matches in a dry forest. I looked from Mina’s hungry gaze to Tzuyu’s clinical dissection, and finally to Nayeon’s eager, bouncing anticipation. They wanted a taste of the fire that had nearly burned the apartment down.

I looked down at my son again. He was watching me now, his blue eyes calm and clear, devoid of fear or objection. He was waiting for my lead, trusting my judgement with a faith that made my heart ache. He knew I was the gatekeeper. He knew that I held the keys to the kingdom.

I took a deep breath, the decision settling in my chest with a heavy, final kind of click. It was madness, absolute insanity, but as I looked at their faces—faces I loved as much as my own—I realised I didn't want to deny them anymore. I wanted to share my masterpiece. But on my terms.

I reached out, taking a slice of pizza from the box and biting into it without really tasting it, using the motion to buy myself a few seconds of thinking time. The cheese was hot and stringy, a mundane comfort against the wild, chaotic thrum of my thoughts.

"You want to know if he's as good as he looks," I stated finally, wiping my mouth with a napkin and meeting Mina’s eyes directly. "You want to see if that calm, tranquil demeanour cracks when he's inside you. If his hands are as steady when they're on someone else's skin."

"Well," Nayeon drawled, grinning unrepentantly. "When you put it that bluntly... yes. We’re only human, Sana. We just witnessed a religious experience. We want to know if we can get a ticket to heaven too."

I swallowed the rich, heavy cheese, washing it down with a gulp of water to clear my throat. The silence in the room was absolute, the kind that only happens when everyone is holding their breath, waiting for a verdict. I could feel the weight of their anticipation pressing against my skin, but more importantly, I could feel the steady, grounding warmth of my son beside me. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t tensed; he was simply there, a solid pillar of support waiting for my command.

"I suppose," I began slowly, my voice gaining strength as I articulated the wild thought taking root in my mind, "I could be persuaded to share my... assets."

A collective exhale swept through the room, followed immediately by the sharp intake of breath that signalled victory. Nayeon actually pumped her fist, a childish gesture of delight that made me laugh despite the gravity of the situation.

"But," I continued, my voice hardening just enough to cut through their celebration, "there are conditions. Non-negotiable ones."

The smiles on their faces froze, hovering between delight and apprehension. I felt my son’s hand on my back give a gentle, reassuring squeeze, a silent acknowledgment that he was with me, whatever I decided. I looked at each of them in turn—Mina’s predatory intrigue, Nayeon’s wide-eyed eagerness, Tzuyu’s cool assessment—making sure they understood exactly what they were agreeing to.

"I'm not sending him off alone like a takeaway delivery," I stated firmly, picking up another piece of pizza and using it to gesture for emphasis. "If you want to experience what he has to offer, then you get both of us. We are a package deal."

"Both of you?" Nayeon repeated, her eyes going wide as she processed the caveat. She looked from me to him, and then back again, her brain clearly working overtime to calculate the logistics. "You mean... a threesome? Or a foursome? Or...?"

"I mean where he goes, I go," I clarified, taking a deliberate bite of my pizza to let the words sink in. I chewed slowly, watching the realisation dawn on their faces. "You want his focus? You get his mother watching him give it to you. You want his body? You have to deal with me directing the traffic. We are a unit, ladies. A symbiotic entity. You don't get to isolate the variable."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with a sudden, electric tension. I half-expected them to laugh it off, to call me a clingy mother and demand the boy on his own. But instead, I watched the wheels turn. Mina’s dark eyes narrowed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she visualised the scenario. Tzuyu’s analytical gaze shifted from him to me, her brow furrowing slightly as if running a complex simulation in her head. And Nayeon... Nayeon looked like all her Christmases had come at once.

"Deal," Nayeon breathed, the word escaping her lips like a prayer. She didn't even blink. "Absolutely, one hundred percent, deal. God, Sana, you really know how to negotiate. That sounds... infinitely better, actually."

Mina was slower to respond, her gaze shifting from me to him with a heavy, languorous curiosity. She took a sip of her drink, her dark eyes smouldering. "A package deal," she murmured, rolling the phrase around her mouth like a decadent chocolate. "I suppose it makes sense. You two operate on a frequency the rest of us can't quite hear. Separating you might dampen the signal."

"I concur," Tzuyu added, her analytical mask slipping just enough to reveal a flash of genuine excitement. She set her glass down with a decisive click. "It adds a layer of complexity that is... intriguing. And honestly, after tonight, I wouldn't trust anyone else to curate the experience. You have the artistic vision, Sana."

"I want you to be an active participant in what we are going to do, not just the architect behind it," my son opined.

I blinked, surprised by his sudden interruption. It wasn't like him to steer the conversation, especially when I was in the middle of laying down the law. I turned to look at him, finding his blue eyes fixed on the three women with a calm, predatory intensity that made the air in the room feel five degrees colder.

He took a slow sip of his water, his throat working, before placing the glass down on the coffee table with a deliberate clink. "Sana is protective," he asserted, his voice smooth and unruffled, cutting through the hum of the air conditioner. "And she has every right to be. But if we are to proceed with this... arrangement, I require an active partner in the room, not just a chaperone."

The three women stared at him, momentarily silenced by the quiet authority in his tone. It was the voice of the boy who had just commanded the room without raising his volume, the one who had held me while I shattered.

"You see," he continued, his gaze shifting from Tzuyu to Mina, and finally landing on Nayeon. "The connection we share is what gives me the capacity to perform as I do. If you want the experience Sana described, then you must accept that my focus relies on her presence as an active participant. I want her there, touching, guiding, and being touched. We feed off each other. Take away the interaction, and you're left with just a mechanic, not an artist."

The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop, or more accurately, the distinct sound of three women simultaneously holding their breath. My son’s words hung in the air, heavy and charged, effectively shifting the dynamic from a business transaction to a collaborative art project. He wasn't just an asset to be leased; he was the conductor, and he was demanding his first violin.

I stared at him, a fresh wave of arousal mixing with a profound sense of pride. He hadn't just defended my presence; he had defined it. He was telling them that without me, the magic didn't exist. It was a validation so potent it made my chest tight.

"I think that's a fair point," Tzuyu said finally, her voice low and thoughtful. She looked at me, her eyes stripping away the last of my reservations until I felt naked under her gaze—more naked than I had been on the floor earlier. "And, if I'm being entirely honest, a more appealing proposition. Watching is stimulating, yes, but participation..." She trailed off, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, a gesture of pure, unadulterated hunger. "Participation is immersive.”

"You've made your case, knight," Tzuyu murmured, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face as she surveyed the four of us. She stood up, the movement fluid and graceful despite the lingering exhaustion in her limbs. "And I, for one, am ready to see where this... collaborative art... leads us. But that is a discussion for tomorrow. My brain is currently fried, and my bed is calling my name."

"Seconded," Nayeon groaned, practically rolling off the sofa in her exaggerated fatigue. She stretched her arms high above her head, her joints popping audibly, before padding towards the hallway on bare feet. "I love you all dearly, but if I don't get horizontal within the next five minutes, I might actually die. Sana, you know the drill—top and tail, or squeeze in the middle. Just... no more energetic gymnastics until I've had at least eight hours of REM sleep."

Mina rose with a languid stretch, her movements like a cat uncurling in a sunbeam. She offered us a mysterious, feline smile as she followed Nayeon. "Sweet dreams, you two. Try not to dream too... loudly."

The hallway to Nayeon’s bedroom was dimly lit, guided only by the soft amber glow of recessed floor lights. We walked in a loose procession, the silence broken only by the rustle of our robes and the soft thud of bare feet on the hardwood. My son’s hand was warm and steady at the small of my back, a constant anchor that kept me grounded as the adrenaline of the night finally began to ebb, leaving a heavy, pleasant lassitude in its wake.

Nayeon’s bedroom was as bold and vibrant as her personality—a sprawling space dominated by a massive king-sized bed piled high with velvet cushions and a faux-fur throw. The walls were painted a deep, moody plum, and the air smelled faintly of the vanilla candle she always kept burning on her nightstand.

It was a sanctuary, and right now, it looked like the most inviting place on earth.

"Left or right?" Nayeon mumbled, already halfway to burrowing beneath the duvet, her blonde hair fanning out across the dark pillowcases like spilled ink. "But don't you dare kick me. I have an early photoshoot tomorrow, and if I have bruises on my shins, Sana, I'm sending you the bill."

"Centre," I decided without hesitation, patting the expanse of mattress between us. "I need to be in the middle. It's... a strategic necessity."

The girls didn't argue, merely shifting with sleepy murmurs to create a space. Mina curled up on the edge, her breathing already slowing into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep, while Tzuyu lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression that suggested she was still running calculations in her head. I climbed in, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the lingering heat in my skin, and immediately felt the bed dip as my son slid in beside me.

He moved with a fluid grace, settling onto his back and immediately opening his arm in a silent invitation. I didn't hesitate; I shuffled closer, moulding myself against his side with a familiarity that felt as natural as breathing. I rested my head on his chest, right over the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart, and draped one leg across his thighs, tangling our limbs together beneath the heavy duvet.

"Is this comfortable?" he murmured, the vibration of his deep voice resonating through my cheek.

"Perfect," I sighed, closing my eyes as the lingering tension in my muscles finally began to unspool. The scent of him—clean skin, soap, and that underlying musk that was uniquely his—was the most soothing lullaby I could imagine. "You're my personal radiator now, sweetheart. Don't you dare go cold on me."

"No danger of that," he replied softly, his breath ruffling the hair on the top of my head. His arm tightened around my shoulders, pulling me impossibly closer until there was no space left between us, creating a warm, protected bubble amidst the soft tangle of limbs and expensive bedding. "I believe I generate sufficient thermal energy to keep you satisfied."

I let out a quiet, sleepy giggle, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. "You certainly do. You’re like a furnace. A very handsome, surprisingly strong furnace."

Around us, the sounds of the apartment began to settle. Nayeon’s breathing had already deepened into a soft, rhythmic snuffle, completely dead to the world. I could hear Mina shifting restlessly for a moment on the far edge before she too stilled, and even Tzuyu seemed to have abandoned her calculations, her breathing slow and steady in the dim light.

"I never want to move from this spot," I whispered into the darkness, the confession spilling out of me unbidden. The safety of his embrace, combined with the physical and emotional exhaustion of the night, had stripped away my last defences. "Tonight was... a lot. But being here, like this... it feels right."

"Sleep now, Sana," he murmured, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, a benediction in the dark. "The world will still be there when we wake up."

And with the steady thrum of his heart beneath my ear and the scent of jasmine and sleep heavy in the air, I drifted off, feeling more loved and more secure than I ever had in my life. I was his Queen, and he was my Knight.

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