☆ | description ; having two girlfriends is even more fun when they’re both obsessed with you.
☆ | content ; smut, a little bit of fluff, one line that could maybe count as angst. overstimulation. jihyo is a FREAK
☆ | notes ; here you go you FREAKS… also this is the fastest ive ever written and the wildest fic ive ever made idk what happened to me
☆ | word count ; 5.6k
You wake just as you always do; wrapped up in the arms of one of your girlfriends, with the other always within reach. Today, Momo's arms are warm around your waist, and Jihyo's shoulder apparently became the perfect headrest overnight.
They're already awake when you stir, talking in low voices. Momo's hand is charting across your skin, her fingers tracing invisible sketches over the skin, heat radiating from her palm.
Jihyo's hand comes to rest over Momo's, and the casual affection between the two elicits a small smile and a soft laugh from you.
You press your face into Jihyo's shoulder as her had turna to face you, a kiss being planted on your head. "Go back to sleep," she says, immediately. "It's too early, and you were up late last night."
"I'm awake now," you murmur, but the slow tempo of your words gives you away.
Momo leans over, resting her forehead on the back of your head. It's a tactic she uses often; you aren't very likely to want to move her, so she has a tendency to do that in order to keep you in place. "You're still tired," she states, truthfully. "It's two against one, baby. Majority wins?"
You grumble about the fact that she can read you so easily, but the low, soothing tone of her voice causes your eyes to lower nonetheless. Jihyo shifts closer, wrapping one arm around you.
With that, it's over. You can hardly argue with one of them, let alone both.
"You're both so annoying," you mumble, but it trails off into a yawn. Your eyes fully close as Jihyo's fingers comb through your hair.
It doesn't take very long before you fall asleep again, relaxed and safe in the arms of your two lovers.
-
You sleep for another two hours before finally waking at a normal hour.
The three of you are all going out with the other girls today; technically, only Jihyo and Momo were meant to, but they have a tendency to extend every invitation to you. And you, having the day off, would never willingly give up a chance to spend time with them.
You check the weather; hot, apparently.
That's the only thing that you have in mind as you pick your outfit. A cropped tank top, along with a coincidentally form-fitting pair of pants.
The weather is the only thing on your mind. Practicality.
Your girlfriends, though… not so much.
-
As soon as you walk back into the bedroom to retrieve your jewelry, you feel eyes on you. You glance up curiously, only to find Jihyo staring at you intensely.
…Huh. It's going to be a long day.
-
There's constantly eyes on you. You wish you were joking, but you aren't; when Jihyo isn't staring at you, Momo is. When Momo isn't staring at you, Jihyo is.
You catch their eyes a few times, smiling, just praying they can hold themselves together for a couple hours. You do not want to be responsible for them losing their composure in public.
…Though, the image of Jihyo snapping suddenly is pretty attractive…
No, you scold yourself. Just wait.
It'll be fine.
-
It's summer, so it's hot. It's always hot during the summer.
…But something other than the sun is beaming into you.
When you turn your head, you find it to be Jihyo's smouldering gaze, right behind you.
Well, she clearly wants something.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out what that something is; it just takes a girlfriend.
"Jihyo," you warn under your breath.
She groans. "Come on," she draws out, one hand sneaking towards your waist. "There's a bathroom."
"And there's also a bedroom," you counter. "In our house."
"I can be quick," she promises.
"Jihyo," you warn, but you can't help the amused smile on your face. It's impossible to hold back; even when she's not trying to, she makes you laugh.
She sighs dramatically. You grin, tap her nose, and walk away.
-
You're in front of a vending machine, debating buying a drink, when you feel a presence behind you.
You don't even turn around. It's likely one of two people, and you already have a sneaking suspicion which one came to find you. It has to be Jihyo.
"Hi," you greet over your shoulder, a smirk forming on your face.
…You, as it turns out, are wrong.
"I assume you know how insane Jihyo is right now?" Momo asks, her arms looping around your waist from behind. You're pleasantly surprised, and more than happy to hear her.
You hum, leaning back into her. "Kinda figured, yeah," you murmur. Your hands absentmindedly stroke the skin of her arms. "She's been staring at me. And also trying to get me to go to the washroom with her, if you know what I mean. Should I be worried about whether or not I'll be able to walk tomorrow?"
"Oh! No, you don't need to worry," Momo says innocently. "I already know you won't, so there's no need to worry about figuring it out!"
Your laugh comes in the form of an amused snort, your head leaning back to rest on her shoulder as well as it can. "So you're not going to help me?"
"Oh, of course not," she tells you, voice bright. But from the way her hand subtly plays with your waistband… you've been dating long enough to know that the innocent tone of her voice is all for show. "I might make it worse, actually."
"Good to know," you sigh, patting her arm. "Okay, we should go, I think. Jihyo probably misses us."
She nods, giving you a final squeeze before removing her arms and backing up. "Let's go," she says, her voice even.
But as she leads you back to the rest of the group, her eyes linger on the exposed part of your stomach, and you know she's more affected than she's letting on.
-
Pretty much as soon as she sees you, the sun burning down onto you, Jihyo all but drags you away from the others.
She pulls you into a secluded room, pressing you to the door and leaning in to kiss you. Her chest rises and falls against yours, breathing heavy.
"Your outfit is driving me nuts," she mumbles into your lips, her nails digging into the bare skin of your shoulders. "Holy shit, you look so good—"
"It's just a tank top! Calm down!" you laugh against her, taking one of her hands and squeezing it playfully.
"I can't," she hisses. Her eyes close, and she leans her head forward until it thunks gently against your shoulder. "You're too pretty. I can't handle it. This is torture."
"That is wild, coming from you."
"No, it's just true."
"You literally have your abs on full display at almost every concert," you deadpan. "Momo, too. And I always just have to sit there and watch. And—"
A sharp, subtle pain in your shoulder interrupts you.
"Ow!" you hiss out. "Did you— Jihyo, did you just bite me?"
"I can't help it," she complains, kissing and— shit, she's licking at the skin to soothe it. Shit, she's hot.
You sigh, and it quivers just a little as she scrapes her teeth over your skin again. "Jihyo..."
You feel her smirk against your skin. "What?" she asks. "Can't I appreciate my girlfriend?"
"Can't you do it without trying to initiate sex in public?"
"Well, I could, but what if I don't want to do it like that?"
You shake your head, huffing out a soft laugh. "You're impossible," you grumble.
She turns her head, pressing her nose into your neck. "I'm in love," she sighs out dramatically.
"You're horny," you correct.
She snorts. "That, I can't argue with."
-
You and Momo head home before Jihyo does. She pouts as you leave, but you already know she'll be more than happy once she gets home.
The drive back to your house is quick and filled with laughter. Your hand is intertwined with Momo's the whole way back. If you were someone else, you'd call yourself a lovesick idiot for how you feel when she looks at you.
But you're not someone else. So, when your chest warms in response to her gentle smiles, you just settle for calling yourself an adoring girlfriend.
-
Jihyo, as it turns out, is not the only horny one in the relationship.
You find this out because, maybe ten minutes after you make it home, Momo is already making out with you messily. To make things worse—better,actually, if you're honest—the two of you are already in bed.
This, of course, means that she is by no means against allowing her lips to start roaming.
Momo presses you into the mattress, lips immediately moving to your collarbone. You tilt your head back on instinct, allowing her access to your neck if she wants it, and she hums appreciatively.
"Do you know how attractive you are?" she murmurs, her lips just barelyleaving your skin in order to get the words out. She travels to your shoulder, peppering quick kisses along the slope of it.
Your hand ghosts across her back, finding the skin revealed by her crop top. "Nowhere near as attractive as you," you snort, fingertips dragging against her sides in the hopes of making her shiver.
Momo stops for a moment, glancing up at you with a quizzical expression. "Are you serious? You literally drive me insane." She kisses your shoulder again, and then moves down to the exposed skin above the neckline of your shirt. "You're so hot. Just ask Jihyo; she's been losing her shit over you all day."
You shake your head as Momo toys with the hem of your shirt. "You're just saying that because you're my girlfriend," you say. You lift yourself to help her while she removes your shirt, shivering beneath her warm hands.
"I'm not a liar," she chides. Her head moves a little lower, mouth meeting the skin just above your breasts.
"I never said that." A breathy, needy sigh escapes you as she finally moves down, wrapping her lips around one of your nipples. "Just that you… could be a little biased."
She pulls back for a moment, looking at you like you're insane. "Stop that." She rests a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently, and moves to press a quick kiss to your lips. "I am not biased, you're just hot."
You smile. You're about to say something else, but then her mouth attaches to your other breast, and the words are lost. Whatever you were thinking escapes you with a long, quiet whine.
Momo wastes no time in pulling herself away and moving lower, looking up to lock eyes with you once. "Can I…?" she asks, nodding to the space between your thighs.
You nod, lifting your hips. She removes your pants with ease and tosses them somewhere over her shoulder; the location isn't important.
She kisses the inside of your right thigh, and then your left. She lingers there for a moment, smiling into your skin, basking in the position. You groan. Finally, when you reach down to clumsily pat at her shoulder, she moves to where she knows you want her.
The first press of her lips to your soaked cunt sends pleasure jolting through you, eliciting a long, drawn-out moan as she begins to put her tongue to good use.
"Shit," you breathe out, already feeling her starting to work you up. To be honest, she's a little too good at it.
You find your hand twisting into her hair. You don't apply too much pressure, not yet, but you do hold her where she is. You're feeling too good to let her move back; you're already feeling the knot forming in your stomach, winding just a little tighter, and you don't want to let that go.
You don't want to let her go.
Her palms are warm as the come around, holding your thighs just as they begin to quiver the slightest bit. She's focused in her work, in the expert strokes along your slit, tongue dipping inside of you slightly for just a moment before she returns to teasing between your folds.
She knows your body, knows just the perfect speed to go, knows the perfect movements to push and push as your edge draws closer. Her fingers dig into the skin of your thighs, her movements growing quicker just as your breathing and heartbeat do the same. It only lasts a moment, though; the increased speed is almost teasing, before she returns to the tempo she was going at before.
Not that you come down at all when she slows; in fact, you just get closer.
The strokes of her tongue are slow and languid, and you whimper and gasp as she takes your clit into her mouth.
She's almost infuriatingly gentle.
She moans against you, and the vibration runs through you. You mimic the sound, breathing short and fast, as pleasure shoots through you like a shock. You can already feel yourself nearing the edge.
One thought breaks through your lust-fogged haze, though; you manage to force out a strangled, breathy, "Jihyo—"
Momo hums into you, and your voice breaks into a cracking moan. "She'll have her fun later," she promises lowly against your cunt, her nails leaving small indents in your thighs as she returns to her task with a renewed determination.
She circles your clit with her tongue in teasing, effortless movements, and you moan again. As she carefully sucks, your composure breaks completely.
You come, crying out her name, and the nails digging into your thighs disappear. Her fingers run comfortingly over the slightly-pained indents as your high crashes over, still lapping at you throughout it.
As you come down, you sigh, your body relaxing back into the mattress. Your haand in her hair releases its grip, instead sliding down to cup her cheek and turn her face up towards you.
"Thank you," you mumble, meeting her eyes with a half-lidded gaze. She beams up at you from between your legs, the expression so bright that you can almost forget what she was just doing there.
…No, that's a lie. You can't forget it at all.
She removes herself from your body, shivering lightly as she separates your combined body heat. You shut your eyes, sleepy from the warmth of the day and the intense orgasm, while you wait for her return.
When Momo walks back into the room, you feel her carefully cleaning up the area between your thighs. Usually, you would take a bath, but it seems like both of you have come to the same conclusion; Jihyo will just want to do more, so it's no use.
She spends a short time cleaning you up, and then leaves to throw the towel into the laundry. Upon her return, she shifts you over a little, and then claims the spot right next to you.
When she nudges you, guiding your head to rest on her chest, you allow her to move you with closed eyes and a small smile. Your bare chest presses against her side, laying on your stomach. She presses a tender kiss to the top of your head, her hand rubbing circles into your back, and murmurs a quiet, "You down to take a nap?"
"Absolutely," you respond, not even opening your eyes.
You can't see her smile, but you can hear the soft puff of laughter that comes from her. She tilts her hand, instead running gentle lines across the slope of your back with her nails, and your body melts into hers.
Jihyo will be home soon enough, and you already know you'll need energy for that. So for now, you allow yourself to bask in the relaxation of napping with Momo, and prepare yourself for what will come later.
-
Jihyo returns about two and a half hours after you wake up, once the sky has already darkened.
You and Momo have already eaten dinner, as has Jihyo. The three of you have just been waiting to reunite, the few hours you've spent separated feeling more like years.
You perk up as soon as you hear the door open, already grinning. You pat Momo's shoulder and peek your head around the corner, warmth filling your chest at the sight of Jihyo.
She's placing down her bag. She turns, her expression quickly brightening, and reaches for you.
Momo isn't far behind as you hug and kiss Jihyo as a greeting. You make room for her, watching the two warmly, and then rest your head on Jihyo's shoulder from the side.
"I sure hope you have enough energy," is how Jihyo chooses to greet you. You blush, and she turns to Momo. "Hi, Momo. Miss me?"
Jihyo then turns back to you, taking your face into her hands. "I hope you know we aren't leaving that bed once we get to it," she promises, voice far too sweet for something like that.
You laugh, but you know she's serious. If she really has been losing her mind all day, you already know that, as soon as you let her start, she won't stop.
You just hope you still have enough energy.
-
She's sweet, once she gets you laying down.
Her eyes are warm and dark, a heavy tension of want resting over the three of you as she takes you in. You did put on a sweatshirt and pants after you and Momo woke up, but Jihyo makes quick work of those.
You find yourself shifting as Momo takes a seat, her hands already reaching for your waist. She pulls you towards her while Jihyo ties her hair back, her fingertips running soft lines along your hips.
"You're so pretty," she murmurs in your ear. You know she's just saying it to get you started, but that doesn't stop the shiver that runs down your spine.
Jihyo joins the two of you on the bed, leaning over you with a lopsided smile. "I've been waiting to do this all day," she says, as if you don't know that already.
You tip your head back, just slightly, and look her in the eye. "Then do it," you challenge playfully, shifting just a little.
Jihyo smiles, cupping your cheek. You feel Momo moving beneath your body, and then her arm wraps around you to keep you still.
With Momo holding you, Jihyo lets her hand travel lower. It reaches the space between your thighs, and she presses teasingly.
You whimper, just slightly. She smirks as your breathing begins to pick up a little.
"Momo told me she made you come hard earlier," Jihyo murmurs, her eyes meeting yours through her lashes as her fingers begin to tease. "I hope that didn't take all of your energy. You still need some."
"I have energy," you promise quickly, hips shifting just a little in the hopes of getting a little more feeling where you need it.
"Do you have enough?" she asks. Her fingers grow more insistent, but you aren't complaining; if anything, you're already getting desperate for her to do more.
You nod quickly, only a little bit frantically, and her eyes take in every movement. You want her, you want this, you need this and her and all of it.
Her fingers move around, and she just taps at your entrance. Doesn't go in. Doesn't give you what you want, not yet.
She just… taps at it. Once. Then twice.
It's all so underwhelming; too underwhelming. You need more, and you can tell by her expression that she knows that.
One finger dips into you, just for a second, and you whine. Then she pulls it back out, and traces the outline of your entrance with an eager grin.
"Jihyo, please," you find yourself exhaling, clenching and unclenching your fists as she works.
Jihyo glances up at you, gives a smug smirk, and continues her actions.
You pant, eyes squeezing shut. Your hips lift, just slightly, as her fingers circle and tease around your entrance.
"Oh, don't squirm," Momo murmurs, her hand gently running over your abdomen. You feel her head finding its way to your neck, her teeth tracing over the skin before biting and sucking a mark into it. Her arm only tightens around you as your back arches, coincidentally moving away from her.
Before you've recovered from Momo's bite, you feel two of Jihyo's fingers finally push into you.
Your voice breaks over a moan at the combination of feelings, eyes cracking open to take in the sight before you. That choice, however, only serves to fuel the blaze forming through your nerves, because, shit,the sight is hot.
Jihyo is leaning over you, her eyes flicking between her own fingers and your flushed face. When your eyes travel lower, you can see one of Momo's hands tracing shapes into your hip while she holds you against her; the hand that you can't see from your angle, you can feel tracing over your breast, her nails scratching so gently in all the right spots.
Your heart pounds erratically as Jihyo's eyes meet yours, her pupils dilated, her mouth twisted in a smirk. "Having fun?" she asks, voice lowin her throat, as she thrusts into you again.
A breathless moan punches out of you, and she smiles wider.
Momo hums from behind you. "I think she could be having more fun," she purrs. "I think she can handle a third finger. What do you think?"
"I think you're right, Momo," Jihyo agrees, pulling out of you slowly.
You whine at the loss, still panting, and she coos. "Oh, don't worry," she soothes. "Just a minute, okay?"
She lifts her fingers to her mouth, opening it to take them inside and sucking. She closes her eyes for a moment, her free hand rubbing circles into your hip, while you begin to catch your breath.
Her eyes open, a newfound shine in them, as she pulls her fingers from her mouth. "Momo, do you want a taste?" she asks, offering up the two fingers that she just licked clean.
Momo laughs from behind you. "I'd love to," she says, as if she hasn't tasted you more times than you can count, "but you just cleaned it all off your fingers…"
"Oh, that's not a problem," Jihyo says brightly, her eyes flicking back down to you.
Part of you wants to question what she means, but with your head spinning like it is, you don't get the chance.
Before you've fully processed her words, and the implication behind them, her fingers push back into you. You whimper, caught off guard, and your eyes roll back as her fingers curl inside of you.
She thrusts in and out one, two, three times. Her eyes are locked on your face when you finally open yours again, and the pure, unfiltered want in her gaze is enough to force another breathy moan out of you.
Then, without warning, she pulls her fingers out again.
"Problem solved," she murmurs, offering her fingers to Momo again. Her eyes finally leave you, now flicking up to meet Momo's.
Now, Momo leans over you as well as she can, taking Jihyo's fingers into her mouth. You watch them as they simply stare at each other, both of their chests heaving slightly.
When she releases Jihyo's fingers from her mouth, Momo smiles widely. "Amazing," she laughs. "But… you know what I think would taste even better?"
"I think I have a hunch," Jihyo teases, looking back at you. A shudder rolls through your body as her attention returns fully to you.
Her hand traces around your inner thighs, slowly, gently. And then her hand finds your core once again.
"Ready?" she asks, her voice even and calm. Much calmer than you, right now.
You nod quickly. Jihyo smiles.
When her fingers thrust into you—three of them, this time—you hiss out at the feeling of them stretching you lightly. Your body adjusts quickly, though, tense against Momo.
Momo herself still keeps her arm wrapped around you, tightening every time you move a little. Her lips return to your skin, mouthing at your neck and your shoulder and the slope between them. You feel her teeth every now and then, and you're sure she's leaving marks that you'll need to cover up, but another thrust from Jihyo tugs those thoughts out of you.
Momo's free hand, eventually, moves to your jaw. She holds it gently, keeping your head tilted just right, the side of her nose brushing against your throat as she kisses and licks along the skin of your neck.
The whole time, Jihyo just keeps thrusting into you, her other hand running along your body and occasionally helping Momo to keep you pinned. Her eyes don't leave you, and the glint in them is dizzyingwhenever you crack your eyes open.
The combination of sensations enveloping you is overwhelming, and you feel yourself nearing the edge very quickly. Not that it's an uncommon thing to feel; Jihyo and Momo are always great at getting you to this point, and fast.
"Fuck," you groan, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes from how tightly you squeeze them. "Oh, fuck— I'm— I'm close."
Jihyo hums, and you can hear the smile in her voice, and you're pretty sure you'll kill her if she tries edging you right now.
"What do you think, Momo?" she asks, low and teasing. "Should we let her come?"
"Please," you beg, hoping that maybe it'll sway the decision of the girl behind you.
Momo hums against your neck, but you recognize the tone. You sigh in relief, for a moment; she doesn't sound like she's going to suggest edging you, if you know her. And you'd like to think you know her well.
Sure enough, she finally says, "Well, I think she's been good. I think she deserves it."
Oh, you could cry.
Jihyo lets out a low noise from her throat above you. Her thumb finds your clit, drawing a moan immediately, and swipes back and forth once, then twice.
With a third swipe, another thrust into you, and her lips capturing yours, you tumble over the edge. Your moans are muffled by her mouth as she works you through it, her fingers beginning to slow but staying inside of you for as long as you need.
Slowly, your body begins to relax again. You come down gradually, your chest rising and falling heavily, your body trembling a little.
"…Shit," you pant.
Jihyo grins, running her hands over your stomach. "How was that?" she asks, her face lingering near yours.
You don't respond. You blink at her, a stupid, lovesick smile growing on your face. "Are you satisfied now?"
"No," she tells you honestly, but she leans away nonetheless.
The two of them give you a few moments to settle down, catching your breath and waiting for your heartbeat to slow. Once you calm down a little, you feel Momo dragging a hand along your arm.
"Think you can handle another round?" she asks, hooking her chin over your shoulder. The teasing tone of her voice is dropped, though, as she adds, "Only if you want."
Her hand travels just a little lower, and a low whine pulls from you. "Momo," you sigh, your body melting back into her. "Yes— yeah, sure, yes…"
There's a momentary pause, a wordless communication between your two girlfriends. And then Momo, head angled slightly downwards, gives one communicative nod.
Jihyo doesn't seem to need anything else to understand. She gently maneuvers you, murmuring sweet words of praise that you can't process into your ear, until you're situated atop Momo's thigh, your body now facing the opposite direction.
Momo's hands find themselves on your hips, fingers tapping gently in rhythmic strokes. You hiss out a breath as she pulls you down even further, tears forming in your eyes as your bare, sensitive core meets her thigh. She groans at the feeling, and it only serves to make you wetter.
You feel Jihyo's arms slowly snake around your waist, at the same time that Momo begins to guide you to grind down against her thigh.
For a few moments, she's guiding your movements, maneuvering you back and forth along her skin. But once you get into the rhythm of it, she's controlling your movements less and less. Your hand reaches, shakily, and lands on her shoulder for stability.
Jihyo presses gentle kisses to the back of your shoulder, still holding you. Her breath picks up again, and you begin to speed up a little.
You're still feeling very shaky and a little tired from your first orgasm, but your desperation is quickly reviving your energy and stamina.
"Momo," you groan, "Momo—"
"Keep going," she encourages, grasping at your free hand and lacing her fingers through yours.
You press yourself down harder, a stuttered moan drawing itself from your throat as you speed up. You feel it building up again, gasping, chasing your high.
"Good," Jihyo is praising from behind you. "You can do it. Good girl."
Your head lowers, your hair hanging over Momo's face and shoulder. Your breath comes heavy and fast as you slide back and forth, eyes rolling back once again.
Momo's grip tightens on where she's holding your hips, and she grinds you down harder against her. You cry out, movements growing jagged and frantic as you chase the feeling.
Jihyo's lips press to the back of your neck, and it's the final touch to shove you over the edge. You come with a sob, body collapsing down into Momo as you quiver.
Jihyo comes down with you, and suddenly you're a stack of three. You're sandwiched in the middle, stuck between them as they both try to hold you through it.
At that moment, it seems, an idea strikes Jihyo. You know this because she carefully flips you over, kissing your cheek, and then moves down your body.
"You're so good, so good," she murmurs as she travels, planting herself between your thighs. You can't focus, already lost in pleasure, lost in them, as she prepares herself.
By the time you can even start to come down, you're already feeling her tongue slipping between your folds.
You cry out helplessly, but a shaking hand comes down to hold her head anyway. Your hand tangles in her hair, instinctively pulling her into you.
Momo's hands are roaming, you realize distantly. But your attention is almost immediately pulled back down to Jihyo, who inserts two fingers while her mouth is working.
"Jihyo," you cry out, pretty much gone by now. "Fuck, oh—"
"Good girl," Momo rasps in your ear. "So good for us. So pretty for us. Come again for us, okay? One more time. You can do it."
You let out a desperate whine, fumbling to hold Momo's hand again. You squeeze it in a white-knuckled grip, tension building and building as Jihyo continues to fuck you.
Jihyo curls her fingers inside of you once, and then another time, and you swear you lose your vision.
Your third orgasm in a row crashes into you hard and fast, and it leaves you gasping as Jihyo helps you ride it out. Momo presses kiss after kiss to your neck, squeezing your hand even when your grip slackens.
You hardly come down before you're talking, just babbling without thinking. "Keep going," you sob out feverishly, "don't stop— fuck, Jihyo—"
At your request, she continues. She doesn't seem tired in the slightest; if anything, she moves with more energy than ever, eating you out like she'll never get the chance again, fucking you hard with her fingers the whole time.
Momo just keeps mumbling praises to you, keeps kissing your skin, but you can't even register her words at this point. You're incoherent, whimpering and gasping desperately.
It doesn't take very long for you to come again, nor does it take much effort. All it really takes is Jihyo giving a particularly intense suck to your clit, and a good thrust, and you're gone.
You genuinely lose awareness for a few moments, head falling back against Momo. Her arms wrap around your sides, holding you against herself gently, eyes shining as she watches you.
Jihyo leans away, pulling her fingers out and cooing quietly at the soft whine you let out. She watches your flushed face as you finally begin to come down fully.
Your thighs tremble and twitch as the two of them lay you down, Jihyo slotting herself next to you while Momo wordlessly gets up. She comes back a minute or two later—though you hardly notice the time passing—with a wet cloth, carefully cleaning you up.
Jihyo traces aimless shapes over your bare skin, still mumbling praise to you, holding you gently. Your breathing begins to calm, just a little, as she presses her forehead into your neck. She watches Momo clean you with a wordless kind of affection, hands moving to soothe your twitching, tired body.
By the time you fully return to yourself, both of them are laying down with you, one on either side. Your body feels heavy and weak, all of your energy having gone to… that.
"…I have never seen you keep going for that long," Momo remarks, wide-eyed.
You groan, long and exhausted. "I didn't know I could do that. You two better not be expecting me to do anything tomorrow morning."
"We'll see how you're feeling," Jihyo promises. Her smile is warm and attentive, as she drags a hand down your body. She slowly pulls the covers over all three of you.
You let your head drop onto her shoulder, your eyes heavy.
"Get some rest," Momo encourages, one of her legs moving to rest over both of yours. "That was intense."
You can't argue; you close your eyes, and when you fall asleep, you're warm and happy.
The wrestling mat still echoed in my mind—the sharp crack when my arm twisted wrong during that takedown drill, the coach yelling for ice, the blur of teammates crowding around. College practice had turned into an ER visit, and now here I was, right arm immobilized in a bulky cast from elbow to fingers, useless for everything from eating to zipping my pants. Mom and Dad were swamped with work, so they roped in Seol In-ah—my best friend since we were kids trading lunches in elementary school. Her parents lived two blocks away, and she'd always been the reliable one, the girl who'd bail me out of dumb scrapes without judgment. "We'll pay you to help out," Dad had said over dinner, and she just shrugged with that easy smile, her long brown hair tucked behind one ear, glasses perched on her nose making her look like the smart girl in every rom-com. "No need—he's like my brother. I'll handle it."
Handling it meant everything. The first few days were awkward but functional: she'd cut my food into bites at meals, help button my shirts, even tie my shoes with a teasing grin. "You're like a giant baby now," she'd say, her voice light, those soft eyes crinkling at the corners. In-ah was 20 like me, but she carried herself with this quiet confidence—slender build with subtle curves that showed in fitted tops, small but perky breasts that shifted naturally when she moved, a narrow waist leading to hips that swayed just enough to notice if you looked too long. Her skin was pale and smooth, always smelling faintly of green tea lotion, and her face was the kind that stuck with you: high cheekbones, full lips that curved into genuine smiles, and those glasses framing eyes that could go from playful to intense in a blink.
Showering was the real test. The cast couldn't get wet, so she wrapped it in plastic, but everything else required assistance. "We've done this before," she said the first time, standing outside the curtain in her tank top and shorts. "Remember summer camp when we were 10? No big deal." But it was different now—we weren't kids anymore. I'd strip down, step under the spray, and she'd reach in with the loofah, soaping my back, my chest, her hands efficient but careful. The water made her tank cling in spots, outlining her small nipples faintly, but I tried not to stare.
By day four, the inevitable happened. Under the hot stream, her hand brushing lower to wash my legs, my cock stirred—hardening despite my mental chants to calm down. It bobbed up, obvious and unignorable, the head flushing pink against my thigh. She paused, eyes flicking down, then up to my face with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously?" she muttered, but there was no real anger, just that familiar tease.
I seized the moment, guilt twisting in my gut but opportunity burning hotter. "In-ah... it's been days. I can't... you know, with the cast. It hurts. Please?" I made my voice pathetic, eyes pleading, leaning into the helplessness. "You're my best friend. Help me out?"
She sighed, rolling her eyes, but didn't pull away. "You're shameless." Her hand hovered, then wrapped around me tentatively—soft palm, fingers slender and warm from the water. She stroked once, experimental, and I groaned louder than necessary.
"Wait," I pushed, voice thick. "Let me see you. It's only fair—I'm naked here. Show me your body."
She froze, hand stilling. "What? No way." But I kept going, coaxing: "Come on, we've known each other forever. Just to make it easier. Please? It hurts so bad."
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn't let go. Instead, she flicked my balls—sharp snap of her finger that made me wince and double over, pain shooting up. "Ow—fuck, In-ah!"
"Beg," she said, a smirk tugging her lips. "Mercy?"
"Mercy, please—don't stop," I gasped, straightening. "Just... compromise? Show me your breasts while you do it."
She bit her lip, considering, then nodded once. "Fine. Pity you, loser." She stepped back, peeled off her tank—revealing those small, perky breasts, pale skin glowing under the bathroom light, nipples dark pink and already tightening from the steam. They sat high on her chest, soft handfuls with a natural bounce when she moved back in. Her hand resumed stroking—firmer now, twisting at the head, her thumb circling the slit where pre-cum beaded.
"You're so beautiful," I breathed, eyes locked on her chest. "The most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. My exes? Nothing compared to you. That girl I crushed on last semester—she's plain next to you." I layered the praise thick, stroking her ego, watching her cheeks deepen in color, her strokes quickening.
She smiled faintly, embarrassed but pleased. "Shut up."
When I pushed further—"Suck it? Please? Ride me after?"—she didn't snap. Her eyes widened, face heating, but she didn't pull away. "You're crazy," she whispered, but her hand didn't stop. I kept coaxing: "In-ah, I've had a crush on you forever. Fantasized about us—married, kids, the whole thing. Jerk off thinking of you every night."
She paused, breath catching, then that smile broke—barely contained, lighting her face. "Idiot... me too. Been in love with you since forever. Fantasized the same stuff." Her voice cracked with embarrassment, but she leaned in, lips parting to take my cock—warm mouth enveloping me, tongue flat along the underside as she bobbed slow, eyes flicking up shyly.
We moved to the bedroom after—her leading me by the hand, both dripping water on the floor. She stripped fully, revealing a body honed from casual workouts: slender arms, flat stomach with a faint navel dip, hips narrow but feminine, and between her legs a neat strip of dark hair above smooth lips already slick. We fucked clumsily at first—her on top, guiding me in, her tightness gripping like heat wrapped in silk. "Slow... you're big," she gasped, riding tentative, her small breasts bouncing with each drop. Post-nut hit hard after I came inside her—regret flooding as she curled against me, calling me "baby," "dear," her hands touching nonstop, chattering about marriage dates and baby names. "We'll have three—two girls like me, one boy like you." I hid the disgust, forcing a smile, her clinginess already feeling like weights on my chest.
But it stuck. She became this affectionate storm—texts every hour, showing up unannounced, her presence a constant hum. Mornings she'd wake me with kisses, her body pressed close, big breasts (wait, no—small perky ones) squishing against me. We'd fuck daily—intense sessions where she'd ride me facing away, ass cheeks spreading to show her pink hole winking, or me eating her out until she squirted, her taste tangy and addictive. Weird kinks crept in: her dipping food in her pussy juices for me to eat, or sucking me with cookie crumbs in her mouth for that rough texture. But the affection was overwhelming—her calling me pet names nonstop, planning our future in breathless whispers during sex: "Marry me soon, dear—kids right after." I nodded, hiding the growing unease, her love a beautiful cage I couldn't escape.
The first time I saw her at the public pool, she was impossible to miss.
Karina—though she introduced herself as “Noona” that afternoon—was in her late 30s but looked like she could pass for mid-20s under the right light. Long, jet-black hair slicked back from swimming, water beading on marble skin, and a black one-piece swimsuit that hugged every dangerous curve: heavy, natural breasts straining the fabric so the deep V-neckline barely contained them, nipples faintly visible when the material clung wet; a narrow waist that flared into wide, childbearing hips; thick thighs that flexed when she climbed out of the water; and an ass so round and full it jiggled with every step. Her face was devastating—sharp cat eyes, high cheekbones, full lips painted a soft coral even at the pool, the kind of beauty that made housewives glare and husbands stare.
She caught me looking. Smiled. Waved me over like it was nothing.
We talked. She was bored. Husband worked long hours in finance, always overseas or late at the office. Daughter in elementary school. Days stretched empty after drop-off. “I swim to kill time,” she said, voice low and amused. “And to feel something.”
I was 21, college student, living with my family in my parents apartment while I “studied” online. I told her I had the place to myself most days. It was technically true.
She tilted her head. “Show me?"
We fucked that same afternoon.
Her swimsuit was still damp when I peeled it off in my living room. Her breasts spilled free—heavy, soft, dark pink areolas the size of coins, nipples already thick and erect like a cow's udder. Between her thighs, a neatly trimmed patch of black hair framed, her plump outer lips already glistening. She smelled like chlorine and aroused woman.
I ate her on the couch while she gripped my hair and whispered filthy encouragements in half-Korean, half-English. “Yes… there… lick deeper, baby… make noona cum…” When she came she squirted—a hot gush that soaked my chin and the cushions. Then she dropped to her knees, tits swaying, and swallowed my cock like she’d been starving for it. No gag reflex. Just hungry, wet suction until I painted filthy murals in her throat.
After that first time, she became my "daytime wife."
Mornings she’d drop her daughter at school, then drive straight to my place or invite me to hers. By 9 a.m. her clothes were usually on the floor.
Some days I’d wake to her already in my kitchen (after my parents left for work) —wearing only one of my oversized T-shirts tied around her stomach, ass peeking out as she cooked breakfast. She’d bend over the counter “accidentally,” letting me see the jeweled plug she’d started wearing at my suggestion. “Keeps me stretched for you,” she’d murmur, voice husky. I’d walk up behind her, slide the plug out, replace it with my cock, and fuck her ass slow while she stirred eggs. We’d chat about nothing—her daughter’s school project, my upcoming assignment—while my dick sawed in and out of her tight back hole.
“God, you’re so deep,” she’d sigh happily. “My husband never touches me there. Never even asked.”
Other days we’d stay at her house—her marital bed. She loved the risk. I’d pound her missionary on the same sheets her husband slept on, her legs hooked over my shoulders, tits bouncing wildly while she moaned, “Harder… ruin me for him…”
Her sex drive was insane. Late 30s and hornier than any girl my age. She confessed one afternoon, while riding me reverse cowgirl on my couch, ass cheeks clapping: “I used to think I was broken. My husband fucks me maybe twice a month—if I’m lucky. With you… I cum three, four times a day. Sometimes more. I didn’t know my body could do this.”
I’d grin, slap her ass. “That’s because you’re my wife now, noona.”
She’d clench around me and whimper, “Yes… your wife…”
Recently, we started recording.
First it was just my phone propped on a stack of books—me eating her pussy from behind while she knelt on all fours, face buried in a pillow, moaning into the fabric. Then a cheap tripod from amazon. We’d set it up in the living room, bedroom, kitchen—anywhere the mood struck.
She got off on the idea of OnlyFans without faces. “Just bodies,” she’d whisper while I lubed her asshole with cooking oil. “Let strangers watch you stretch me… fill me… but they’ll never know it’s the bored housewife from the neighbourhood.”
We filmed everything: her riding me anal on the kitchen counter while breakfast burned; me throat-fucking her until mascara ran in black rivers down her cheeks; her squatting over my face, grinding her soaked cunt and asshole on my tongue while she pinched her own nipples and begged for more.
One favorite: her on her back, legs spread wide, me kneeling between them sliding in and out of her pussy at a lazy pace so we could talk.
“You like that, noona?” I’d ask, cock buried to the hilt.
“Mmm… so full… keep going slow… I love feeling every inch…” She’d reach down, play with my balls, then slide a finger lower—teasing my asshole while I fucked her. “Can I…?” she’d ask shyly at first.
Now it was routine. She’d slip a finger—or two—inside me while I pounded her, massaging my prostate until I came so hard my vision whited out. “Good boy,” she’d purr, delighted. “Cum in Mommy’s pussy while I finger your tight little hole.”
She kept a small lotion bottle at my place—exactly the right girth. She’d walk around my flat wearing nothing but an apron, the bottle lodged deep in her ass while she vacuumed, cooked, folded my laundry. “Training,” she’d say with a wicked smile. “So you can fuck my ass whenever you want.”
And I did.
Her asshole went from reluctant to greedy. The first time I licked it—rimming her deep while she trembled on all fours—she sobbed in pleasure. “No one’s ever… oh god… your tongue is inside my dirty hole… I’m so ashamed and so wet…”
Now she begged for it. “Please… eat my ass again… make me feel nasty…”
I’d spread her cheeks, tongue-fuck her puckered ring until she dripped down her thighs, then slide my cock in—slow at first, then brutal. She’d scream into the pillow, “Yes—stretch me—own my ass—my husband doesn’t even know I like this!”
One evening, after I’d fucked her pussy raw and was buried balls-deep in her ass, she looked back at me—sweat-slick hair sticking to her face, tits swaying, eyes glassy with lust.
“I’ve had more sex with you in one week than with my husband in the last five years,” she confessed breathlessly. “You’ve been places he’s never touched… never even asked about. My pussy… my asshole… my throat… you own them all.”
I thrust harder. “Say it.”
“You own me,” she gasped. “I’m your daytime wife… your fuck toy… your secret slut… use me however you want…”
I came deep in her ass, painting her insides while she shuddered through another orgasm—fingers frantically rubbing her clit, lotion bottle discarded on the floor beside us.
Afterward she curled against me on the couch, still leaking my cum from both holes, head on my chest.
“Tomorrow?” she whispered.
“Tomorrow,” I promised. “Bring the camera. And wear the plug to school drop-off.”
Twelve different girls, twelve different roles, same corporate of endless lust. Professionalism isn't a word in their world of air-conditioning and coffee—but sex? Definitely something that keeps office romance steamy.
Kwon Eunbi, Secretary — @iznsfw
Miyawaki Sakura, Boss — @writerpeach
Kang Hyewon — @capslocked
Choi Yena, Event Coordinator — @worldsover
Lee Chaeyeon, Payroll — @nsfwrpg
Kim Chaewon, Data Management — @gangplanksorenji
Kim Minju — @capslocked
Yabuki Nako, Data Analytics Secretary — @leafostuff
The glass doors of SM Entertainment’s headquarters slid open with a pneumatic hiss, severing the connection to the outside world. The lobby’s air conditioning was aggressive, a sterile chill that instantly dried the sweat on your neck—a violent shift from the suffocating humidity of the Seoul summer.
Against your chest, the plastic laminate of your new ID badge felt heavy, though it was still warm from the printer. You were twenty-two, fresh out of university, and officially a cog in the machine. Junior Assistant. The title was small, but the assignment was monumental: Red Velvet’s Irene. The name didn't just sit in your mind; it loomed. Bae Joohyun. The Original Visual. You were to be her shadow, her logistical anchor, the invisible hand ensuring her world remained perfect.
"You’re the new hire."
The voice cut through the ambient hum of the lobby. Ms. Kim, a woman with a ponytail so tight it looked painful and a clipboard wielded like a weapon, stood before you. Her heels clicked a military cadence on the marble as she approached.
You nodded, the word 'yes' dying in a dry throat.
"Good. Walk with me," she commanded, already turning around. "Irene-ssi’s schedule is relentless this week. She requires absolute precision. No room for error. No room for fatigue. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Ms. Kim. Perfectly."
The elevator ride was a vacuum of silence, the rapid ascent making your ears pop. Your stomach churned, a volatile cocktail of adrenaline and dread. This wasn't just a job; it was an ascension to Olympus. You had spent years admiring the cool, untouchable aura of Irene from a pixelated distance. Now, you were about to step behind the curtain, inches away from the unvarnished reality behind the perfection.
The elevator arrived at the fourth floor with a soft, melodious chime that felt mocking given the tension in your chest. The doors slid open, revealing a hallway that was a stark contrast to the quiet lobby downstairs. It was a hive of activity—stylists rushing with garment bags, producers arguing softly into phones, and the muffled thump of bass leaking from soundproofed doors.
Ms. Kim didn't offer any more advice. She didn't warn you about Irene’s temper or give you a list of do's and don'ts. She simply stepped out and checked her watch, her face setting into a mask of grim determination.
"Studio B," she said, the words clipped. "Stay close. If you fall behind, I’m not coming back for you."
She moved with a speed that defied her heels, weaving through the corridor traffic like a shark through water. You scrambled to keep pace, clutching your bag, your eyes fixed on the back of her blazer to avoid making accidental eye contact with anyone famous who might be passing by.
She stopped abruptly in front of a heavy black door at the end of the hall. There was no knock, no pause for breath. She swiped her keycard, the lock beeped green, and she shoved the door open.
Inside the room is a whirlwind of motion. The air here was heavy, humid with the collective body heat of people pushing their physical limits. The bass of the unreleased track wasn't just heard; it was felt, thumping through the floorboards and rattling the teeth in your jaw.
They moved with a terrifying synchronization, a single organism with many limbs. But in the center of the formation, serving as the gravitational pull for the chaos, was Irene.
She was mesmerizing. Her movements possessed a razor-sharp duality—hitting the beats with mechanical precision while maintaining a fluid, almost liquid grace that made the grueling choreography look effortless. Sweat slicked her hairline, catching the harsh studio lights like diamonds, but her expression was locked in a trance of absolute focus.
"Cut," Ms. Kim said, her voice sharp enough to slice through the wall of sound.
The choreographer, a lean man with eyes that seemed to track every mistake, killed the music instantly. The silence that followed was ringing and heavy, filled only by the harsh, synchronized panting of the members.
The formation broke. Irene froze mid-gesture, then slowly lowered her arms. She turned, her chest heaving rhythmically. For a split second, her gaze was unfocused, still trapped in the rhythm of the dance. Then, she blinked, and the idol mask slipped just enough to reveal the human beneath. Her dark, intelligent eyes swept over you, carrying a surprising warmth that contrasted the icy intensity of her performance just moments ago.
"Irene," Ms. Kim announced, her hand waving a dismissive, vague gesture in your direction, as if presenting a piece of office furniture. "This is your new assistant. He will be handling your daily logistics."
Irene reached up to wipe a stray lock of damp hair from her cheek. She didn't look at Ms. Kim; she looked at you.
"Hello," she said. Her voice was lower, raspy from exertion, and far softer than you expected—a gentle murmur against the studio’s hard edges. She offered a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes but felt genuine in its politeness. "Welcome."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Thank you, Irene-ssi." The words tumbled out, your voice cracking into an embarrassingly high pitch that betrayed the knots in your stomach. "I—I’m honored to be working with you."
Irene held your gaze for a second longer, her expression softening as if she recognized the panic in your eyes. She nodded once, a slow, acknowledgment, before reaching for a towel.
You are Karina’s unofficial date for the gala. This, of course, means you get to stand next to the most desirable woman in the room—while everyone assumes you’re either her gay best friend or an ambitious charity case.
The ballroom smells like money. Old money, new money, clean money, dirty money—and then there’s you: no money. It doesn’t matter that the tuxedo fits perfectly (courtesy of Karina dragging you to her personal tailor while you begged her to let you just rent something). It also doesn’t matter that you have a literal angel on your arm; you can still sense the invisible barcode on everyone else in the room and feel all the eyes scanning you only to come up with insufficient funds.
Needless to say, you feel like a complete fraud.
“Breathe,” Karina whispers, her hand tightening around your arm.
You look down at her and immediately feel under-qualified to breathe the same air.
She looks downright devastating in black—a dress so elegant that it brings you physical pain. It clings to her skin like her body has its own gravity, emphasizing every single curve that you have to consciously avoid thinking about every time you look at her.
“I am breathing,” you say, swallowing hard. “I’m just calculating how many months of rent are currently hanging from that chandelier.”
She looks up with you. “And what’s the verdict?”
“I’m going with maybe 86. Minimum.”
“And max?”
“Somewhere in the hundreds, surely.”
“How about we stop doing math?” She leans into you. “You’re my human shield tonight, remember?”
Yes, you remember. Of course you remember, but unfortunately, the shield is already cracking.
“If anyone asks,” you say, scanning the room, “I’m telling them I’m the entertainment.”
This, of course, is very believable considering how much of a clown you look like next to her.
You watch as a dozen pairs of eyes glide over Karina like she’s a limited-edition asset, and to nobody’s surprise, it takes exactly thirty seconds for the first son-of-someone to appear.
“Yoo Jimin-ssi,” he says excitedly, as if her name itself is a down payment to his next apartment complex. “You look absolutely stunning tonight.”
She smiles and bows politely while covering her chest. He’s visibly disappointed.
“Thank you. It’s nice to see you again,” she says, although you truly wonder if she actually remembers who he is.
He glances at you with the kind of look rich people reserve for valet staff. “And you are…?”
“Her emotional support employee,” you mutter.
Karina’s mouth twitches. “He’s a good friend of mine,” she corrects. “We work together.”
The man’s eyes do a quick calculation of your net worth based on your shoes, and looks back at her like he’d just received permission to flirt. “I’m Lee Daesung. My father—”
“I know who your father is,” Karina interrupts pleasantly, like she’s just complimenting his tie. “He’s the one who keeps calling mine to ‘catch up’ but somehow never forgets to mention that you’re single now.”
Daesung laughs too loudly, causing her to nearly flinch. He’s already failing the audition.
A second man slides in. Then a third.
They descend on her like vultures in fancy designer suits and shiny million-dollar watches. The sons of board members, the heirs to generational fortunes, the type of “promising young executives” her father wants to merge portfolios with.
They smile at you—polite yet dismissive smiles—before physically maneuvering their shoulders to box you out. Somehow, you’re slowly, strategically pushed away from your own date.
“Jimin-ssi, did you summer in Como this year?”
“Jimin-ssi, you simply must see the new gallery opening.”
“Jimin-ssi, pardon my forwardness, but your father mentioned that you broke up with your high school sweetheart?”
You stand there, holding her bag for half a second, then her drink, then nothing, then eventually the remnants of your own dignity, which isn’t much.
She flashes you an apologetic look over the shoulder of a man whose belt costs more than ten times your life insurance payout, but is then swept away by the tide of social obligation and familial piety.
So much for human shield, you think.
You step back, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing tray just to have something to do with your hands so that you don’t end up throwing them at some billionaire’s son.
That’s when you see her.
Across the room, standing like an ice sculpture, is Winter. She’s wearing all white, practically glowing in the sea of black suits and dresses.
Her ex is also there, of course. He’s dressed like he’s auditioning for Most Punchable Man of the Year, one hand over her back like he’s guiding her through an angry crowd. Except the crowd isn’t what she needs to be saved from. It’s him. He’s the problem.
He’s your problem.
Winter tilts her head as she listens to him talk about something to someone. God, you hate that. Why does she even care about what he has to say?
You know that it makes no sense to feel this way, but your jaw tightens anyway. Jealousy claws up your throat, and all you can do is wash it down with expensive champagne.
It shouldn’t even matter. You came here with Karina, the woman who laughs at your dumb jokes and listens to your work rants like they’re Ted Talks. The girl who looks at you with soft eyes and wears your cheap gift on her five-to-six digit handbags. You should be focused on her.
But instead, your eyes are glued to the way Winter’s ex’s thumb brushes the bare skin of her shoulder, and that makes you want to walk over there and break his hand.
“You’re doing it again,” a voice purrs beside you.
You don’t jump—you’re used to it now.
Ningning appears next to you, sipping a martini. She has no date. She doesn’t need one—she’s treating all the men in the room like a buffet and sampling freely. If anything, having a date would be detrimental.
“I’m not doing anything,” you mutter, taking another drink from a passing server.
She steps closer to you, voice dropping. “He looks smug, doesn’t he? Thinking he’s the king of the castle.”
“He looks like he owns her,” you say, the words tasting more bitter than the liquor.
“Relax,” Ningning says, clinking her glass against yours. “The night is still young. We haven’t even sprung the trap yet.”
You open your mouth to ask what trap, exactly, but she doesn’t even look at you—her attention already flew past your shoulder.
You turn—and immediately feel like you’re about to get arrested.
Standing there, right behind you, is Yuna.
The first thing that you notice is that she looks good. Insanely good. She’s wearing a dress that is simply not shy to show off her absolutely ridiculous proportions. She’s ethereal—she’s a renowned model for a reason, and seeing her now in person makes you finally understand why.
“Ning Yizhuo, is that you?” Yuna says, her voice mockingly bright and airy. “What a pleasure. I almost didn’t recognize you without all the filters.”
Ningning’s expression shifts into a smile that is terrifyingly artificial, even by her standards. “Shin Yuna!” she exclaims. “Oh my god, hi! Wow, I love your dress. My grandmother has a tablecloth just like it.”
Yuna’s smile doesn’t even flicker. “It’s vintage Dior. But I wouldn’t expect you to know that. You seem more of a fast-fashion girly.”
“You know, speaking of fast—I saw your campaign before it got pulled,” Ningning says sweetly. “You’re truly so brave. To wear that color with your skin tone.”
Yuna steps closer, clutching her champagne glass. “The campaign didn’t get pulled. It was reimagined.” Her eyes narrow. “But it’s funny—ever since you crawled out of whatever Instagram DM they found you from, all our billboard spots suddenly belong to Aespa.”
“That’s the magic of working with a real Creative Director,” Ningning hums. “Kim Minjeong knows talent when she sees it. But you wouldn’t get understand. We know Ryujin only hires family.”
“Look, I don’t know what kind of messy game you’re playing to get your boss the top spot, but just a heads up—if you play dirty, people will eventually smell it.”
“Don’t worry,” Ningning chirps, batting her eyelashes. “I shower often. You should try it sometime. We can smell all the married executives underneath that perfume. What is it—Chanel No.5?”
Yuna’s grip on her glass tightens. “Careful,” she says, dropping the bubbly act. “Heels are tricky on this floor. Would be so embarrassing if you suddenly tripped and broke something. Like your nose.”
Ningning leans in just another centimeter. “Good news—it’s real, so it’ll heal,” she says, then pulls back with a smirk. “Enjoy the food, Yuna. I hear they have sour grapes. Your favorite.”
Yuna holds the stare for one second longer before flipping her hair and turning away.
Ningning keeps smiling until she disappears into the crowd. “Bitch,” she mutters, her face instantly dropping into a scowl.
You blink, trying to process whether all of that was scary or arousing. “You guys really do not like each other.”
“Did you see her shoes?” she hisses. “Last season. Embarrassing.”
She downs the rest of her champagne in one go, then her eyes snap back to you. “Anyway. Forget about that rat.” She nods past your shoulder. “Look who’s coming.”
You look toward the center of the room, where two women have just entered, parting the crowd like the Red Sea.
One of them is excruciatingly doll-like, with a smile that looks both sweet and terrifyingly practiced. The other has a sharp, charismatic gaze and a stride so confident it feels like she owns the entire building and is considering evicting everyone else by midnight.
“Who are they?” you ask, unable to even blink. “And why is everyone staring at them like they’re royalty?”
“That,” Ningning says, swirling her drink, “is the competition.”
“Competition,” you repeat. “Like… our company’s competition? Or your competition. Because you seem to have a lot of those.”
“Both.” She points a manicured nail discreetly. “Meet Jang Wonyoung and An Yujin. The crown jewels of IVE Corp.”
You glance again. Jang Wonyoung is already doing the whole smile-and-wave thing—soft laughs, perfect eye contact, hands on forearms like she’s collecting alliances one touch at a time. An Yujin stays half a step behind in a permanent, sweet smile, scanning the room like she’s identifying friends from foes with just one glance.
“Wonyoung is the face—handles the press, the image, the dazzling. Yujin is the muscle—handles the strategy, the execution, the burying of bodies.”
You’re still staring. “So one smiles and one murders.”
Ningning leans her chin on her hand, watching them work the room in perfect sync. “Exactly. They’re a perfect unit. They don’t fight—they just win. That’s what the Chairman wishes Winter and Karina were—if they weren’t so busy playing ‘who has more childhood trauma’ and fighting over scraps of validation.”
She takes a sip of her drink, her gaze drifting back to Winter, who is currently being steered by her ex toward a group of investors like a prize poodle.
“Instead, he has a fractured dynasty of daddy issues,” Ningning murmurs. “But luckily for him, he does have us.”
“What, two underpaid interns?”
“Batman and Catwoman,” she corrects. “Except you’re not rich.”
A sigh involuntarily escapes you. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“Don’t worry. At least I’m hot,” she adds, taking a sip. “Especially in a leather suit.”
Before you can ask if she actually owns one, the double doors swing open again.
The Chairman has arrived.
Winter’s father isn’t a large man, but he always sucks the air out of the room like a vacuum. Ever since his “minor heart procedure” last year—which was definitely major surgery, judging by the stock dip—he’s been walking with a cane that he clearly doesn’t need anymore. Nowadays, he uses it less for support and more like a scepter to whack people out of the way.
On his arm is Giselle. She looks triumphant, clinging to him like she’s physically tethered to his wallet, soaking in the camera lights and the whispers.
“Look at her,” Ningning says, delighted. “She’s glowing. Or maybe that’s just from all the diamonds she bought with Aespa’s cash reserves.”
The Chairman steers her through the crowd like he’s showing off a new acquisition. You watch closely as the camera flashes speed up the more she waves.
He introduces her to Winter, who looks like she’s trying to swallow a lemon whole but bows politely—a full 45 degrees.
Then, he introduces her to the ex.
“And this is Minjeong’s boyfriend,” the Chairman says proudly. “He came to join us all the way from London.”
You immediately want to jump off the balcony.
The ex smiles—that smooth, practiced smile that makes you want to physically tear off—then takes Giselle’s hand and bows low, not just shaking it, but lifting it to kiss her knuckles.
“Did you see that?” Ningning hisses, gripping your wrist hard enough to leave a mark.
“See what? The performative kiss-assery?”
“His thumb,” she whispers, her voice tight with excitement. “He caressed her palm. Right in front of Winter.”
You look again. Winter is staring at them. She saw it too. Her face is pale, her jaw locked tight, but she says nothing. She can’t. Not in front of the father she’s so terrified of disappointing.
“God, I love it.” Ningning exhales. “This is messier than reality television.”
A shark-like grin spreads across her face, but something on the other side of the room suddenly catches her attention. “Okay, stay put,” she says, already moving. “I need to check the perimeter. Don’t die of jealousy while I’m gone.”
“For what—Ning, wait!” you hiss.
But she’s already slipped away into the shadows, leaving you standing alone with a potted fern that looks like it’s laughing at you.
After a few minutes of silently fuming and wishing you had another drink, a hand gently touches your elbow.
It’s Karina.
She looks exhausted. Not physically, but socially, like she’s just run a marathon of small talk.
“Karina,” you breathe, relaxing immediately.
She slides into the space beside you, using your body as a shield against the room. “Hide me,” she murmurs, pressing her shoulder against yours. “I’ve shaken hands with three people who didn’t know my name and one who called me Winter.”
“Who would mistaken Glinda for the Wicked Witch of the West?” you ask, pulling her closer.
“My face hurts from smiling.” She sighs, resting her forehead briefly against your arm. “Is my eye twitching? Be honest—do I look crazy?”
You look down at her. She looks perfect—terrifyingly so.
“Yeah,” you say, letting the alcohol take the wheel. “Crazy pretty.”
Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth to say something—maybe a thank you, maybe a deflection—but a voice cuts through the moment, as if the universe has a strict policy against nice things.
“Miss Yoo.”
She pulls away from you instantly.
A man in a sharp suit—one of her father’s assistants—is standing there, looking impatient, to say the least. He looks at you with the expression of someone scraping gum off their shoe, then ignores you entirely.
“Your father is asking for you,” he says to her, checking his watch. “The dinner ceremony is starting soon. He expects you at the main table.”
“Of course,” she says, straightening her back. “Be right there.”
Karina takes a breath, then looks back at you. “Let’s go,” she says lightly.
You blink. “Me? I’m not allowed over there. You know that.”
She reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist in a way that makes your pulse jump. “Sure you do. You’re my human shield, remember?”
The transition from cocktail hour to sit-down-and-be judged is immediate. You move to follow Karina toward the main dining area, trying to purposely lag behind, aiming for a table near the kitchen where you can eat bread rolls in anonymity, but Karina has a death grip on your elbow.
So instead, you harness all your strength to ignore every pair of eyes glaring at you before finally arriving at the head table—just as Karina’s father is taking his seat.
He looks up, eyes beaming the moment he sees her. “Jimin-ah!” he says, standing to greet her. “There you are. I was just telling the Kangs about your time in Paris.”
Then his eyes slide to you. “Oh, and who is this?” he asks, extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you with the Choi family?”
“Appa,” Karina interjects, her smile bright but the tendons in her neck are visibly tight. “This is my good friend. We met at work.”
Her father’s eyebrows lift just a fraction as she tells him your name.
“Is that so?” he says, shaking your hand firmly. “A pleasure to meet you. And which firm do you represent?”
You open your mouth to construct a vague, impressive-sounding lie, but Karina beats you to it, her chin tilting up in that stubborn way she usually reserves for when Winter has something bad to say about you.
“He works with us,” she says, confidently. “With Minjeong.”
“Minjeong?” He looks at you again, searching for the luxury watch or the expensive cufflinks that would make this acceptable. He finds neither. “In what capacity?”
“He’s an intern. In Creative.”
The temperature around the table basically drops ten thousand degrees.
Her father’s smile doesn’t vanish, but something dies in his eyes. He stares at you. Then at Karina. Then back at you. It’s not even anger; it’s confusion, as if Karina has brought a stray dog to a dog show expecting it to win.
“An intern,” he repeats.
At the next chair over, Winter pauses mid-sip of her water. Beside her, her ex leans back in his chair, watching the scene unfold like it’s his favorite sitcom.
“He’s incredibly bright and talented,” Karina adds quickly, stepping slightly in front of you. “Uncle loved his work on the holiday campaign. He personally approved the copy.”
“The Chairman also loves the janitorial staff when the floors are clean,” her father counters, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register meant only for family ears. “That does not mean he wants to eat dinner with them.”
“He’s also done some great—”
“Jimin-ah, look around you.” He leans in closer to Karina, lowering his voice further. “Felix Lee is sitting three tables away. The heir to Enhypen Group and both of his brothers are all here and currently single. Of all the men in this room—men who own islands, men who could merge portfolios with ours—you brought him?”
“I brought someone whose conversation and presence I actually enjoy,” she snaps back, quiet but sharp. “Would you prefer I bring Julian Kim so we can discuss his yacht insurance for three hours?”
“I would prefer you bring someone who doesn’t depreciate your market value just by standing next to you,” her father hisses.
Her breath stutters. “Market value?”
“This is a statement, Jimin. And the statement you are making is that you do not take your future seriously.”
“Appa, he is my guest,” she says, voice shaking now. “It would be incredibly rude to move him last minute—”
“No. It is rude,” her father corrects, “to seat staff next to the Chairman. It insults the board. And it insults me.”
Karina opens her mouth to argue like she’s one sentence away from nuking her own inheritance, but you touch her arm lightly, silencing her.
Then you turn to her father and bow. Lower than you’ve ever bowed before.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Yoo,” you say, straightening up with a smile. “I wouldn’t want to disrupt the seating arrangement. The head table is for family and partners.”
Her father blinks, clearly surprised by the lack of resistance.
“I apologize for the confusion,” you continue calmly. “I’ll find a seat elsewhere. Please, enjoy your evening.”
His expression shifts from disdain to begrudging approval. He looks at you like a dog that has successfully learned to stay off the furniture.
“At least he understands his place,” he mutters to Karina, then turns away, satisfied.
Winter’s ex chuckles softly, swirling his wine. Winter shoots him a glare, then her eyes flick back at you. Her expression is rather unreadable, but it’s definitely not happy. For once, you don’t care enough to stick around to decode it.
Karina stares at you like you’d just slapped her. “Why did you—”
“It’s fine,” you whisper, stepping back. “Go.”
You swallow any pride you have left and turn to walk away, straightening your spine as much as possible while resisting the urge to sprint to the nearest exist. You can literally feel a hundred eyes on your back like they’re laser sights.
“Jimin, sit down,” her father warns from behind you. “Do not chase him. Do not make a scene.”
You don’t look back. You just focus on the marble pattern. Left foot, right foot. Don’t trip, don’t die in front of rich people—they won’t mourn, they’ll think it’s inconvenient during dinnertime.
Then you hear it—the scrape of a chair, and then the sharp, unmistakable sound of heels against the floor.
“Yoo Jimin!” her father hisses.
You don’t turn around, but the footsteps stop right behind you. You can hear her breathing—quick, shallow breaths that brush against the back of your neck.
“You’re going to get disowned,” you say quietly, still facing forward. “I’ve seen enough K-dramas to know how this ends.”
“Let him be mad,” she replies as her hand slips into yours.
Her palm is warm, fingers tightly threading through yours, like she’s afraid you might disappear if she loosens her grip.
You quickly turn and pull her away behind a pillar, out of sight from all the eyes of VIPs, where the shadows feel safer.
“Karina, what are you—”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, fierce and breathless. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” Her eyes are huge and drowning in frustration. “And you shouldn’t have apologized to him. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I de-escalated,” you say quietly. “Besides, he’s right. I don’t belong up there. I don’t even know which fork is for the salad.”
“The small one,” she answers without thinking. “And you belong where I am. I asked you to come here. So let’s find another table together.”
For a moment, the noise of the gala fades. It’s just her, looking at you with those big, soft eyes, holding your hand like it’s the only anchor she has in a room full of sharks. Except you don’t actually know how to swim here. Not in this ocean.
“Listen,” you say, squeezing back. “Go back. Sit with him. Don’t ruin your night because of me. We can talk later. I’ll text you snarky commentary on the award speeches.”
She searches your face, like she’s memorizing it one last time. “Promise you won’t disappear at midnight?”
You force a smile. “Promise. My suit might expire and vaporize though.”
She hesitates. She looks at her father’s table, then back at you. Then she nods, squeezes your hand one last time, and lets go.
Then she slips away, back into the light. You stay where you are, watching her leave as the warmth of her touch fades from your skin.
“Depressing, isn’t it? Trying to date fifty leagues upwards.”
You don’t flinch. It’s a law of physics at this point: Ningning somehow always appears at the right time—especially when it hurts most.
She slides next to you, right where Karina’s warmth is fading. She doesn’t care to even look at the dinner table. She’s staring at her phone, where a terrifying grin is illuminated by the blue light.
“Come with me,” she says, tugging your arm. “I have an update that will make you forget all about your newfound trauma, Romeo.”
You follow Ningning out of the ballroom, slipping between servers and clusters of executives who have snuck out to take calls. She leads you down a short hallway and ducks into a most empty side lounge, aside from a vase the size of a small child and a painting that looks more like a tax write-off than decor.
“Okay,” you say, leaning against the doorframe to block the view. “What did you do now?”
Ningning’s grin is sinister, like she had just ruined a life or two before coming to find you.
“I flirted with Winter’s ex by the bar during cocktail hour.”
“That was the perimeter?”
She continues. “Turns out he’s extremely vulnerable to sustained eye contact, mild admiration, and a hot girl laughing at jokes that aren’t funny. A real textbook case of narcissism.”
“That’s not news. That’s his factory settings. And it’s probably every other guy here.”
“That’s not all.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek, heavy-looking black pen. “You see this?” she says, swirling it around her fingers like a magician.
You blink. “Is this your Catwoman debut? Stealing a pen?”
“I have a twin.” She taps her phone screen. An app opens—audio levels dancing on a timeline. “Slipped the other one into his jacket pocket while he was distracted by my cleavage.”
You stare at her. “You bugged him.”
“Don’t make it sound so tacky.” She scrolls back on the timeline, humming a little tune. “Anyway, our boy had a very interesting chat immediately after I left. Take a wild guess with who.”
Your stomach tightens. “Giselle.”
“Bingo.” She holds the phone up between you and presses play.
The audio is scratchy, but the voices are unmistakable despite all the crackles.
“…I told you to stop texting me during family events,” he says, clearly irritated. “You’re going to make this harder than it has to be.”
“Oh, I’m making it harder?” she scoffs. “You’re the one who talked me into this circus to begin with. Marry him, baby. We’ll bleed him slow, he won’t even feel it. That was you, by the way.”
You feel your stomach dip.
Ningning watches your reaction with delight—in the way that only someone who thrives on chaos can. “Wait. It gets better. Or worse. Depends on your morals and how much you enjoy villain monologues, I guess.”
The recording rustles—fabric shifting and the dull clink of glasses hitting a table.
“We have to stick to the plan,” the ex says, sliding into that annoying, condescending tone. “You marry the Chairman, smile for the cameras, play the devoted fiancée, then the wife. Then you get access to the accounts. Meanwhile, I’ll keep Minjeong dangling. Between the two of them, we wipe your debts, my bad investments, and still have enough left to disappear somewhere with actual beaches.”
Giselle exhales a laugh—lower now, closer to the mic. Close enough that you can picture the angle of it. She must be right next to his jacket.
“And when you say disappear,” she says, “you mean just us. Right? Not a family package deal.”
“Obviously just us. You think I want to spend the rest of my life babysitting a neurotic ice cube and her control-freak father?”
“And if your little princess finds out you used her and her father?” Giselle asks. “She’s not stupid. Like, at all. She’s actually terrifyingly sharp.”
“But she’s insecure,” he corrects. “That’s even better than stupid. Insecure people are predictable. You tell them they’re special, that you see the real them, and they’ll crawl over broken glass to keep that illusion alive.”
You feel your hand curl into a fist without your permission.
“And you don’t feel… anything?” Giselle presses. “Guilt? Attachment? You’ve been with her for years.”
“Attachment?” He laughs. “To what? A walking bundle of daddy issues who only relaxes when you’re telling her she’s garbage? She’s a habit, not a person.”
Ningning quietly reaches over and pries your fingers open, thumb brushing your knuckles like she’s un-crumpling paper.
“Don’t break my phone,” she says mildly. “I need it to blackmail people.”
The recording continues.
“You’re cruel,” Giselle says, but there’s admiration in it.
“I’m resourceful,” he replies. “You didn’t fall in love with me because I’m nice.”
There’s a pause. Then the wet, sharp sound of a kiss.
“…and you’re not exactly innocent either,” he murmurs against her mouth. “Sleeping with the daughter’s boyfriend and then marrying the dad? Iconic.”
Giselle laughs, low and pleased. “Fine. So I marry him, you keep stringing her along. And when we’re done?”
“We cash out and go,” he says. “New names, new passports, new everything. No board meetings, no quarterly reports, no Minjeong crying because I didn’t text back in thirty minutes.”
“She cries?” she asks, seemingly amused.
“Constantly. You tell her she’s worthless during sex, she cries. You tell her she’s only good as a stress toy, she cries. Then she comes harder than anyone you’ve ever seen and thanks you for it. It’s pathetic.”
Your chest physically hurts from anger.
“You really think you can keep her in line forever?” Giselle says. “She doesn’t exactly look submissive out there.”
“That’s the fun part. No one suspects the golden girl wants to be wrecked. That’s my advantage. She’s terrified someone else will see that side of her, so she keeps coming back to the only person who already has. Me.”
“And the hotel thing?” she asks after a moment. “You’re sure that’s not overkill?”
“Relax.” He chuckles. “I already set up cameras in one of the suites here. She’ll think I’m planning some kind of romantic getaway. Tonight I’ll get something useful—full face, tears, begging. Insurance. If anything goes wrong with this plan, I leak the videos and she’s done. Her dad will throw her out of the boardroom so fast she won’t know what hit her.”
Your hands are shaking uncontrollably now. You knew he was low, but this is beneath the ground.
“God, you’re awful,” she says.
“Here’s a second key. Meet me up there later tonight. We’ll… celebrate.”
There’s a longer rustle, a muffled sound that’s unmistakably a kiss deepening.
Ningning taps her screen. The lounge drops back into silence, but the air feels toxic now.
“You wanted the truth,” she says lightly, slipping the phone back into her bag. “There it is. Uncut, unhinged, and deeply on brand for this company’s taste in men.”
“This has to be a prank,” you manage, rubbing a hand over your face. “Some sort of sick joke.”
You know it isn’t. You just wish it was.
“Like I said. He’s not just garbage. He’s organized garbage. That’s the worst kind.”
You drag your hand through your hair. “So we tell Winter’s dad. Or security. Or—”
“And say what?” she cuts in. “Hi, Mr. Chairman, sir. We illegally recorded your future son-in-law and your future wife discussing how they’re going to siphon your money and weaponize your daughter’s trauma.”
She scoffs. “He will nuke us before he lets this get public. The man hates scandal more than he loves his own last name on the building.”
You hate how accurate that sounds. The Chairman would absolutely sign your death warrant to save the stock price.
“So what do we do?” you ask, pressing your temples. “Just let it happen?”
“We make sure his little insurance policy never exists,” she says casually. “No sex tape, no leverage, no bargaining chip.”
You blink. “You want to find the camera.”
“Correct.” She checks her reflection in the darkened window. “He said one of the suites. That means somewhere in this hotel.”
You lean back against the wall, brain trying to catch up. “And how are we supposed to find a hidden camera in a random suite during a gala, surrounded by a couple hundred witnesses and a small army of security?”
Ningning’s eyes glitter like this is her favorite part. “And that,” she sings, “is where your tragic emotional attachment to a girl who treats you like garbage comes in handy.”
You just stare.
She pats your chest twice, like she’s testing structural integrity. “You are going to keep Winter busy.”
Your heart stutters. “Busy how?”
“I don’t know. Ask her how she’s doing. That usually pisses her off.”
“So you want me to annoy her.”
“Finally, a job you’re naturally gifted at,” she says with a smirk. “Your goal is to keep her downstairs, away from him. Meanwhile, I’m going to go turn the charm up and stick to the ex like glue until he’s drunk enough or horny enough to flash his keycard. Then I steal it, and we’ll have a room number and a key. Simple.”
Your brows furrow. “What? That’s not simple. That’s—”
“Another Friday for me,” she says, shrugging. “Once we have the key, you and I pay a discreet little visit to the love nest, rip out anything with a lens, and get out before he decides it’s showtime.”
“And if he drags her upstairs before we’re done?” you ask.
“Then we improvise. But regardless, he does not leave this building tonight with a camera full of leverage.” She opens her bag and pulls out a stick of lipgloss. “He wants to turn this place into a cash cow? Dream on. I’m not letting anyone milk this company but me.”
You’re quiet for a moment, processing the sheer insanity of the plan.
She snaps her fingers in front of your face. “Hey. Focus. Mission first, feelings later. Do not let Karina’s eyes, hair—or tits distract you from keeping Winter occupied long enough for me to pull this off. Got it? You can go back to yearning after we’ve defused the bomb.”
She straightens her dress, rolling her shoulders like a fighter before round two.
“Alright. Game time,” she murmurs, already moving toward the door. “Go irritate your favorite disaster. I’ll go flirt with hers.”
The ballroom feels even louder when you step back into it, as if the music and conversations have been cranked up to max volume just to mess with your head even further.
When dinner is over, Winter is exactly where you expect her—near the edge of a crowd, close to the exits, yet far from any real escape. She’s standing alone with a nearly-empty glass in hand and a posture screaming “approach at your own risk.”
You take a deep breath and walk over.
She immediately sees you coming and exhales like the night has personally decided to test the last of her patience by sending you.
“Shouldn’t you be in the back with the other interns?” Winter asks, eyes flicking over your tux like she’s surprised you even own one. “Or did they run out of napkins to fold?”
“You must’ve missed the memo,” you say, stopping right in front of her. “I got promoted to Decorative Plant.”
She doesn’t laugh, obviously. “Congratulations on the lateral move. Go photosynthesize somewhere else.”
“Can’t,” you say sorrowfully. “It’s so much better over here next to this ball of sunshine.”
She sighs, a short, sharp exhale through her nose. “What do you want?” she asks, not looking at you. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”
You could—and probably should—go with Ningning’s plan and start poking at sore spots, but the words that come out betray you.
“Are you doing okay?” you ask, quieter than you meant to.
There it is—the smallest hitch in her expression. Her fingers tighten almost unnoticably around the stem of her glass.
She doesn’t look at you when she answers. “Don’t,” she huffs.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t start. You’re an intern, not my therapist.”
“I’m serious,” you say, lowering your voice further. “You look miserable. Your dad’s parading you around like a trophy. Your ex is—” You stop yourself before you say something that can’t be unsaid. “Are you okay?”
Winter finally looks at you. Her gaze lingers on your face like she’s searching for an ulterior motive and hating that she’s not finding one.
“This is my life,” she says firmly. “This is normal. I don’t need concern from you.”
“You don’t want it,” you correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Why do you do this?” she snarls. “Why do you always have to push? Can’t you just take an order and walk away?”
“God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you without asking for a stock option in return.”
Her mouth opens, then snaps shut. She stares at you, caught off guard by the sincerity in your voice. For a fleeting moment, she’s neither Kim Minjeong nor Creative Director Winter—just an overwhelmed, exhausted girl ready to fall apart.
“This isn’t the time and place,” she says, quickly gathering herself. “I have to survive tonight. That’s it. That’s the whole task.”
“It’s a gala, not a hostage situation.”
“Is there a difference?” Her eyes flash. “Has it ever occurred to you that nothing in my life is a celebration?”
“Then maybe you should change that—”
Your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket.
You quickly pull it out under the cover of your jacket—just in case it’s Ningning giving you an update on your first official mission as Batman and Catwoman.
Winter, of course, notices right away. She notices everything. Except the knife currently being sharpened for her back.
Yoo Jimin:
hey human shield
kind of need you right now
they’re tag-teaming me about a “strategic marriage”
if one more person says “two dynasties” i’m going to stab the dessert table
You glance over. Sure enough, Karina is across the room, surrounded by a semi-circle of men in suits who look like they learned how to flirt from tech entrepreneurs.
But then you remember Ningning’s warning—mission first, yearning later—and shove the phone away before you can do something stupid, like go save her.
“Sorry,” you say, putting it back in your pocket. “I’m supposed to be somewhere right now.”
“Where? Holding hands with the Head of Design in front of the board?”
You freeze.“I wasn’t holding hands. She grabbed me.”
“And you let her.” Her eyes narrow. “You looked like a lost puppy she picked up at the shelter to annoy her father. It was embarrassing.”
You tilt your head. “Are you jealous, Ms. Kim?”
The question slips out before you can stop it. It’s reckless. It’s stupid. But it’s exactly what Ningning told you to do: keep her busy.
Winter freezes. For a second, you think she might actually throw her drink in your face.
“Jealous?” she repeats. “Over what? An intern who can’t even tie his own bowtie properly?”
She reaches out, her fingers brushing your throat as she fixes the knot. The brief contact sends a jolt of something straight through your body.
“I don’t get jealous over things I own,” she whispers, staring up at you through her lashes. “I get annoyed when they’re misplaced.”
Your breath hitches. “I wasn’t aware I was still your property.”
“Check your contract,” she says, mindlessly fixing your collar now. “You belong to my department. That means you don’t go running off to play Prince Charming for my cousin just because she smiled at you.”
“She needed a plus-one.”
“She needed a prop,” Winter corrects, eyes snapping back up to lock with yours. “Don’t tell me you think the great prodigy Yoo Jimin didn’t predict exactly how that played out earlier. She didn’t bring you there because she enjoys your conversations. You’re just a tool she used to flip off her dad so that he would be too mad to introduce her to any more of his friends’ sons. And you’re so eager to be used, aren’t you? As long as the person using you is pretty enough.”
“Strange coming from the person who calls me at 2am because she forgot her next-day presentation material.”
Her nostrils flare. “You choose to answer.”
“Yeah. I do. Guess why,” you say, instantly regretting it.
She freezes for a second, but then ignores it completely. “I call you because as much as I hate to admit it, you get things done.”
You scoff. “Just last week you told me that my very existence was an HR violation.”
“It is,” she says, fixing a strand of hair falling over your face with an annoyed look. “But tonight, you’re seemingly determined to be a PR violation, too.”
You catch her wrist before she can pull away. Her warmth is nostalgic, and her pulse dances under your thumb.
“The only PR violation tonight is your dumb boyfriend over there flirting with your father’s fiancée in front of all those cameras and people.”
You turn to the bar, where the ex is standing next to Giselle, bodies angled toward each other like magnets. Ningning is already there, squeezing herself between their conversation, laughing at something he’s said that you’re certain isn’t funny.
Winter stares at them and then back at you—furious, but just so painfully beautiful. For a fleeting moment, everything around you blurs away. It’s just her, looking at you like she wants to either slap you or kiss you.
“You are infuriating,” she says, pulling her arm out your grip. “Worry about your own love life.”
Your phone buzzes again.
Winter’s eyes flick to your pocket. “Popular tonight. Jimin unnie again? Asking you to come save her from a conversation about golf?”
Yoo Jimin:
they’re bringing up golf metaphors now
this is a cry for help
Ningning’s voice is loud in your head: Mission first, feelings later. Do not let Karina distract you.
You swallow, lock the screen, and then turn back at Winter. “She does hate golf.”
“Go then,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “Go be her hero. Go wag your little tail.”
“No, I think I’ll stay,” you say, leaning against the wall. “The view is better here.”
Winter blinks. “You’re such an idiot,” she mutters, looking away, though the corner of her mouth fights a losing battle against a smile.
“And you’re out of wine,” you say, nodding at her drink. “Let’s get you another glass.”
As you walk away, your phone buzzes again. You don’t even look this time.
You’re just about to signal the bartender—just about to lean in and cement the distraction—when a frantic voice cuts in.
“Director! Director Kim!”
It’s Manager Yoon, Winter’s personal assistant. She’s a tiny woman who always looks like she’s five minutes away from a nervous breakdown, permanently clutching a tablet to her chest like a shield.
Winter stiffens instantly, the playful anger vanishing. “Yes?”
“The Chairman is asking for you,” her assistant says, not even looking at you. “President Jang from IVE Corp has just arrived.”
Winter’s mask slams back into place, sealing away the girl who was just blushing at you. She lets out a short, sharp exhale through her nose. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”
Manager Yoon nods fervently and scurries off to clear the path.
Winter hesitates. She looks at the bar, then back at you. For a split second, her shoulders slump—like a kid being dragged away from the playground.
Yoo Jimin: you owe me a dance later
--
“Mission status?”
Ningning has a new drink in hand. Her lipstick is slightly smudged in a way that feels absolutely intentional, and her eyes are bright with the adrenaline of a cat that just knocked a vase off a shelf on purpose.
“She’s staying downstairs,” you say, keeping your voice low. “For now.”
“Excellent,” she purrs. “Because phase two is officially a go.”
Ningning lifts her bag just enough for you to see the thin rectangle tucked between her manicured fingers.
A hotel keycard.
“You actually got it,” you breathe, staring at it like it’s a loaded gun. “You’re insane, Ning.”
“Please. He’s tragically predictable. Compliment his tie, laugh at his joke, touch his arm—he’ll show you his portfolio, his room number, even his childhood trauma if you give him ten minutes.” She tilts her head. “Giselle helped, actually.”
You blink. “How?”
“Ironically, she doesn’t like sharing,” she says, amused. “She saw me getting too close and dragged him into the hallway to mark her territory. He got distracted trying to calm her down, tossed his jacket on a chair… and, well, you can guess the rest.”
Your stomach twists. “And you said they’re meeting later?”
“In that same room.” She taps the sharp corner of the card against your chest. “Which means we have a very narrow window to sanitize the crime scene. So suit up and let’s go.”
“Right now?” you ask, pulse jumping.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, right now. We go up, we sweep the room, we steal anything with a lens or a blinking light, and we get out before anyone realizes their little porn set has been shut down.”
“If someone notices we’re gone—” you start.
“They won’t,” Ningning says confidently. “We’re interns. We are, tragically, forgettable. That’s exactly why only we can do this.” She pauses. “Unless you’d rather stay here and keep making moony eyes at Tits and Waist while they both ignore you for rich men.”
“Fine.” You exhale, turning your back on the ballroom. “Lead the way, partner.”
“I love it when you let me take charge,” she coos, looping her arm through yours and steering you toward the side corridor.
The elevator doors slide open on a carpeted hallway that smells like a very expensive air freshener. Everything is quiet and muted—basically the opposite of the chaos downstairs.
Ningning leads the way, counting room numbers under her breath until she stops in front of one that matches what’s on the keycard sleeve.
“Here,” she whispers. “This one.”
You both stand there for a second, listening. No voices. No movement.
“Okay, last chance to bail,” she says, voice barely audible. “We can go back, pretend we never heard anything, and just let this place implode on schedule.”
“You’re trying to talk me out of this now?” you ask, shivering despite your suit jacket.
“Not really. I just like giving people the illusion of choice.” She turns to the door. “Ready?”
You sigh one last time. “Not even a little.”
“Too late, Batboy,” she replies, and swipes the card.
The lock clicks. She pushes the door open, and the two of you step into the suite.
The room is immaculate. Too immaculate, even by five-star hotel standards. Bed made, pillows fluffed, a bottle of champagne on ice waiting patiently on the table.
“God, how tacky,” Ningning mutters, walking over to the ice bucket. She picks up the bottle, inspects the label, and sneers. “Who buys Moët for a blackmail scheme? At least go for Dom if you’re going to ruin someone’s life.”
You walk to the giant windows of the corner suite. The view of the city is breathtaking, but the reflection in the glass just shows two interns in over their heads, moonlighting as vigilantes.
“Alright, time to find those cameras,” you say, taking a deep breath.
You start with the obvious places, immediately moving to the dresser mirror, squinting at the frame.
Ningning, however, isn’t searching for lenses. Instead, she opens the wardrobe door, then checks under the bed, then opens the door to a large walk-in closet near the bathroom like she’s checking out the place for herself.
“Ning! Come on. They’ll be here any minute.”
“Relax, we have time,” she says, dropping her bag on the desk. She wanders toward the bathroom, then pivots to a large set of double doors. “He’s probably stuck in the elevator making small talk with a crypto bro.”
She opens the doors. “Oh hello, what’s this?”
“What are you doing?” you hiss, running your finger along the vanity lights.
“Looking for a hidey-hole just in case,” she replies, stepping inside the walk-in closet. “This one’s huge. Good acoustics, too.”
“Ning, focus—”
Beep. Click.
The sound of a keycard on the door cuts you off like a gunshot.
You freeze, your hand still hovering over the desk lamp.
Ningning stops mid-twirl. “Shit!” she hisses.
She lunges out, grabs your arm, and yanks both you and her handbag into the darkness of the walk-in closet just as the suite door swings open.
You stumble in, tripping over a rack of hotel robes, and she pulls the door shut. The space is surprisingly large—deep enough for luggage racks and a full-length mirror—but right now, pressed against Ningning in the dark, it feels suffocatingly intimate. You can smell her floral perfume clearly as her neck presses against your face. For a split second, you realize how much you miss her scent.
Through the slats of the door, you see two figures enter.
It’s the ex and Giselle.
“I told you, I lost mine,” he says, voice smooth and irritated. He walks straight to the minibar and pours himself a glass of whiskey. “I must have dropped it when I was talking to the investors.”
“You’re so careless,” Giselle snaps, sounding different than she did in the lobby—less confident, more anxious. “If the Chairman sees me up here—”
“He won’t,” he says, taking a sip. “He’s busy showing off his perfect daughter to the IVE execs. That meeting will take twenty minutes, minimum.”
“I don’t know if I like this,” she says, hugging her arms. “Minjeong isn’t stupid. If she sees a camera—”
“She won’t see anything,” he laughs, setting the glass down. “I put them in the blind spots.”
“What blind spots?”
He walks over to the desk. “One here in the floral arrangement,” he says, tapping the large vase. “Catches the entry, the bed, and the conversation. Audio is crisp, too.”
Giselle watches him with a look of distaste. “And the other one?”
He turns, pointing up toward the ceiling, directly above the pristine white bed.
“Smoke detector,” he says with a grin. “Top-down view. Catches everything on the mattress.”
She follows his gaze to the bed, at the crisp white sheets, the fluffed pillows, the perfect stage he’s set so carefully.
“You sure went through a lot of trouble,” she scoffs.
He shrugs. “Presentation is everything. If the set looks cheap, the star won’t perform.”
“The star,” she repeats bitterly. She crosses her arms, still staring at the pillows. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re not just doing this for leverage. You actually want to fuck her.”
He pauses, then sets the glass down and looks at her.
“Uh oh,” he purrs, taking a step toward her. “Someone’s jealous.”
“I am not—”
“You are,” he interrupts, closing the distance. “You’re mad that I’m going to fuck Minjeong’s brains out in this room, on that bed, while you go back downstairs and play trophy wife for her middle-aged father.”
Giselle flinches, but she doesn’t back away.
“Come here.” He grabs her waist and pulls her flush against him.
She lets out a small gasp, gripping his jacket. “What are you—”
He kisses her neck, and she melts into it instantly.
“You’re the biggest asshole I know.” She starts to pull him backward, toward the pristine white mattress.
“Ah-ah,” he says, stopping her cold.
He holds her in place, his grip tightening on her waist. “Not the bed,” he says, his voice dropping. “I need those sheets fresh for Minjeong later.”
Giselle freezes. For a second, you think she might slap him.
“I hate that bitch so much,” she breathes, her eyes oozing with resentment.
“Don’t worry,” he says, snickering. “It’ll be all worth it soon, babe.”
He spins her around, slamming her against the wall next to the closet door—inches from where you and Ningning are hiding. The impact rattles the hinges, sending a vibration straight through your shoulder where you’re pressed against the wood.
“Lift it,” he orders. “Show me that slutty little pussy of yours.”
Giselle stands frozen for a second with her back to him, staring at the wall next to the closet door. You can see her reflection in the full-length mirror—her eyes are wide and filled with an undeniable want.
She reaches down. Her hands shake visibly as she bunches the fabric of her dress up around her waist.
“God, you’re easy,” he mutters, shaking his head with a smirk that you can hear in his voice. “You were wet the second you walked in the door, weren’t you?”
He hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric of her panties, yanking it aside without bothering to take them off. The sound of the elastic snapping against her skin feels extra loud in the quiet room.
Giselle lets out a sharp yelp as he drops to his knees behind her. His hands slide up her smooth thighs, gripping her hips to hold her in place, digging into the soft, jiggling flesh.
“Please,” she whimpers, pressing her forehead against the wall. “Do it. I’ve missed you so much—”
He laughs, a muffled sound against her thigh. “You know I don’t even do this for Minjeong. She doesn’t like it. Probably thinks she’s too pristine to have her pussy licked.”
Ningning’s head tilts ever so slightly, and amidst the storm surging on the other side of that door, you find a tiny sliver of peace in knowing how completely wrong that statement is.
Giselle shudders, her fingers digging into the wallpaper. “Stop talking about her.”
He chuckles and runs his tongue up the back of her thigh slowly, teasing the very edge of her slit but refusing to give her what she wants yet.
“Tell me, Aeri,” he taunts. “Does the great Chairman Kim ever get on his knees for you?”
“Shut up,” she gasps, her hips twitching involuntarily, trying to chase his mouth.
He pulls back, denying her again. “Does he even look at you when he fucks you? Or does he just close his eyes and think about his dead wife while he pumps into you for two minutes?”
“Stop it!” she cries, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she presses back against him even more.
“He doesn’t eat you out, does he? He probably thinks it’s beneath him. A man of his status, slobbering over a trophy wife?”
He finally buries his face between her legs, slurping her with a hunger that sounds almost violent. It’s not even affectionate; it’s a demonstration of ownership.
Giselle’s knees buckle. She has to brace her hands wider against the wall to even stay upright while her head is involuntarily falling back.
“Oh god,” she moans, biting her own lip to keep the volume down. “God—it’s been so long—”
“I know,” he murmurs against her, not stopping. “You’re starving. You’re dripping down my chin because your future husband is useless.”
He works her relentlessly, finding the rhythm that breaks her composure. Low, broken moans escape her throat while her hips grind back against his face.
Inside the closet, Ningning is frozen. She’s not looking away—her eyes are fixed on the sliver of lights in front of you as her hand finds yours in the dark, squeezing hard. Her body is so close to yours now that you can feel the heat radiating off her skin as she continues watching.
Outside, the ex pulls back suddenly, right before Giselle reaches her climax, causing her to let out a frustrated whimper as she slumps against the wall.
“Look at you,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up. “You act like a lady downstairs, but up here, you’re just a little slut.”
“Come on,” she begs. “Just fuck me already. Please.”
“So impatient. Are you sure you can even play the long game?”
He undoes his belt and immediately grips her hips, thumbs digging into her flesh.
“Say please,” he teases.
“Ple—”
He suddenly thrusts into her from behind, hard and without warning.
She cries out—a sharp, high sound that is immediately muffled as her face hits the wall.
“How does it feel, Aeri?” he asks, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back. “An engaged woman getting fucked by someone who isn’t her fiancée?”
“So good,” she cries, eyes rolling back. “Oh god, it feels so good.”
“Does he do this?” he sneers, slapping her ass. “Does the Chairman fuck you like this?”
“No!” she wails, shaking her head frantically. “No, he could never!”
“He’s too old, isn’t he?” He laughs. “Does he even get it up?”
“He’s useless!” she groans. “I hate it. I hate him. Please… please don’t stop.”
“You starved little bitch,” he growls, driving deeper. “You’re so desperate for a working cock you’re letting your future stepdaughter’s boyfriend use you like a toy.”
“I don’t care,” she gasps, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth. “Just fuck me. Fill me up. I’m so empty all the time without your cock.”
“You’re such a cock-thirsty slut, Aeri. Lucky for you… I like them extra slutty.”
He continues to fuck her hard against the wall with a brutal pace, every thrust shaking the door frame you’re leaning against.
She takes it obediently, her head falling back. “Is this… is this how you fuck her?” she gasps.
“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” He drives deeper, making her toes curl on the carpet. “How I fuck my girlfriend?”
“Tell me,” she begs, her voice trembling. “Do you fuck her like this?”
“No,” he says, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “I don’t. Not like this. Because Minjeong isn’t a desperate whore like you.”
She lets out a wounded sound, half-sob, half-moan, as his words sink in deeper than his thrusts.
“Turn around,” he commands abruptly, pulling out.
Giselle stumbles as she turns, her face completely flushed, eyes wet with a toxic mix of humiliation and lust.
He grabs her right leg, pulling it high over his hip until she’s balanced on one foot.
Then he thrusts back into her from the front, burying himself deep. She gasps, her head knocking back against the wall, nails digging into his shoulders to stay upright.
“Look at me,” he growls, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look him in the eye while he pumps into her. “Admit it. You’re jealous of Minjeong.”
“I’m not—” she starts, but a hard thrust cuts her off.
“You are.” He slaps her cheek lightly. “You’re jealous that she’s younger, prettier, and smarter. You’re jealous that she’s the real heiress and you’re just the replacement wife. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” she breathes, her hips snapping forward to meet him, unable to fight it anymore. “Yes, I am.”
“Say it properly,” he demands, increasing the pace until she’s gasping for air. “Tell me how much you hate it.”
“I’m jealous of her, okay?” she wails, the confession tearing out of her. “I feel so inferior next to her! She has everything. Even back then, when we were classmates, she always got better grades and had more friends. And now… she even has you.”
“That’s right,” he says, grinning as he watches her break. “She has me. And do you want to know the difference, Aeri? Do you want to know why she’ll always win?”
“Tell me,” she whispers, eyes rolling back.
He leans in, lips brushing her ear. “Because she’s so nice and tight,” he growls. “Her pussy’s basically made for my cock. And she’s got that tiny body that feels like fucking heaven in my hands. Mm, that little snatched waist… those slender legs that she wraps around me when she begs me not to pull out. It drives me crazy. It makes me fuck her so hard that she passes out sometimes.”
Giselle sobs openly now, tears streaming down her face.
“And tonight?” he continues, relentless. “Tonight I’m going to make her beg. I’m going to tie her to that headboard with her own panties. I’m going to edge her until she’s crying, until she’s completely broken, and then I’m going to record every second of her pleading for my cock.”
He pulls back to look at her face—at the absolute devastation he’s caused.
“You’re just my cum dumpster, Aeri. She’s the real prize. Do you understand now?”
“I hate her!” Giselle cries, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping her standing. “I hate her so much!”
“Good,” he snickers. “You should. You’ll never be her.”
He gives her a few more punishing, deep thrusts, watching the light go out of her eyes as she surrenders to the jealousy ripping her apart. Then, abruptly, he pulls out.
“Now,” he says, stepping back and looking down at her. “Show me you know your place. On your knees.”
Giselle slides slowly down the wall until her knees hit the floor. She looks up at him—not with love, but with a pathetic devotion.
“Finish me off,” he orders, tangling one hand into her hair and tilting her head back. “I want to be empty so I can last all night with her.”
She doesn’t even react. She’s past the point of pride.
“All night?” she whispers, her voice trembling. “What are you going to do all night?”
“I’m going to make sure she remembers who owns her,” he says, staring at the ceiling as if visualizing it. “And you’re going to help me get ready for it.”
He presses his thumb against her bottom lip, dragging it down. “Open.”
She opens her mouth, and he pushes himself into her, forcing her to take him deep.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching himself in the mirror. “Take it. All of it.”
The only sounds in the room are the wet, rhythmic noise of her obedience and his heavy breathing. She works harder, sucking with a frantic intensity, as if trying to prove she’s worth something.
“Swallow it,” he commands suddenly, his hips snapping forward, voice straining. “Don’t you dare spill a drop. I want to be clean for Minjeong.”
She makes a choked sound and bobs her head faster, taking him all the way down as he releases into her mouth with a loud groan. He holds her head in place, fingers tightening in her hair.
She stays on her knees for a moment, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, looking up at him like a dog waiting for a treat.
“Good girl,” he says, patting her cheek lightly. “Now go fix your face. You have a party to get back to.”
--
The room falls into a heavy, deafening silence as the door finally closes behind them.
“Jesus,” Ningning breathes, stepping out into the suite, fanning herself with her hand. She immediately walks to the mirror, checking her hair. “I really need another drink after that.”
“A drink and maybe a priest.” You stumble out after her, legs stiff. “But first, we need to find those cameras and get the hell out of here.”
“Right—cameras,” she says, snapping into focus.
You grab a chair from the desk and drag it to the center of the room. “I’ll get the one up here.”
You climb up, unscrewing the smoke detector cover. Sure enough, there’s a small black square taped inside, just as he brag.
“Found it,” you say, yanking it out.
Ningning is already at the desk, digging through the flowers. “Found the other one. What’s with villains and exposing all their secrets when they think no one’s listening?”
She pulls the tiny device out and holds it up to the light.
“Check it out,” she says, tossing it to you. “It’s just a camera. No transmitter.”
You catch it and look closely. She’s right. It’s a local storage unit—recording to a micro-SD card.
“He’s not streaming or saving it anywhere,” you realize. “Just recording it physically. Either doesn’t trust the hotel Wi-Fi or too cheap to pay for cloud subscription.”
“Which means that if we take these, he has nothing. No backup either. Just an empty slot where his 720p blackmail porn used to be.”
She pops the SD card out of her unit and slips it into her bra. You stare at her.
“What?” she hums. “We need it. For leverage.”
You roll your eyes and pocket the other camera. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”
The only thing stopping your celebration is the sound of footsteps and chatter in the hallway. Multiple.
You freeze.
“What the actual hell?” Ningning hisses. “Already?”
Beep. Click.
The lock engages.
“It’s only been like ten minutes—”
You grab Ningning’s hand and dive back toward the walk-in closet just as the handle turns, tripping over your own shoes and practically throwing her into the bathrobes just as the handle turns.
“Come on, Minjeongie,” the ex says sweetly—a completely different tone from how he spoke to Giselle. “Don’t be like that. Julian flew all the way from London just to see us.”
“No. Absolutely not,” Winter says. “You didn’t say anything about—”
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he cuts in. “We talked about this, Minjeong. Remember? You said you wanted to try it again.”
“I meant with another stranger,” she says, glancing nervously at the guy named Julian. “And somewhere in Europe, not down the street from my house with my entire family and company downstairs.”
“You trust me, don’t you?” He steps closer, stroking her arm. “Julian is a friend, yes. But he knows the rules. He knows who you belong to. It’s less messy that way. Besides, don’t pretend you don’t remember Berlin. You weren’t exactly shy with him then. You made out with him months before we even met.”
“It was at a party,” she argues weakly. “And we were drunk.”
“We can be drunk now,” he counters, eyeing the bottle of wine on the table. “Or we can just be honest. You liked it last time, Minjeong. You liked having two pairs of hands on you. You liked not knowing who was touching you.”
Julian smiles, leaning against the doorframe, loosening his tie. “Listen, I’m just here to help, Minjeong. It’s been a while since we all hung out like this. And honestly, after the way your cousin shot me down downstairs, I could use a little comforting.”
Winter blinks. “Jimin unnie rejected you?”
“Brutally,” Julian sighs, walking over to pour himself a drink. “Looked at me like I was a smudge on her glasses. Gave me some speech about boundaries and professionalism, but you could see it in her eyes. She thinks she’s above everyone.”
He takes a sip, grimacing.
“She acts like this perfect, untouchable saint,” he sneers, turning back to Winter. “But you know what I think? I think she’s broken. I think underneath that act, she’s hollow. Empty. Not like you, Minjeong.”
Winter’s expression shifts. She’s listening now.
“You’re real,” he says, stepping closer. “Yoo Jimin is just a mannequin. A perfect little doll for the shareholders to look at. But you? You’re a woman.”
Winter looks between them. The frustration is there, but so is something else—a twisted curiosity, a lingering exhaustion, and an undeniable spark of competitiveness.
“I can’t,” she whispers. “If anyone finds out…”
“No one will know,” her ex says, guiding her hands to his waist. “Just us. Just for an hour. Minjeong—look at me. You’re vibrating. You’re going to snap down there if you don’t let go.”
He leans in, whispering directly into her ear. “Aren’t you tired? Tired of your father comparing you and Jimin to Jang Wonyoung and An Yujin? Tired of being asked why Aespa Group continues to fall short to IVE Corp?”
Winter’s eyes squeeze shut. Her resistance is visibly crumbling before them.
“You don’t have to be the perfect daughter in here,” he continues. “You don’t have to be the future CEO of anyone’s legacy. You can just be… a body. A toy. No decisions. No responsibilities.”
She shudders. You see the fight drain out of her shoulders through the slats of the closet door. She lets out a long, shaky breath that sounds like a surrender.
“Admit it,” he murmurs triumphantly. “You need this. You need to stop thinking tonight.”
“I just…” She swallows hard, voice trembling. “I just want it to be quiet. I want my brain to stop.”
“We can make you forget about everything,” Julian says softly, moving closer to circle her like a shark. “We can make everything else disappear.”
“That’s right.” Her ex kisses her forehead. “Just be a good girl and let us take care of you.”
He slides his hands down her body, cupping her ass through the fabric, squeezing it firmly.
Winter gasps loudly, her head falling back against his shoulder.
“You like this, don’t you?” he murmurs against her ear. “You like how good it feels when you stop fighting.”
He spins her around before she can answer, pushing her right into his friend. He catches her easily, one hand on her waist, the other coming up to cup her jaw.
“It’s been years,” Julian says, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “Do you remember how I taste, Minjeong?”
Winter looks up at him, her eyes hazy. The fight is gone. “Yes,” she whispers. “I remember.”
“Prove it,” he growls.
He crashes his mouth onto hers. It’s not a gentle kiss. Winter makes a small, desperate sound in her throat and grabs his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a hunger that surprises even him.
Her ex laughs, a low, satisfied sound, and kisses down the side of her neck while she’s occupied. “There she is,” he purrs. “The real Kim Minjeong.”
When Julian finally pulls back, Winter is breathless. She looks defeated already, and they haven’t even taken her clothes off.
“Please,” she begs, looking between them. “Do it. Use me.”
“Are you sure?” he asks condescendingly.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she breathes. “Please.”
Her ex smiles and reaches for the zipper of her dress. She doesn’t even flinch now. She leans into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, surrendering completely.
In the closet, you lunge forward. You can’t help it. The sight of them touching her—after what he just did to Giselle, after everything. Ningning immediately slams her body weight against you, pinning you to the back wall and clamps her hand over your mouth, her nails digging into your cheek.
“Don’t,” she mouths, shaking her head. “You can’t.”
Outside, the white dress is already on the floor. Winter stands in just her lingerie, completely exposed.
“Beautiful,” Julian murmurs, eyeing her like a product at the market. “Just so fucking beautiful.”
“She loves being looked at,” the ex says, guiding her toward the bed. “Don’t you, Minjeong? You’ve missed this.”
“Can’t you at least turn off the lights?” Winter swallows, looking away. “It’s too bright in here. ”
“I have an even better idea,” her ex says smoothly.
He reaches into his pocket—or maybe he grabs a tie from the dresser, you can’t tell from the angle—and produces a strip of black silk.
“Let’s turn everything off Minjeongie, including your eyes.”
He ties the blindfold around her head, securing it tight. The moment her vision is gone, her posture changes. The tension in her shoulders drops. She lets out a long exhale, finally surrendering to the dark.
“Better?” he asks, running his hands down her bare arms.
“Yes,” she says, tilting her head back against his chest. “Much better.”
“Good,” he grins at Julian over her shoulder. “Now… let’s see if we can make you forget your name.”
“Kneel,” the other commands softly.
Winter sinks to the plush carpet, her knees hitting the floor with a soft thud.
She tilts her head up, seeking them out, her lips parted. “Where are you?” she whispers.
You hear the sound of zippers. Two of them.
“Right here,” her ex says, stepping in front of her.
He doesn’t wait. He presses the head of his cock against her lips, and she opens instantly, taking him in with a desperate obedience.
“God,” he groans, his hand tangling in her hair. “You’re so eager tonight.”
She takes him all the way in, wrapping her lips around his flesh as if she’d been waiting all night.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Such a good girl.”
She pulls off with a wet pop, gasping for air. “Both,” she demands. “I want both.”
“What a greedy girl,” Julian laughs. “Turn your head.”
She obeys blindly, turning her face to the side. He steps in, guiding himself into her mouth while her ex moves to her other side.
“Look at her,” the ex says, running his hand down her throat, tracing the movement as she swallows Julian down. “Look how perfectly she takes it. You’d never know she was the Chairman’s daughter right now, would you?”
“She’s a natural,” Julian agrees, thrusting into her mouth. “You like this, Minjeong? You like being used like this?”
“Mmph,” she moans, her hand coming up to stroke her ex’s length since her mouth is occupied.
“Use your words later,” he says, guiding his cock to her lips as Julian pulls back for a breath. “Right now, just keep your mouth open.”
She switches back and forth between them—licking, sucking, bobbing her head. The sounds of their pleasure and her wet, needy noises fill the room, suffocating you and Ningning in their intensity.
“That’s it,” Julian teases, slapping her cheek lightly. “Make me forget about your cousin.”
At the mere mention of Karina, Winter seems to work harder. Her throat tightens, her pace increasing as if she’s trying to suck the very thought of her perfect cousin out of him.
“On the bed now,” her ex commands. “On your knees.”
Winter lets go of their throbbing shafts and obediently climbs onto the mattress like a starved puppy. The white sheets nearly blend in with her skin as she positions herself exactly as told—head bowed, back arched, legs spread, ass up.
The ex grabs Winter’s hair, pulling her head back. “Tell him what you are.”
“I-I’m a toy,” she says, voice trembling.
“And?”
“And I want you to use me,” she chokes out. “Please. Both of you. Do whatever you want to me. I’m yours. All yours.”
The sounds that follow are gut wrenching. The rustle of clothes, the heavy breathing of the two men, and Winter’s soft, broken gasps as they use her, passing her between them like she’s something they bought together.
In the closet, you’re vibrating with anger and violence. You are going to kill them. You are going to tear the door off its hinges and—
Ningning kisses you.
It’s not romantic. At all. It’s a distraction, and fortunately, it’s a really good one.
She crushes her mouth against yours, biting your lip hard, grabbing your hand and forcing it between her legs before grinding against you with a desperation that mirrors the chaos outside.
“Focus on me,” she whispers against your mouth, eyes wild. “Hate-fuck me if you have to. But do not open that door or we’re both screwed.”
You try to obey, but the sounds from the bedroom aren’t just audible—they’re overwhelming.
“That’s it,” Julian’s voice drifts in, low and encouraging. “Take it all, Minjeong. Show me how good you can be.”
“She’s such a good whore,” the ex laughs. “Aren’t you, babe? This is what you were made for. Not spreadsheets. Not meetings. Just this.”
You press your eye to the gap in the closet door. You shouldn’t, but your body moves on its own.
Winter is on all fours on the bed, completely stripped of her lingerie, with Julian’s cock buried in her mouth while the ex kneels behind her, running his hands over her body as she’s leaning into them, desperate for more.
“Look at her,” the ex says, squeezing her ass firmly. “The Chairman’s precious daughter. On her knees where she belongs. Completely dripping wet while two men have their way with her.”
“Deeper,” Julian commands gently but firmly, hand in her hair. “I know you can take more. You’re doing so well.”
Ningning yanks your face back to hers, her nails biting into your jaw.
“Eyes on me,” she hisses. “Don’t watch or else—”
She doesn’t even finish the threat. She shoves her panties down and hikes her dress up, backing you against the hanging suits.
“Fuck me,” she orders. “Right now.”
You fumble with your zipper, hands shaking not from fear, but from fury. Outside, the bedsprings start their rhythmic creak.
“God, she’s so fucking tight. There’s really nobody like you, Minjeong.”
“You miss taking two cocks at once, don’t you? You wanted this.”
“Yes,” Winter moans, the word muffled. “Please—”
“Please what? Tell us what you want.”
“Please keep using my pussy,” she sobs. “I need it. I need you to use me.”
You slam into Ningning—hard. She almost cries out, her back hitting the wall of suits with a light thud, but she clamps a hand over her own mouth just in time.
“Just like that,” Ningning breathes against her palm, her eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t think about her. Focus on me.”
You grab her hips, digging your fingers in, and thrust into her with a force that shakes the rack of clothes.
But you still look back at the slats. You don’t even know why. You’re not hers, and she’s certainly not yours—you’re just the intern she tolerates at best. But watching her surrender like this, dismantling herself piece by piece just to escape her own head, breaks something inside you. It’s a frustrating, irrational pull—a sudden, desperate need to step in and shield her from the very thing she’s begging for.
The ex has Winter bent over now, face pressed into the mattress. He’s pounding into her from behind while his friend feeds her his cock from the front, both of them using her like she’s nothing but holes.
“You love being spit-roasted, huh?” the ex asks, leaning down to bite her shoulder. “Tell him, Minjeong. Tell him how much you love having both ends filled.”
“I love it,” Winter chokes out around Julian’s length. “I love being your fucktoy.”
“That’s right, babe. No thinking. Just feeling. Just a pretty little toy for us to play with until we’re satisfied. That’s all you’re good for.”
“Please,” she wails. “Please, I’m close—I can’t—I’m gonna come—”
“Don’t you dare cum yet,” Julian commands, thrusting deeper into her mouth. “Not until we say so.”
“Aah—no—I’m sorry—I’m coming—”
There’s laughter. “I wonder what would daddy think if he saw his little princess like this? Getting used like a whore in a hotel room while the board drinks champagne downstairs?”
Winter screams around Julian’s cock, her body convulsing violently, thighs trembling uncontrollably against the ex’s hips as she screams and sobs through the orgasm.
Rage boils over you. You grab Ningning’s hair, pulling her head back just like the ex is doing to Winter.
“Is this what you want?” you growl into her ear. “To be used like her?”
“Yes,” Ningning whimpers, biting her lip. “Ruin me. Pretend you’re hate-fucking her. I know you’re so mad right now.”
She kisses you, roughly and desperately, her tongue shoving into your mouth. Her walls clench hard around your cock, every part of her body demanding your attention.
You bury your face in her neck and thrust harder, faster, trying to drown out the nightmare happening ten feet away.
“Switch,” Julian commands outside. “I want her pussy now.”
There’s a shuffle, the creak of the mattress shifting, and Winter gasps as she moves. You look through the slats.
She’s straddling Julian now, bouncing up and down on him in a frantic rhythm, her head thrown back, breasts bouncing freely. But she’s not just riding him. She’s leaning forward, wrapping her lips around the ex’s cock as he sits on the edge of the bed, her hand stroking him in time with her hips.
“God, she’s completely soaking wet,” he laughs, sounding delighted. “You really are desperate cumslut, aren’t you, Minjeong?”
“Yes,” she wails. “I am. I’m a worthless little fucktoy. Please don’t stop. I want to come again and again and again. Please.”
“Good girl,” the ex demands. “Keep begging. Beg for my cock while he ruins your pussy.”
You look again. Winter’s face is a ruin of smeared makeup, tears, and lust as she’s licking his cock like it’s keeping her alive.
“That’s it. That’s a good girl. Finally letting go. Finally honest about what you are.”
“Yes, I’m a whore,” Winter gasps between licks. “I’m really just a whore. I can’t believe it.”
She’s sprawled across the sheets, legs pried apart as Julian drives into her, the mattress shaking with every thrust. But she’s not even looking at him.
Her head is dipped back, trapped in her ex’s grip as he holds her jaw steady, stroking himself while she frantically licks him from below.
“Whose whore?” he asks, rubbing his balls against her tongue.
“Yours. Both of yours.”
“Where do you want us to finish?” Julian demands.
“On my face,” Winter cries. “Cover me. Please cover me with cum.”
Ningning drops to her knees in the cramped space. Without any warning, she just takes you into her mouth. You can barely see her. Instead, all you see is Winter on the other side of those doors, begging them for their cum.
“Our little cum dumpster. Take it all. Every last drop.”
Winter screams—a shattered, euphoric sound—as he slams into her repeatedly.
“Oh my god—please—don’t stop—” she sobs, her hands scrabbling uselessly against the sheets. “I’m coming! I can’t stop com—”
She cuts herself off with a shattered scream, her body arching off the mattress as the pleasure rips through her again. She’s not even breathing between the cries anymore, just sobbing uncontrollably as she rides out the peak, completely undone.
It breaks you. The sound of her pleasure, directed at them, shatters your control. You look down at Ningning—at her dark hair, her desperate eyes, the way she’s slurping you in the dark while Winter gets destroyed in the light.
You grab her hair, thrusting into her mouth as she takes it deep, gagging slightly but never stopping, her throat tightening around you.
“Fuck—I’m coming, Minjeongie,” the ex moans outside.
He erupts on Winter’s face—thick waves landing on her cheek and her chin. Julian joins in, painting her chest and neck in white.
At the exact same moment, you spill down Ningning’s throat. She swallows it all silently, her eyes locked on yours as you pulse into her throat.
Winter takes it all, her tiny body trembling, her chest heaving, and a look of satisfaction and relief fills her face.
Ningning slowly pulls off of you, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stays on her knees, panting, looking just as pleased as Winter on the bed.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of soft, ragged breathing in the closet, and the hot, heavy panting from the bedroom.
“Good girl,” the ex says softly outside. “This is what you deserve, Minjeongie. Nothing more and nothing less.”
And as you look through the cracks, at the way Winter lies breathless on the bed in a hopeless daze, covered in their mess, you finally realize something.
Maybe it’s not her who needs to be saved from him.
It’s you who needs to be saved from her.
--
The ballroom is now a blur of noise and light that hurts your ears and stings your eyes. You’re standing near the entrance, leaning against a marble pillar because your legs are still too traumatized to function.
It took nearly thirty minutes. Thirty minutes trapped in a closet, crouching in the dark while Ningning forces your head between her legs, silently begging you to pleasure her while waiting for the three of them to clean up their crime scene and leave the suite.
“God,” Ningning sighs, adjusting her dress as she scans the crowd. She looks irritatingly fresh, her lipstick reapplied, hair perfect—as if she feels more rejuvenated now instead of hollow inside like you. “Suddenly it feels like heaven out here.”
“I want to go home,” you mutter, staring at the floor. “I want to bleach my brain.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You survived. And we got the goods.” She pats her chest, where the SD cards are safely tucked away. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Live a little. The night is young and so are we.”
“The night is a nightmare and I’m leaving.”
“Not yet you’re not,” she says, nodding toward the far corner of the room. “Look.”
You follow her gaze.
Karina is there. She’s swaying slightly, clutching a wine glass with both hands. And she’s not alone. A man in a sharp tuxedo is standing close—leaning in with a rather earnest, concerned expression. He’s handsome in a wholesome, non-threatening way that instantly makes you want to jump down a flight of stairs.
“Well,” Ningning hums, patting your arm. “I’ll leave you to that.”
“What are you going to do?”
“First, I’m going to secure a midnight kiss or two. I’m thinking those VPs from IVE with the limited edition Rolexes.” She winks. “And then… Phase Three.”
You sigh. “There’s a Phase Three?”
“Of course. But don’t worry, this part’s all me. I’m gonna go pay Winter’s ex another visit and introduce him to Little Miss Yuna,” she says, her grin turning wicked. “Watching two narcissists collide sounds like great entertainment.”
You sigh. “And then what?”
“Wait and see, Batboy.” She lifts her chin in Karina’s direction. “You should go save your princess before Prince Charming over there snatches her for the night. You’ve earned the right to continue yearning.”
She vanishes into the crowd, leaving you alone with the noise, the stolen cameras, and the sudden, overwhelming need to get to Karina.
You make your way over, weaving through the crowd of drunk executives and couples awkwardly moving to the slow music. Your eyes lock onto the corner near the terrace doors where Karina is standing.
You recognize him vaguely from the seating chart you weren’t allowed to be on. Lee Heeseung from Enhypen Group. Old money, a prestige family line, and probably has a wing of some hospital named after his grandfather.
You slow your pace, hesitation crawling up your spine.
Karina hasn’t texted you since you left her to deal with Winter. And now, seeing her with him—someone who belongs in this room, someone who was probably invited to sit at the Chairman’s table while you were sneaking around in a closet—it hits you.
You’re just an intern. You’re the guy who carries things and replies to emails. Heeseung is the “good match” her father was probably lecturing her about all night.
You stop ten feet away. They look comfortable. He’s smiling gently, saying something that makes her nod. Meanwhile, you look like you’ve been dragged through a war zone. Your bow tie is barely clinging on, and you realize that Winter was right—you really don’t know how to fix it.
You decide to turn away.
Because you should. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong anywhere near Karina. You don’t deserve her. You should just go home. You should just disappear before you embarrass her and yourself further.
You’re two steps from the exit when a hand grabs your arm.
It’s not a gentle touch. It’s a grip—tight, desperate, fingers digging into your bicep through the suit jacket.
You turn. Karina is there, alone. She’s looking up at you, her eyes glassy and huge, searching your face with a mix of both relief and sorrow.
“Are you leaving me again?” she says, her voice slurring from alcohol and hurt.
“I wasn’t leaving,” you lie. “I was just giving you space.”
“Liar,” she murmurs, her grip on your arm tightening rather than loosening. “You were running away. I saw you turn.”
She sways, and you instinctively reach out to steady her, your hands settling on her waist. She feels warm, like the only real thing in a night that has felt like a fever dream.
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” you admit, nodding slightly toward Heeseung, who is watching from a polite distance, looking confused but not angry. “He looks… like someone your dad would approve of.”
Karina lets out a short, bitter laugh. “My dad’s been trying to marry me off to him since I was in middle school.”
“But too many golf metaphors?” you try to joke, but it doesn’t even land anymore.
She shakes her head. “No, he’s actually one of the better ones. He’s kind, honest, considerate. Pretty sure he’s liked me since high school.”
“So then why aren’t you there with him?” you ask softly.
She shrugs, a small, fragile movement. “Maybe the person he likes isn’t really me. Maybe he just likes the idea of me.”
She wobbles again, her heel slipping on the marble.
“Okay,” you say, tightening your grip. “That’s enough philosophy for one night. Let’s get you upstairs.”
“I’m not drunk,” she protests weakly, though she doesn’t pull away.
“You can’t even stand straight.”
“Fine,” she mumbles. “Maybe a little.”
“Come on. I’ll walk you.”
You drape your jacket over her shoulders and guide her toward the elevators. The noise of the party fades behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the elevator. She leans against the mirrored wall, watching you.
“So where’d you go tonight?” she asks, her voice quieter now.
“Somewhere I shouldn’t have been,” you admit, thinking of the closet, the cameras, the smell of sex. “I should’ve just stayed with you.”
“Was she pretty?”
Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”
“Minjeong.”
You don’t answer. You just watch the numbers climb.
“I know you went to find her,” she says, not accusingly, just stated like a fact. “You always do.”
“Maybe I should stop.”
“Did you find her? Did you save her?”
“I found her,” you whisper. “But I don’t think she wants to be saved. Meanwhile, I left you waiting all night.”
She smiles, but she doesn’t look happy. “Kind of sad, isn’t it? The heart wants what it wants. You can’t stop it.”
You exhale.
“Maybe it’s for the better, anyways,” she mutters, looking down at her shoes.
You look at her. “What do you mean?”
She pauses. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t defend you at dinner. I was a coward.”
“You’re not a coward,” you say firmly. “You did defend me. You did everything you could.”
“That’s what everyone always says,” she whispers bitterly. “You did what you could, Jimin. It’s not your fault.”
The elevator dings, opening onto her floor. She stumbles out, and without thinking, you sweep her up into your arms.
“What are you doing?” she gasps, wrapping her arms around your neck, burying her face in your shoulder.
“Trying to see how heavy with guilt you are,” you joke weakly.
You carry her down the hall as her head rests on your shoulder, her breathing evening out.
“You never sent me any snarky commentary about the award speeches,” she mumbles into your neck.
“I actually missed the whole thing,” you say, stopping at her door. “Were they any good?”
You fish the keycard from her bag, scanning it with a soft beep. The angel keychain sways from the touch, the crystal reflecting a bit of the light from the ceiling.
“Not at all,” she says, lifting her head slightly as the door swings open. “You know, it was supposed to be our gala but for some reason Jang Wonyoung won everything. She really is the ace around here.”
“You’re the only ace in my eyes. Everyone else is just either blind or has no taste.”
She pouts. “Don’t be mean. She’s a nice girl.”
“Just calling a spade a spade.”
You step inside, and the difference hits you instantly.
The suite you were in earlier felt like a crime scene. This room is warm. The soft golden glow from the lamp sweeps over the plush furniture, and there’s a faint scent of vanilla in the air, probably from a diffuser. It feels gentle and safe. Just like her.
You set her down gently on the edge of the bed, and she kicks off her heels with a sigh, wiggling her toes.
“Water,” you say, pouring her a glass. “Drink it. All of it.”
She smiles, amused. “Someone’s bossy tonight.”
While she drinks, you wander toward the living area. On the sideboard, there’s a vintage record player spinning silently. You glance at the sleeve resting next to it—some old jazz album. You drop the needle, and a soft, relaxing rendition of Fly Me to the Moon fills the room.
You walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city actually looks peaceful from this height. It’s hard to believe that down there, people are screaming counts and setting off fireworks. Up here, it’s just quiet.
You stare at your own reflection in the glass—hair disheveled, bowtie loose, eyes tired. And yet somehow, someway, Karina still wants you near her.
“My father hates this song,” she says softly from behind you.
You turn. She’s standing in the soft glow of the lamp, barefoot now, holding her glass of water with both hands. Without her heels, she looks smaller. Less like the Yoo Jimin from the gala and more like the girl who buys you pastries when you’re tired.
“Perfect,” you joke. “Then he hates everything that’s in this room with you now.”
She steps closer, setting the glass down on a side table. “We should’ve done this hours ago.”
“What?”
“Disappeared,” she says, slowly walking toward you. “Together. Hide from the world.”
“The night isn’t over. We still can.”
“Good,” she says, looking up at you through her lashes. “Because I believe you still owe me a dance.”
“You can barely stand,” you say as yours hands brush her arms.
“Then hold me up,” she says simply, wrapping her arms around your neck. “I trust you.”
The world outside those windows becomes a distant backdrop that doesn’t matter anymore. In here, the universe has shrunk down to the size of this room, filled only with the sound of the music and the warmth of her body.
You rest your hands on her waist and begin to sway, moving slowly to the relaxing jazz rhythm. It’s intimate, far more intimate than you’ve ever been with her. But after the violence of the closet, this tenderness feels both dangerous and necessary.
“Why do you even waste your time with me?” you ask, holding her close.
“You’re not a waste of time,” she whispers against your chest, her eyes closing. “When I’m with you, I don’t have to be Yoo Jimin. I can just be Karina.”
You blink. “There’s a difference?”
“Yoo Jimin is Head of Design,” she says bitterly. “FIT graduate. Eldest daughter of the Yoo family. Kim Minjeong’s older, more established cousin. She’s not allowed to make mistakes. She has to be perfect.”
“Bold of you to assume that I don’t think Karina is perfect.”
She pulls back to look at you, eyes shimmering in the dim light. “I’m not perfect,” she says softly, cupping your face. “I’m so far from it.”
“You are to me.”
She shakes her head, almost fearfully. “No,” she whispers. “Trust me. I’m not who you think I am. I’ve done some really horrible things in my life.”
“I don’t believe that at all.”
“You should,” she says, her hands tightening in your hair. “Because one day when you find out, you’ll just run away again.”
“I don’t know what ghosts you’re fighting,” you say gently, lacing your fingers through hers. “But I know that you’re gentle even when no one is watching. I know you’re kind even when you’re exhausted. Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere.”
For a long moment, she just looks at you, as if there were a thousand words screaming in her head that couldn’t be said out loud. And in that gaze, you realize that you haven’t had another sip of alcohol, and yet the room is spinning.
Outside, the sky fractures. The first firework detonates—a bloom of gold and violet light reflecting in the floor-to-ceiling glass, illuminating the inches of space left between you. The boom rattles the windowpane, but neither of you flinch.
“It’s midnight,” you say, eyes still locked with hers.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she breathes, her voice barely audible.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re going to kiss me.”
“Should I—”
She doesn’t wait. She kisses you first.
It’s soft, tasting of champagne and longing, a stark contrast to Ningning’s violence and Winter’s emptiness. Her lips gently tug against yours, politely squeezing in the space between them with a sweetness that robs the oxygen from the room.
She pulls back, breathless, resting her forehead against yours. “Happy New Year,” she says, smiling against your face.
“Happy New Year, Karina,” you say, rubbing your nose against hers, still chasing the taste of her lip balm.
“Are you going to disappear now?” she asks, tracing the line of your jaw.
“Do you want me to?”
She shakes her head. “No. Stay here. With me.”
You kiss her again. Slower, more tenderly, more lovingly—as if everything in the world led to this moment that you don’t want to end.
“…But if your suit still wants to vaporize,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I won’t complain.”
The venue lights were mostly off, staff long gone, only the soft blue emergency strips glowing along the floor.
You’d been told to wait in the small green room backstage after everyone else cleared out.
A staff member had slipped you a plain black card with nothing but a time and “VIP – Irene” written in silver marker. No explanation. Just instructions to be quiet and patient.
When the door finally opened, she didn’t knock.
Irene stepped inside wearing the same black satin slip dress from the ending stage—except now the thin straps had slipped halfway down her shoulders, and the hem rode dangerously high on her thighs. Her stage makeup was still flawless, but her eyes looked darker, hungrier, pupils blown wide under the dim light.
She locked the door behind her without breaking eye contact.
“You’re the one who sent the letter,” she said, voice low, almost conversational. “The one with the very… detailed fantasy.”
Your mouth went dry. You remembered every word you’d written—things you never thought would see daylight, let alone reach her. Things about her mouth, her hands, the way you wanted her to use you until you couldn’t think straight.
She walked toward you slowly, heels clicking once, twice, then stopping right between your spread knees. You were sitting on the edge of the small leather couch, heart hammering so loud you were sure she could hear it.
Irene tilted her head, studying you like you were the most interesting thing she’d seen all week.
“You really wrote that I’d make you beg in Korean,” she murmured, lips curling. “That I’d ride your face until my thighs shook. That I’d mark you somewhere only I’d know about later.”
She reached out, cool fingers sliding under your chin, tilting your face up.
“Was any of it a lie?”
You shook your head once. Sharp. Honest.
Her smile turned wicked.
“Good boy.”
She didn’t waste time.
One knee came up beside your hip, then the other, straddling you in a fluid motion that made the satin dress slide up to bare the black lace thong underneath. She didn’t sit yet—just hovered, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from between her thighs.
“Hands behind your back,” she ordered softly.
You obeyed instantly.
She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“If you touch without permission, I stop. Understand?”
“Yes, unnie.”
The honorific slipped out automatically. Her breath hitched—just a tiny sound, but you caught it.
She rewarded you by finally lowering herself, grinding down slow and deliberate once, letting you feel exactly how wet she already was through the thin lace.
“Fuck,” she hissed under her breath, almost surprised at herself. “You’re really doing this to me.”
Then she started moving.
Not fast. Not frantic.
Just slow, filthy rolls of her hips—dragging her soaked center over the growing bulge in your pants, using you like a personal toy while her hands braced on your shoulders.
Every few rolls she’d pause, lift just enough to let you see the dark wet spot spreading across your jeans, then sink back down harder.
“Look at the mess you’re making,” she whispered, voice gone husky. “All because you wrote such dirty things.”
She reached between your bodies, nimble fingers popping the button of your jeans, tugging the zipper down just enough to free you. No underwear—apparently she’d noticed that detail from the stage.
Her hand wrapped around you, stroking once, twice, spreading the precum with her thumb.
Then she lifted her hips, pushed the lace thong to the side with two fingers, and sank down onto you in one smooth, devastating drop.
Both of you groaned—hers higher, breathier; yours low and broken.
She didn’t give you time to adjust.
She rode you like she was chasing something she’d been denied for months.
Head thrown back, long black hair spilling everywhere, lips parted around soft, filthy Korean curses you barely understood through the haze.
“조금 더 깊이… 그래, 거기…”
(Deeper… yes, right there…)
Her nails dug into your shoulders through your shirt.
You wanted to touch her so badly—grab her waist, her ass, anything—but you kept your hands locked behind your back like she’d ordered.
She noticed.
“Good,” she panted, clenching hard around you as reward. “Such an obedient fan.”
When she started circling her hips, grinding her clit against your pelvis on every downstroke, you knew she was close.
Her rhythm faltered. Breaths turned sharp. Thighs trembled.
She suddenly grabbed the back of your neck, yanking you forward until your mouth was against her throat.
“Bite,” she gasped. “Not too hard. Just… enough.”
You obeyed.
Teeth grazed, then pressed—hard enough to leave a faint crescent she could hide under a choker tomorrow, but not hard enough to bruise for the cameras.
That was all it took.
She came with a choked moan, whole body shuddering, walls pulsing so tight it dragged you over the edge with her. You spilled inside her with a muffled groan against her skin, hips jerking helplessly while she rode out the aftershocks.
For several long seconds the only sound was both of you breathing hard.
Then she lifted her head, looking dazed, lips kiss-bitten and swollen even though you hadn’t kissed.
She didn’t pull off yet.
Instead she leaned in, brushed the softest, slowest kiss against your mouth—nothing like the filth that just happened—and whispered:
“Next time you write me a letter…”
She clenched around you once more, deliberately, making you hiss.
“…make it even dirtier.”
She finally lifted off, slow and careful, letting you watch your release drip down her inner thigh before she tugged the thong back into place like nothing happened.
She stood, smoothed her dress down, fixed her hair in the small mirror by the door.
Then she turned, gave you one last devastating smile.
“Don’t move until I’m gone.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
You sat there in the dark, wrecked, marked, still tasting her pulse on your tongue.
And you already knew exactly what your next letter was going to say.
The dim glow of the penthouse's ambient lights cast long shadows across the expansive living room, where Karina sat curled on the oversized leather sofa, her lithe dancer's body wrapped in a oversized sweater that dwarfed her frame. The fabric clung to her sweat-dampened skin from the day's grueling dance practice, her toned legs tucked beneath her, pert breasts rising and falling with shallow, anxious breaths. Her raven hair fell in loose waves around her face, framing eyes that burned with a mix of exhaustion and simmering rage. The city skyline twinkled mockingly through the windows, a reminder of the freedom just out of reach. It had been days since the dinner date degradation—the waiter's clumsy, degrading thrusts in the restaurant restroom, his sneering taunts about her "pure" idol image while her body betrayed her with orgasm after orgasm, cum filling her mouth as Viktor orchestrated it all from afar. And before that, the homeless man's filthy invasion in her own apartment, his grimy cock slamming into her while Viktor watched and joined, turning her into a vessel for their twisted pleasures.
*Enough,* Karina thought, her full lips pressing into a determined line as she glanced at her phone on the coffee table. *I can't just endure this forever. Evidence—that's the key. Record him admitting something, anything. The blackmail, the threats, his mafia ties. Send it anonymously to the police, or my agency. End this nightmare.* Her mind raced with the plan, born from the building resentment that had festered like a wound. Small defiances had backfired—the remote toy during her interview, edging her to near-public humiliation. Public encounters had only deepened her shame. But this? Secret, calculated. She tested the voice recorder app, her fingers trembling slightly as she hid the phone behind a decorative vase on the side table, angling it toward the center of the room where Viktor usually lounged. The device was on silent, the recording light disabled in settings. *He won't suspect. He's arrogant, thinks I'm broken already.* But deep down, doubt gnawed: *What if he finds it? The punishments... no, I have to try.*
The elevator dinged, announcing Viktor's arrival. Karina straightened, forcing her idol mask into place—the bright smile, the subtle sway in her hips as she stood to greet him. He strode in, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, dressed in a crisp shirt that hugged his muscular chest, the scar on his jaw catching the light. His eyes raked over her possessively, lingering on the way the sweater outlined her pert breasts and the curve of her ass. "Ji-min," he greeted, voice deep and commanding, pulling her into a kiss that was equal parts affection and claim. His tongue invaded her mouth, tasting of whiskey, and she responded mechanically, her body heating despite her revulsion. *Vanilla kisses were sweet, loving. This is invasion.*
He released her, moving to the bar to pour drinks, his back to the hidden phone. Karina's heart pounded—now was the time. "Viktor," she said softly, perching on the arm of the sofa, her toned legs crossing to draw his eye. "Tell me more about... how this all started. My father's debt. The collateral." She leaned in, feigning curiosity mixed with submission, hoping to coax admissions.
He chuckled, handing her a glass of red wine, settling into the armchair opposite her. The phone was perfectly positioned, capturing his words. "Curious now, are we? Your father was a fool—borrowed from the wrong people. Signed papers pledging assets, including family ones. You were just a trainee then, but the contract's ironclad. I collected when he defaulted." He sipped his drink, eyes darkening with amusement. "Now you're mine—body and soul. Disobey, and those photos go viral: drunk-driving crash, bullying scandal. Your pure idol image shattered, family ruined."
Karina's pulse raced—*Got it. Admissions on tape.* She pressed subtly: "And your... business? The threats, the control—it's all legal?" Her voice trembled just enough to seem vulnerable, not probing.
Viktor's laugh was cold. "Legal? In my world, power is law. I've eliminated obstacles before—debts collected with force if needed. You're lucky I chose pleasure over pain." He set his glass down, standing to loom over her, his hand tracing her jaw. "Enough talk. Undress for me."
She complied slowly, peeling off the sweater to reveal her bare skin—no bra, her pert breasts bouncing free, nipples hardening in the cool air. *Keep him talking,* she thought, but his hands were on her already, cupping her breasts roughly, thumbs circling the peaks until she gasped. He pushed her back onto the sofa, his body covering hers, lips claiming her neck. "You taste like submission," he murmured, fingers dipping between her legs, finding her pussy already slick. *No, not now— the recording...*
But Viktor paused suddenly, his head tilting as if sensing something off. He glanced around the room, his routine paranoia kicking in—always checking for bugs, wires, anything amiss. His eyes landed on the vase, the phone's edge barely visible. Karina's blood froze. *No, please no.* He reached over casually, plucking the device from its hiding spot. The screen lit up—recorder app active, red dot pulsing. Time seemed to slow as he stopped the recording, deleted the file with a swipe, then pocketed the phone. His rage flashed hot for a moment, eyes narrowing to slits, but then it cooled—turned icy, calculated. A slow, predatory smile curled his lips, more terrifying than any outburst.
"Oh, Ji-min," he said softly, his voice like velvet over steel. "You sneaky little idol. Thought you could play spy? After everything, you still fight." He hauled her up by the arm, grip firm but not bruising—yet. "Time for a lesson you'll never forget."
Karina's heart hammered, terror flooding her. *Stupid, stupid—why did I think he'd miss it? Now... god, what will he do?* He dragged her to the bedroom, the silk sheets from previous nights now a symbol of torment. Viktor stripped her fully, her lithe body exposed: pert breasts heaving with fear, toned legs trembling, smooth pussy clenching in anticipation of pain. He retrieved restraints from a drawer—soft leather cuffs, no marks left—and bound her wrists to the headboard, ankles spread wide to the bedposts. She was splayed open, vulnerable, her arching back already straining against the bonds. "Please, Viktor—no. I'm sorry," she begged, tears welling, but he silenced her with a finger on her lips.
"Sorry? You'll be begging for mercy soon." He set up a camera on a tripod, the red light blinking to life—filming her degradation. "This is for my collection. And yours—to watch and learn." He undressed slowly, his muscular body revealed, cock already hard and throbbing at the sight of her bound form. But instead of immediate roughness, he began with teasing—feather-light touches along her inner thighs, breath hot on her skin, fingers circling her clit without pressure. Karina whimpered, her pussy dampening despite the fear. *Don't respond. Fight it.* But her body betrayed, hips twitching toward his hand.
He built it slowly—edging her for what felt like eternity. Fingers plunged into her pussy, pumping rhythmically, curling to hit her G-spot until she teetered on the brink, gasps echoing in the room, her pert breasts heaving with each breath. "Please... let me cum," she sobbed after the third denial, her toned legs straining against the cuffs, sweat slicking her skin. The scent of her arousal filled the air—musky, desperate—mixed with the faint tang of her tears. Viktor withdrew every time, leaving her clenching around nothing, pussy twitching emptily. "Not yet, slut. Feel the ache— that's your punishment for betrayal."
Hours passed—or so it seemed, the clock a blur through her haze. He used toys next: a vibrating wand pressed to her clit on low, building waves of pleasure that crested but never broke, her choked moans turning to screams. "Look at you—pure Karina, arching like a whore on camera." He mocked her idol image, playing a clip of her latest MV on his phone beside the bed—her on-screen self dancing innocently while he edged her mercilessly. The contrast shattered her further: "Fans see that grace, but I see this—pussy dripping, begging for release." Her body betrayed again and again, juices soaking the sheets, the wet hum of the vibrator obscene against her gasps.
When edging turned to overstimulation, the real torment began. He finally allowed her first orgasm—thrusting three fingers deep, rubbing her clit furiously until she shattered, crying out as waves crashed, pussy spasming wildly, squirting onto his hand. But he didn't stop—kept pumping, the sensitivity turning pleasure to agony. "Too much! Stop!" she screamed, thrashing against the bonds, her lithe body arching off the bed, toned legs quivering uncontrollably. Pert breasts bounced with each sob, nipples hard peaks from the overload. The slap of his palm against her slick pussy echoed relentlessly, wet and rhythmic, her choked moans filling the room like a symphony of torment.
Orgasm after forced orgasm ripped through her—five, six, each more intense, her pussy clenching in betrayal, juices flooding the sheets, the musky scent thick and overpowering. He filmed close-ups: her heaving breasts, sweat-slicked stomach, pussy lips swollen and glistening. "Watch this," he commanded, pausing to play back segments on a tablet propped beside her. The screen showed her face contorted in ecstasy, gasps tinny from the speakers: "See? Your body loves it—cumming like a slut while you pretend to hate me." Tears streamed down her face, mixing with sweat, as he resumed—now with his cock, slamming into her oversensitive pussy, the stretch burning deliciously, skin slapping wetly against her ass.
"Fuck, so tight even after all that," he growled, thrusting deep and relentless, balls slapping her clit with each impact. Karina's world blurred—pleasure-pain blending, her arching back scraping the headboard, toned legs wrapped unwillingly around him despite the cuffs. "No more... I can't..." she sobbed, but another climax hit, pussy milking his cock in rhythmic spasms, juices squirting around his shaft. He pulled out only to overstimulate with the wand again, forcing two more orgasms before re-entering, the cycle endless. The taste of her own arousal lingered from when he'd forced his slick fingers into her mouth earlier, bitter and tangy, a constant reminder.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of torment—her body a trembling, sweat-soaked mess, pussy raw and throbbing—he allowed the final release. Straddling her chest, he stroked his cock furiously, aiming at her open mouth. "Beg for it, Ji-min. Beg to swallow." Shattered, she whispered, "Please... cum in my mouth." Hot ropes erupted, filling her throat—thick, bitter, salty—lingering on her tongue as she swallowed every drop, gagging on the volume. Strings dripped down her chin, smeared over her lips by his thumb.
Viktor unbound her, the camera still rolling for the aftermath. He cleaned her gently with a warm cloth, wiping sweat from her pert breasts, soothing her sore pussy with soft touches—tender now, messing with her fractured mind. "See? Resistance only brings pain. Submit, and it could be pleasure." He left her the tablet with the full video, a cruel gift, and exited the room, locking her in.
Karina curled into a fetal position on the soiled sheets, body aching from the prolonged torment—muscles sore, pussy pulsing with aftershocks, the taste of his cum still coating her mouth. Tears soaked the pillow as sobs wracked her lithe frame. *Broken. I'm broken. The recording—gone in seconds. He always wins. Hope... what's left?* The video played on loop in her mind, her own face twisted in ecstasy mocking her. Exhaustion pulled her under, but sleep was fitful, haunted by echoes of her moans.
In the quiet hours before dawn, alone in the vast bed, Karina's hand slipped between her legs almost unconsciously. Memories flooded: the edging, the overstimulation, her pussy clenching in betrayal. *No—don't.* But her fingers circled her clit, replaying the torment, unwanted arousal building. She hated it, whispering, "I hate you... hate this," as wetness coated her hand. The first secret solo session—hated, conflicted—culminated in a quiet orgasm, her toned body arching slightly, tears fresh on her cheeks. *Why? Why does my body crave what destroys me?* Sanity frayed, resentment toward Viktor—and now herself—deepened. Hope flickered dimly, nearly extinguished, but a stubborn spark remained: *I won't die here. Escape... somehow.*
The penthouse loomed silent, her shattered spirit echoing in the emptiness. Resistance had deepened his control, but the embers of rebellion smoldered still, waiting for the wind of desperation to fan them into flame.
Funny how life can catch you unprepared. One moment, Yeji’s naked in my bed for the weekend. Next minute, she’s already checking flights, talking about overseas promotions like it’s just another line on a list. Months away, another continent, just what happens when you fuck someone whose job is to make the world chase her. Dating an idol at her peak means learning to live in snapshots.
Karina’s a different kind of mess. Different group, different schedules, half the year in different countries. Most of the time she’s just a notification, airport arrivals, a stolen hour backstage, a late-night visit between whatever commitments her agency throws at her.
After Yeji flew out, the quiet felt like a slap. Messages trickled in only when the time zones lined up. I kept telling myself I wouldn’t read into coincidences, wouldn’t chase shadows, wouldn’t drop everything just because someone I wanted was passing through town.
Didn’t plan on it. I told myself that when I hit the ticket link. Told myself again while slipping into the VIP section. But there I was, arms crossed at Waterbomb, watching Karina grind the stage away. Sequins, sweat, that mic clutched like she wanted to break it in half every time she moaned a hook.
God, the way she moved. Every roll of her hips looked choreographed for sin, but she made it look accidental. She hadn’t spotted me, not from where I was tucked behind the camera pit where I could see everything—best seat ever. Her cute little smirk when the lights caught her. The way she bit her lip, played the crowd, bantered and teased.
She’d mentioned her solo gigs a few weeks back, but seeing her own that stage without her band was something else. My original plan was to just walk across the street, wait it out in the lobby. But I didn’t want to go another few months before I could get my hands on her again. So, I stayed.
The crowd poured out in waves, high off the way Karina killed it. I kept my pace slow, hands deep in my pockets, head down—trying my best to blend in. I knew where I was headed, but I wasn’t in a rush. Every step, all I could think about was stripping her out of that costume. That sprayed-on bodysuit clinging to body. Made my mouth water even though Karina and and I have done a hell of a lot filthier shit than that.
The elevator ride was dead quiet. This wasn’t my usual routine. Sure, we’d fooled around in other parts of the world, usually with Yeji and her friends in the mix. But never like this—not right after a show, not while she was still dripping with sweat and adrenaline. This was new territory. It felt like crossing a line I’d been circling for years.
Now I was at her door. Hallway silent, lights humming, nothing but the pulse in my ears as I raised my fist and knocked—three soft taps, sharp and quick, then I heard footsteps padding toward the door almost instantly.
“Just a sec! Sorry, I thought you left already!” Karina’s voice spilled out from inside, high and casual. I heard the lock click, then the door cracked open.
She didn’t expect me. The second she saw my face, Karina froze—one hand clutching the towel barely tied under her arms, other holding the edge of the door. Her hair was wet, skin flushed, cheeks pink from the heat. For a second, we just stared at each other.
“You…” Her voice caught in breathless surprise. I looked her up and down—towel short, thick, definitely expensive, hugging just enough to cover her tits and ass but leaving nothing to the imagination. Bare, long legs. Collarbone shining with tiny droplets of water.
“Hey.” I kept my voice low. “Thought I’d drop by.”
“You were at the show?” she asked.
“Front row.” I nodded. Karina grinned, but didn’t budge an inch.
“You should come in,” she said quietly, almost daring. She turned without another word and walked away, bare feet on plush carpet, towel shifting with every step. I stepped inside and let the door click shut behind me.
The suite was flooded with gold light, city glowing behind the windows—luxury everywhere, but I only had eyes for her. Karina moved like she’d forgotten I was watching, or maybe she wanted me to see. Damp hair dripping down her back, strands hair sticking to her shoulders. The towel was barely hanging on above her hips, not tight enough that it shifts with every step.
Her back was smooth, pale, and that ass, fuckable. Those legs… impossible not to stare. She dropped onto the couch and crossed her legs, cool as ever—like she wasn’t nearly naked, still hot from the shower, skin humming with leftover stage energy.
I was still standing there in the middle of all that shine, staring like a man with zero self-control.
“You gonna sit?” She arched an eyebrow. I dropped onto the chair across from her, but leaned in, elbows on knees. She already had a wine glass, half-drained. She took a quick sip, eyes locked on mine over the rim.
“So... you just showed up? Like that?”
“Yup.”
“You’ve never done that before.”
“I know.”
Karina uncrossed her legs, then crossed them the other way. Towel hitched up another inch, showing off more thigh. “You missed me,” she grinned, all teeth and attitude.
“Maybe.” I shrugged, eyes slipping down to her legs—pale, smooth, still glistening from the shower. She hadn’t bothered to dry off all the way.
“Want a drink?” she asked, setting her glass down.
“Not yet.”
She laughed—short, surprised. “You really just wanted to see me?”
“I did. Didn’t need to fly halfway around the world if you’re singing in my backyard.”
Karina’s fingers drummed once on her glass before picking it up again. Another sip, then she finally broke eye contact, glancing away for the first time. Silence stretched. Not awkward, just thick. She shifted, tugging the towel tighter across her tits.
“I’m not used to this,” she admitted, voice softer.
“Used to what?”
“This. Quiet. A night where nobody needs anything. No team texting about flights. No call sheet stuck to the mirror. No stylist picking out outfits while I’m still wet from the shower.” She looked at me again. “And then you show up.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” she shot back, a little too fast. “It’s just... me and my team are taking a break. I didn’t plan for you.”
I let her sit with it. She deserved the quiet for once.
“It’s weird having someone just be here. Not part of the circus. Not asking for favors.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want anything.” My voice cut through the quiet.
She froze, smile twitching. “What do you want?” Karina teased, but she knew damn well. Her fingers circled the rim of her glass. Her knees stayed tight together. The air in the room changed—hotter, heavier, all the charge crackling between us. Held your ground. No need to rush.
“I want to watch you let go.” My voice was steady.
“I don’t even know how to do that right now.” Karina’s voice was smaller.
“Guess I’ll have to show you.” I slid closer, slow enough she could push me away. She didn’t. Her eyes dropped, then drifted back up.
“So… did you practice that line in the mirror, or…?” Karina laughed lightly.
“Only a couple times.” I smirked. She let out this shaky laugh, like she still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact I was on her couch.
“You’re really here,” she said, a little dazed. “You don’t do this.”
“I do now.”
Karina chewed her bottom lip. “I should probably get ready for bed.”
“Are you going to?”
“Maybe.” She grinned. “Haven’t decided if the towel counts as pajamas yet.”
I leaned in, just enough to close the space.
“Depends how long it stays on.” I said. She laughed again, but her voice had dropped, softer now.
“You’re really not gonna ask for anything?”
“Only if you want me to.”
“I don’t know if I should.” Karina’s cheeks flushed, pink spreading fast. My hand drifted up, tracing her thigh—bare, smooth, still warm from the shower.
“Why? Scared you won’t be able to stop?” I kept my eyes locked on hers. She gave a nervous nod, smile breaking open. I leaned in close enough for her to feel the heat.
“Don’t act like Seoul never happened.” I said simply.
She rolled her eyes, blushing. “God, you’re such an ass…”
“Or Busan,” I added.
“That wasn’t even that crazy!” Karina shot back, grabbing a pillow and half-heartedly tossing it at my chest. The towel slipped—slid down over the tops of her tits, barely hanging on. Neither of us fixed it. Her cleavage spilled out, the towel just a thin excuse now. Her thighs parted, skin tensing as she giggled.
“You’re really bringing that up right now?” she laughed.
“You’re half-naked in front of me,” I said, letting my gaze crawl down every inch of her exposed skin. “In a towel that’s one laugh away from falling off, and you’re still pretending to be nervous.”
Karina bit down hard on her lip. Then in a rough, whispery tone: “Maybe I want you to take it off…”
I didn’t answer. I just reached out, fingers hooking the edge of her towel—right where it was tucked beneath her tits. It barely held, just a weak knot pressing against her flushed skin. Karina didn’t flinch. Her eyes flicked down, then locked back on mine. I waited, giving her every chance to stop me. She didn’t.
I pulled. The towel slipped loose, soft cotton folding under my grip. The tension bled out, fabric unspooling like it weighed nothing. It dropped from her chest first—bare skin, tits on full display, nipples hard and begging to be touched. Her skin was all cream and blush, pink flooding across her chest. I kept peeling, towel sliding down her stomach, over her hips.
Between her thighs: damp heat, impossible to miss. The towel hit the floor, useless now. Karina sat there, naked—legs pressed together, hands resting at her sides. Every inch of her exposed. I stared every inch of her, drinking her in.
“You’re staring.” She flushed, but didn’t move.
“Yeah. I am.”
Karina leaned back, propped on her elbow. Her tits lifted with the motion, nipples jutting out.
“You gonna just stare, or are you finally gonna do something?” she taunted, all smile and attitude.
I didn’t make her wait. I moved in, closing the space between us. My hands claimed her hips, sliding up—palms tracing the soft curve of her waist, thumbs gliding under her tits. Karina gasped, body twitching as I leaned in, mouth locking onto her right nipple. Her breast filled my lips perfectly. I sucked slow at first, hard pulls, like I was tasting something forbidden. Her skin was smell like a clean soap and faint lotion, body still warm from the shower.
Karina let out a soft, breathless moan and arched into me, hips jerking. Her fingers tangled in my hair, not gentle—she yanked me closer, greedy, desperate, like she’d been waiting for this without even knowing it. She let me devour her, chest heaving, letting me work her nipples with my tongue and lips, each flick making her whimper and arch harder.
Without warning, I shifted to her left tit, lips closing over her other nipple, tongue circling, then sucking hard enough to make her gasp. Her whole body arched, ass grinding into the couch, elbows digging into the cushions.
“Mmh, fuck,” she huffed, voice raw. Her heartbeat hammered under my lips, chest rising and falling in time with every moan that spilled out.
I sucked harder, teeth scraping just enough to make her gasp and claw at my scalp. Her nipple slipped from my mouth as she arched, body stretched out and trembling. I looked up, grinning against her skin.
“You taste even better than I remember.” My muttered.
Karina dropped her head back, chest rising, tits flushed and slick. “Jesus… can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“You could stop me.”
“I really, really don’t want to.” She whined.
I kissed my way down, slow and deliberate. Her chest heaved, nipples glistening wet and flushed from my mouth. I didn’t bother saying a word—just left a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down her ribs, over her soft belly. Her skin flinched with every touch, goosebumps racing in my wake as she watch me the whole way. My hands slid down, gripping her sides, holding her steady as I shifted lower.
Between her thighs now. Karina spread her legs without needed to be asked—smooth, natural, like her body knew damn well what was about to happen. The heat rolling off her inner thighs was unreal. I buried my face there first, breathing her in. She was soaked. Her pussy was already leaking, swollen, lips glistening—wet enough to coat my mouth before I even touched her. But I waited. Teased. Kissed up the inside of her thigh, then again, and again, until she started to shake and whine from the tease.
“Hey…” Her voice was shaky, pissed and needy at the same time.
“What?” I looked up, grinning.
“You fucking know what.”
She looked gorgeous and wrecked—hands clawing at the back of the couch, tits rising with every pant. I kissed even closer to her pussy, tongue just flicking beside her clit, giving her nothing but anticipation.
“You gonna ask for it?” My voice low, murmured against her skin.
“Please…” she whimpered, again. That was all I needed. I finally ran my tongue the full length of her pussy, slow and smooth, savoring the taste as she cried out—soft, raw, desperate. My hands slipped under her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her in place as I dove in. My tongue parted her folds, licking and working her with slow, every wet stroke dragging moans out of her chest.
Her moans shot up fast, her hips rising off the couch as her legs quivered. Then her legs locked around my head—Those perfect, long, toned, squeezing me in tight. One heel dug into my back, the other hooked over my shoulder, pinning me there.
“Oh fuck, don’t stop—” Karina’s voice was almost a sob, high and broken.
I didn’t even think about stopping. I sucked her clit, flicked my tongue in tight circles, then flattened out, dragging long, slow strokes that had her leaking into my mouth. Her thighs shook around my head, her moans getting higher, rougher. She bucked, I just tightened my grip, pinning her down. Her fingers clawed the couch, lifting her ass up, chasing my mouth.
“Oh my God, fuck, I’m—”
Karina came hard—hips grinding up into my mouth, thighs shaking so bad around my head I thought she might snap. She screamed over and over, each moan sharper than the last. I didn’t let up. My tongue slowed, dragging through her mess, kissing her pussy while she was still pulsing and slick, just riding the aftershocks. When I flicked her clit again, her whole body jerked and she gasped so hard it shook the room.
Karina whimpered, voice barely there. “I… I just—”
But I wasn’t done. I started kissing lower. Her legs loosened slightly in suprise, limp and shaking, giving me more space. I dragged my mouth down, past her dripping pussy, until I hit the soft heat of her asshole. I let my tongue glide down, circling her rim slow, right where she was the warmest, soft, and most sensitive, teasing, then pushing in just enough for her to feel the pressure. Her legs tensed, breath catching.
“Wait—oh God…”
I was already working her, licking around her tight, trembling hole, not shy about it. My hands locked onto her hips, tilting her up, planting my mouth right on her ass. I kissed and tongued her rim, slow at first, then deeper, hungrier, letting my tongue slip closer, pressing her open as she squirmed and moaned and tried to catch her breath. Karina made a strangled sound, somewhere between a moan and a gasp
“Holy fuck! What are you…” she sobbed, voice cracking. She was a mess, shaking, fingers digging into the couch.
I shoved my hands under her ass, lifted her up, gave myself full access. I sucked her little rosebud, tongue working her, mouth locked on that tight ring. I felt her tense, her second orgasm building, panting turning ragged, hips fighting my grip but not trying to escape.
“Mmm… I’m gonna, I can’t… fuck! You’re gonna make me—”
I pressed my tongue a little deeper, held her open, forced her to take it. That was all it took.
“HAAAH!” Karina screamed, back arching off the couch, legs thrashing around my shoulders as she came again—harder this time, whole body convulsing, losing it completely. I licked her through every shake, every clench, kept my mouth on her until she finally collapsed, boneless and ruined, melted into the cushions.
She was wrecked, still twitching, and I just stayed between her legs, hands cradling her hips, thumbs dragging slow circles in the crease of her thighs. I watched her, took in every dazed blink, every shallow breath, her abs trembling as her hand drifted across them. When she finally looked at me, her eyes were glassy—completely gone. I dragged my tongue across my lips, slow and deliberate, making damn sure she saw how much I savored her taste.
“You’re… insane…” Karina managed, voice hoarse.
I stood up, peeling my shirt off in one motion. Her eyes tracked down my chest and my shoulders. I made quick work of my jeans and boxers, pushing them down and stepping out, fully naked now. Karina’s breath hitched. She stared up at me like she was about to do something reckless.
“You’re always bigger than I remember,” she breathed, not even trying to hide the awe. Her hand moved before her mouth did—fingers wrapping around the base of my cock, then her other hand stacking above, like she needed both just to handle it. The pressure made me hiss.
Karina met my eyes as she started stroking, slow and steady, dragging her hands up and down my length. She leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap up the pre-cum beading on my tip—a slow, delicate swipe, tasting me, then letting it gloss her lips. Her hands worked me with a rhythm, slow and teasing, squeezing just right, like she wanted to see how long she could keep me dangling.
Then she started kissing, then licking, tongue flicking the underside, swirling around my head, all while her hands kept a lazy, steady stroke. She was teasing, but her body told another story—legs still wide open, thighs trembling with every aftershock as she worshipped my cock. I reached down and brushed a sweaty strand of hair from her face.
She flashed a wicked smile, then opened her lips and let her breath spill hot over my cockhead. Her tongue traced from the thick base all the way up, circling the tip, then finally her lips slid around me. Inch by inch, she sank down, her mouth was soft, wet, and perfect, hot and slick, taking her time, letting me feel every inch. The suction was slow, relentless—each pull making my hips twitch, jaw clenching as I fought to hold back.
Her tongue moved in sync with every motion, tracing my underside, flicking my ridge, then retreating before sinking down again.
“Mmm…” Karina hummed around my cock, the vibration shooting right up my spine.
Her hands never stopped—one pumping my base, the other roaming up my thigh, nails dragging light. She pulled off with a wet pop, just long enough to breathe, flashed me a wicked wink, then dove back down, deeper, sloppier. Her lips stretched wide around my shaft, sucking harder, spit leaking from the corners, dribbling down my cock and slicking her knuckles. She didn’t care—if anything, she fucking loved it.
Now she was bobbing her head in slow, steady strokes, losing a little control, but not the hunger. My cock was coated in her spit, hands shiny and wet as she stroked the rest of me her mouth couldn’t handle yet.
“Fuck… Rina…” I groaned, voice ragged. She moaned around me at the sound, suction getting messier. Drool pooled at her lips, spilling down my shaft, her pace picking up. She pulled back, kissed the tip, winked again, then opened wider, gripping the base of my cock and slid it back in, taking more.
Her lips stretched, inch after inch sliding into her mouth until her jaw was wide, cheeks hollowing out. I groaned low, hips twitching. Her tongue never stopped—constant pressure, gliding and swirling with every inch she took. When her nose finally pressed to my lower stomach, her throat squeezed around me, tight and perfect. She pulled back, sucking hard, every inch scraping past her tongue and lips.
“You’re still too big…” Karina coughed, a little spit sliding down her chin.
“You’re… you’re doing just fine…” I huffed, hand tangled in her hair.
She grinned, then dove back down—faster this time. Her head bobbed, with a steady, soaking cadence, mouth working me with a filthy, soaking rhythm, each stroke louder, wetter. Spit coated my cock from root to tip, her lips glossy, jaw straining. Drool dripped down her chin, pooling at her neck, streaking wet across her tits.
She was lost in it—eyes closed, brows furrowed, whole world focused on the cock filling her mouth. Pure worship.
“Fuck… I’m… You keep that up, I’m not gonna last…” I warned, breath huffed.
She pulled off just enough to rasp, “That’s the point,” before swallowing me again—deeper, messier, hands stroking what her mouth couldn’t swallow, fingers slick and glistening. I bit down a growl, hand gripping her head, barely hanging on as spit strung sticky lines between us with every movement.
She giggled as best she could with her mouth full, then pulled back slow, letting my cock slide out with a filthy, lewd wet pop. She was breathing heavy, lips swollen, chin and chest soaked in spit.
“Not done,” she whispered, voice rough. She leaned in and licked along the underside of my cock—base to tip—slow, savoring the taste. She moaned softly under her breath like she was the one being pleased, tongue tracing the thick vein. She licked down again, hands working my spit-soaked cock. Her lips brushed my base, then her tongue flicked against my balls.
Karina started with soft kisses—then licked, slow and wet, dragging her tongue around the curve before pulling one into her mouth. Her hand never stopped stroking me, steady and filthy, working my cock while her mouth worked below.
“Fuuuuck…” I growled, barely hanging on.
She hummed with my balls stuffed in her mouth, free hand drifting up to squeeze the base, milking every throb. I looked down—Karina kneeling, spit shining on her chin, mouth full, eyes wild.
“You trying to kill me?” I huffed, voice shaking.
She pulled off just enough to keep stroking, lips sticky, eyes locked on mine. “No,” she said, voice flat. Then kissed my swollen tip, tongue flicking. “I want you inside me.”
That smug little grin on her face was the last straw. I grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back onto the couch—hard, flat, legs splaying open. She gasped as she landed. I crawled between her thighs, cock glistening from her spit and throbbing at the tip. I grabbed myself and lined up—didn’t push in yet.
I tapped my cockhead against her pussy lips, light and teasing, letting wet, sticky sounds fill the air. Her pussy was dripping, every tap stringing slick from her slit to my cock. Every time I nudged her clit, she twitched, whined, hips jumping. I dragged the tip up and down, parting her folds, not giving her what she wanted yet—just keeping her on edge.
“You’re driving me insane…” Karina whined, nearly crying.
“You’re soaked. All from sucking my cock?”
Karina nodded, shivering.
“Say it.”
“I’m soaked… dripping for you. I want it so bad, please…” Karina cooed.
I lined up once more, finally letting myself push a little deeper than before. Karina gasped, pussy clutching at me, so wet I could feel her leaking down my length. I pressed in—the first inch stretching her wide, parting her thick folds as her thighs trembled, muscles tensing under my hands.
“Ffuck…” Karina whimpered, head thrown back, hair spilling across the cushions.
I gritted my teeth, pushing deeper. Her pussy gripped me tight, milking every inch, squeezing around my cock like she’d forgotten what it felt like. I slid in another inch, her moan ripping out louder, desperate. My hips moved slow, steady, making sure she felt every fucking centimeter. She was drenched, but there was no hiding how full she was—her body trying to take it all, stretch around me.
“You’re swallowing me…” I huffed.
“I feel you—” she gasped, hands scrambling at my shoulders, nails digging in as I bottomed out. Our hips slapped together, slick and wet, her pussy flushed tight around the base of my cock—buried to the hilt, every inch claimed and buried. She trembled, breath stuttering in sharp, high moans, lips brushing my ear.
“You’re so deep… ohmygod… don’t move yet—just let me feel it…” she whined.
I held still, feeling her clamp down, letting her body adjust. She grabbed my face, both hands cradling my cheeks, thumbs stroking my skin.
“Fuck me,” Karina purred, voice barely there.
I pulled out just enough to feel her body drag on my cock—then slammed forward, burying myself to the root again with a wet, creamy thump that made her jolt and cry out beneath.
“Ohhh fuck!”
The sound was obscene—flesh smacking, juices squelching, the heat between her thighs going straight to my head. Her legs locked tighter around my waist, dragging me in deeper. I drove into her again, slow, full-bodied, making her tits bounce, the slap of our bodies echoing through the suite. Her hair fanned out beneath her, dark against silk, mouth open.
Every stroke bottomed her out—deep grind, cock throbbing, her pussy leaking all over me. The sound was filthy—soft, nasty squelch with every pump, only getting louder as I fucked her harder. I grabbed her hips, anchored her, and gave her another thick, slow thrust, just enough to make her tits jump and her eyes roll back. The couch creaked underneath us.
Karina squeezed me tighter now, pussy pulsing, working to milk every drop out of me.
“You wanted this,” I growled into her neck. “You wanted to get fucked like this—”
“Yes, fuck, I need it… don’t you dare stop…” Karina was losing it, nodding so hard her hair whipped the cushions.
I stayed buried, cock hilted deep inside her, not pulling out. Just grinding, thick and heavy, rolling my hips so she felt every inch dragging along her soaked, swollen walls, then pressing back in, grinding through her slick, making her gasp—making her take it like she was made for it.
Karina was dripping with sweat, a slick sheen across her tits and neck, hair plastered to her forehead. Her hands clawed at my shoulders, nails biting in as I ground into her. I slid my hand between us, thumb finding her swollen, twitching clit. I circled it slow, light but relentless, just enough to make her cry out—hips jerking, pussy walls clenched around me gently.
“Mmm… fuck… I’m gonna—” she choked out.
“Go ahead,” I breathed against her neck, tasting the salt on her skin, lips dragging through sweat. I kept grinding, rolling my hips slow and deep, cock coated in thick, creamy white that soaked my shaft and smeared all over her inner thighs. Every thrust just made it messier, her juices everywhere. I worked her clit and rolled just right, felt her body snap around me.
She came softly—thighs shuddering, sweat dripping down her chest, arms latching around my back like she’d needed something to anchor her. I didn’t stop. I just kept grinding, slow and heavy, her pussy fluttering, fucking her through every last aftershock, dragging it out until she was limp and gasping.
“Don’t… don’t stop… please don’t stop…” Karina begged, voice nearly gone. I leaned in, kissed her slowly.
“I wasn’t planning to,” I growled, fucking into her harder, my cock gliding through the mess, thick and sticky, pussy still pulsing around me.
“Pull out…” she rasped, voice rough and low.
“Yeah?” I stared down, sweat burning my eyes.
“I want to see it… I want to clean it…” Karina nodded, catching her breath, eyes wild.
I slid out slow, her pussy clung at my cock all the way out, a wet, filthy ‘shhlk’ filling the room as every inch pulled free. My cock was dripping—coated in her creamy mess, strings of slick stretching between us. I shifted back, kneeling up on the couch as she slid down to meet me.
Karina knelt between my legs, hair stuck to her neck, mouth wide open. Her hands wrapped the base of my cock again, pumped me slow, slick palms gliding in the mess she’d made. She stared, soaking in the sight, admiring the mess.
“Look what you did to me,” she whispered, voice shaking. Then she leaned in, dragged her tongue slow along my shaft, tasting herself, humming with pleasure. She moaned, kissed the head, then wrapped her lips around me—sucking hard, no hesitation, eager. Both hands twisted around my cock as her mouth worked up and down, messy and urgent. Spit spilled from her lips, mixing with her own cream, slicking me up as she took me as deep as she could.
She was slurping hard now, loud and hungry, moaning with her mouth full, hair bouncing as her head worked up and down my cock. I groaned, tangled my fingers in her hair, hips twitching against her tongue, but I wasn’t close yet. She felt me throb in her mouth and moaned louder, hands pumping faster, tongue swirling around the head before she finally popped off. Her chin was a mess—spit and cream everywhere.
“Put it back,” she whispered, breathless. “Back inside me…”
I reached down and grabbed her hips, flipped her flat onto her back again. Her legs fell open with no hesitation, her pussy flushed and glistening—begging for it. I lined up and drove in fast. That first thrust was like plunging into liquid fire— her pussy still unbelievably tight despite how soaked she was. Her pussy sucked me in, mess everywhere, my cock sliding in and out coated in her slick and our filth as I bottomed out again.
“Yessss… fuck yes!” Karina cried as I ground into her again, staying deep, fucking her slow but steady. Each stroke dragged the whole length of my cock through her, her walls hugging me all the way.
“Right there… right there, right there!” she gasped, voice cracking as I bottomed out, cockhead pressing into her deepest spot. She clung to me, arms locked tight around my shoulders, legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me even deeper. She moaned into my mouth, kissing me slowly. I didn’t pull away—I kissed her back, harder, arms crushing her to me as I shifted, then lifted her straight off the couch.
She gasped, back arching up, but her pussy never let go—still holding me inside, deep and tight, every muscle wrapped around my cock. She weighed nothing in my arms as I fucked her, holding her up and slamming up into her, hard, thick strokes, every thrust making her bounce on my cock.
Karina’s tits bounced against my chest, thighs flexing around my waist as I bounced her up and down, hips hammering up, lifting her with each pump. Skin slapped skin, wet and filthy, echoing through the suite.
“Fuck, fuck! Oh my GOD, how are you… so deep…” she moaned.
She was trembling in my arms, head slumped on my shoulder, body bouncing wild on my cock with every hard thrust. I didn’t let up. My grip locked her in, using every inch of me to fuck her midair. Cream soaked my shaft, her pussy gushing, leaking down my length, pooling at the base every time I bottomed out. Each thrust curved up into her, hitting her just right, over and over with perfect precision.
She shuddered, breath hot and shaky against my neck, body trying and failing to calm down. She felt weightless in my hold—like a fever dream. But I needed more. I shifted, moving with her still wrapped around me, carrying her back to the couch, laying down flat and pulling her with me until I was on my back.
She paused, eyes wide with realization, then smiled and moaned, crawling into place. Her knees framed my head, pussy dripping, hovering right above my mouth. She reached back, found my cock still pulsing, and wrapped both hands around it.
“Sit,” I growled, staring up at the pink mess still leaking for me.
Karina obeyed, dropping her pussy down on my mouth. I went straight in, tongue dragging through her folds, lapping up her wetness. I moaned into her, felt her whole body jolt and shuddered. She lowered her mouth to my cock again—feeling the heat, then tongue, then lips wrapping around me, slow strokes, spit getting everywhere, even sloppier than before because she couldn’t stop shaking.
I circled her clit with my tongue as she took another inch down her throat, made her gasp around my cock. She tried to keep stroking me, but every time I flattened my tongue and flicked her clit, her hips jumped, hands slipping. I sucked her clit into my mouth, tongue working hard, hands sliding up to grab her ass and hold her down, making her ride my mouth.
“Fuck! I’m gonna—! I’m gonna cum again!” she screamed, her lips trembling on my cock. She tried to keep sucking, desperate, but she was on the edge.
I held her steady, eating her pussy deep and slow, tongue dragging from slit to clit and back again, her slick smeared all over my mouth and cheeks. She finally pulled her mouth off my cock with a wet gasp.
“I’m cumming… I’m cumming again…” Karina sobbed.
I didn’t let up. Karina shoved her mouth back down onto my cock with a gasp, bobbing hard and fast, moaning with every bounce, sloppy and loud, the wet sounds filling the whole room. Her spit mixed with the creamy mess already slicking my shaft, drool sliding down to my balls. Her throat fought to keep up, but she just moaned harder, hands digging into my thigh, her body wrecked, my tongue still working her pussy from below.
My hands slid up the backs of her thighs, higher, until I grabbed her ass, spreading her open wide. I slid my thumb between her cheeks, circling her asshole, feeling that soft ring clench around me. She gasped, moans raw around my cock, throat vibrating as she kept bobbing, spit clinging in messy strands between her lips and my skin.
I pressed my thumb deeper, teasing her rim while my tongue lapped at her clit. Her moans went ragged, hips shuddering, her mouth sinking down almost all the way to the base—throat choking, lips stretched wide. My other hand held her hips, pinning her down, my mouth never stopping, licking, sucking, owning her. Her noises sharpened, turned frantic, until I sucked her clit again and pressed my thumb firmer to her ass.
My cock popped out of her mouth as her head dropped, drool spilling onto my thigh.
“Hollly… Oh my…” Karina whimpered, then she came again, gushing all over my face, her pussy shaking against my mouth. I slowed my tongue and let her ride it out.
She finally climbed off me, her body glazed in sweat, stomach heaving with each shaky breath. I looked up, my cock still aching and my lips drenched. She just stared at me for a beat, then turned and walked off, ass swaying, her thighs still dripping, every step leaving a trail as she disappeared into the bathroom.
“Um…” I started, propping myself up. Then she came back, striding into view with a bottle of lube in hand, naked and glistening. Karina knelt in front of me, lube catching the light as she placed it on the couch.
“Let’s do it again. I want you to prep me this time.” Karina grinned cutely, a filthy little smile curling her lips.
That was all I needed. My cock jumped, aching for more. She turned around, climbing onto the couch on all fours, her body long and stretched out, offering herself up without a word. I knelt behind her, one hand tracing the curve of her back, the other reaching for the lube.
I popped the lube and squeezed a heavy line across her ass, watching it glisten as it ran down between her cheeks, coating her tight little asshole. She shivered at the touch, twitching as it dripped over her rim. I spread her wide, both hands gripping her cheeks, staring at that pink, flexing ring, tight, twitching, begging to be opened.
I circled it with my fingertip, slow, letting her feel every swirl. Then I pressed in—just the pad at first, pushing gentle until her rim gave way, lube helping me sink in. Her moan was soft, breathless, shivering all the way through.
“Yeah… stretch me open…” she gasped, pushing back into my hand.
I worked my finger deeper, twisting and stretching her with slow, steady motions. She pushed back at me me every time. I poured on more lube, added a second finger, felt her clamp down and then let go as the stretch hit her. She gripped the couch, knuckles white, gasping as I took my time opened her up slowly.
“I’m ready… I can take it… please…” Karina begged, squirming for more.
I slid my fingers out her ass and she turned, still on her knees. Then she shifted down, lying back and bracing herself against the cushions. Her skin was flushed everywhere, shining with sweat and lube. She lifted her legs high, knees bent wide, feet braced, her ass cheeks glistened, coated in lube. She grabbed her thighs, pulled them wider, spreading herself until everything was on display.
I knelt between her spread legs. My cock was glossy, smeared with spit and lube, throbbing. I stroked myself once, lined up, and let the tip hover over her tight, waiting hole. I pressed my head right to her rim. Karina sucked in a sharp breath, feeling that swollen, oily head kiss her entrance.
“I want all of it,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Give it to me.”
I let the head settle against her, then pushed slow, steady pressure, just the thick crown forcing its way past her ring. Wet, tight resistance, her rim fighting, then finally giving. Karina’s mouth dropped open in a silent scream, her whole body shaking as I stretched her open. Two inches slid in, my cock dragging through her tight, oiled heat, every inch brutal and slow.
She gasped, fingers flying to her clit and rubbing it slow.
I grunted, grinding past her stubborn rim, felt her ass clutch and flex around my cock. It was insanely tight, slick, squeezing like she didn’t know if she could handle it, but she kept opening for me. I watched her asshole flutter, her slick running down from her clit as she took more.
“Mmm… oh my God…” Karina whined, biting her bottom lip as her legs locked tight around me. I kept pushing until I was all the way in, her ass snug to my hips, both of us shuddering from the stretch. She cried out, grabbed my face, pressed our foreheads together, her whole body trembling in waves.
She grinned—dirty, and wild, with cum streaked on her thighs and my cock buried in her ass.
“Fuck me,” she whispered. I pulled back a few inches, her rim clinging tight and relucant. Then I shoved back in. Her mouth dropped open, a ragged moan breaking free as I rocked into her just like before, slow and heavy, each thrust making her ass clap against my hips. Her asshole hugging every inch of my cock.
I rolled my hips, again and again, wet squelches filling the space between us, slick oil coating my shaft. Each grind curved up inside her, making her whimper and clutch tighter.
“Fuuuck… you’re so deep, fuck me just like that…” Karina groaned, voice hoarse and desperate. She wrapped her arms tight around my back, legs squeezing my waist, heels digging into my spine, holding me close as I fucked her ass, deep and unrelenting.
Then, out of nowhere— “Hmm, pull out… Put it in my pussy… I need it now.” Karina barked, hand slapping my stomach. I froze, still buried to the hilt in her ass.
“You sure?” I was barely breathing.
“Yes! Yes! Put it back in my pussy! Please!” she begged.
I held her hips, pulled out—her ass let me go with a filthy, wet ‘shlup.’ She moaned and spread her legs wide again, pussy glistening, drenched and needy. I lined up, pushed in, her body sucking me in to the root.
“OH FUCK!” she screamed. My cock disappeared inside her like she was made for it. hot, soaked, creamy smooth.
“Faster! Faster! Please! Don’t hold back!” Karina wailed, grabbing my waist. I locked my grip on her, started slamming in hard and deep. The room filled with the loud, messy smack smack smack of our bodies, cream dripping down over her stretched asshole. Her pussy clamped on me, milking every thrust, her hands clawing at the couch.
“Don’t stop! Dontstopdontstop!” Karina squealed, body jiggling, oil and sweat flying everywhere, her pussy gripping my cock with every stoke, clit throbbing, every inch of her begging for it.
“I’m close… I’m so close…”
Her whole body locked up under me, pussy clamping down so tight I could barely move. Her voice broke apart, turned ragged as she shook through it.
“OH Fuckk!” Karina screamed, her eyes rolling back, legs kicking, body convulsing beneath me. I didn’t stop, kept fucking her through it, wringing every last tremor out of her.
“Put… put it back… back in my ass please… please…” Karina gasped, voice thready and gone. My heart hammered in my chest. I pulled out of her dripping pussy with a wet, obscene slick, my cock glazed in her juice. Her pussy fluttered, twitched as it emptied, still leaking.
I lowered myself, lined it up, and pressed my cock back into her asshole—slow at first, pushing through her sloppy, tight hole. Karina’s moaned long and low, melting into the couch, her legs spread wide, ass swallowing me whole.
“Yeeessss…” Karina breathed, stretching for me. I started to move—deep, grinding thrusts, dragging my cock through every inch of her raw, sensitive ass. Then I leaned in, put my whole weight into her, and then I fucked her. Hips slammed forward, brutal, body-wrecking, sledgehammer thrusts that echoed in the room, wet smacks ringing out every time my hips crashed into her ass. Her legs spread even wider, trembling, straining as I pounded into her.
“AH—AH—!” Karina wailed, voice shredded, words broken with every stroke. I grunted, driving into her with every thrust, my cock battering her ass, her body jolting with every thrust. Each slam made her scream, sob, and fall apart, again and again. Then I growled in her ear.
“I’m close…”
Karina eyes shot open, wild and pleading.
“Inside! In… please…” she begged.
I grabbed her hips, yanked her back onto my cock, slamming her down as deep as I could. My balls slapped her skin, sweat dripping down my chest, whole body locked up. I could feel the heat, the pressure, the ache—all at the edge. I slammed forward one last time. My hips meeting hers with a brutal thump, my cock buried to the hilt inside her ass.
Then I held—no movement, just the feeling. Then I exploded.
It hit like lightning as my cock pulsing, then jerking hard, shooting rope after rope of thick, molten cum deep into her guts. I groaned as sweat pouring off me, feeling every spurt as it filled her up. I could feel it leaking out, too much for her to hold, hot and slick, running down the crack of her ass.
“Mmm! Fuckk!” Karina howled, shuddering as my load flooded her. She went limp under me, breathless, ruined.
“Holy… shit…” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling like she couldn’t tell if this was real or a dream. “I can feel it everywhere…”
I stayed buried inside her a second longer, cock still pulsing in the heat of her ruined ass. But I had to move. I started to pull out, slow as hell, dragging every inch through her clinging, trembling rim until the tip finally popped free with a nasty, wet smack.
That’s when the mess started. Thick, bubbling cum pushed out of her gaping asshole in lazy waves, spilling down her cheeks, dripping heavy, staining the couch beneath her. Karina gasped, then giggled—breathless and giddy, legs limp, body soaked in sweat and afterglow.
“Oh wow… Even better than last time…” she grinned, pressing two fingers to her swollen pussy, squeezing out even more of my load. White, creamy streaks oozed down her thighs, all over the couch.
“It’s all over the place,” she whispered, still wide-eyed, high on it.
“That was the point…” I huffed, chest still heaving. She just grinned, melting into the cushions, eyes fluttering shut.
-
Later, the bathroom door creaked open and Karina padded back into the suite, barefoot, hair damp, a fresh towel hugging her chest. She moved slow, wobbling a little, face still flushed and glowing. I was still sprawled on the couch, every muscle loose, relaxed, but wrecked in my own way.
“Hey,” she called sweetly, tilting her head. “You still alive?”
“Barely.” I shot her a lopsided grin. “You took a few years off me.”
She laughed, dropped the towel without a care, and climbed straight into my lap—straddling me, pressing lazy kisses to my jaw, my cheek, my shoulder.
“Good. That means I did it right.” She said, smug as hell.
I wrapped her up, arms around her waist, her bare thighs warm across mine.
“I’ve never let anyone do that to me after a show. Never.” Karina’s voice was quiet now, soft in the hush.
“You were unreal tonight. Onstage and in here.” I meant it—no bullshit.
She grinned, cocky. “Are you calling me a double threat?”
“No.” My hand slid down, grabbed her thigh, gave it a squeeze. “Triple. Don’t forget.”
She laughed, leaning in to kiss me slow, the kind of kiss that still tastes like sweat and sex.
“You’re lucky I’m letting you leave,” she pouted, pressing her forehead to mine. “Should be charging you a fee.”
“I’m leaving?”
She just smiled, sleepy and smug before curling up against my chest.
“You’re totally having dinner at my place one day…” Karina mumbled, half-asleep.
The relentless Seoul spring pressed down like a damp velvet glove, thick with cherry blossom pollen and the exhaust fumes of ten thousand black vans ferrying idols to endless schedules. Inside a penthouse deep away from the busy city, the air hummed with a different intensity. The warm, milky sweetness of baby formula, the sharp tang of reheated kimchi jjigae, and the quiet thrum of exhaustion emanating from its inhabitants.
Three months had passed since the wail of a newborn shattered the sterile silence of the private birthing suite in Gangnam. Somi and Matthew had named their daughter Aria- simple and elegant. just Jeon Aria. The idol life that Somi loves so much hadn’t paused for motherhood, if anything, it had accelerated. Somi moved with a new kind of grace, a dancer’s fluidity now tempered by the profound grounding of motherhood. She swayed gently by the panoramic window overlooking nature, cradling Aria against her chest. The baby swaddled in soft cotton, made tiny, contented snuffling sounds against the heavy swell of Somi’s breast beneath her thin nursing tank. Silver stretch marks, like lightning bolts etched in flesh, fanned out from beneath the low neckline, testament to the life that both her and Matthew had created. Her comeback preparations – vocal sessions squeezed into nap times, frantic fittings where BlackLabel’s lead stylist fretted over accommodating her gloriously altered curves – were a constant, low-grade thrum of pressure beneath the surface calm. "They want the old Somi back," she’d sighed to Matthew earlier, "but the old Somi didn’t have these." She’d cupped her fuller breasts, a wry smile touching her lips.
Giselle, meanwhile, was ensnared in Aespa’s relentless grind. Her body was still throbbing from the night before when Matthew had wrecked her until dawn, leaving the Japanese woman marked, sore, and secretly craving more. That very morning, Giselle dragged herself into the SM’s practice rooms for another 14 hours a day doing nothing but sharpening choreography and vocals for the upcoming world tour.
During the brief water break amid the sweat and booming music, Karina pulled the Japanese woman aside, concerned about creasing her leader’s flawless brow while Winter and Ningning stretched nearby, oblivious. “Hey, Aeri…” Karina murmuring, “Are you okay? You are not hitting your marks today. Your legs are shaky and your timing is off… Did you pull an all-nighter? We can’t have you completely burnout before the tour starts.”
Giselle mustered a weak smile, the ache between her thighs which was a stark reminder of Matthew’s brutal ownership. Teeth on skin, hands claiming every inch until she completely shattered. “I’m just a bit tired, Rina…” She replied, voice steady despite it all. “I’m overthinking about the rap verses. I’ll catch up.”
Karina nodded, squeezing her arm with that responsible leader’s warmth, none the wiser to the forbidden heat fueling Giselle’s distraction. “Rest tonight if you can. We need you at 100%”
From across the room, Winter leaned against the mirrored wall, sipping her water slowly. Her gaze lingered on Giselle—not suspicious, not prying, just quietly knowing. Minjeong had pieced it together weeks ago: the late-night exits, the glowing phone screen with messages Giselle quickly hid, the faint marks that concealer couldn't fully mask, the way Giselle sometimes zoned out with a secret little smile during breaks. Winter understood. She knew exactly what kind of "exhaustion" left someone walking like that, looking that satisfied yet conflicted. She didn't judge, didn't plan to confront. She simply watched from afar, a silent guardian of the group's unspoken secrets, offering Giselle a soft, almost imperceptible nod when their eyes met—like saying, I've got your back, no questions asked.
Finally, after weeks of clashing schedules and stolen moments, both Somi and Giselle managed to spend their time together with Matthew. They are gathering around the dining table with simple yet indulgent spread steaming bowls of bulgogi, fresh radish kimchi, and a bottle of chilled soju that promised to loosen the knots of their exhaustion. Aria was sleeping soundly in her bassinet nearby, her tiny breaths a rhythmic counterpoint to the quiet laughter and clinking glasses.
Somi spoke of navigating diaper changes and dance rehearsals, the stylist’s near panic attack over her postpartum waistline needing special alterations for stage costumes. Giselle vented about SM’s micromanagement, the punishing tour choreography leaving her muscles screaming, the pressure of representing Korea on a global stage weighing heavier than ever. Matthew listened, his presence is like a palpable anchor for his two lovers. His hand rested possessively on Somi’s thigh under the table, a constant reminder on who she belongs to as he poured the Japanese woman another glass of soju.
The conversation flowed, a tentative bridge between their fractured realities. The domestic bliss tinged with idol pressures, and the glittering cage of global stardom. Giselle picked at her food, her exhaustion palpable, but her gaze kept drifting back to Somi. Not with envy, but a strange, intense fascination. It lingered on the soft swell of Somi’s milk-heavy breasts beneath her shirt, the visible veins mapping their fullness, the way they moved when she was breathing. She always wonders what her milk tastes like, Matthew always bragged how delicious her milk is and Giselle can’t help but get curious everytime she has her eyes on them. The sight stirred something primal in Giselle, a heat that pooled low in her belly, making her shift slightly in her seat.
Finally, pushing her half-finished bowl away, Giselle leaned back, swirling the golden liquid in her glass. Her voice dropped, losing its brittle edge, gaining a husky warmth that sent a subtle frisson through the room. “You know…” Giselle said, finally tore her eyes from Somi’s breasts, though not letting them linger one last time, imagining the weight and warmth of them. “We never had the chance to celebrate.” Her eyes met Somi’s, then slid deliberately to Matthew’s eyes, holding his dark gaze. “Aria… An incredible life that you two created. You deserve more than just rushed texts and quick visits. You deserve something more than that…” Her words are sincere. Giselle shifted in her chair, a subtle movement. Under the crisp linen tablecloth, unseen by Somi, her toes found its target. The thick ridge that rapidly hardened underneath Matthew’s tailored trousers. She pressed upwards, a slow and deliberate grinding pressure against his swelling cock.
“A real celebration…” Giselle murmured, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper that vibrated in the suddenly changed air. Matthew now, betrayed by the undercurrent of mischief, knows so damn well that Giselle’s body language screams for a different kind of celebration altogether. He didn’t move a muscle elsewhere, but his eyes fixed on Giselle’s face who turned obsidian. The low growl that started deep in his chest wasn’t anger but it was primal recognition. Somi already knows where this is going and already felt it instantly.
The shift in the atmosphere from weary domesticity to electric tension. She saw the flush rising on Giselle’s neck despite fatigue, and saw the way her breath hitched slightly.
Somi tilted her head, a playful glint lighting her tired eyes while her fingers tracing idle patterns on the rim of her soju glass. “How exactly did you have in your mind, Unnie? Is it better than having these soju?” The Japanese woman’s smirk deepened, pure unadulterated sin. She didn’t even look at Somi as her foot finally retreated from Matthew’s lap under the table, though the heat in her gaze lingered. Her eyes locked onto Matthew, simmering with a challenge that bypassed playfulness and went straight to predatory.
“I think we both know that Daddy already knows the right way to celebrate your special moment…” Giselle purred. The word “Daddy” landed like a live wire, rolling off her tongue like a challenge, making his jaw tighten and his arousal throb painfully against the confines of his trousers. It is an acknowledgement of his ultimate authority over them both, over the child sleeping soundly down the hall. Matthew’s reaction was instantaneous, a sharp intake of breath, his knuckles whitening where they gripped at the edge of the table. His eyes, already dark, turned utterly black, fixing on Giselle with a predatory intensity that stripped away her idol persona entirely.
Meanwhile, Somi’s breath hitched at the term as she felt the shift like a physical blow to her core. A flush creeped up her neck, but she didn’t hesitate. Arousal, sharp and insistent, pulsed between her legs, hot and slick. She saw the raw need in her father’s gaze, the answering fire in Giselle’s eyes, and she stood abruptly, “All three of us, inside the room. Now!” Somi commanded, her tone urgent yet sultry. “Before Aria wakes up from her sleep, it’s better for us to “eat” our “food” now.” Somi didn’t wait for any confirmation as she walked towards the bedroom, where the Alaskan King size bed was draped in silk sheets. Her hips swaying with deliberate, provocative rhythm amplified by motherhood.
Giselle, like a starving cat, moved like a lightning unleashed. She was out of the chair before Matthew could fully stand, crossing the space between herself and Somi in two predatory strides just as Somi reached the threshold of the bedroom. One hand fisted in the back of Somi’s loose shirt, yanking the younger woman backwards off balance. The other hand tangled in Somi’s hair, pulling her head back sharply. The Japanese woman’s mouth crashed down onto Somi’s with bruising force, not a kiss but a claim. Her tongue plunged deep, tasting the kimchi, soju, and the unique sweetness that clung onto Somi right now.
Somi gasped into the kiss, stumbling backwards as Giselle propelled her towards the massive bed. Her legs hit the edge of the bed, and Giselle shoved hard. Some fell back onto the cool silk duvet with a soft thud, her hair fanning out around her face. Giselle followed the younger woman down, pinning her wrists above her head with one surprisingly strong hand.
“Oh, you don’t know how much I miss making love with you. I’ve spent all the time draining your dad to the point that I forget that his daughter is so… damn… fuckable…” Giselle breathed against Somi’s neck, her voice ragged with hunger. Her free hand slid down Somi’s torso, fingers skimming over the soft cotton covering her swollen breasts. Giselle didn’t fumble with the buttons, with a sharp and rending tear, she ripped the thin fabric of Somi’s t-shirt down the middle, exposing the heavy veined globes cradled in a black full cup bra. Another vicious tug and the clasp gave way, spilling Somi’s breasts free into the cool air of the room.
Somi cried out, not in pain, but at the shocking vulnerability and the sudden rush of cool air on her sensitive skin. Milk beaded instantly at her tight, dark nipples. Giselle’s gaze locked onto them, transfixed. “I wonder how does the milk that Aria loves to drink tastes like?” Giselle murmured, a hint of something wild and possessive in her tone.
Without wasting any more time, Giselle descended.
Her mouth closed over one of Somi’s nipples with shocking suction. It wasn’t the tentative exploration of a lover, it was the desperate and rhythmic pull of a starving thing. Giselle suckled hard, drawing the warm milk into her mouth with deep and gulping pulls. Somi arched off the bed with a choked gasp, her body responding instinctively to the stimulation meant for her child. A jet of milk sprayed unexpectedly against Giselle’s cheek as she adjusted her latch, but Giselle didn’t flinch. She moaned low in her throat, the vibration sending shivers through Somi’s entire body. She lapped at the spilled milk on Somi’s skin before sealing her mouth back onto the nipple, drinking greedily.
Somi writhed, overwhelmed by the sheer wrongness and eroticism of it. Giselle was like a desperate, starving baby, fueled not by hunger but by a primal craving for connection, for possession, for this tangible proof of Matthew’s power over Somi’s body. Somi let her head fall back, eyes fluttering shut, surrendering to the intense, confusing pleasure-pain radiating from her breast. Her free hand tangled in Giselle’s dark hair, not pushing her away, but holding her close.
And Matthew watched.
He stood just inside the doorway, a dark pillar of contained power. He hadn’t moved to join them immediately. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his tailored trousers, shoulders broad against the frame. His eyes burned as they traced every movement: the desperate hunger in Giselle’s posture as she fed from Somi; the way Somi’s back arched in helpless ecstasy; the rivulets of white milk tracing paths down Somi’s ribcage and pooling in the hollow of her navel; the fierce clench of Giselle’s hand still pinning Somi’s wrists.
His own arousal was a visible brand – the thick outline of his cock strained painfully against the expensive fabric of his trousers, a testament to the potent tableau before him. The bulge was obscene in its prominence, a silent counterpoint to Giselle’s audible sucking and Somi’s breathless whimpers. He watched his fierce rapper reduced to a milk-drunk supplicant at the altar of his woman’s body. He watched his mother-of-his-child surrender to this perverse intimacy. A low growl rumbled in his chest, pure possession vibrating through him. His gaze promised retribution. Promised possession. Promised that this was merely the prelude to what both women owed him. The air crackled with the tension of his unfulfilled need, watching his prize devour what belonged, ultimately, to him.
The desperate pull of Giselle’s mouth on her nipple sent shockwaves of raw, conflicting, sensation through Somi. The biological imperative of milk release tangled obscenely with deep erotic pleasure. Warmth flooded her core, her hips lifting instinctively off the silk as Giselle suckled harder, a low moan vibrating against Somi's sensitized skin. Milk spilled from the corners of Giselle’s lips, tracing glistening paths down the curve of Somi's breast.
Suddenly, Giselle released the nipple with a wet pop, her breath coming in ragged gasps. A thin string of milk connecting Giselle’s swollen lips to the glistening peak for a heartfelt before it snapped. Her dark eyes, dilated with hunger and something deeper, flicked up to meet Somi’s dazed gaze. Milk dribbled from the corner of Giselle’s mouth, tracing a path down to her chin but she made no move to wipe it away. There was no smirk now, only a profound intensity that stole Somi's breath. Instead, she licked her lips slowly, savoring the creamy sweetness that was equal parts forbidden and intoxicating. “God… babe… you taste just like heaven,” Giselle whispered, her voice rough with emotion and desire. “He wasn’t exaggerating, your milk is so addicting.”
Somi just lay there, chest heaving, her wrists still pinned above her head by Giselle’s unyielding grip. The exposure made her feel utterly vulnerable, her body on fire from the intense suckling that had left her breasts aching and leaking. She couldn’t move, couldn't fight back, not that she wanted to. The pleasure from having her breasts sucked alone was overwhelming, turning her into a helpless vessel for whatever Giselle demanded. Her core throbbed with need, slick arousal soaking through her panties, but all she could do was whimper softly, her eyes pleading for more.
Giselle’s grip on Somi’s wrists loosened, but only to trail one trembling hand down Somi’s torso, over the swell of her hip, sliding beneath the waistband of her ruined lounged pants and panties. She yanked them down in one swift, impatient motion. The cool air finally hit Somi’s exposed core, making the younger woman gasp as Giselle spread her thighs as wide as possible, knee pressing into the silk sheets. Her touch wasn’t tentative, it was claiming, sliding through Somi’s drenched folds with a reverence that felt holy and profane. “We never got to do this, did we?” Giselle murmured, her breath hot against Somi’s inner thigh as she nipped at the sensitive skin. “All those months… you swollen with Aria, too precious and fragile for me to touch you like this. And me? I was just our Daddy’s fuck doll, taking his cock inside my ass whenever he wanted, draining him dry just so you could rest. But now… I get to have you. All of you.”
Her words hung in the air, laced with a depth that went beyond lust. Giselle’s eyes softened for a moment, even as her fingers circling around Somi’s swollen clit, making the younger woman cry out and arch off the bed. “I love you, Somi. Just like I love your dad. You brought me into this beautiful and twisted world where I could never escape but I don’t have to hide behind the idol mask.” Giselle pressed two fingers deep into Somi without warning, burying them to the knuckle. “With you and Matthew, I can be my true self: raw, needy, unapologetic. No judgments, no expectations. Just us." Somi gasped, stars exploding behind her eyelids. It was true. Pregnancy, recovery, the relentless demands of newborn Aria – and Matthew’s voracious, singular claim on Giselle’s body – had kept them orbiting each other but never truly colliding like this. Now, there was no barrier. Giselle’s fingers curled inside her, finding that tender spot with unerring accuracy, stroking deep pulses that had Somi whimpering Matthew’s name like a prayer she couldn’t stop. “I'm so glad you pulled me in. You've given me everything—a family, a release, a love I didn't know I could feel."
Giselle dipped her head, replacing her fingers with her tongue, flicking against Somi's clit to trace a slow, deliberate circle around it. “I love you, Jeon Somi. I love you…” With that confession spilling out like a dam breaking, Giselle dove in fully. Her mouth sealed over Somi's pussy with voracious hunger, her tongue plunging deep into her wetness, lapping at the arousal that coated her folds. The intensity was unrelenting, Giselle suckled and swirled, her lips pulling at Somi’s clit with rhythmic pressure that bordered on overwhelming. She added back her two fingers on the assault, fucking her with deep, possessive thrusts. She pumped them in and out, curling upward to stroke the sensitive spot inside Somi with expert precision with her thumbs circling around Somi’s clit in tandem with her tongue.
Somi bucked helplessly against Giselle's face, her body a live wire of sensation. She was pinned, dominated, reduced to a whimpering slut accepting every thrust, every lick, every declaration of love. "Unnie... oh god, please..." she gasped, her voice breaking as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Milk continued to leak from her neglected breasts, trailing down her sides, but she couldn't focus on anything but the fire building in her core. Giselle's love poured into every motion—deep, possessive, tender in its ferocity—making Somi feel cherished even as she was utterly wrecked.
And Matthew just watched.
Leaning against the doorframe, he’d freed his thick cock, already glistening at the tip. His large hand moved slowly and deliberately, fisting his shaft with a possessive grip as he observed his women unravel together. His gaze burned hotter than any pyrotechnic on Aespa’s stage, dark approval mixed with searing lust as he witnessed Giselle’s fierce tenderness, Somi’s helpless surrender to it. A low growl escaped him as Somi cries escalated, his own strokes intensifying in time with Giselle’s relentless rhythm with her ass up high in the air. He was the silent conductor, the dark god witnessing his creations find ecstasy in each other.
Giselle didn’t let up, her fingers twisting deeper, her tongue flicking relentlessly until Somi’s body tensed like a bowstring. With a shattered cry, Somi came hard, feeling like a supernova, her walls clenching around Giselle’s fingers as a blinding, body-locking wave of pure sensation tore through her. The young mother screamed, back arching violently off the bed, juices flooding the Japanese woman’s mouth and Giselle drank it all down. Wave after wave crashed over her, leaving her trembling gasping, utterly spent on the damp silk.
Giselle gentled her touch, lapping softly through Somi’s aftershocks, her cheek resting against Somi’s quivering inner thigh. Her eyes were soft, sated, filled with a luminous warmth as she gazed up at the wrecked woman beneath her.
But both Giselle and Matthew know that Somi isn't done yet.
As Giselle finally released her wrists and pulled back, lips shiny with Somi's release and a satisfied smile on her face, Somi surged up with unexpected strength. The tables turned in an instant—motherhood had given her a fierce resilience, and now she channeled it into flipping Giselle onto her back with a swift shove. "My turn, Unnie," Somi purred, her voice husky and commanding despite the flush of her recent orgasm. Giselle's eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't resist, her body yielding as Somi pinned her down, mirroring the earlier dominance. Somi wasted no time, yanking Giselle's tight leggings and panties off in one fluid motion, exposing the rapper's glistening pussy. "You've been so good to me... now let me show you how much I love you back." Her mouth descended, tongue delving into Giselle's folds with the same intense fervor. She lapped at her clit, sucking hard, while her fingers—three this time—thrust deep, curling and pumping with a rhythm that made Giselle arch off the bed. Giselle's hands fisted in Somi's hair, her moans turning into desperate pleas as Somi devoured her, expressing her own deep affection through every stroke and lick. "I love you too, Aeri... for being here, for loving us both like this."
Somi just mirrored what she received from Giselle, causing the Japanese woman to cry out. Her fingers tangled in Somi’s hair as she arched off the bed, her eyes flew to Matthew who was still watching, still stroking his cock with deliberate slowness, his gaze approving and possessive before fluttering shut as Somi consumed her. The intensity wasn’t just physical, it was a profound reciprocation of the love and safety Giselle just had confessed. Somi wasn’t just pleasuring her, she was claiming her place in their dark constellation, showing Giselle that this fire burned both ways. The room filled with Giselle’s gasping moans and the slick, wet sounds of Somi’s devoted feast as she gave back everything she’d received, pleasure, possession, and the raw truth of their shared, impossible love.
After what it felt like eternity, Giselle’s body convulsed under Somi’s relentless assault, her hips grinding against the younger woman’s face as the orgasm ripped through her, shredding the last vestiges of idol control. She cried out, a raw, guttural sound that echoed off the bedroom walls. Her fingers tightening in Somi’s hair as waves of ecstasy pulsed from her core. Somi didn't stop, her tongue coaxing every last tremor from Giselle until the Japanese woman collapsed back onto the sheets, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat. Milk from Somi’s earlier leaking had smeared across Giselle’s thighs during the frenzy, a sticky reminder of their shared intimacy.
As the aftershocks faded, both women lay there for a moment, breaths syncing in ragged harmony. Giselle’s eyes fluttered open first, a sated smile curving her lips as she propped herself up on her elbows. Somi mirrored her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her own arousal still simmering but now directed elsewhere. Slowly, languidly, like flowers turning towards the sun, both women turned their heads. Their gazes, heavy lidded and sated, yet burning with renewed hunger, locked onto Matthew who stood like a statue of restrained fury, still leaning against the doorframe.
His hand moved slowly along his massive shaft, veins bulging under his grip, but his face was a mask of frustrated tension. No release in sight despite the erotic display he’d witnessed, held back by sheer will or the overwhelming spectacle he’d witnessed.
“Daddy…” Somi rasped, her voice wrecked from screaming as she slid off the bed, knees still weak, “Looks like you need a proper tending…” She crawled towards him, movements sinuous despite her exhaustion. Somi nodded, her eyes darkening with anticipation, trailing close behind the Japanese woman. Matthew released his own cock from his grasp, letting it bob heavily in the air, thick and throbbing, as his hands came to rest on their heads.
[To Be Continue...]
Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it ☃️🎄 May you and your family have a great time during this festive holiday 💕 I guess you can say that this is my christmas present from me to you
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