Daydream Cafe

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.” 

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive. 

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her. 

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing. 

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch. 

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing. 

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation. 

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps. 

You don’t. 

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

-

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

-

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks. 

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore. 

i miss you 

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t. 

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her. 

What you’d give to have good sex like that again. 

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name: 

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away. 

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea. 

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past. 

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply. 

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family. 

Stop texting me or I’ll block you. 

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her. 

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast. 

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door. 

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink. 

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed. 

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything. 

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away. 

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again. 

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know. 

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth. 

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen. 

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair. 

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past. 

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that? 

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone. 

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed. 

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck. 

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her. 

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!” 

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips. 

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her. 

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder. 

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you. 

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?” 

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you. 

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb. 

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear. 

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal. 

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically. 

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste. 

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

 It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food. 

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?” 

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together. 

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers. 

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief. 

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips. 

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity. 

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit. 

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again. 

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her. 

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt. 

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again. 

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too. 

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet.  “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.” 

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white. 

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears. 

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming.  This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt. 

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it. 

The tears finally fall from her eyes. 

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…” 

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her. 

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes. 

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby. 

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

-

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying. 

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you. 

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say. 

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

Eyes are up from their desks, turning onto you, horrified maybe. Then again, your fists are clenched and your elbows locked as you maintain a pace that begs to break into a run. If there’s a scowl on your face, you doubt its efficacy all at the rainwater in your shoes squeaking on the end of every step.

A promotion was how it had all been pitched to you: fated, bound, hands tied to this incorrigible bag of hot air. If the ship’s going down, set to fail, you’ll be right there with her, and you can feel the water pooling at your feet, figuratively speaking.

-

"So?" Sana commits to the question once you’ve got yourself halfway through the door to your office, dripping wet. It’s unconvincingly casual. "You wanted to see me?"

A tragedy; in fact, you want nothing less, but it’s in the job description, a necessary evil. The baker bakes. The cobbler cobbles. And the manager manages, supposedly—you’ve mostly just been tearing your hair out.

"Honest to god," you say, and you’ve never meant it more in your life, "I think I’m starting to understand it now. This whole revolving door of staff and management these past couple months."

Sana tilts her head onto this inquisitive angle, and a bundle of copper hair falls across her cheek before getting dragged back behind her ear. "Oh? And what all did you figure out?"

"That you’re a royal pain in the ass," you answer, untangling your arms from the soaked sleeves of your coat. "And a lot more trouble than you’re worth."

"Well." The word is accompanied by a ridiculous sigh and the sound of her tongue clicking against her teeth. "You don’t suppose that’s on you? No one promised you it’d be easy."

There’s a quiet pause, Sana slants her lips into a smirk, and that’s more or less how it always starts between you.

"No one promised anything," you grumble.

Of course, the writing was on the wall, probably in big, bold letters too, you don’t know—you weren’t too interested in reading it—there were more important things on your mind. Fame; wealth; success; bragging rights; you’ll only let yourself call it hubris once you’ve really stepped in it, finally found something you couldn’t talk your way out of, come up with reason to believe there would be no digging yourself out. But until then—

"By the way…" Sana’s voice trails as she leans into the arm of the sofa, cheek resting on her hand, and then she furrows a manicured brow. "Why are you, like, totally soaked?"

You’re lenient or something, so it’s a question of your own you’ll trade with her, undoubtedly a better deal than she deserved. "Okay, sure then—let’s get into it. What’s your guess? Why is it do you think I had to chase down some jagoff in the middle of a damn rainstorm?" You toss Sana’s phone from the soaked pocket of your pants onto the table, and she watches it bounce and flip until it rests screen-side down. "It’s unlocked I guess. So, why don’t you do me a favor and just help me get out in front of it all; what the fuck did you have on there?"

"Oh." Her voice fills with worry, head cocked anxiously. She seems completely taken aback, but like with most things, it’s all just a front, you’ve learned—and here, you couldn’t be more on the nose. She holds back a laugh, adding, "photos, videos—I mean, I don’t know, it could be anything. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t check yourself."

"Sana," you groan. It’d be foolish not to believe her; it really could be anything, but that’s beside the point. You find the edge of your desk with your thighs, lean back, and you’re shaking your head. "The next time some shameless opportunist stumbles upon your phone and that meticulous archive of bad decisions, maybe I ought to just let you deal with it."

She raises her eyebrows at you, mulling it over for a second like she was ever once invested in being useful. "That’s like, what the publicists are for aren’t they?"

Sana’s young, you remind yourself. It’s good practice. But she’s old enough to know better, what all she’s doing, how dangerous she can be. It’s not like her praises are hard to come by around the office: the beautiful Sana Minatozaki, an angel among us, she’s perfect! If you can hear them in passing through the glass windows of your office, so can she; they’re right on the money, mostly, but you’re also not so easily fooled—or rather, you aren’t anymore. See, you get in front of a girl like her, and she’s got these big, bright, beautiful eyes, a face that never fails to be the most charming in the room without boasting about itself, a body like that, legs like those—

"Look." You blink several times.

Caught yourself staring.

"I mean, sure—but I can’t imagine that’s going to be an easy one to spin."

She cocks an eyebrow in something like curiosity. "What’s not going to be?"

"The video Sana—the one where you’ve got your lips around some cock like it’s a cheap homemade porno."

"So then, you did take a look," she says, rising onto the pointed tips of a pair of black heels. It’s a sign, an omen, a premonition—the renewed smirk on her lips that speaks louder than that soft, measured voice of hers might ever dare. "Hard opportunity to pass up, huh?"

"For god’s sake—" Going with your gut, you cross your arms. And your voice searches frantic for a commanding tone. "If it isn’t my job to know how you’ve fucked up."

"And I so very much appreciate all your wonderful effort," she over-enunciates through each syllable of your name. That same exact pleasantry she’d wish to the staff and crew at the end of a photo shoot, a recording, some nonsense event or another—only now, it’s derisive, laced with this sarcastic edge that is anything but subtle.

"It isn’t funny, Sana."

"Do you see me laughing?"

You don’t. Though there’s still a lot to see admittedly, a lot to take in, most of it beyond damning. A long leg of hers ruffles and furls the bottom of her dress until she’s a step closer, two steps now actually. You can take your pick—start at the bottom up or from the top down, and the result is just about the same by the time you’ve gotten to her tiny waist: she’s gorgeous.

For a lot of reasons however, you’re not about to leer.

Her shoulders square to yours and you remind yourself she’s not very tall; even in those ridiculous heels, she comes up just shy of your nose. Between you and absolutely nobody else, you have considered it, let it fill an evening of fantasy or two—how she might bend and fold, how her small, tight body might be best put to use, the faces she’d make cumming on your cock, the sound of her straining voice when you really—

No, you’re absolutely not leering.

"I’m serious," you hear yourself say, and it’s shaky, struggling to come across resolute, hardly anything convincing. "Just keep on fucking around—I promise you; you’re on your own."

"Oh, is that so?" She smiles again, and you note how it deepens a dimple in each cheek. "And when it all comes crashing down—how should I ask that the director refer to you in their letter to the board: idiot or incompetent?"

Eyes glowing, she seems wholly uninterested in the stark departure from how she normally needles you—all that subtext and words unsaid. You simply raise an eyebrow. There’s a pause, and she raises one back.

"Ahem," you try to recover.

Sana leans into you, one hand on either side of your waist, palms flat on your desk. And there’s that thought running a muck in your head again: all those musings about power dynamics, authority, subordination, governance, whatever it is this mess is you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s comical. You’d never once had a problem with any of your previous assignments. Dahyun? Delightful. Tzuyu—a total saint. Nayeon might as well have managed herself. It’s unclear when or how, but the woman in front of you had puzzled out that she was capable of anything—destruction, demolition, devastation. You knew it; she knew it too; Sana could ruin you.

"Hmm?" she adds, smug and indignant.

"I’ve given it some thought," you start, letting a heavy sigh roll through your chest like that’s ever been some herald of a rousing speech. But there is a plan, or at least what you’d learned about in those binders and seminars on this kind of stuff. "Look, to be honest, you’re going to hate me for it—but we’re going to be moving to some sort of curfew; until all this gets sorted out."

"A curfew?" Her eyebrows twist, disappointed.

"Among other things," you say, and now you’re digging a heel into the dirt of this forsaken partnership. "No more clubs."

"No more clubs?"

"No boys, no bars, and for god’s sake Sana—no fucking filming yourself having sex."

"No boys?" she gawks like it’s the most egregious of what you’d asked, mouth dropping agape in this faux outrage.

"Just until we hit a groove; figure out what works; find our rhythm."

"Find our rhythm?"

"You can stop repeating me."

"You can stop repea—" She takes a beat to swallow down the rare slip-up, eyes looking for even a momentary weakness in yours. But you’re a professional; she comes up empty. Her brows relax and she tilts her head. "Reprimanding me."

Your voice, finally solidifying in its fitful composure, opens into a complaint, "it’s honestly a shock to me you know—how you’ve lasted this long. In this industry, like this."

You lean back, chest tightening, acutely aware that her eyes refuse to leave yours.

"They always say that." And she’s grinning, ear to ear, again. This time, you’re gazing—the shape of her lips, the pretty things swelling and curving into that fine little point beneath her nose. A finger lands on your chest and she’s determined to cross a boundary or two.

You swallow again at the dryness in your throat. "Really."

"You know what else they always say?"

"If you think I’m about to guess, you’d be—"

"Curfew," she mocks, voice hitting at an unrealistically low register. It’s rather heartless the way she rolls her eyes, deceiving the roundness in her cheeks, the ever-so-perfect waves in her hair, the intoxicating charm that is her image. "No boys, no bars, no—"

"So, you’re telling me," you interrupt, more than satisfied with the imitation, "that in six months, six different managers, six different calamities, I’m not the first person to suggest some structure? Color me shocked Sana."

"No. You’re not. But this is the part where you tell me: Sana, I’m a professional. And you’ve got your hands out like you don’t want it and you’re backing up into the desk, bumbling and stuttering like you’re not losing control." One more step into you, and it’s evil, wicked, sinful the way you’re noticing it all: the pretty little details in her eyes, her cheeks, her smile. "I always say the same thing; I’m a professional too ya know. And I just so happen to be in the business of making people want me."

The motion is inelegant given what you’re sure she’s capable of, the way her hand cups your crotch. It sounds silly when you say it like that, but that’s just kind of how it happens.

"Sana—"

"Wow. You’re like, so fucking wet down here." She laughs to herself, having now found some comedy in it all. "That’s usually what they say too."

There’s a smug glimmer in her eyes when she finds you, the semi-hardened jut at the rise of your pants, fingers happily mapping out your shape beneath all the damp fabric. It’s more than just a boundary, and this searing heat starts to lick at your jaw. You’d grab her wrists, wrestle her away, but you’re not confident how it might all go if you start touching her; pin one behind her back, bend her against the desk; hell, she’s probably not wearing anything under that—okay, now you’re leering.

You swallow hard at the absolute casualness about her light fingers, undoing the belt and button at the waist of your pants. "So now what?" you ask, as though you were incapable of putting two and two together, as if you hadn’t been privy to these kind of rumors for months. "You’re going to bargain your way out?"

"Bargain?" She scoffs, and even that’s a pretty noise—the sound of it running through your head where it twists into moans, squeals and whimpers. Her eyes light up, and you’re hopeless, coming undone. "Isn’t that charitable. Like you haven’t been dying to stick your cock in me for weeks."

"Sana." Your last chance at professionalism, at propriety; so, abysmally it’s just her name that falls out of your mouth. But that’s how it comes together—or perhaps it falls apart—your cautionary tale, The Story of Manager Number Seven you’ll call it. It’s ruinous, it’s disastrous, worst of all—it’s instinct.

"Don’t waste the effort." Her chin cocks up and you’re left staring down the barrel. "Besides, I’m just saying the quiet part out loud, aren’t I?"

You doubt you’ll be around to meet manager number eight, and you’re certain one will come to be—maybe they’ll even read your memoirs; you wish them luck. Because the truth is, and you hate to say it, she’s got you all figured out.

-

Right from the jump, Sana confirms all your suspicions: she’s incredibly selfish. Pulling, gnawing, grabbing at your lower lip until it starts to swell, she hops up onto your desk. Something critical snaps, a cable cut, and you’re following right along with her. Each and every sinful step surely on a path to damnation.

"Well?" she asks, expectant and landing kisses on your cheek.

A whole assortment of paperweights, papers, pens, things that have been little use to you, crash onto to the floor. "Anything I want?" you ask, repeating yourself, unable to tire of its answer. "What if I’m - well, for lack of a better word, a total freak? Deal still on the table?"

"Hah." Sana smirks again—it’s kind of her thing, you’ve come to realize, but now you feel it on your skin. Her fingers are working down the front of your damp shirt, and she answers with a bluntness that leaves you feeling if anything, a little insulted, "You’re not."

"And what then, I suppose you know everything there is to know about me?" You’ve got your hands on her waist when you realize she’s not wrong. You’re not. But the shape of her body, under your fingertips, from just above where her hips narrow, it is everything you imagined it might be: wholly divine and capable of anything. You’ll ruin it—it just might ruin you too.

"Trust me, there’s a type," she laughs, "you come in here every day…" The sleeves of your shirt fall around your shoulders, and her gaze makes this journey about you, a momentary glance, and her eyebrow lifts as if to say not bad or this will do. "Same suit, same shoes, same coffee, same frustrated look on your face—just trust me."

She’s got it pretty dead on, not that you really care; you’re just not that kind of guy. But the way she says it, with such confidence, that’s a challenge. Oh, it’s probably to your detriment; you’ve always been competitive—you’ll surprise her. "I guess we’ll see."

You bury a hand into her hair before she has the chance to get on with the next snarky thought or another, and her head is tilted back, lips parting for you. Your tongues meet, first in your mouth, then in hers. Humming gently, Sana’s voice fills your throat, and all that hangs in the balance is rushing through your thoughts again—go ahead, mark your calendar; today’s the day you’ve thrown your career away. Because when you push her legs apart, her dress finally all hiked up around her tiny waist, and you’ve got your finger against the lace fabric across her entrance—

"Fuck," she gasps into your mouth, at least you think she does. It’s a good guess considering those nails, manicured and polished into sharp points, sinking into your shoulders. Her hips push themselves into you, pressing more of that fabric into your touch. You follow it down, trace it with your finger, dragging the loose-fitting lace along the way, and her folds nearly wrap around you, begging.

Your lips smack, spit trailing off them when you pull yourself back. You’re both catching your breath and it’s your turn to be smug, "I think this is the part where I say, wow Sana, you’re so fucking wet down here."

"Just stick to the script, and I promise I’ll go easy on you," she says, voice cold and calculated, as if her lip doesn’t wince every time you swirl the pads of your fingers over her mound.

Day by day, brick by brick, Sana’s broken you down to this. And now the smell of her hair in your nose, the taste of her lips filling your mouth, the feeling of that tender skin spreading between your fingers—you’re beyond fucked, she’s necessity.

You’ve sunk to your knees, and apparently the feeling is mutual; her hands pushing down on your shoulders as you go, impatient, greedy even. You start from her calf, down the length of a thigh, considering how it might bruise and mar, the taut pale skin a fresh canvas for your work. It’s a mistake, or you’re moving too slow, some transgression or another—isn’t it always? There’s a stifled groan off her lips, and she’s got her legs wrapping over your shoulders, heels clacking when she digs them into your back, pulling you into her. But you’ve earned it—you’re usually the one making demands, and it’s your turn to ignore them.

"What’s all this, hmm?" Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you away from the kisses, licks and nibbles you find all over the curve of her thigh, the places you’ve only buried and turned over in your thoughts for weeks. "You think you’re going to, like, make me fall in love with you or something? Get me so hot and bothered, I scream out, please, anything! I need you!" She gets her hand firm on your jaw, eyes smoldering something into yours like they’re stamping out a cigarette. "It’s actually kinda cute."

"Maybe. Then again, I’m not the one gushing through my underwear at the thought of getting fucked." Your fingers are hooking into her panties when you thoroughly catch the look on her face one last time—it’ll be worth remembering. You let yourself laugh through your words, "so I mean, I guess that’s up to you."

"Careful what you wish for." If she’s wagging a finger, you can’t see it, buried between Sana’s thighs. "Or I swear I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you."

"I’m kinda counting on it."

You’re talking about it like it’s casual, like this dereliction of duty has any other outcome than your ass on the curb or her name into scandalous obscurity. You catch it briefly, the eyebrow jumping and the haughty laugh out her nose; she really is pretty, even when she abandons that whole front, the delicate projection of sweet innocence and mild mischief. Who knows—maybe you prefer it now, all the more that the expression on her face is yours to pull apart.

Tightening her thighs on you, holding you firm, Sana cooperates only in so far as to help a pair of underwear roll down a leg and onto her ankle, and her pussy’s there, shimmering and glistening at you, an open invitation for your tongue—you’ll get around to it, but not until you’ve had your fill of everything else that’s been driving you nuts for weeks on end.

She swallows hard and snaps, "Why the hell are you teasing me?"

You’ve said it before, you’ll say it again, "boy Sana, you’re real mouthy today." A finger on her lips, brushing the surface of her aching entrance again, and she pulls a short tight breath past her teeth. "Aren’t you?"

"Then maybe you can stop fucking around and just get to—"

It doesn’t matter what she was going to say. It gets all caught and stuck in her throat on the way up so bad that you know it wasn’t important. The more pressing matter, your tongue against her clit, is about how the muscles in her stomach jerk and spasm about. That touch, it’s like it electrifies her. The lilting groan however—the one she fails to choke back—that’s from your finger you reckon, pushing its way inside her. You add another one for good measure. She can take it. She’ll take more.

"Shit," Sana mumbles, sucking on her lip, and then before a tiny punched-out breath punctuates the thought, she releases it, letting her mouth hang open when you find her swollen nub in yours, sucking and teasing without too much consideration. The shoe’s on the other foot: each brush of your fingers against her, where you’ve found her, and she shakes, hips jolting around you. Given that you’ve been laboring without any useful results to lead, direct, govern this girl for weeks, you’re chuckling out your nose that it’s now, like this, that she finally becomes anything close to compliant.

Whatever clutter’s still left on your desk rattles. Sana’s leaning back into it now, elbows propping up her small torso, and she steadies herself, failing against your tongue, your lips, especially your fingers. Her cheeks flood with this brilliant shade of pink, and she’s inching off the desk trying to force as much of herself into your mouth where you find her so wet you can feel her dripping down her chin. Even though you’ve never been the type, you can’t help yourself—licking around her quivering lips, around where she clearly needs you, you find yourself teasing, "What do you know Sana? I think I’ve lost my place in the script—you always cum this fast or…"

She shoots you a glare despite the blush staining her cheeks, but when her mouth opens to voice a complaint, you’ve got her mewling again—a cruel pace set into your fingers, creating this absolute mess between her thighs. Her palms slap the table, and she’s breathing in fits and starts, something akin to anticipation. She’s close and she knows it. In fact, you know it too, considering she’s so soaked her taste lingers long in your mouth when you stand yourself up, fingers still buried in her cunt.

"Ohhh… that’s it, right there, fucking hell," she whines, and the ends of her words are soaked in these rasping moans. "I can’t—fuck!"

"Sana," you start, and she’s dodging your eyes, ashamed at the twist on her face, the way her brows knit all at that squelching pleasure between her legs. It seems her pride may still have its limits.

"I’m gonna—" Her expression freezes, and that’s when you think you have her, but she keeps going. For a while. There’s only that loud, messy noise on your fingers in the shallow heat of her pussy until she decides she’s going to collapse into it all. Her eyes shut, and you watch as Sana realizes the bound of her voice to be no more than a hushed whisper, each utterance filling with these needy gasping breaths that rack her whole body, "I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna—"

Her hips buck and jump, dragging herself along the shape of your fingers and she swallows down a husked moan. And then another. Until finally, she’s crying out.

"Fu—ah! I’m cumming!" Sana manages, and only now you’re believing her, the words on the verge of tears. "I’m cumming - I’m cumming—"

Mouth agape, some silent curse or another, she locks up. It’s a whole look—you tuck it away somewhere, the score still horrifically in her favor, but at least you’re finally on the board. "There you go," you whisper, knowing your assurances make it all the more embarrassing, "That’s a good girl Sana; just keep cumming for me."

It’s the smoldering heat quivering on your fingers, the first words of praise out of your mouth in god knows how long, those office supplies still falling to the floor as you suspend her in anguished pleasure—it undoes her. You’ve never seen her like this. Your fingers gliding through the mess of her aching cunt, you have to see more.

"Fuck—" she huffs.

You can nearly see the bright red flush on her cheeks peek out through the hands she’d thrown up to cover her face.

"—you," she finishes, and it’s a little more on brand.

When you reach down to pull her hands away, to kiss her, there’s no resistance—she’s putty, malleable, whatever you need her to be. She squirms when you pull your fingers out from inside her, sloppy and messy with her own cum, but you’re more shocked at how easily she lets you put them in her mouth. That’s a development. And you’re not going to be shy to say it. It’s fucking hot.

"Sana…" your voice trails as she hums on your fingers, her tongue gently finding the space between them. Her cheeks still burning, the way she sucks and licks her taste off you has you stuck daydreaming how it will look, how it will feel when it’s your cock between her perfect lips.

A light knock lands on the door to your office. Twice. And when that second knock does arrive, it has your stomach jumping into your chest. It’s unfortunate, but you’ll have to keep imagining.

"One second!" you shout out, realizing now you’ve never once had the blinds drawn or the door locked. It’s not a great look; hopefully you’re overthinking it. You pull your shirt off the floor and prance toward the door.

Sana sits herself up, brings her dress back down around her thighs and plops herself right back down on the sofa where you found her. Steadying her breath and watching you quietly spread apart the blinds with your fingers, she wipes a lash from her eye, asking, "Who is it?"

"Dahyun." You rise on the toes of your shoes to get a better look. The black hair pulled back into a ponytail and those wide lenses sitting across the bridge of her nose more than clue you in. "I think."

"What does she want?"

"Hell if I know."

"Well, let her in."

The last button on your shirt comes together and you’re opening the door—slowly. "Yeah?"

"Hey. Sana here?" Dahyun asks as though there’s nothing out of the ordinary. She sticks her head into the opening further until she’s half in your office, half out. Innocently unaware of the scene she’d just interrupted, her lips snap to this toothy grin and it becomes a pitiful reminder of the countless days you toiled to get where you are—responsible, respected, time specifically not spent fucking Sana with your fingers.

"Oh hey hello," Sana nearly sings, and her voice is no where near rasped like it just was. It’s a little incredible honestly how she springs back, elastic. Still preening her hair back into something close enough to perfection, she asks, "What can I do for ya?"

Dahyun scans you head to toe, taking a full confident step into your office as you open the door further. She lifts a disapproving eyebrow. "Wow. You look awful by the way."

You let out this heavy, labored sigh. "Yeah, well, the rain, and the—"

"He’s had a rough go at today," says Sana, filling in the rest with only what’s prudent.

Dahyun looks at Sana, then back to you and smiles with half her mouth. "Well, maybe you need it too—Nayeon’s got a tab open at the place on the corner opposite the station. The one with the weird windows. Told me to tell you."

"Sounds fun." The words come out of both Sana’s mouth and yours in this strange tandem. It sounds suspicious because it is; you’ve never once been in accord on anything.

"Yeah. Well. See you there or something, I guess." The door closes behind Dahyun and it takes a moment for the sound of your heartbeat to leave your ears.

"You mind handing me those?" Sana points to your desk, and your stomach drops when you see them: her wadded underwear sitting right in the middle of it all. "I kinda need ‘em."

You’re blocking it all out in your head, assessing the damage before you find yourself willfully distracted. It’s a spectacle even in reverse, Sana’s legs stretching out as she rolls the black lace back up her thighs.

"Thanks," she says, standing up and tossing those long copper locks of hair behind her shoulders. It could be a few things that earned you that gratitude, so you’re answering for all of them, "Yeah, no problem."

You’ve got your jacket back on, pulling your office back together into something orderly when you decide you’re going to try and repair more than just the room. "Look. Sana."

Her head tilts and a curtain of hair spills over her shoulder. She’s waiting on your words.

"I don’t care what you do—just do me a favor. Try to behave yourself. For your sake. All of that just now," you say, and your tongue clicks while you stew in discomfort. "Look. That was a mistake—"

"Oh?" Her voice pitches, and you’re left staring. It’s not long before she realizes you haven’t much of anything else to add, amused at the half words and sounds forming on your lips.

"I’ll tell you what we’re going to do." Sana wedges herself between you and the door, hands tucked behind her back, and her chin cocks up again. "You’re going to go home. You’re going to shower, get some decent clothes, and you’ll be at that bar."

Your lips tighten and your eyes narrow, a glance at the small wet stain lingering on your office’s sofa. "For what Sana?"

She laughs, really just a lovely sound—you shouldn’t be dwelling on it. You shouldn’t have already dwelled on it, but you abandoned prudence some time ago. Holding your eyes with hers, she lets her lip go from between her teeth and in a few simple words, she reminds you that you’ve really stepped in it.

"Cause - we’re - not - done." Another smile, and the dusty browns and grays in her eyes are as deep as ever. "I better see you at seven."

-

So, you’re sitting, sipping on something strong because it’s more than what you need when you notice there’s this line dividing the table, staff on one side, the usual suspects on the other. And you’re in the booth as well, disappointed there wasn’t some sort of larger crowd—something you might slip away into.

There are a few changes in seating when someone gets up to get more drinks or use the restroom or something like that. And it’s at the bottom of a rum and coke when Sana’s found the spot next to you, ever so slightly hanging on your shoulder—just absent enough that she might blame the alcohol, lean into it, play it up; present enough that it’s all you can think about.

"Hey," she says, once softly into your ear, and it’s overflowing with more suggestion than might ever fit into a single syllable. It registers; something clicks; you’ll play. Your gaze shifts around the table and back to where the neckline of her dress dips before it finds her.

"Hey." You’ve got it casual. At that, she smiles.

You’ll say something, and it’s got her laughing. Sana’s eyes are bright, cheery, and even though the lights are dimmed, you swear you’ve seen nothing prettier. Her head is on your shoulder and she tucks the corner of her lip between her teeth when you make her laugh again. She listens well. She speaks even better—clever, sharp-tongued, sharp-witted—making it look effortless. It’s magnetic. Hell, you don’t even notice her reeling you in, capturing you, cursing you. Perhaps it’s like this, outside of all that about rules and protocol—where she’s poised, presentable and balancing herself on the razor’s edge of this perfect image everyone’s come to expect from her—who couldn’t fall for her if just a little?

"I bet you’re still thinking about it," she whispers when she’s sure no one else is listening. "How your cock will stretch me. How you’ll use me."

Catching yourself, it is just a little you fall; god knows you’ve fallen further. There’s plenty of reason to take a pause, a breather, resume your worry—but you’re fixed on the lines of her face, serene and perfectly uncomplicated in the dim light, her expression full of simple joy. Though you trust her as far as that smile stretches across her lips, you’re watching closely as they part again.

"Let me tell you what I think…" Her hands land in your lap, asking questions whose answers might only be found where your cock struggles beneath the fabric of your pants. You’re sure someone’s bound to notice how close she is, hanging, clinging, wrapping herself around you. It’s like she wants to be caught—but fate isn’t so kind; a disaster it is that no one does. The stroke of fortune only ignites the hushed breath landing in your ear, "why don’t we, like, go find somewhere quiet?"

She’s duplicitous, destructive, deadly—spins lies for the sheer thrill of it, you’ve decided—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But you’re leaning into it too, you’re allowing it, you’re letting her—you’ll be damned if you aren’t just one of the herd.

-

It started when Sana dragged you by the wrist across the length of the bar and leaned into your ear. She first asked about someplace more private, then she suggested the ladies’ room, then you scoffed about what a terrible idea it was and then she said I promise I won’t be too loud and you felt your entire body shift.

It’s rare for you to make mistakes, to slip up like this—especially like this—but then there Sana is, her back against the door of one of the stalls, chin up, the swell of her lip caught cruelly between her teeth, and eyes shut tight as you push your fingers deeper inside her. It’s not like you, you repeat for the last time in your head, airing out the loose thought somewhere to dry when you notice the dull burn of something like adrenaline, the throbbing pulse in your tongue, your throat, the tips of your fingers—both those holding Sana tight at her waist, and the ones that keep coaxing these little whimpering hums out of her chest every time you curl them inside her. Your voice is coarse, and your tongue sticks to the rough of your mouth when you mutter her name; a betrayal apparently—those half-lidded eyes catch yours, and her lips slant like they know it just as well as you: you had plenty more mistakes to make.

"It’s kinda fucked up, you know that?" Sana sputters as though you need the reminder. "Like we went weeks, and what, your biggest fear that I’d end up somewhere like this? getting fucked?"

"I mean, if you’d rather I’d leave," you suggest, pushing her hard enough into the stall that the whole assembly shakes and rattles, "maybe you could help me remember all that a little more—"

"Don’t." It comes out more severe than you’d expect from this girl creaming the lining of her underwear at your fingers gliding between her aching lips. You catch the look in her eye and it’s so badly betrayed by the shortness in her breath, the blush searing against her cheeks—you do the math; find it all adds up to need and lust and whatever else could’ve dragged you both into this stall.

"Yeah?" you ask, reveling once in these few opportunities you get to be the one looking smug and smirking at her. "And why not?"

Sana releases her fingers from around your cock, her hand sliding up from inside your pants and snapping at the front of your shirt. "Because you owe me."

Before you can say anything, she pulls you into her, lips hard against yours. It hadn’t been long since she’d kissed you in your office—those few hours now feeling like ages ago. And even though you noticed it, beyond the way she licks your lips, bites them, pulls you into her and sends these tiny quiet moans into your mouth, you couldn’t quite put it into words then.

See, you’ve kissed your fair share of girls who’d done nothing less than a good job, but never before had they given it their whole attention, their whole being. There was always something on their mind, some idle thought or distraction: what time the last train left the platform, what day of their cycle it was, doubting their own technique, too much tongue, not enough tongue, if it’s too forward to grab that hand on their breast by the wrist and shove it between their thighs—Sana is none of that. Even while the fingers you shove up her cunt are drawing out all these gasps and hiccups, and ignoring the fact that between her legs is precisely where she needs you, she’s on you with this intensity that never once seems to let you out of its focus.

But no, to be clear, she’s not perfect—the wide pad of your thumb on her clit more than reminds you both of that. Her lips smack as she pulls herself off you, those cute brows knit like she’s about to sneeze.

"Oh, fuck!" She throws her head back and it sends all this silky hair flying.

With a fistful of her dress, her ass, you pull her against you. Her cheeks are so red and her pussy so unbelievably wet that you’re blinking in awe, in admiration—Sana’s features twisting into this masterpiece, this look of pure delight. Her voice gets strangled into something more hoarse, something debauched, and she’s punching out these tiny nods as you fuck her with your fingers, circling your thumb around her clit.

"That feels so fucking good. I—please sir," says Sana, and she’s leaning in like she knows you. Maybe she really does. "Make me fucking cum on your fingers, please, sir. I need it."

You hear it; something short of understanding it. Tuck it away like it’s a clerical error or some trifling hiccup—fuck if that’s the Sana you know—but the way she’s got it repeating in your ear makes it click. It’s familiar, and fucked up, that musing again, except now it’s all turned on its head, about authority, about subordination: she needs your hand stern like she needs your cock hard—she gets off on it, you figure. It’s ridiculous and it’s so out of line and it’s so like nothing you’ve ever done and you can’t believe it’s in this restroom of all places and it’s so fucking hot and you’re living on borrowed time, leaning into it—

"Go ahead, beg for it Sana"—like, really leaning into it—"I need to hear you say it."

"I can’t - fucking believe - just don’t stop, okay? Please sir, right there - right there - right there…" Sana is whimpering and mewling through it all as you match and mirror that grind she makes against your fingers. Frustrated, fucked, she’s giving up on your pants, which to her credit, there was a bit more complication to a button and a zipper than simply hiking up her dress around her hips, but still, it’s fascinating to watch her come apart. Her arms fall limp and she’s finding a place to rest them over your shoulders, mumbling, murmuring, repeating, "Please sir, I’m so close…"

"Sana." You’ve got your lips against her ear and it all but kills her; she whimpers and whines as she sinks her weight onto you, the heat of her own name on your breath, the way you say it, pushing her so far onto that edge.

"Put it in - please, please, please, I need it," Sana’s bleating only compounds when you pull your fingers from her cunt, looking at you like you’ve committed something heinous—which isn’t entirely off. Her voice squeals and trails again when you drag your palm across her clit, up across her stomach, "I’ll do anything, just give me your cock, and I’ll do anything, anything, please sir, I promise - I promise."

Sana can’t even keep her own voice down, those needy moans splashing over all that tile around you and probably leaking out the door and into the hall. She’s in no position to bargain or plea, but as you pull her together enough in your hands, wrap the swell of her thigh around you and press your body against hers, she’s not the only one making promises she doesn’t intend to keep. "Don’t worry Sana. I’ll take good care of you." Your voice is drier than expected, but it’s more than up to the task. "I’ll put this cock in you - and I’ll be nice and gentle; I’ll let you cum, now just be good for me, and I promise I’ll fuck you right."

The sound of your zipper makes this echo—loud, uncompromising, unholy as if it were somehow the most debauched thing pouring out from where you and Sana had committed to turning the restroom into this whole menagerie of lustful noises. You pull her soaked panties to the side and her voice floods with desperation. "Please—"

Sana whines, shuddering when the tip of your cock parts the swelling lips around her wet, needy entrance. Search for it, find it, and you’re groaning too—there’s no more hesitation the moment you slip your cock inside her.

"I can’t - you’re so fucking - fuck!" Sana swallows down these flailing gasps of air like she’d been held underwater, struggling spectacularly to bite back this broken moan. The lithe frame in your arms is teetering on the single heel still on the ground, relying on you, your chest, and your hips to keep her pinned to the stall. You’re holding her fragile world together; draw your hips back; drive into her again; you’ll tear it all apart.

Your teeth are gritting and your jaw clenched because she is so unbelievably tight, even all creamed and wet for you—but still, your focus is honed on her voice, keen to her movements, tuned to the way she writhes in your arms. Beyond the small tears filling out in her deep brown eyes, the lines of her face wincing and quivering, her eyelashes fluttering as your hips slam up into hers again, you’re acutely aware of the machinery in her head, of something deep inside her thoughts hitching, changing tracks, going with it; because this wasn’t what she’d expected: this was so much more than she’d expected.

"That’s it," you say, jamming it into that moist breath you push out of your chest, "just feel how you’re stretching around me, Sana, you fucking need this. I promise - you’re going to cum on this cock - and I promise - you’ll do it again."

"F-fuck," Sana rasps through it, her new favorite word. Your fingers dig into her ass and she’s biting down hard on its harsh final consonants, hiccuping, stuttering in the spaces your hips force between her mewls and cries. She swallows down at her indecency, scrambling for composure. "It’s so - I need you please - please, I need you to fuck me! - just use me."

And so there you are, raising the stakes. Each thrust into the smoldering heat deep in her pussy finds you harsher, stronger, the pauses between your thrusts approaching nothing; far more than Sana can hope to recover. You gasp, shocked at how she manages to fit you, her tightness working against you just shy of allowing you to ruin her. "Sana," you start, and her own name becomes music to her ears, how it sounds deep and gravelly on your panting breath, "fuck yes, Sana, that’s a good girl - your pussy feels incredible."

It’s your voice, it’s the small affirmations, it’s the way your cock swells and stiffens when she swings her leg open, the angle, the depth, the pressure making her incoherent and cry out like the fucked mess she is—for weeks now she’d been your foil, the thorn pricking sharp into your side, and here you are, driving your cock deep into her aching cunt, nothing less than her salvation.

"I can’t," she whispers, face falling into your shoulder and her teeth biting into your neck, leaving marks like you both don’t have to be at the office tomorrow. "I can’t keep - you feel so good, you’re going to make me cum - you’re gonna make me fucking cum."

She’s slipping, falling apart in your arms, breaking at the seams. The delicate application of mascara around her eyes is ever-so-slightly starting to run, and you feel her leg begin to wobble and buckle under her weight as it sits helplessly on the sharp point of that single heel. You struggle to scoop her up, finding the soft curves of her thighs over your forearms.

"Do it Sana," you sputter from between gritted teeth, and your hips crash again into Sana’s body, held pitifully between you and the stall’s indifferent wooden frame. "Cum all over this cock - cum for me."

Sana’s so close to the edge, so wet, so needy, that even craning her neck and seizing your lips is some exaggerated and laborious effort. But it’s the only way she can channel all that raw pleasure, that emotion searing its way from her cunt and shooting up the length of her spine, so she gets there, even if you have to meet her halfway. Her voice hums and cracks inside yours, and you can count the last thoughts of her waning composure in her tongue, in those tears gently wetting your cheeks, at the heart beating wild in her chest, all in those legs wrapping desperately behind you, pulling you deeper into her, yearning to find how much of that lust dripping between her legs you can fill.

"I’m cumming, I’m so close to cumming," she moans into your mouth, and there’s no question that she is—the quivers her cunt makes around your cock every time you bury yourself inside her heat—the way she clenches onto the emptiness that torments her when you drag your hips away from her again.

A final inhibition, that what if, the final shred of concern that someone could walk into this impromptu love nest and undo her career—entirely obliterate yours—in so little as the flash of a camera—it vanishes, like a candle snuffed out, first in her head, and then in yours. You smash your hips into the backs of her reddening thighs again, thrusting deep between them and you’re left only thinking of Sana, of her husked voice in your ears, of her ass spilling out between your fingers, of the torrid heat of her cunt—how she invites you, pulls you in, how she begs to be ruined.

"Oh my god." You can hear the wet breath that she draws fast into her chest scrape against her upper teeth. "Oh. God."

When Sana cums, she holds nothing back. And she cums hard—muscles tense, her chest holds onto one final breath, and she digs her fingernails into the backs of your shoulders without even a shred of consideration for the poor skin beneath them. Those short staccato breaths that filled your mouth become long, gasping wails that sit just aside your ear as Sana holds tight around your body, hips shaking and bucking between you and the wood behind her.

"Fucking hell, Sana." And your head is cocked, gaze pointing into the ceiling. "You’re so wet and tight - you’re cumming like you’ve never been touched once - I can’t fucking believe it."

"Y-you-you-you," she stutters, and you’re listening to the bolts and screws holding the stall door together start to grumble and complain. They’re not built for this kind of treatment, not meant to be pounded and punished beyond their breakpoints. Sana on the other hand—she falters, threads coming loose and cracking and falling apart—it only makes her more subdued, more fuckable, more perfect.

"I’m—" You toss your hands beneath her, readjusting your grip, and your lips are resting on her ear. "I’m going to cum inside you. I’m going to fucking use you."

She’s nodding into your shoulder, and it’s got her babbling and whimpering like she needs it even more than you. "Do it," she whispers, the first coherent thing out her mouth that wasn’t god, fuck or you in quite some time. "Do it, fill me up, please sir, cum inside my pussy—"

Knees locking and muscles burning, your fingers squeeze into her soft ass. They pull her to you, burying your cock deep into Sana’s cunt. "Fuck - Sana."

In that warmth, in the slopped mess of that fucked, used hole, you cum.

Sana coos when she feels that first rope of cum fill and pool inside her. She’s got her mouth gaping at the second and the third, and she keeps pleading like at this point you’ve got any choice in the matter, "Please sir - fuck all that cum into me - I need it - please."

Your eyes are shut tight, and your orgasm has you counting the stars in your eyelids, all of that tinnitus of blood rushing between your ears. Call it impropriety, unprofessional—you’re not arguing with any of that; it’s beyond logic; you’re just like the girl in your arms: ruined, fucked.

There’s all this mess between your hips, stains at the hem of Sana’s dress, and you’re still thrusting, slowed and deliberate now, and you’re reeling as you unload everything inside Sana. Your lips part, though nothing really comes out, just a long groan, and soon you’re laughing, returning back into reality—which at this point, it’s just the restroom, and it smells so badly of sex, beyond the harsh odor of cleaning agents. It’s bad, it’s that obvious.

One final shared groan—your voices trembling in unison on two wildly different sounds—fills the restroom when your cock slips out from between Sana’s wet, swollen lips.

"Jesus." Sana slides from your grip, lands on her feet, and barely finds her balance on her heels, knees bowed and wobbling as she straightens herself out. She wipes a few stray tears from her eyes and pulls her dress back down her thighs to somewhere slightly more modest, always a familiar challenge. "That was something."

You sink backward into the stall’s firm embrace, clearing your voice a few times. "Yeah," you start, and you realize you need more time to pant and huff your way back to anything presentable. "Okay. Five minutes. Walk out of here no sooner than five minutes after me."

"What?" Sana asks, and she crosses her legs, leaning back and sliding down the stall wall a few inches. "Are you that afraid someone’s gonna find out you just had your dick in me?"

"I mean, sure, it’s one fear." It’s all the dominos you have lined up after that, how they might fall. "Believe me, the last thing I need is Nayeon and Dahyun getting suspicious and—"

"They can kick rocks," says Sana, raking her fingers through her hair until it sits on her shoulders more or less how it was before you’d gotten your hands in it, all tossed and ruffled. "Besides they’d just be jealous they’ve never been fucked like that in their short, sorry lives."

You lean forward, smirking. "Oh? Fucked like what?"

"Don’t flatter yourself." She says it like it insults her, but the breathy laugh she holds back gives her away. "You’re the one who’s always saying, it’s unbecoming to gloat."

"Well, it isn’t my job to be becoming now is it?"

"Hey," she says, uninterested in the banter, taking a step through all the back and forth, and she leans into you, close enough to where you can see all those small, dangerous details again.

A few of the hints now inches in front of you become pretty recognizable: those few strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her brow, the smudges of mascara around her eyes, the way her knees buckle just a little when she shifts her weight—if anything, the rosy flush in her cheeks could be explained away with whatever she was sipping on minutes ago. But the mess leaking down her thighs? That was going need to some extra attention, and maybe a few tissues.

"This is the ladies’ room." Her head tilts, and you watch her hair fall on her cheek again. "You should totally, like, get out of here."

"Yeah. That’s what I was saying."

"Seriously." Her eyes light up and her teeth worry the corner of her lip. "I might just start touching you again if you don’t."

-

You figure all that guilt and anxiety was going to be there waiting for you in the morning. So for now, there’s this strange calm you find in the sound of tires hitting wet pavement and the smell of fresh rain on the wind. Though the evening crowd had started to thin, a few people are still out—couples mostly, holding hands, sharing umbrellas to satisfy some romantic hankering or another; you’re pretty sure it had stopped raining a while ago.

"You called two cars?" Sana asks, finger on her chin, "What’s the fun in that?"

"None, probably."

"Well that’s…" her voice trails off and her eyes narrow alongside this mild grin, "How are you supposed to walk me to my front door, you know, stand there with your hands behind your back, wait for a kiss, and then hang around missing all these queues that you should leave—until I finally decide to let you up for coffee even though it’s late and it’s a little too soon to be letting you stay the night and we’ve got work in the morning and—

"I’m sure you’ll manage." You snuff out the thought before it can brew any further in your mind—the power of restraint coming to you now apparently. Timely.

"Well it’s not like you live that far from me," says Sana, running her thumb over her lips and looking at how that fresh application of lipstick bleeds onto it. To her credit, she’d spent some time touching up after you pulled yourself off her tight, well-fucked body and before you watched her appear on the sidewalk outside the bar. Her lips pull back into a smile, and she clicks her tongue against her teeth. "It’s, like, eco-friendly or something."

"Uh-huh."

"It’s good for the Earth. You gotta be pro-Earth. I mean, everyone’s pro-Earth."

A train arrives in the station, metal brakes screeching on the tracks, and you ball up both hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Since when do you know where I live?"

"Well, to be honest," she starts like she’s about to set some record straight and wipes a strand of loose hair out of her face, "I don’t. But Dahyun walked home from your place one time. And I doubt you’d ever make her walk far. Let’s not mince words here—you really spoiled her."

"For starters, I never had to delete homemade porn off her phone." Your eyes are pointed to the sky while you try to remember if that checks out. And it does. "If I was lenient,"—which you were—"I dunno, maybe she earned it."

"Huh." Her eyes glisten, staring straight into yours. "I had no idea guys you guys were sleeping together—"

"Sana," you say, catching her eyes again. "We weren’t." It’s not a lie or anything, but the words are choking you on the way up like it were. "We aren’t." You clear your throat again. "We haven’t."

"Man—you really need to relax." Sana lets herself enjoy this quiet laugh that you barely hear over the sound of passengers arriving and boarding."Like I dunno, hear me out: maybe we both get in the first car that shows up, and we take it to your place, and you throw me on the bed, maybe over the back of the sofa, I don’t care; wherever you think—"

"I’m going home in one car," you say, turning a cigarette lighter over in your hand. "And you in the other."

"We could have at least made out in the back of the cab."

With this disappointed look on her face, Sana folds her arms and finds a spot against the station’s bricks to lean into, a knee pushed forward and one foot against the wall. Her skirt rises and ruffles just enough for you to get yet another glimpse of the gentle curves of her thighs—not that you’re trying to look.

She lets her cheek fall into her shoulder, eyes pointed at you, and gets on with this judgmental tone. "You smoke?"

"Rarely." You’ve got your hand cupping the end of the flame as it flickers in the breeze, protecting those embers until they finally catch and glow red. You hide the lighter in your pocket, and your posture straightens out an extra inch or two when you add, "only if I have a good reason."

"Oh? Then tell me; what’s the occasion?" she asks, and she smiles at you like she knows you’re pretending not to notice how pretty she is. "Are we celebrating? That’s kinda cute—"

"Stressed. Anxious." You inhale deeply. Let this sharp plume of smoke out. Then you bend your neck side to side a few times. "That kind of thing."

Sana takes a hint. She places her hands behind her back, leaning and looking into the sky, where rain clouds had rolled and tumbled out to let you peer into this vastly black sky—no stars, no moon, just an unending dark blanket of night. Neither of you say much; it’s pillow talk without all the chatter perhaps, and it’s comforting in a sense, a warm silence that you can wrap yourself up in. When you turn your head toward Sana, she surprises you for the hundredth time, the expression on her face so innocent and soft—it’s hard not to let her fool you.

"This one’s all yours," you say, and you nod toward the cab pulling up on the curb, tapping ash from your cigarette onto the ground.

Sana’s got her hand on the door and one knee in the backseat of the taxi when her eyes find yours one last time. "You sure? Last chance."

"I’ll see you tomorrow," you say, watching Sana shake her head and let out this muted laugh. "Oh and Sana, let’s—how about we try and keep our jobs. Okay?"

—

A look back across the table, and there she is—still. The model. Eunbi had told you as much, scrolling through photo after photo of this woman like she was trying to sell you a car.

At least she’s pretty.

It’s hardly the qualifier you wish it was, repeating it in your head over and over. You’d liken this to pulling teeth—but you’re willing to bet you’ve had better chemistry with your dentists. Despite a mouth full of utensils and consistently lying about how often you floss, it’s not like your conversations weren’t cordial.

The sharp clattering of silverware tossed on the plate in front of her rouses you from your idle thoughts.

You watch her eyes dart across the table and back to you. Fists clenched, her knuckles turn white. You can hardly hear the exasperated huff that billows out of her chest over the sound of chair legs scraping against the hardwood floor.

"You’re an ass," she spits.

You start to piece together how you’ll apologize to Eunbi—god knows she’ll hear about this—because at this point, you’d long exhausted whatever goodwill you still had for this woman. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Your words roll off your tongue faster than you could possibly hope to muster any kind of self control to contain them.

"Well, at least I’m not just an ass."

Dark red, dreadful really—a glassful of wine hurdles across the length of the dinner table. It’s just your luck. Realistically, it’s what you deserved. You’d thought this would be the kind of thing that might happen in slow-motion, a cathartic moment to question your life choices. In reality, it’s over in an instant. The table seemed so very long only seconds ago, but the drink sticking to your face, your shirt, in your hair, dripping down your nose, it makes you regret not being sat a few feet closer to the door.

"Prick."

You don’t dare open your eyes until the strident tap-tap-tap of those tall heels fades into the background noise of the restaurant, now almost silent, clearly watching this scene unfold with bated breath. You feel each pair of eyes crawling up your skin as it finds its way onto you. If there was a god, a merciful one, now would probably be as good a time as any to open the earth beneath your feet and swallow you whole.

You pull at your face with the palm of your hand, the alcohol out of your eyes, your nose, your mouth. You can hear the whispers shuffle around you. And upon finally opening your eyes, you find yourself centered on the world’s most damned stage, a spectacle for restaurant staff and patrons alike.

Mortifying.

There was good reason for the moratorium you’d put on letting Eunbi play at matchmaker. Quite a few actually. And you wish you’d have the wherewithal to remember any of them whenever she’d get that irresistible urge to ruin a perfectly good evening.

Truthfully, it’d been the same for as long as you can remember. Kwon Eunbi kept her friends close. And she’d fill her days pairing off everyone in her orbit, results be damned. Three relationships you’d since suffered. All born of Eunbi’s machinations. All inevitably folding, fumbling, crashing in spectacular fashion.

Things didn’t improve when she found fame either.

Even back in school, though you weren’t necessarily unpopular by any means—friendly, athletic, and smart enough to stay out of any serious trouble—compared to her, you may as well have been nobody. It certainly came as no surprise that she found her stride on stage, making a career of capturing hearts.

And with that, her life abruptly launched her into meeting no small number of fascinating people, as so eventually would you. But considering the ways these evenings consistently play out, it just never quite did seem to stick.

Your waitress leans in trying her best not to catch any of the gazes meant for you. "Would you like your check sir? And maybe a towel?"

A drop of red wine swells and drips from your nose to chin. The slow, labored breath you draw fills your cheeks on its way out. It’s the first time you’ve been this soaked at the end of a meal, but it’s far from your worst date.

—

You could’ve sworn it was just summer. The cool breeze setting on the streets catches you off guard. Though, the soaked shirt around your shoulders was hardly paying you any favors.

Eunbi shoves a hoodie into your chest. "What the hell did you do?"

"My best if I’m being honest," you say, ripping the tag off the sweatshirt. You can clearly see Eunbi’s eyes fill with contempt as you start to pluck at the buttons at the front of your sad, stained shirt.

"Jesus. You’re just going to give everyone a show?" Glaring, Eunbi wraps her fingers around your wrist and drags you off the sidewalk, her short hair bouncing in place. Pressed to answer, you’d say you missed those long, silky locks that used to tumble off her shoulders, but as it always was with Kwon Eunbi, and quite unfairly, everything looked good on her.

"Now talk."

"I mean there’s not really a whole lot to say." You wrestle your arms from your sleeves and search for the opening at the bottom of the sweatshirt. "I’m honestly more curious what made you think that would ever work out." Arms trapped in the sweatshirt over your head, you click your tongue against your teeth. "Eunbi. Eunbi—eyes up here."

"Oh piss off." Clenching her fingers into two tiny fists, she hides her scowl with a smirk. "What am I supposed to do now? You know the two of us are going to be filming again next week? I’ll need to say something."

Her questions marinate in terse silence while you give the hem of the shirt a final tug, snugly fitting it over your chest. "How much was the sweatshirt?"

Eunbi shakes her head and sends her hands to her hips, a pitied laugh falling out of her nose. "Forty bucks."

"But honestly, tell me." You dig the cash out of your wallet before slapping it into Eunbi’s open palm as you open your complaint. "You ever actually talk to her? I’d wager I’d have gotten on easier with an electrical outlet."

She soaks up your words, her thumbnail between her teeth. You watch her eyebrows twist into a familiar, pensive look. "Hardly—mostly on set, and about work."

"And somewhere in there you figured… Hey this would be a great idea," you say, arms stretching to the side.

"Look—I don’t know—I thought she was hot."

She was hot. And arrogant. And self-centered. And rude. And utterly miserable.

Eunbi shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "How hard is it to have a drink or two, go back to your apartment and get to knocking boots?"

You pause. The stray idea that Eunbi was imagining you—in any capacity—knocking boots? The inside of your cheek starts to burn as you bite into it. "Well we certainly didn’t make it that far."

"Yeah. No kidding." Eunbi glances at the time on her wrist and a laugh, dry and humorless, separates her words, "It’s not even nine-thirty."

"Believe me. I’m aware." Your shoulders indulge in a despondent sigh. "And I’m beyond ready to turn in. Where did you park?"

"By the 7-Eleven." She looks at you, gears churning behind her eyes."But I’m not taking you home yet. I’ve got at least another hour’s worth of dodging my manager to do."

You narrow your eyes. Maybe she’s toying with you—you wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to be wrapped up in your bed ready to greet the morning. Tomorrow had to be better than today. You aren’t Dante delving through the depths of hell for goodness’ sake. That isn’t your story.

You shout out as Eunbi starts making her way back onto the sidewalk, "And do what?"

"I don’t know. Take a walk. Explain to me why you can’t keep that tongue of yours on leash. I don’t care." Hands still buried in her jacket pockets, she flares her elbows to the sides in a pitiful shrug. "You made me grab you a change of clothes—the least you can do is help me kill some time."

—

You’d thought fresh air and getting up onto your feet might help you finally relax after an evening of stifled conversation. The reality is that under the twilight sky, walking aside her, it becomes noticeably difficult to breathe.

The park tucked between the city’s metro hub and its boardwalk of chic restaurants truly was the quintessential date spot. Fingers locked and sneaking kisses under the moon, the couples you keep seeing more than confirmed as much.

You can’t help but find it a little humiliating.

The two of you walk, shoulder to shoulder, leaving as wide a berth between you as the prim gardens along either side of the trail allowed. God forbid your fingers have the audacity to graze one another.

"Man. And she just stood up and threw it?" Eunbi stretches her arms over head, the faintest glimpse of her toned stomach peeking out beneath her shirt. "Nuts. I mean deserved maybe. But nuts."

"Yeah. Really. Straight out of a TV drama script, huh."

Eunbi looks up at you through the corner of her smoky lashes, smirking."Does that mean we’ll get to see you do a big Hollywood kiss in three or four episodes?"

"Either that," you say, "or I end up dead. Nothing in between."

She laughs, a perfect smile stretching across her face. "I doubt we could ever be so lucky—but I’m not going to rule you out as the character in a coma either."

Even though you become lost for words when your eyes linger in hers a moment too long, and your breath shortens when you hear her voice, Eunbi is stupidly easy to talk to. Always has been. Countless were the detentions you both served for pissing off so many of your teachers, constantly chatting and whispering during class.

On another stolen glance, you marvel at the contented look in her eyes. The dimples at the corners of her mouth, the wispy hairs that fly off her face just in front of her ears, that mark on her cheek, dotting each of her wonderful expressions like an exclamation point—you’re so damn weak to all of it.

A reprieve, you crane your neck, gazing up into the night sky. Hardly any stars out tonight, the moon’s too bright. The cicadas though—the cicadas are out. Not so unlike you, they gather and sing, in search of a little romance. God willing.

Both of you, hands in pockets, walk quietly. You listen simply to the soft sound of each other’s footsteps. The gravel grinds beneath your feet and the familiar feeling sets over you. Aching, throbbing, hurting, your heart begins to sink. It’s hardly the first time. You endure these moments, these tiny glimpses into a life you could never have. You’ve been friends for ages—but every chance you get to feel close to her, to look at her, you only realize she’s so far away.

Eunbi could make a thousand friends, introduce you to each and every one of them, and none of them would be her.

"Hey—" Your mouth dry and your voice hoarse, you split the overwhelming sound of the cicadas. "What about you?"

Eunbi keeps her head down, eyes locked on the trail in front of you. "What about me?"

"I mean, we’ve examined and dissected every way to midnight my love life is a complete and unmitigated disaster. What about you?"

Eunbi laughs under her breath. "You know how it is, company rule and all."

Ah, yes. That rule. The rule that was equal parts draconian and unenforceable. Such an impossible rule.

"Really? I guess I figured that was just some industry secret."

Eunbi stops in her tracks and looks at you, brow twisting inquisitively. "How do you mean?"

"Well," you say, stopping in your tracks, hands on your hips. "Talk about a perfect way to let a guy down easy. And to always have it in your back pocket? It’s genius really."

Eunbi’s chin jerks up at you, her eyes narrowed and her lips nearly curling into a grin. "You’ve always been too clever for your own good, you know that?"

She spins on her heel and moves to the empty bench at the side of the trail. You can barely hear the huff leaving her lips as she collapses onto it. Her face buried in her fingers, rubbing at her temples, she draws a heavy breath in through her nose and out the way it came.

Eunbi’s mouth opens, closes, and opens up again, eyes rolling toward you. Her voice navigates a dip into an uncharacteristic quiver, "Dating is fucking hard."

Yeah.

You probably knew it better than most, but the comment catches you by surprise nonetheless. You’d figured she’d never been in want of a boy to call her own. There was always someone. There was your classmate whose dad owned some big import company—first to get a car in your grade, notably last to pass his entrance exams. The upperclassman who had apparently trialed for the national volleyball team. Of course, the day he broke—no, tore?—something in his knee, you can’t say you were all too bummed to hear about it. And then there was that guy in university, never once abandoning that black leather jacket. Lord, the memory makes your stomach churn.

You square your shoulders to hers, hovering anxiously beside the bench. Judging by what you’ve seen so far in the park that evening, it’s decidedly a seat reserved for couples.

"You know, I always thought you seemed good at it."

Eunbi shoots you a flippant look and shakes her head. "Yeah. Just look at all my success."

"Maybe you just have bad taste in men."

Her brows furrow before she returns her eyes to the gravel. "Thanks. For the unsolicited advice. I’ll tuck that away somewhere."

"Look." You run your fingers through your hair, trying to figure out how you might walk back the careless remark. "I just mean… maybe you haven’t found the right guy yet. And you know he’ll adore you when you do."

Eunbi lets out a soft sigh, one that creates and fills its own silence. She places her hand beside her, patting the bench softly. "Sit down."

You’d hardly drank enough at dinner for your knees to wobble the way they do as you lower yourself onto the cold metal bench. Staring down at your feet reminds you of how much you looked like a total mess—dress shoes, pleated pants, a hoodie, the wine still stuck and stained in your hair. But it hardly mattered. Even your Sunday best would pale miserably in comparison to her.

When your wits return to you enough to face the woman sitting past your shoulder, you stumble directly into Eunbi’s piercing gaze. Her head resting on her hand, she closes her eyes briefly and draws a slow, purposeful breath.

"What all have you figured out?"

Your eyes narrow.

"Very little." You sink into a slouch, your hands finding warmth and safety again in your pockets. "But still you’re gonna have to narrow down the question for me."

She returns you a laugh that resembles air rushing through pipe more than any actual fit of laughter. "I mean when you meet someone new—what do you look for?"

Jesus. A breeze, heavy enough to rouse the old aching limbs of the trees above you, makes them creak and crack as though they too were responding to the question.

"Serious?"

She pulls her shoulders up into a tiny shrug.

"I dunno." You point the toes of your shoes inward toward one another, scraping gravel along the way. "What does anyone look for? Kind, smart, makes me laugh." You turn your eyes back to the sky and smile. "Extra points if she’s pretty."

Quietly, Eunbi shifts her weight parallel to yours, lazily sliding into an identical slouch. She tilts her head up, and you can see the reflection of the moon fill her eyes.

"Yeah, well." She puffs out another heavy breath and her lip—that perfectly glossed, tender, kissable lip—curls between her teeth. "You know I feel like I put you through a lot."

More than she’d ever know.

Her fingers tuck her short hair behind her ears. "Sometimes I wonder what motivates you to get back out there and try again. Whatever it is, I’m jealous. I wish I had it."

You pause, knowing what you want to say, but hardly how to say it.

"Guess I’m just… tired of watching all my friends find their other half. You can see it in the way they look at each other."

The way you look at Eunbi.

"Life’s simple right? I’m sure there’s someone out there for me. Hell, it’s kinda embarrassing, but sometimes I sit and wonder if they’re somewhere right now. Feeling the exact same thing."

Under these blasted stars—the fucking lack of them—you wonder how long you can possibly continue to play at this wicked game. For christ’s sake, Eunbi is sitting in arm’s reach and here you are blabbering like this.

Your voice trembles. "I just know—I want to be with someone who makes me happy." You lean forward, elbows resting on your knees. "Someone I want to make happy."

You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. Hell, even the cicadas, hushed and stilted, have contented themselves and are listening in. Should you have even had the courage to turn and face her, you’d sooner die than let Eunbi see the flush searing its way across the bridge of your nose.

"Hey."

That lilting voice, it grips you. It pulls your eyes over your shoulder. You can’t decide if you first need to cough, laugh or cry—perhaps all three. God only knows.

Eunbi pulls her knees into her chest and leans against the back of the bench, her sneakers pointing at you. "Do you remember that summer between grade ten and eleven?"

Like it was yesterday. You exhale a long breath through your nose. "Wh-what about it?"

Her cheeks stretch over the shy smile she saves for herself. "I think it was after summer classes ended—when all of us got into my parent’s liquor cabinet."

You swallow hard.

She runs her hands through her hair, letting it bounce perfectly back into place. "Gosh. What a nightmare that was."

"I just remember someone getting so sick I was wholly convinced they were going to die." You wet your lips with your tongue, pulling them back into a tight smile.

"Chaewon." Closing her eyes and grinning wide, she lets the memory wash over her. "Even all grown up, she’s hardly changed a bit."

Eunbi rolls her body forward, her arms wrapping around her shins—she’s pretty, she’s so wildly pretty. Her eyes find rest in yours with such ease it’s unfair. The flicker of the gas lamp behind you, dancing and glittering in those dark pools, it has you hopelessly seized.

"Well—before that—do you remember what I asked you? When we were playing those dumb drinking games?"

You look down. "You asked me who I liked."

With the toe of her shoe, Eunbi kicks a rock off the bench and you watch it roll into the trail. "Remember your answer?"

You remember feeling the flush boil behind your eyes and nearly steam out the top of your head. You remember hesitating for way longer than anybody else. You remember scrambling to cover your ass. Of course you remember your answer.

"Minju." You barely manage to choke it out.

Eunbi buries her face into the top of her knees, her half-lidded eyes peeking just out over the top of them. She smiles beneath her sleeve and her response rests on a whisper, "yep."

You can feel your ears begin to burn, your heart beating so fast it might rocket out of your chest.

"I-I-I remember you worked fast. You set us up dating before year eleven even started. You tricked us into going bowling." You fidget at the loose thread you’d found in your pocket. "What a shit-show that was, huh? I don’t know if there’s ever been a more toxic—"

"Did you mean it?"

You bite your lip, only releasing it upon the bitter taste of copper. Your voice is so choked up it nearly gets caught on the way out. "W-well clearly, it didn’t work out between us."

Eunbi sits herself up, her expression soft and entirely unreadable. "When you answered me—were you lying?"

You’d lied to Eunbi in that basement the same you’d lied to Eunbi a thousand times. You’d lied to Eunbi for years. For years. Something despicable, something uncontrollable moves you to push it off your chest, gasping.

Yes.

The word leaving your mouth pulls with it the last breath out of your sail. Your stomach twists. Your fingers feel slow as you open and close them into tight fists atop your thighs.

Eunbi’s eyes return down, along her cheeks. She folds her fingers delicately atop her knees and her voice leaks beneath her breath, "thought so."

Life’s simple right? You’re sure there’s someone out there for you. Hell, it’s kinda embarrassing, but sometimes you sit and wonder if they’re somewhere right now, feeling the exact same thing.

Like wildfire, a dumb, obstinate courage you’ve never dared entertain moves through you as you navigate the distance between you. Your chest heaves and shudders. A finger under her chin turns her head to you. Eyes widen, eyebrows jump, and you press your lips to hers.

Softly, you feel her. You taste her. You hold her.

But you don’t dare to open your eyes.

You’d shared so many kisses with so many others. Yet it’s this one—this plain, chaste, motionless kiss—it sunders your thoughts and sends your head spinning.

Like a razor’s edge you feel the fingers of each and every emotion clawing at your chest. Joy; anxiety; sadness; helplessness; frustration; hopelessness; emptiness; fear; they knock in unison on the door to your thoughts, louder and louder as you hold Eunbi’s lips in yours.

Your heart swells and aches so profusely you want to die. But you can’t die. You can’t die, not yet. You need to feel the swell of Eunbi’s lips just a touch longer. Those lips that were out of reach. You can feel them. You can feel them tremble. You can feel them—because in this stolen moment—they are yours.

Eunbi shivers. Her chin between your fingers, you hold her face tight to yours, but your lips part. The space between your mouths slowly fills with short, hot breaths.

Eunbi’s eyes are wide, searching with urgency for something. "What are you doing?"

"I—"

Your stomach drops.

"—I don’t know." Your response carries your honesty, your dishonesty all wrapped up together in the simple, pained admission.

It simply isn’t fair. You regret meeting her. You regret suffering the fact that every girl you ever know, every girl you ever kiss, every girl you ever love, you compare to her. You regret keeping her in your life so closely—so impossibly beyond your reach. You regret letting her ruin you.

Eunbi places a clenched fist on your shoulder. Her eyes welling with tears and closing tightly, a whisper leaves her lips, "What are you doing?"

"Eunbi…" Why must even her name make you falter? You look for an explanation, some foot to put forward, but your thoughts are only filled with her. "I—"

Her voice, neither firm nor resolute, rasps on an anguished breath, "again."

"What?"

Always your mouth moved faster than it should.

Eunbi opens her eyes, shining, glistening. A series of long, anguished blinks punctuates her request. "Kiss me—again—please."

It’s not real. It can’t be. It’s not real. You repeat it in your head. But the silky touch of her hair on your fingertips, the shallow breaths on your lips, your nose against hers. It feels real.

Your fingers meet the backs of her ears and you find her lips again. Tickling you on each pass, her long lashes flutter against yours before firmly resting shut. Slowly, Eunbi moves her knees from between you off to the side, your bodies twisting and turning to meet the urgency of your kiss.

She buries her hands in your hair as her voice quivers over a series of tension-filled hums. Sinking backward, her hands pull you along with her until the two of you are nearly horizontal on the bench, her weight only supported by a precariously perched elbow.

Your mouths pull and press against one another. The brief moments between your kisses create a vacuum of air between your lips that every muscle in your body demands be closed again—soft, smacking sounds ringing midst them. You need more of it, that light candy flavor on her lips, the smell of her coconut shampoo, her silky hair running between your fingers. You need it more than you’d ever imagined.

Eunbi’s fingers wrap around the thick fabric of your sweatshirt, clinging to you and holding onto you like her life depends on it. Her soft moan, locked between your mouths, coaxes your lips to part. Eunbi’s narrow tongue slowly teases and toys at your lips, your teeth, your tongue.

So overwhelmed are you with everything you feel, everything you touch, that a noise beyond your wet lips, your shuddered moans and hums—a whistling—goes nearly unnoticed. You know the noise. It wanders across a range of notes whose purpose is simply to be heard.

To her visible, flustered frustration, you pull away against the fingers on your clothes and yourself off of Eunbi's lips enough to set your eyes on a man, casually making his way down the trail toward you.

No words exchange between you. Only the staccato panting of the man’s dog and the droning buzz of cicadas fills the strained silence as he passes. You offer him a polite, tight-lipped smile. But the man simply brings his face to the sky, hardly interested in what it was that made your heart race.

Into the night his footsteps vanish.

Eunbi’s fingers hold your jaw and turn you back down to her. Catching her breath, she leaps into the quiet pause. "Your cheeks are very red."

Licking at the inside of your dried mouth, you swallow the lump in your throat. "Talk about embarrassing."

"Don’t worry," Eunbi says, smiling, "It’s probably not even the worst thing he’s seen tonight."

Chuckling, you bring your elbows to either side of Eunbi’s face. It makes you pause, soaking in the beauty beneath you. You’d seen it, gotten lost in it, countless times, but never had you held it in your arms.

Her eyes dart from yours to your lips, presumably imagining the things she might do to them, the things she might do to you. She leans herself up, her expression steeled and determined. But even with every reason to be the most confident woman in the world, Eunbi stutters through the question.

"Can we…" She bites her lip and her eyebrows express an anxious stare you’ve seldom seen. "Go somewhere?"

A thousand times yes. The fact that you’d make any girl nervous has your heart rocking back and forth on its toes. The fact that it’s Kwon Eunbi whose breath you steal makes you dizzy.

—

It’d have probably been prudent for the car to be equipped with its own lights, siren and everything. From the moment you sped out of the 7-eleven parking lot, Eunbi drove like it was an emergency.

Her finger taps incessantly atop the steering wheel. Each intersection might as well be an obstacle placed by some cruel god—probably the same one who refused to smite you earlier. You’ve been to her apartment more times than you count. Hell, you helped her move into it. But as Eunbi’s foot reaches recklessly onto the gas pedal, your chest tightens.

Rows of houses, apartments, restaurants, cafes, groceries pass out the window before you realize the distinct emptiness in your hands.

You open your mouth, tongue clicking. "Ah."

"Yeah?" Eunbi asks, "something on your mind?"

"I forgot my shirt."

The car rolls to a stop in her building’s garage. Eunbi’s key turns in the ignition and the headlights click off, the dull hum of the car’s machinery disappearing along with them.

"On the bench?"

You pause. "Yeah."

Eunbi looks at you from under her lashes with a stare both equally concerned and frustrated. "You wanna go back?"

You take in a slow breath as her question registers in your head. "No, I… It’s irreparably stained anyway I imagine," you respond. "You saw it didn’t you? Just absolutely drenched."

Eunbi leans over the center console, seizes your lips with hers, and sucks hard at your bottom lip before pulling hers away as confidently as they came.

"I did." She smirks. "And so am I."

She’s again on you the instant you slam close the passenger side door. And unless you two were going to do it on the concrete floor of the parking garage, you have to lift her into your arms.

The echoey garage, the painfully slow elevator ride, the hallway to her unit—your clumsy union finds no reprieve as you and Eunbi stumble your way into her apartment. Setting her down and kicking your shoes off somewhere behind you, your hands roam the curves of Eunbi’s body, the shape of her beauty. Feeling your fingertips hover anxiously against her chest, Eunbi pulls you by the wrists onto her t-shirt, begging you to knead and caress her breasts in your hands.

A small yelp escapes Eunbi’s throat as you push her back firmly against the wall. She was someone you’d pined for as long as you remember, but the lust, the need to have her, it’s stronger than it’s ever been. And judging by the way Eunbi’s waist bucks and grinds along your thigh, her calves quietly rubbing together, you’d guess she recognized that feeling all the same.

Eunbi runs her hands beneath your sweatshirt, her cool palms landing squarely on your chest and her thumbs grazing your nipples. Navigating her fingers beneath the thick, bulky fabric, she pulls and lifts until your arms are up over your head.

"Fuck," she whispers under her breath, biting her nail and letting her eyes wander your body.

"Eunbi," you tease, "eyes up…"

In an instant, she pulls her shirt over her head so quickly that you struggle to make it to the end of the jeer. You’re stunned. It’s impossible to decide if she looks good in her underwear, or if her underwear looks good on her. She crosses her arms in front of her faultlessly smooth stomach, gathering her cleavage for you.

Drinking it in, your bottom lip curls behind your teeth as you search impossibly for any one place to rest your eyes. Dumbfounded, you land unconvincingly at the end of your usual taunt, "—here."

A smug smile stretches across her face, quickly descending on you. "That’s what I thought."

The skin on her chest, her arms, her stomach against you is only cold to the touch for a moment. Your tongues flick past one another, neither contented to their usual residence as Eunbi wrestles under your weight. One hand buried in your hair, the other looking to the belt around your waist, she squirms beneath you.

Gathering her delicate wrists in a quick motion, holding them barely above her head against the wall, you whisper against her ear, "No. Not yet."

She whines as the tips of your fingers reach down the front rise of her pants. Eunbi wasn’t lying. The thin fabric between her legs is drenched. Though lucky for her, you can more than sympathize. You break your kiss, circling your fingers firmly against her mound, watching closely the varied expressions of frustration and pleasure fill out across that perfect face.

"You—" Eunbi lets out an adorable squeal as you push your fingers dangerously against her entrance. Her voice squeaks out again, "you."

You drag your nails lightly over the fabric and Eunbi shudders. Your lips kissing and caressing its folds, you whisper again in her ear, "talk to me Eunbi."

"Y-you," she whimpers, her mouth curving into a wide smile, "you—reek so badly—of wine."

She starts laughing as you release her hands from above her head. You check the backs of your wrists and hesitantly under your arms with your nose. Sure enough, the sickly sweet smell of that night’s calamity stings your nostrils. It was after all that mess that got you into this mess.

Your fingers sift through your hair, feeling again the dried sugar still residing in it. You laugh as it dawns on you. "Yeah—my bad, huh."

Eunbi’s arms relax around your shoulders and you swear her warm smile could very well send you melting onto the floor. "C’mon, I’ll get you a towel."

—

Steam rises off your shoulders, and for the first time since you’d left your apartment that afternoon, you feel clean, at ease even. A strange turn of events, but ultimately, wish granted you suppose.

You look around, studying the pattern of the small gray tiles along the wall in front of you.

Truthfully, there are few things as disconcerting as being in an unfamiliar shower, what with the foreign controls, the angle of the shower head, the pressure, the temperature, a variety of hair and skin products you feel you ought to be able to recognize. Though as it were, none of that mattered. This was Eunbi’s shower.

Sliding to the side, the glass door rattles in its track behind you.

Slowly, Eunbi’s delicate hands wrap around your chest and waist. Her fingernails gently drag along your skin and send bolts of anticipation crackling down your neck. You can feel her cheek lean into the space between your shoulder blades, her soft breasts pressing tightly into your back. The only thing keeping you from turning around and requiting the embrace is your commitment to hiding that dumb grin you're wearing.

She reaches her hands in front of you, cups them and collects a handful of water. "Are you clean?"

You let yourself laugh. "Still getting there."

She splashes the water against your stomach, gathering between her fingers the soap you’d lathered across it. Her fingers splay over the muscles of your chest as she admires the shape of your body. You feel as Eunbi’s lips drag along your back, not quite ever forming the kisses you craved.

"You know…" Eunbi’s voice surrounds you, echoing off the shower tiles. "Before everyone’s lives got hectic and busy, us girls—we’d often get together and chat. Any idea what we’d talk about?"

"Why would I?"

"Because you’re clever." Eunbi nestles her nose into your shoulder. "School, clothes, music—boys."

You knew very well what she was talking about. The content of those conversations filled your dreams and nightmares all the same. You let out a nervous hum as you shift your weight between your feet.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, more than contented to play dumb.

Eunbi draws circles over the muscles of your stomach as she plants a soft kiss into your shoulder. "For years… I listened to them talk about you."

You swallow hard, finding the sharp drain grate of the shower an unwelcome companion for the bottom of your foot.

"First it was Minju, then it was Hyewon—and Sakura," Eunbi says, running her hands along your chest, "you know how much of a gossip she can be."

An anxious chuckle betrays you. "Hear any good stories?"

"Well… a lot of complaints actually. Valentine’s, birthdays, anniversaries…" Eunbi pushes her hips into yours, the sharp corner of her pelvic bone reaching into the cushion of your butt. "You always were rather inconsiderate—or forgetful, maybe both."

You try to interject, "well it wasn’t always clear—"

"You know what’s interesting though?" Eunbi plants a trail of kisses down the nape of your neck. Her hands sliding along your sides and across your thighs, she wraps herself around you. "They would all wax lyrical—about this."

As fast as they are gentle, Eunbi’s slender fingers find their way around your cock. She pulls your sensitive skin taut in one hand, and strokes you leisurely in the other.

The unremitting buzz of the shower head, pouring hot water onto your chest, is cut by the groan that heaves from deep inside your lungs. Eunbi had just dragged a whole host of bittersweet memories right in front of your nose. In any other context, reminiscing over any one of those old flames would be enough to ruin an entire day. But your thoughts are only able to concern themselves with the woman at your back, holding you delicately in her fingers—and Eunbi knows it.

You can feel her soft lips as they graze along the ridge of your spine, finding their way across its bony divots. Effortlessly she stirs your cock firm and upright, her thumb teasing across its tip.

"For years." She again finds her cheek against your shoulder.

You reach your hands behind you, holding onto Eunbi’s thighs as you melt in her embrace. The two of you stand nearly motionless beyond your fingers pressing into the smooth skin of her legs and hers around you. Only the sound of water falling to the floor fills the moment.

You turn slowly. The water turns to steam along your neck, along your shoulders and back as you shield Eunbi from it. Short-lived is the departure of her hands on your cock—immediately finding their way back to your aching length, teasing, caressing, stroking, pumping.

Eunbi’s half-lidded eyes linger and slowly dip. Her teeth worry gently at the swell of her lower lip. The tilt of her head mirrors opposite of yours. You’d only seen it a handful of times, and never before today, but you’d have been a fool not to recognize the expression that sits on Eunbi’s face, demanding your kiss.

Once, twice, three times you find her lips with yours before lifting your chin and grabbing the bottle of coconut shampoo from the wooden shower caddie beside you. "Still gotta get this mess out of my hair sweetheart…"

Eunbi’s eyes dart between yours, frustrated at first, and then slowly calming into their usual soft, beguiling selves. She smiles, punctuating her words with kisses down your chest. "Please. Do take your time."

Her knees bend, her shoulders sink, and in no timid effort, She breathes you in. Her hand firmly at its base, Eunbi’s mouth ventures along your length. Its heat, softness, wetness—that tongue—it overwhelms you. Your only lament is that you’d need to brave the shampoo just above your eyes to see it.

But you can hear it. And you can certainly feel it. Eunbi’s lips seal themselves noisily around your throbbing length. Your breathing tightens and your heart races. Her hand slides along your shaft, picking up in between her fingers water and spit alike. The slick mixture around you, her grip tightening, loosening, tightening again, Eunbi delivers pleasure exquisite.

"Mnph." The sound coming from her throat echos around the shower, now chalk full of steam. Reaching a point of difficulty as she swallows you, she redoubles her efforts. Her tongue teases and darts under your sensitive tip. Her mouth twists around your throbbing cock, and her fingers, eager to please, follow along with it.

"Shit—that feels so good," you hiss.

Eunbi pulls you out of her mouth, holding your length delicately between her finger tips and caressing your thighs.

"This feels good too doesn’t it?" She leads her tender lips, pressed firmly against your cock, from its tip to base. You can feel her nose tickle the soft underbelly of your shaft as her tongue massages and teases your balls.

"Fuck," you curse, lathering the soap in your hands

"But maybe—you like it more here, right?" Eunbi’s fingers grip tightly around the head of your cock. The tiny, minute, and dangerously fast motions of her wrist draw a heavy breath into your chest, sucked sharply past your teeth. "Oh yeah. He likes it here."

You run your fingers through your wet hair, scratching and rubbing that shampoo into your scalp as your knees struggle not to buckle and collapse. You lean back, the water pooling in your bangs, and it takes significant effort to not fall back head over heels.

"Mnnnph…" She hums as the heat of her mouth finds you again. Eunbi’s fingers fan out along your hips and her mouth pushes slowly down your length, her lips nearly kissing your crotch. Her head nods gently as she tries to take you—all of you. It sends your voice reeling through a needy groan, the sound of water splashing to the floor around you.

"Eunbi—fuck." Your teeth grit. Your eyes clench tight. You can hear the tension building in your ears. And for christ’s sake you can feel the shampoo hovering in your brows, ready to blind you. You aren’t going to let Eunbi make you cum and not even be around to see it. You take a step back, your cock popping from her mouth, a strand of saliva glistening along with it.

"You—are fucking good at that," you say between ragged breaths, wiping at your brow with the backs of your forearms. Your hands over your shoulder, you turn slightly to rinse the shampoo from between your fingers.

Eunbi shoots you a mischievous smile, fingernail between her teeth."I’d hate to think I listened to Sakura drone on and on about how she’d get you off for nothing."

"She always was… passionate."

"Yeah. I heard." Eunbi sinks onto her knees, her perfect smile beaming up at you. She runs her fingers through her hair, now wetting into dark, thick bundles. "I don’t know if I can take you like she could though—or at least how she described it."

At this point, you’re too damn wound up to feel embarrassed.

Eunbi’s voice lilts as she taps a finger to her chin, "But I can’t remember…"

She shuffles her weight forward, hands at her ribs, pressing her flushed, burgeoning breasts together into an impossibly inviting cleavage. You can feel your eyes dilating at the sight.

Eunbi’s grin stretches from ear to ear. "What do you think? Do you think any of those girls might’ve ever mentioned anything about fucking you with their tits?"

"I don’t think they did," you mutter under your breath, entirely transfixed on the image of Eunbi squashing her ample breasts between her hands.

"Well in that case…" Eunbi smirks and nods over your shoulder. "Grab the conditioner behind you. Pink bottle."

Eunbi was absolutely stunning. And it wasn’t as though it were some well-guarded secret. Cute, sexy, elegant all bundled into one breathtaking package—there’s no reason why Eunbi wouldn’t know it just as well as you. This cramped shower, hot water beating on your back, it made for the world’s most wonderful stage. And with the confidence and gravitas that only a beauty of her caliber might possess, Eunbi knew how to perform.

Eunbi watches your eyes closely, fixated hopelessly on her fingers, lathering the conditioner all over her chest. Her breasts become sleek and glisten as her fingers work the slick lumps of gel into her skin.

"Tell me." Eunbi’s eyes pull you into hers. "Do you like my tits?"

You let a single, effortless laugh. "Fuck me, who wouldn’t?"

"How do you think you’ll like your cock between them?"

Instinctively, and certainly without instruction, you find yourself bending at the knees.

Tucking her chin into her chest, she raises herself up to your waist and envelops you. You’d always known Eunbi was well endowed. Flustering yourself as you watched her run in a loose fitting tank top; stealing a glance down the collar of a shirt; the summer all your friends practically lived out of Chaewon’s backyard pool; you’d always known. But you’d never imagined that it would be your cock—not a necklace or a button—staring back at you from between this magnificent pair.

Eunbi’s smile couldn’t be any larger, her eyes any wider, while she watches you writhe between her. She cups and lifts herself around you, caressing and stroking your length, all while keeping her gaze painfully on you.

"Fucking hell, Eunbi. I’ve never—" you shudder, your words lost in pleasure.

"Never? Really?" Her voice feigns a certain innocence, teasing you, "Then—do you like it… fast?" She hurriedly moves her slick breasts around your length, reveling in the lewd noises of the makeshift lubricant slipping and squelching around you. "Or maybe… you prefer it really slow." Her elbows swing to the sides, pressing her cleavage tight around you. It creates a warmth, a tightness, a bliss that you’d only ever figured you’d find between her legs.

"So fucking good," you release over the top of a wistful sigh, slowly bucking your hips into her immaculate cleavage.

"What if I stick out my tongue like this?"

It’s too much. You were on puppet strings in her hands, her breasts. She could ask you to walk into traffic and you’d at least consider it. Jerking, tugging, pulling, Eunbi hardly allows for any rest in her assault. You’d already been close to losing yourself in her mouth moments ago and you feel that urge to hold your breath and close your eyes once more flood your thoughts.

"Tell me—when—you’re going to cum," Eunbi says between quiet hums and pitched moans of her own, focused heavily on everything happening between her hands, "I want to swallow it."

Jesus-mother-cunting-christ. She might as well have just asked for it then and there. You push out a single breath, nearly panting as the word travels on it. "Yeah."

Eunbi looks up from her breasts, slightly bewildered. "Yeah? Yeah what?"

You nod your head, lips pursed, struggling for breaths.

Needing a moment to realize what she’d done—what she was capable of—she gives you a blank stare, eyebrows twisting like question marks. She’s just too damn cute. Lord knows the idea of letting yourself release onto her tongue and down her throat was appealing as all hell, but you aren’t going to make it.

At the bottom of her stroke, your cock drowning in the soft, heavy mounds around it, you finally let go. You pump yourself into her chest, each throbbing pulse of cum joining the sloppy mixture of liquids between her breasts. Your hips buck and your knees wobble. Holding herself still tightly around you, Eunbi doesn’t even realize it. She’d brought you to your orgasm without even realizing it. Truly, how fitting.

Eunbi, watching you wither and crumple, looks back into her breasts, only now realizing what she’d made you do. "This—this… Oh. Oh. Oh!"

She takes you again into her mouth, sucking and pulling at whatever you have left—as if most of your load wasn’t already between her tits, splashing to the floor and down the drain.

"Eunbi." You begin to rouse yourself back into reality.

She makes no effort to stop. Her cheeks hollow as she works mercilessly at your tip. It feels incredible, just as it had before, right up until the point it starts to ache.

"Ack! Eunbi—please!" You shuffle backward clumsily, practically dragging her across the tile floor with you.

Her mouth finally leaves your sensitive cock with a loud pop and her eyes shoot you a look most mischievous. She stands, fitting perfectly in your arms and starts to laugh.

Your hands wrap around her waist. "Good god. You’re gonna kill me."

"I would never." Placing kisses into your collarbone, Eunbi reaches her hands under your shoulders and finds a place to clean up in the water behind you.

Rubbing on Eunbi’s slippery breasts, your chest heaves as you catch your breath. Laughing into the woman entangled in your arms, with your noses nearly touching, she gives you a single, loud, smacking kiss, swift and efficient. Her fingers wrap gently around your poor length while she pulls stubborn strands of hair out of her face.

"You know you’re still very hard?"

Always a blessing and a curse. You reach your hand onto the back of your neck as you try to come up with a good way to phrase your candor.

"It’s what you do to me—if I’m honest."

"Well, if that’s the case." Eunbi’s arms wrap around your shoulders, her face coming close enough to feel her breath on your lips. "I like honest."

Before she can kiss you, you reach your hand down between Eunbi’s thighs and find her swollen bud with the pad of your fingertip. The wetness you feel with your hand could be from anything at this point, but you’d reckon the coarse, punched out breath that leaves her open mouth was as sure a sign as any.

"Looks like—you’re every bit as honest as I am Eunbi."

Another groan, needy and obscene, leaks from her lips as you drag the length of your finger between her folds, taunting her aching entrance with the firmness of your fingers. Her dark, round eyes clench shut.

"It feels r-really—" she gasps and slowly turns the pained look on her face into a smile. "—really good."

You twist your wrist, your hand gliding, your fingers reaching. The skin at your touch swells and aches. And with your fingertips, you tease Eunbi’s entrance, the shallow depths of her warmth.

"Fuck." The word barely makes its way into a whisper. Eunbi bites gently onto the corner of her lip and rests her eyes in yours—her expression full of need.

You tease your thumb—its flat, unforgiving pad—all across her entrance. "Should I go… deeper?"

You can see Eunbi’s mouth open for a moment, only before closing again. Her silent response becomes the fingers she reaches around your cock, pumping you leisurely between your stomachs. Her hips start to fidget and roll against you, finding everything they demand on the shape of your fingertips. You feel her thumb, teasing the tip of your cock, coax a sheen of pre-cum into her fingers.

Reaching your hand behind her, you pull her close. The soft, pliable skin of her ass fills between your fingers. She yelps as you press her into you. Slowly, Eunbi lifts a leg—the long limb becoming wrapped and entangled around the back of your thigh. In a quiet movement, she pulls your hand away from her slicked entrance, shoulders shuddering as it leaves her aching mound.

A look of pure, unbridled desire sets across Eunbi’s face, her long lashes barely masking the lust in her eyes. Her voice quivers, "I want you—in me."

Your knees bend and Eunbi’s toes curl as she lifts herself up onto the balls of her feet. And in a single, reprehensibly brief moment, she surrounds you.

Eunbi gasps, her eyes shut tight. She wraps her arms around you, falling backward until her shoulders rest against the cold tiles of the shower wall.

It takes you but a moment, your frenzied thoughts rushing to find themselves at her side. Your words nearly trip over themselves, asking, "Are you okay?"

She tucks her lips in, nodding through the pain, the pleasure. The long, unsteady breath you both draw rips from your rigid anticipation. Exhaling through puckered lips, Eunbi’s chest relaxes first, the tension evaporating into the steam above your shoulders.

Gently, you rock your hips—the unspeakable warmth enveloping around you. Your forehead against hers, you feel her breaths, punched and tight, roll past your nose and onto your cheeks.

"Eunbi." Her name spills from your lips uncontrollably.

She whines. She mewls. And her eyes open. Your own reflection greeting you in those dark pools.

"Kiss me. Please."

Beneath the shower head, a silver cloud of hot, steaming rain, you feel joy. The water beating at your back wraps you in a cocoon of warmth. The embrace around you, pulling you tight, cradles your bruised and swollen heart. It’s her, it’s always been her, it’s Eunbi—who forever seemed impossibly out of reach—she’s close. She’s so incredibly close. And it’s everything.

Your hips buck and your legs flex. Eunbi’s urgent need to find the back of your mouth with her tongue is betrayed by the indecent moan she lets resound between the shower walls. You set onto a dangerous rhythm, your hips crashing wildly into hers.

"yes—yes—yes." Eunbi’s voice hides beneath her breath as her eyebrows twist, bewildered and astonished at the pleasure you brew between her legs. She runs her lips along your neck, under the skin of your jaw, tickling your cheeks and finding your ear. A stream of curses tickles your thoughts and your name on her lips becomes a prayer.

How many times have you heard your own name—not knowing it could sound like this?

You drive yourself into that wet, inviting heat again and again. With your weight against her, she starts to slip, sliding down the wall behind her. Your hands reach beneath her, and in an elaborate yet clumsy motion, you scoop her knees over your forearms and she clings tight around your neck. Your body flush against Eunbi, and hers pinned to the tile in front of you, your hips beat against the flush skin on the backs of her thighs.

Eunbi turns her face to the side, gasping for breath. "Fuck!—you are so deep!—so fucking deep!"

She struggles to keep up with you, her frantic, pitiful kisses falling off your lips, your cheeks, your chin. Each stroke into the staggeringly-tight depths of her pussy engulfs your cock in such perfect, overwhelming warmth. The way she takes you, the way she completes you—it’s beyond magical, it’s divine.

"Please, please—please don’t stop." Eunbi’s fingernails dig into your back, searching desperately for release. Her breaths, coming in fits and starts, fill the air between you."Please—more—give it to me!"

Your face flush, your arms burning, sweat beading and disappearing amidst the steam, you press your fingers into her firm ass, stretching her wide for your motion. There’s no comparison—every girl you’d ever known, every girl you’d ever kissed, every girl you’d ever loved—they would never be her.

"Fuck—fuck—fuck! You’re going to make me—"

Eunbi’s face freezes, anguished and caught on a mute note of stupefying emotion. Her head snaps backward, her muscles tense, her feet dig into your thighs, and she quivers in your arms. She pulls you into her, into an impossible tightness—a closeness only you two could share.

"Eunbi—" you moan through gritted teeth as if she was in any state to hear you out.

Her name is all that can venture off your tongue as you let the sensations flood through you. You rest your weary face into the soft skin on her neck as the walls come down around you.

A final stroke, deep and unrelenting, into the desperate grasp of Eunbi’s clenching cunt immediately draws your fate. She quivers and trembles around the eruptions of hot cum you send deep into her body. You quickly feel it pool and fill around your aching shaft. Once unshackled by the silent crescendo of her release, Eunbi pushes lungfuls of lustful air past your ears.

There is hardly a calm in the world that compares to holding the woman you love in your arms. You’d stand here under the incessant hum of the shower head for eternity if your knees would allow it. But under your weight, under her weight, you feel your strength quickly wane.

Your amorous embrace, as perfect as it is, collapses. Your entanglement, your limbs hazarded in one other, lands fatigued in the puddles at your feet.

Eunbi wiggles herself to somewhere half-way comfortable, stroking her fingers through your hair. "Fuck me—I never imagined it like that."

Your breath still ragged and exasperated, you pant hard. You splash your hand in one of the pools of water on the floor next to you. "Yeah—I guessed it might be steamy, but—"

Eunbi pulls your face against hers, depriving you of that opportunity to make her eyes roll.

Tightly she holds you, your kiss filling holes in your heart. She will always take your breath away, steal your words when your eyes meet—but right now—she’s yours.

Eunbi parts her lips from you, and her eyes search for everything she needs inside yours. "C’mon. It doesn’t count if we don’t do it in a bed."

—

A shoe. Your pants. Her underwear. Eunbi tosses everything into the laundry basket under her arm as she moves about the apartment in a huff.

She lets out a groan as she checks her watch.

"Fuck me—she’s going to be here any minute." She rushes into the laundry room, her voice trailing with her. "I told you to set an alarm."

You feel a little guilty.

You’d kept her up late—you’d kept each other up late—but you’re the one sitting just sipping coffee, without a care in the world.

"Can you try and look at least a little presentable? Or go hide in the closet or something?"

You run your fingers through your hair, hardly addressing the bedhead you’d woken up with. You give a hopeless shrug as you return the coffee mug to your lips.

"Whatever. Just don’t say anything weird—maybe—maybe, just don’t say anything."

The sun creeps through the windows of her apartment, filling the room with a golden glow. Eunbi draws the curtains and bathes the room in bright light. You wince as it hits your eyes, slowly adjusting to greet the morning.

A knock at the door grabs both of your attention, and Eunbi gives you one final anxious look of here we go before shuffling to answer it.

A woman, tall and callous—her manager presumably—enters the kitchen, a binder under her arms and her phone in her hand. She looks at you, eyebrow perking and back to Eunbi.

"Who’s this?" she asks, hardly looking past the screen of her phone.

Eunbi holds her thought for a moment, a visible flush on her cheeks. "—A friend."

The admission is honest, but your foolish heart finds it a little distant nonetheless.

"A friend?" The woman turns on her heel and hovers next to the kitchen table. Her imposing nature is hardly helped by the fact you’re sitting in your underpants. She gives you the world’s most disingenuous smile. "Well then. Mr. Friend. Here are the rules. First off, nothing—and I mean nothing—in public."

You certainly can’t imagine she’d be thrilled about you making out in a park—however brief.

"Two," she says, increasing the count on her fingers, "no love marks, hickies, bruises—what have you—where a camera might see them."

Over her shoulder you can see Eunbi hiding her face in her hands, practically dying of embarrassment, an uncharacteristic shade of red filling out her face.

"—And I swear to god, if you get this girl pregnant—You’ll be dead faster than you can say plan B."

Your words well in your throat. It was like you were seventeen again, getting a stern talking to from your girlfriend’s parents. "Y-Yes. Yes mam."

Eunbi’s voice, mortified, squeaks out from beneath her hands. "Don’t call her mam."

Her manager eyes you over one last time before turning to Eunbi. She whispers at a volume intended for you. "Just remember you’re playing with fire—now go finish getting ready. You’ve got a schedule that starts in an hour."

Eunbi gathers her wits, brushes herself off and marches into the bathroom. The gray tiles peeking through the open door effortlessly tease your memory.

Feeling your skin start to crawl, you sip your coffee again. It’s possibly the only thing normal about the scene in her kitchen.

The manager dumps her belongings on the kitchen table and sends her hands to her hips, her cool gaze fixed on you. "Whatever you do—don’t you dare break that girl’s heart. She’s a good soul."

Eyes are up from their desks, turning onto you, horrified maybe. Then again, your fists are clenched and your elbows locked as you maintain a pace that begs to break into a run. If there’s a scowl on your face, you doubt its efficacy all at the rainwater in your shoes squeaking on the end of every step.

A promotion was how it had all been pitched to you: fated, bound, hands tied to this incorrigible bag of hot air. If the ship’s going down, set to fail, you’ll be right there with her, and you can feel the water pooling at your feet, figuratively speaking.

-

"So?" Sana commits to the question once you’ve got yourself halfway through the door to your office, dripping wet. It’s unconvincingly casual. "You wanted to see me?"

A tragedy; in fact, you want nothing less, but it’s in the job description, a necessary evil. The baker bakes. The cobbler cobbles. And the manager manages, supposedly—you’ve mostly just been tearing your hair out.

"Honest to god," you say, and you’ve never meant it more in your life, "I think I’m starting to understand it now. This whole revolving door of staff and management these past couple months."

Sana tilts her head onto this inquisitive angle, and a bundle of copper hair falls across her cheek before getting dragged back behind her ear. "Oh? And what all did you figure out?"

"That you’re a royal pain in the ass," you answer, untangling your arms from the soaked sleeves of your coat. "And a lot more trouble than you’re worth."

"Well." The word is accompanied by a ridiculous sigh and the sound of her tongue clicking against her teeth. "You don’t suppose that’s on you? No one promised you it’d be easy."

There’s a quiet pause, Sana slants her lips into a smirk, and that’s more or less how it always starts between you.

"No one promised anything," you grumble.

Of course, the writing was on the wall, probably in big, bold letters too, you don’t know—you weren’t too interested in reading it—there were more important things on your mind. Fame; wealth; success; bragging rights; you’ll only let yourself call it hubris once you’ve really stepped in it, finally found something you couldn’t talk your way out of, come up with reason to believe there would be no digging yourself out. But until then—

"By the way…" Sana’s voice trails as she leans into the arm of the sofa, cheek resting on her hand, and then she furrows a manicured brow. "Why are you, like, totally soaked?"

You’re lenient or something, so it’s a question of your own you’ll trade with her, undoubtedly a better deal than she deserved. "Okay, sure then—let’s get into it. What’s your guess? Why is it do you think I had to chase down some jagoff in the middle of a damn rainstorm?" You toss Sana’s phone from the soaked pocket of your pants onto the table, and she watches it bounce and flip until it rests screen-side down. "It’s unlocked I guess. So, why don’t you do me a favor and just help me get out in front of it all; what the fuck did you have on there?"

"Oh." Her voice fills with worry, head cocked anxiously. She seems completely taken aback, but like with most things, it’s all just a front, you’ve learned—and here, you couldn’t be more on the nose. She holds back a laugh, adding, "photos, videos—I mean, I don’t know, it could be anything. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t check yourself."

"Sana," you groan. It’d be foolish not to believe her; it really could be anything, but that’s beside the point. You find the edge of your desk with your thighs, lean back, and you’re shaking your head. "The next time some shameless opportunist stumbles upon your phone and that meticulous archive of bad decisions, maybe I ought to just let you deal with it."

She raises her eyebrows at you, mulling it over for a second like she was ever once invested in being useful. "That’s like, what the publicists are for aren’t they?"

Sana’s young, you remind yourself. It’s good practice. But she’s old enough to know better, what all she’s doing, how dangerous she can be. It’s not like her praises are hard to come by around the office: the beautiful Sana Minatozaki, an angel among us, she’s perfect! If you can hear them in passing through the glass windows of your office, so can she; they’re right on the money, mostly, but you’re also not so easily fooled—or rather, you aren’t anymore. See, you get in front of a girl like her, and she’s got these big, bright, beautiful eyes, a face that never fails to be the most charming in the room without boasting about itself, a body like that, legs like those—

"Look." You blink several times.

Caught yourself staring.

"I mean, sure—but I can’t imagine that’s going to be an easy one to spin."

She cocks an eyebrow in something like curiosity. "What’s not going to be?"

"The video Sana—the one where you’ve got your lips around some cock like it’s a cheap homemade porno."

"So then, you did take a look," she says, rising onto the pointed tips of a pair of black heels. It’s a sign, an omen, a premonition—the renewed smirk on her lips that speaks louder than that soft, measured voice of hers might ever dare. "Hard opportunity to pass up, huh?"

"For god’s sake—" Going with your gut, you cross your arms. And your voice searches frantic for a commanding tone. "If it isn’t my job to know how you’ve fucked up."

"And I so very much appreciate all your wonderful effort," she over-enunciates through each syllable of your name. That same exact pleasantry she’d wish to the staff and crew at the end of a photo shoot, a recording, some nonsense event or another—only now, it’s derisive, laced with this sarcastic edge that is anything but subtle.

"It isn’t funny, Sana."

"Do you see me laughing?"

You don’t. Though there’s still a lot to see admittedly, a lot to take in, most of it beyond damning. A long leg of hers ruffles and furls the bottom of her dress until she’s a step closer, two steps now actually. You can take your pick—start at the bottom up or from the top down, and the result is just about the same by the time you’ve gotten to her tiny waist: she’s gorgeous.

For a lot of reasons however, you’re not about to leer.

Her shoulders square to yours and you remind yourself she’s not very tall; even in those ridiculous heels, she comes up just shy of your nose. Between you and absolutely nobody else, you have considered it, let it fill an evening of fantasy or two—how she might bend and fold, how her small, tight body might be best put to use, the faces she’d make cumming on your cock, the sound of her straining voice when you really—

No, you’re absolutely not leering.

"I’m serious," you hear yourself say, and it’s shaky, struggling to come across resolute, hardly anything convincing. "Just keep on fucking around—I promise you; you’re on your own."

"Oh, is that so?" She smiles again, and you note how it deepens a dimple in each cheek. "And when it all comes crashing down—how should I ask that the director refer to you in their letter to the board: idiot or incompetent?"

Eyes glowing, she seems wholly uninterested in the stark departure from how she normally needles you—all that subtext and words unsaid. You simply raise an eyebrow. There’s a pause, and she raises one back.

"Ahem," you try to recover.

Sana leans into you, one hand on either side of your waist, palms flat on your desk. And there’s that thought running a muck in your head again: all those musings about power dynamics, authority, subordination, governance, whatever it is this mess is you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s comical. You’d never once had a problem with any of your previous assignments. Dahyun? Delightful. Tzuyu—a total saint. Nayeon might as well have managed herself. It’s unclear when or how, but the woman in front of you had puzzled out that she was capable of anything—destruction, demolition, devastation. You knew it; she knew it too; Sana could ruin you.

"Hmm?" she adds, smug and indignant.

"I’ve given it some thought," you start, letting a heavy sigh roll through your chest like that’s ever been some herald of a rousing speech. But there is a plan, or at least what you’d learned about in those binders and seminars on this kind of stuff. "Look, to be honest, you’re going to hate me for it—but we’re going to be moving to some sort of curfew; until all this gets sorted out."

"A curfew?" Her eyebrows twist, disappointed.

"Among other things," you say, and now you’re digging a heel into the dirt of this forsaken partnership. "No more clubs."

"No more clubs?"

"No boys, no bars, and for god’s sake Sana—no fucking filming yourself having sex."

"No boys?" she gawks like it’s the most egregious of what you’d asked, mouth dropping agape in this faux outrage.

"Just until we hit a groove; figure out what works; find our rhythm."

"Find our rhythm?"

"You can stop repeating me."

"You can stop repea—" She takes a beat to swallow down the rare slip-up, eyes looking for even a momentary weakness in yours. But you’re a professional; she comes up empty. Her brows relax and she tilts her head. "Reprimanding me."

Your voice, finally solidifying in its fitful composure, opens into a complaint, "it’s honestly a shock to me you know—how you’ve lasted this long. In this industry, like this."

You lean back, chest tightening, acutely aware that her eyes refuse to leave yours.

"They always say that." And she’s grinning, ear to ear, again. This time, you’re gazing—the shape of her lips, the pretty things swelling and curving into that fine little point beneath her nose. A finger lands on your chest and she’s determined to cross a boundary or two.

You swallow again at the dryness in your throat. "Really."

"You know what else they always say?"

"If you think I’m about to guess, you’d be—"

"Curfew," she mocks, voice hitting at an unrealistically low register. It’s rather heartless the way she rolls her eyes, deceiving the roundness in her cheeks, the ever-so-perfect waves in her hair, the intoxicating charm that is her image. "No boys, no bars, no—"

"So, you’re telling me," you interrupt, more than satisfied with the imitation, "that in six months, six different managers, six different calamities, I’m not the first person to suggest some structure? Color me shocked Sana."

"No. You’re not. But this is the part where you tell me: Sana, I’m a professional. And you’ve got your hands out like you don’t want it and you’re backing up into the desk, bumbling and stuttering like you’re not losing control." One more step into you, and it’s evil, wicked, sinful the way you’re noticing it all: the pretty little details in her eyes, her cheeks, her smile. "I always say the same thing; I’m a professional too ya know. And I just so happen to be in the business of making people want me."

The motion is inelegant given what you’re sure she’s capable of, the way her hand cups your crotch. It sounds silly when you say it like that, but that’s just kind of how it happens.

"Sana—"

"Wow. You’re like, so fucking wet down here." She laughs to herself, having now found some comedy in it all. "That’s usually what they say too."

There’s a smug glimmer in her eyes when she finds you, the semi-hardened jut at the rise of your pants, fingers happily mapping out your shape beneath all the damp fabric. It’s more than just a boundary, and this searing heat starts to lick at your jaw. You’d grab her wrists, wrestle her away, but you’re not confident how it might all go if you start touching her; pin one behind her back, bend her against the desk; hell, she’s probably not wearing anything under that—okay, now you’re leering.

You swallow hard at the absolute casualness about her light fingers, undoing the belt and button at the waist of your pants. "So now what?" you ask, as though you were incapable of putting two and two together, as if you hadn’t been privy to these kind of rumors for months. "You’re going to bargain your way out?"

"Bargain?" She scoffs, and even that’s a pretty noise—the sound of it running through your head where it twists into moans, squeals and whimpers. Her eyes light up, and you’re hopeless, coming undone. "Isn’t that charitable. Like you haven’t been dying to stick your cock in me for weeks."

"Sana." Your last chance at professionalism, at propriety; so, abysmally it’s just her name that falls out of your mouth. But that’s how it comes together—or perhaps it falls apart—your cautionary tale, The Story of Manager Number Seven you’ll call it. It’s ruinous, it’s disastrous, worst of all—it’s instinct.

"Don’t waste the effort." Her chin cocks up and you’re left staring down the barrel. "Besides, I’m just saying the quiet part out loud, aren’t I?"

You doubt you’ll be around to meet manager number eight, and you’re certain one will come to be—maybe they’ll even read your memoirs; you wish them luck. Because the truth is, and you hate to say it, she’s got you all figured out.

-

Right from the jump, Sana confirms all your suspicions: she’s incredibly selfish. Pulling, gnawing, grabbing at your lower lip until it starts to swell, she hops up onto your desk. Something critical snaps, a cable cut, and you’re following right along with her. Each and every sinful step surely on a path to damnation.

"Well?" she asks, expectant and landing kisses on your cheek.

A whole assortment of paperweights, papers, pens, things that have been little use to you, crash onto to the floor. "Anything I want?" you ask, repeating yourself, unable to tire of its answer. "What if I’m - well, for lack of a better word, a total freak? Deal still on the table?"

"Hah." Sana smirks again—it’s kind of her thing, you’ve come to realize, but now you feel it on your skin. Her fingers are working down the front of your damp shirt, and she answers with a bluntness that leaves you feeling if anything, a little insulted, "You’re not."

"And what then, I suppose you know everything there is to know about me?" You’ve got your hands on her waist when you realize she’s not wrong. You’re not. But the shape of her body, under your fingertips, from just above where her hips narrow, it is everything you imagined it might be: wholly divine and capable of anything. You’ll ruin it—it just might ruin you too.

"Trust me, there’s a type," she laughs, "you come in here every day…" The sleeves of your shirt fall around your shoulders, and her gaze makes this journey about you, a momentary glance, and her eyebrow lifts as if to say not bad or this will do. "Same suit, same shoes, same coffee, same frustrated look on your face—just trust me."

She’s got it pretty dead on, not that you really care; you’re just not that kind of guy. But the way she says it, with such confidence, that’s a challenge. Oh, it’s probably to your detriment; you’ve always been competitive—you’ll surprise her. "I guess we’ll see."

You bury a hand into her hair before she has the chance to get on with the next snarky thought or another, and her head is tilted back, lips parting for you. Your tongues meet, first in your mouth, then in hers. Humming gently, Sana’s voice fills your throat, and all that hangs in the balance is rushing through your thoughts again—go ahead, mark your calendar; today’s the day you’ve thrown your career away. Because when you push her legs apart, her dress finally all hiked up around her tiny waist, and you’ve got your finger against the lace fabric across her entrance—

"Fuck," she gasps into your mouth, at least you think she does. It’s a good guess considering those nails, manicured and polished into sharp points, sinking into your shoulders. Her hips push themselves into you, pressing more of that fabric into your touch. You follow it down, trace it with your finger, dragging the loose-fitting lace along the way, and her folds nearly wrap around you, begging.

Your lips smack, spit trailing off them when you pull yourself back. You’re both catching your breath and it’s your turn to be smug, "I think this is the part where I say, wow Sana, you’re so fucking wet down here."

"Just stick to the script, and I promise I’ll go easy on you," she says, voice cold and calculated, as if her lip doesn’t wince every time you swirl the pads of your fingers over her mound.

Day by day, brick by brick, Sana’s broken you down to this. And now the smell of her hair in your nose, the taste of her lips filling your mouth, the feeling of that tender skin spreading between your fingers—you’re beyond fucked, she’s necessity.

You’ve sunk to your knees, and apparently the feeling is mutual; her hands pushing down on your shoulders as you go, impatient, greedy even. You start from her calf, down the length of a thigh, considering how it might bruise and mar, the taut pale skin a fresh canvas for your work. It’s a mistake, or you’re moving too slow, some transgression or another—isn’t it always? There’s a stifled groan off her lips, and she’s got her legs wrapping over your shoulders, heels clacking when she digs them into your back, pulling you into her. But you’ve earned it—you’re usually the one making demands, and it’s your turn to ignore them.

"What’s all this, hmm?" Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you away from the kisses, licks and nibbles you find all over the curve of her thigh, the places you’ve only buried and turned over in your thoughts for weeks. "You think you’re going to, like, make me fall in love with you or something? Get me so hot and bothered, I scream out, please, anything! I need you!" She gets her hand firm on your jaw, eyes smoldering something into yours like they’re stamping out a cigarette. "It’s actually kinda cute."

"Maybe. Then again, I’m not the one gushing through my underwear at the thought of getting fucked." Your fingers are hooking into her panties when you thoroughly catch the look on her face one last time—it’ll be worth remembering. You let yourself laugh through your words, "so I mean, I guess that’s up to you."

"Careful what you wish for." If she’s wagging a finger, you can’t see it, buried between Sana’s thighs. "Or I swear I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you."

"I’m kinda counting on it."

You’re talking about it like it’s casual, like this dereliction of duty has any other outcome than your ass on the curb or her name into scandalous obscurity. You catch it briefly, the eyebrow jumping and the haughty laugh out her nose; she really is pretty, even when she abandons that whole front, the delicate projection of sweet innocence and mild mischief. Who knows—maybe you prefer it now, all the more that the expression on her face is yours to pull apart.

Tightening her thighs on you, holding you firm, Sana cooperates only in so far as to help a pair of underwear roll down a leg and onto her ankle, and her pussy’s there, shimmering and glistening at you, an open invitation for your tongue—you’ll get around to it, but not until you’ve had your fill of everything else that’s been driving you nuts for weeks on end.

She swallows hard and snaps, "Why the hell are you teasing me?"

You’ve said it before, you’ll say it again, "boy Sana, you’re real mouthy today." A finger on her lips, brushing the surface of her aching entrance again, and she pulls a short tight breath past her teeth. "Aren’t you?"

"Then maybe you can stop fucking around and just get to—"

It doesn’t matter what she was going to say. It gets all caught and stuck in her throat on the way up so bad that you know it wasn’t important. The more pressing matter, your tongue against her clit, is about how the muscles in her stomach jerk and spasm about. That touch, it’s like it electrifies her. The lilting groan however—the one she fails to choke back—that’s from your finger you reckon, pushing its way inside her. You add another one for good measure. She can take it. She’ll take more.

"Shit," Sana mumbles, sucking on her lip, and then before a tiny punched-out breath punctuates the thought, she releases it, letting her mouth hang open when you find her swollen nub in yours, sucking and teasing without too much consideration. The shoe’s on the other foot: each brush of your fingers against her, where you’ve found her, and she shakes, hips jolting around you. Given that you’ve been laboring without any useful results to lead, direct, govern this girl for weeks, you’re chuckling out your nose that it’s now, like this, that she finally becomes anything close to compliant.

Whatever clutter’s still left on your desk rattles. Sana’s leaning back into it now, elbows propping up her small torso, and she steadies herself, failing against your tongue, your lips, especially your fingers. Her cheeks flood with this brilliant shade of pink, and she’s inching off the desk trying to force as much of herself into your mouth where you find her so wet you can feel her dripping down her chin. Even though you’ve never been the type, you can’t help yourself—licking around her quivering lips, around where she clearly needs you, you find yourself teasing, "What do you know Sana? I think I’ve lost my place in the script—you always cum this fast or…"

She shoots you a glare despite the blush staining her cheeks, but when her mouth opens to voice a complaint, you’ve got her mewling again—a cruel pace set into your fingers, creating this absolute mess between her thighs. Her palms slap the table, and she’s breathing in fits and starts, something akin to anticipation. She’s close and she knows it. In fact, you know it too, considering she’s so soaked her taste lingers long in your mouth when you stand yourself up, fingers still buried in her cunt.

"Ohhh… that’s it, right there, fucking hell," she whines, and the ends of her words are soaked in these rasping moans. "I can’t—fuck!"

"Sana," you start, and she’s dodging your eyes, ashamed at the twist on her face, the way her brows knit all at that squelching pleasure between her legs. It seems her pride may still have its limits.

"I’m gonna—" Her expression freezes, and that’s when you think you have her, but she keeps going. For a while. There’s only that loud, messy noise on your fingers in the shallow heat of her pussy until she decides she’s going to collapse into it all. Her eyes shut, and you watch as Sana realizes the bound of her voice to be no more than a hushed whisper, each utterance filling with these needy gasping breaths that rack her whole body, "I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna—"

Her hips buck and jump, dragging herself along the shape of your fingers and she swallows down a husked moan. And then another. Until finally, she’s crying out.

"Fu—ah! I’m cumming!" Sana manages, and only now you’re believing her, the words on the verge of tears. "I’m cumming - I’m cumming—"

Mouth agape, some silent curse or another, she locks up. It’s a whole look—you tuck it away somewhere, the score still horrifically in her favor, but at least you’re finally on the board. "There you go," you whisper, knowing your assurances make it all the more embarrassing, "That’s a good girl Sana; just keep cumming for me."

It’s the smoldering heat quivering on your fingers, the first words of praise out of your mouth in god knows how long, those office supplies still falling to the floor as you suspend her in anguished pleasure—it undoes her. You’ve never seen her like this. Your fingers gliding through the mess of her aching cunt, you have to see more.

"Fuck—" she huffs.

You can nearly see the bright red flush on her cheeks peek out through the hands she’d thrown up to cover her face.

"—you," she finishes, and it’s a little more on brand.

When you reach down to pull her hands away, to kiss her, there’s no resistance—she’s putty, malleable, whatever you need her to be. She squirms when you pull your fingers out from inside her, sloppy and messy with her own cum, but you’re more shocked at how easily she lets you put them in her mouth. That’s a development. And you’re not going to be shy to say it. It’s fucking hot.

"Sana…" your voice trails as she hums on your fingers, her tongue gently finding the space between them. Her cheeks still burning, the way she sucks and licks her taste off you has you stuck daydreaming how it will look, how it will feel when it’s your cock between her perfect lips.

A light knock lands on the door to your office. Twice. And when that second knock does arrive, it has your stomach jumping into your chest. It’s unfortunate, but you’ll have to keep imagining.

"One second!" you shout out, realizing now you’ve never once had the blinds drawn or the door locked. It’s not a great look; hopefully you’re overthinking it. You pull your shirt off the floor and prance toward the door.

Sana sits herself up, brings her dress back down around her thighs and plops herself right back down on the sofa where you found her. Steadying her breath and watching you quietly spread apart the blinds with your fingers, she wipes a lash from her eye, asking, "Who is it?"

"Dahyun." You rise on the toes of your shoes to get a better look. The black hair pulled back into a ponytail and those wide lenses sitting across the bridge of her nose more than clue you in. "I think."

"What does she want?"

"Hell if I know."

"Well, let her in."

The last button on your shirt comes together and you’re opening the door—slowly. "Yeah?"

"Hey. Sana here?" Dahyun asks as though there’s nothing out of the ordinary. She sticks her head into the opening further until she’s half in your office, half out. Innocently unaware of the scene she’d just interrupted, her lips snap to this toothy grin and it becomes a pitiful reminder of the countless days you toiled to get where you are—responsible, respected, time specifically not spent fucking Sana with your fingers.

"Oh hey hello," Sana nearly sings, and her voice is no where near rasped like it just was. It’s a little incredible honestly how she springs back, elastic. Still preening her hair back into something close enough to perfection, she asks, "What can I do for ya?"

Dahyun scans you head to toe, taking a full confident step into your office as you open the door further. She lifts a disapproving eyebrow. "Wow. You look awful by the way."

You let out this heavy, labored sigh. "Yeah, well, the rain, and the—"

"He’s had a rough go at today," says Sana, filling in the rest with only what’s prudent.

Dahyun looks at Sana, then back to you and smiles with half her mouth. "Well, maybe you need it too—Nayeon’s got a tab open at the place on the corner opposite the station. The one with the weird windows. Told me to tell you."

"Sounds fun." The words come out of both Sana’s mouth and yours in this strange tandem. It sounds suspicious because it is; you’ve never once been in accord on anything.

"Yeah. Well. See you there or something, I guess." The door closes behind Dahyun and it takes a moment for the sound of your heartbeat to leave your ears.

"You mind handing me those?" Sana points to your desk, and your stomach drops when you see them: her wadded underwear sitting right in the middle of it all. "I kinda need ‘em."

You’re blocking it all out in your head, assessing the damage before you find yourself willfully distracted. It’s a spectacle even in reverse, Sana’s legs stretching out as she rolls the black lace back up her thighs.

"Thanks," she says, standing up and tossing those long copper locks of hair behind her shoulders. It could be a few things that earned you that gratitude, so you’re answering for all of them, "Yeah, no problem."

You’ve got your jacket back on, pulling your office back together into something orderly when you decide you’re going to try and repair more than just the room. "Look. Sana."

Her head tilts and a curtain of hair spills over her shoulder. She’s waiting on your words.

"I don’t care what you do—just do me a favor. Try to behave yourself. For your sake. All of that just now," you say, and your tongue clicks while you stew in discomfort. "Look. That was a mistake—"

"Oh?" Her voice pitches, and you’re left staring. It’s not long before she realizes you haven’t much of anything else to add, amused at the half words and sounds forming on your lips.

"I’ll tell you what we’re going to do." Sana wedges herself between you and the door, hands tucked behind her back, and her chin cocks up again. "You’re going to go home. You’re going to shower, get some decent clothes, and you’ll be at that bar."

Your lips tighten and your eyes narrow, a glance at the small wet stain lingering on your office’s sofa. "For what Sana?"

She laughs, really just a lovely sound—you shouldn’t be dwelling on it. You shouldn’t have already dwelled on it, but you abandoned prudence some time ago. Holding your eyes with hers, she lets her lip go from between her teeth and in a few simple words, she reminds you that you’ve really stepped in it.

"Cause - we’re - not - done." Another smile, and the dusty browns and grays in her eyes are as deep as ever. "I better see you at seven."

-

So, you’re sitting, sipping on something strong because it’s more than what you need when you notice there’s this line dividing the table, staff on one side, the usual suspects on the other. And you’re in the booth as well, disappointed there wasn’t some sort of larger crowd—something you might slip away into.

There are a few changes in seating when someone gets up to get more drinks or use the restroom or something like that. And it’s at the bottom of a rum and coke when Sana’s found the spot next to you, ever so slightly hanging on your shoulder—just absent enough that she might blame the alcohol, lean into it, play it up; present enough that it’s all you can think about.

"Hey," she says, once softly into your ear, and it’s overflowing with more suggestion than might ever fit into a single syllable. It registers; something clicks; you’ll play. Your gaze shifts around the table and back to where the neckline of her dress dips before it finds her.

"Hey." You’ve got it casual. At that, she smiles.

You’ll say something, and it’s got her laughing. Sana’s eyes are bright, cheery, and even though the lights are dimmed, you swear you’ve seen nothing prettier. Her head is on your shoulder and she tucks the corner of her lip between her teeth when you make her laugh again. She listens well. She speaks even better—clever, sharp-tongued, sharp-witted—making it look effortless. It’s magnetic. Hell, you don’t even notice her reeling you in, capturing you, cursing you. Perhaps it’s like this, outside of all that about rules and protocol—where she’s poised, presentable and balancing herself on the razor’s edge of this perfect image everyone’s come to expect from her—who couldn’t fall for her if just a little?

"I bet you’re still thinking about it," she whispers when she’s sure no one else is listening. "How your cock will stretch me. How you’ll use me."

Catching yourself, it is just a little you fall; god knows you’ve fallen further. There’s plenty of reason to take a pause, a breather, resume your worry—but you’re fixed on the lines of her face, serene and perfectly uncomplicated in the dim light, her expression full of simple joy. Though you trust her as far as that smile stretches across her lips, you’re watching closely as they part again.

"Let me tell you what I think…" Her hands land in your lap, asking questions whose answers might only be found where your cock struggles beneath the fabric of your pants. You’re sure someone’s bound to notice how close she is, hanging, clinging, wrapping herself around you. It’s like she wants to be caught—but fate isn’t so kind; a disaster it is that no one does. The stroke of fortune only ignites the hushed breath landing in your ear, "why don’t we, like, go find somewhere quiet?"

She’s duplicitous, destructive, deadly—spins lies for the sheer thrill of it, you’ve decided—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But you’re leaning into it too, you’re allowing it, you’re letting her—you’ll be damned if you aren’t just one of the herd.

-

It started when Sana dragged you by the wrist across the length of the bar and leaned into your ear. She first asked about someplace more private, then she suggested the ladies’ room, then you scoffed about what a terrible idea it was and then she said I promise I won’t be too loud and you felt your entire body shift.

It’s rare for you to make mistakes, to slip up like this—especially like this—but then there Sana is, her back against the door of one of the stalls, chin up, the swell of her lip caught cruelly between her teeth, and eyes shut tight as you push your fingers deeper inside her. It’s not like you, you repeat for the last time in your head, airing out the loose thought somewhere to dry when you notice the dull burn of something like adrenaline, the throbbing pulse in your tongue, your throat, the tips of your fingers—both those holding Sana tight at her waist, and the ones that keep coaxing these little whimpering hums out of her chest every time you curl them inside her. Your voice is coarse, and your tongue sticks to the rough of your mouth when you mutter her name; a betrayal apparently—those half-lidded eyes catch yours, and her lips slant like they know it just as well as you: you had plenty more mistakes to make.

"It’s kinda fucked up, you know that?" Sana sputters as though you need the reminder. "Like we went weeks, and what, your biggest fear that I’d end up somewhere like this? getting fucked?"

"I mean, if you’d rather I’d leave," you suggest, pushing her hard enough into the stall that the whole assembly shakes and rattles, "maybe you could help me remember all that a little more—"

"Don’t." It comes out more severe than you’d expect from this girl creaming the lining of her underwear at your fingers gliding between her aching lips. You catch the look in her eye and it’s so badly betrayed by the shortness in her breath, the blush searing against her cheeks—you do the math; find it all adds up to need and lust and whatever else could’ve dragged you both into this stall.

"Yeah?" you ask, reveling once in these few opportunities you get to be the one looking smug and smirking at her. "And why not?"

Sana releases her fingers from around your cock, her hand sliding up from inside your pants and snapping at the front of your shirt. "Because you owe me."

Before you can say anything, she pulls you into her, lips hard against yours. It hadn’t been long since she’d kissed you in your office—those few hours now feeling like ages ago. And even though you noticed it, beyond the way she licks your lips, bites them, pulls you into her and sends these tiny quiet moans into your mouth, you couldn’t quite put it into words then.

See, you’ve kissed your fair share of girls who’d done nothing less than a good job, but never before had they given it their whole attention, their whole being. There was always something on their mind, some idle thought or distraction: what time the last train left the platform, what day of their cycle it was, doubting their own technique, too much tongue, not enough tongue, if it’s too forward to grab that hand on their breast by the wrist and shove it between their thighs—Sana is none of that. Even while the fingers you shove up her cunt are drawing out all these gasps and hiccups, and ignoring the fact that between her legs is precisely where she needs you, she’s on you with this intensity that never once seems to let you out of its focus.

But no, to be clear, she’s not perfect—the wide pad of your thumb on her clit more than reminds you both of that. Her lips smack as she pulls herself off you, those cute brows knit like she’s about to sneeze.

"Oh, fuck!" She throws her head back and it sends all this silky hair flying.

With a fistful of her dress, her ass, you pull her against you. Her cheeks are so red and her pussy so unbelievably wet that you’re blinking in awe, in admiration—Sana’s features twisting into this masterpiece, this look of pure delight. Her voice gets strangled into something more hoarse, something debauched, and she’s punching out these tiny nods as you fuck her with your fingers, circling your thumb around her clit.

"That feels so fucking good. I—please sir," says Sana, and she’s leaning in like she knows you. Maybe she really does. "Make me fucking cum on your fingers, please, sir. I need it."

You hear it; something short of understanding it. Tuck it away like it’s a clerical error or some trifling hiccup—fuck if that’s the Sana you know—but the way she’s got it repeating in your ear makes it click. It’s familiar, and fucked up, that musing again, except now it’s all turned on its head, about authority, about subordination: she needs your hand stern like she needs your cock hard—she gets off on it, you figure. It’s ridiculous and it’s so out of line and it’s so like nothing you’ve ever done and you can’t believe it’s in this restroom of all places and it’s so fucking hot and you’re living on borrowed time, leaning into it—

"Go ahead, beg for it Sana"—like, really leaning into it—"I need to hear you say it."

"I can’t - fucking believe - just don’t stop, okay? Please sir, right there - right there - right there…" Sana is whimpering and mewling through it all as you match and mirror that grind she makes against your fingers. Frustrated, fucked, she’s giving up on your pants, which to her credit, there was a bit more complication to a button and a zipper than simply hiking up her dress around her hips, but still, it’s fascinating to watch her come apart. Her arms fall limp and she’s finding a place to rest them over your shoulders, mumbling, murmuring, repeating, "Please sir, I’m so close…"

"Sana." You’ve got your lips against her ear and it all but kills her; she whimpers and whines as she sinks her weight onto you, the heat of her own name on your breath, the way you say it, pushing her so far onto that edge.

"Put it in - please, please, please, I need it," Sana’s bleating only compounds when you pull your fingers from her cunt, looking at you like you’ve committed something heinous—which isn’t entirely off. Her voice squeals and trails again when you drag your palm across her clit, up across her stomach, "I’ll do anything, just give me your cock, and I’ll do anything, anything, please sir, I promise - I promise."

Sana can’t even keep her own voice down, those needy moans splashing over all that tile around you and probably leaking out the door and into the hall. She’s in no position to bargain or plea, but as you pull her together enough in your hands, wrap the swell of her thigh around you and press your body against hers, she’s not the only one making promises she doesn’t intend to keep. "Don’t worry Sana. I’ll take good care of you." Your voice is drier than expected, but it’s more than up to the task. "I’ll put this cock in you - and I’ll be nice and gentle; I’ll let you cum, now just be good for me, and I promise I’ll fuck you right."

The sound of your zipper makes this echo—loud, uncompromising, unholy as if it were somehow the most debauched thing pouring out from where you and Sana had committed to turning the restroom into this whole menagerie of lustful noises. You pull her soaked panties to the side and her voice floods with desperation. "Please—"

Sana whines, shuddering when the tip of your cock parts the swelling lips around her wet, needy entrance. Search for it, find it, and you’re groaning too—there’s no more hesitation the moment you slip your cock inside her.

"I can’t - you’re so fucking - fuck!" Sana swallows down these flailing gasps of air like she’d been held underwater, struggling spectacularly to bite back this broken moan. The lithe frame in your arms is teetering on the single heel still on the ground, relying on you, your chest, and your hips to keep her pinned to the stall. You’re holding her fragile world together; draw your hips back; drive into her again; you’ll tear it all apart.

Your teeth are gritting and your jaw clenched because she is so unbelievably tight, even all creamed and wet for you—but still, your focus is honed on her voice, keen to her movements, tuned to the way she writhes in your arms. Beyond the small tears filling out in her deep brown eyes, the lines of her face wincing and quivering, her eyelashes fluttering as your hips slam up into hers again, you’re acutely aware of the machinery in her head, of something deep inside her thoughts hitching, changing tracks, going with it; because this wasn’t what she’d expected: this was so much more than she’d expected.

"That’s it," you say, jamming it into that moist breath you push out of your chest, "just feel how you’re stretching around me, Sana, you fucking need this. I promise - you’re going to cum on this cock - and I promise - you’ll do it again."

"F-fuck," Sana rasps through it, her new favorite word. Your fingers dig into her ass and she’s biting down hard on its harsh final consonants, hiccuping, stuttering in the spaces your hips force between her mewls and cries. She swallows down at her indecency, scrambling for composure. "It’s so - I need you please - please, I need you to fuck me! - just use me."

And so there you are, raising the stakes. Each thrust into the smoldering heat deep in her pussy finds you harsher, stronger, the pauses between your thrusts approaching nothing; far more than Sana can hope to recover. You gasp, shocked at how she manages to fit you, her tightness working against you just shy of allowing you to ruin her. "Sana," you start, and her own name becomes music to her ears, how it sounds deep and gravelly on your panting breath, "fuck yes, Sana, that’s a good girl - your pussy feels incredible."

It’s your voice, it’s the small affirmations, it’s the way your cock swells and stiffens when she swings her leg open, the angle, the depth, the pressure making her incoherent and cry out like the fucked mess she is—for weeks now she’d been your foil, the thorn pricking sharp into your side, and here you are, driving your cock deep into her aching cunt, nothing less than her salvation.

"I can’t," she whispers, face falling into your shoulder and her teeth biting into your neck, leaving marks like you both don’t have to be at the office tomorrow. "I can’t keep - you feel so good, you’re going to make me cum - you’re gonna make me fucking cum."

She’s slipping, falling apart in your arms, breaking at the seams. The delicate application of mascara around her eyes is ever-so-slightly starting to run, and you feel her leg begin to wobble and buckle under her weight as it sits helplessly on the sharp point of that single heel. You struggle to scoop her up, finding the soft curves of her thighs over your forearms.

"Do it Sana," you sputter from between gritted teeth, and your hips crash again into Sana’s body, held pitifully between you and the stall’s indifferent wooden frame. "Cum all over this cock - cum for me."

Sana’s so close to the edge, so wet, so needy, that even craning her neck and seizing your lips is some exaggerated and laborious effort. But it’s the only way she can channel all that raw pleasure, that emotion searing its way from her cunt and shooting up the length of her spine, so she gets there, even if you have to meet her halfway. Her voice hums and cracks inside yours, and you can count the last thoughts of her waning composure in her tongue, in those tears gently wetting your cheeks, at the heart beating wild in her chest, all in those legs wrapping desperately behind you, pulling you deeper into her, yearning to find how much of that lust dripping between her legs you can fill.

"I’m cumming, I’m so close to cumming," she moans into your mouth, and there’s no question that she is—the quivers her cunt makes around your cock every time you bury yourself inside her heat—the way she clenches onto the emptiness that torments her when you drag your hips away from her again.

A final inhibition, that what if, the final shred of concern that someone could walk into this impromptu love nest and undo her career—entirely obliterate yours—in so little as the flash of a camera—it vanishes, like a candle snuffed out, first in her head, and then in yours. You smash your hips into the backs of her reddening thighs again, thrusting deep between them and you’re left only thinking of Sana, of her husked voice in your ears, of her ass spilling out between your fingers, of the torrid heat of her cunt—how she invites you, pulls you in, how she begs to be ruined.

"Oh my god." You can hear the wet breath that she draws fast into her chest scrape against her upper teeth. "Oh. God."

When Sana cums, she holds nothing back. And she cums hard—muscles tense, her chest holds onto one final breath, and she digs her fingernails into the backs of your shoulders without even a shred of consideration for the poor skin beneath them. Those short staccato breaths that filled your mouth become long, gasping wails that sit just aside your ear as Sana holds tight around your body, hips shaking and bucking between you and the wood behind her.

"Fucking hell, Sana." And your head is cocked, gaze pointing into the ceiling. "You’re so wet and tight - you’re cumming like you’ve never been touched once - I can’t fucking believe it."

"Y-you-you-you," she stutters, and you’re listening to the bolts and screws holding the stall door together start to grumble and complain. They’re not built for this kind of treatment, not meant to be pounded and punished beyond their breakpoints. Sana on the other hand—she falters, threads coming loose and cracking and falling apart—it only makes her more subdued, more fuckable, more perfect.

"I’m—" You toss your hands beneath her, readjusting your grip, and your lips are resting on her ear. "I’m going to cum inside you. I’m going to fucking use you."

She’s nodding into your shoulder, and it’s got her babbling and whimpering like she needs it even more than you. "Do it," she whispers, the first coherent thing out her mouth that wasn’t god, fuck or you in quite some time. "Do it, fill me up, please sir, cum inside my pussy—"

Knees locking and muscles burning, your fingers squeeze into her soft ass. They pull her to you, burying your cock deep into Sana’s cunt. "Fuck - Sana."

In that warmth, in the slopped mess of that fucked, used hole, you cum.

Sana coos when she feels that first rope of cum fill and pool inside her. She’s got her mouth gaping at the second and the third, and she keeps pleading like at this point you’ve got any choice in the matter, "Please sir - fuck all that cum into me - I need it - please."

Your eyes are shut tight, and your orgasm has you counting the stars in your eyelids, all of that tinnitus of blood rushing between your ears. Call it impropriety, unprofessional—you’re not arguing with any of that; it’s beyond logic; you’re just like the girl in your arms: ruined, fucked.

There’s all this mess between your hips, stains at the hem of Sana’s dress, and you’re still thrusting, slowed and deliberate now, and you’re reeling as you unload everything inside Sana. Your lips part, though nothing really comes out, just a long groan, and soon you’re laughing, returning back into reality—which at this point, it’s just the restroom, and it smells so badly of sex, beyond the harsh odor of cleaning agents. It’s bad, it’s that obvious.

One final shared groan—your voices trembling in unison on two wildly different sounds—fills the restroom when your cock slips out from between Sana’s wet, swollen lips.

"Jesus." Sana slides from your grip, lands on her feet, and barely finds her balance on her heels, knees bowed and wobbling as she straightens herself out. She wipes a few stray tears from her eyes and pulls her dress back down her thighs to somewhere slightly more modest, always a familiar challenge. "That was something."

You sink backward into the stall’s firm embrace, clearing your voice a few times. "Yeah," you start, and you realize you need more time to pant and huff your way back to anything presentable. "Okay. Five minutes. Walk out of here no sooner than five minutes after me."

"What?" Sana asks, and she crosses her legs, leaning back and sliding down the stall wall a few inches. "Are you that afraid someone’s gonna find out you just had your dick in me?"

"I mean, sure, it’s one fear." It’s all the dominos you have lined up after that, how they might fall. "Believe me, the last thing I need is Nayeon and Dahyun getting suspicious and—"

"They can kick rocks," says Sana, raking her fingers through her hair until it sits on her shoulders more or less how it was before you’d gotten your hands in it, all tossed and ruffled. "Besides they’d just be jealous they’ve never been fucked like that in their short, sorry lives."

You lean forward, smirking. "Oh? Fucked like what?"

"Don’t flatter yourself." She says it like it insults her, but the breathy laugh she holds back gives her away. "You’re the one who’s always saying, it’s unbecoming to gloat."

"Well, it isn’t my job to be becoming now is it?"

"Hey," she says, uninterested in the banter, taking a step through all the back and forth, and she leans into you, close enough to where you can see all those small, dangerous details again.

A few of the hints now inches in front of you become pretty recognizable: those few strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her brow, the smudges of mascara around her eyes, the way her knees buckle just a little when she shifts her weight—if anything, the rosy flush in her cheeks could be explained away with whatever she was sipping on minutes ago. But the mess leaking down her thighs? That was going need to some extra attention, and maybe a few tissues.

"This is the ladies’ room." Her head tilts, and you watch her hair fall on her cheek again. "You should totally, like, get out of here."

"Yeah. That’s what I was saying."

"Seriously." Her eyes light up and her teeth worry the corner of her lip. "I might just start touching you again if you don’t."

-

You figure all that guilt and anxiety was going to be there waiting for you in the morning. So for now, there’s this strange calm you find in the sound of tires hitting wet pavement and the smell of fresh rain on the wind. Though the evening crowd had started to thin, a few people are still out—couples mostly, holding hands, sharing umbrellas to satisfy some romantic hankering or another; you’re pretty sure it had stopped raining a while ago.

"You called two cars?" Sana asks, finger on her chin, "What’s the fun in that?"

"None, probably."

"Well that’s…" her voice trails off and her eyes narrow alongside this mild grin, "How are you supposed to walk me to my front door, you know, stand there with your hands behind your back, wait for a kiss, and then hang around missing all these queues that you should leave—until I finally decide to let you up for coffee even though it’s late and it’s a little too soon to be letting you stay the night and we’ve got work in the morning and—

"I’m sure you’ll manage." You snuff out the thought before it can brew any further in your mind—the power of restraint coming to you now apparently. Timely.

"Well it’s not like you live that far from me," says Sana, running her thumb over her lips and looking at how that fresh application of lipstick bleeds onto it. To her credit, she’d spent some time touching up after you pulled yourself off her tight, well-fucked body and before you watched her appear on the sidewalk outside the bar. Her lips pull back into a smile, and she clicks her tongue against her teeth. "It’s, like, eco-friendly or something."

"Uh-huh."

"It’s good for the Earth. You gotta be pro-Earth. I mean, everyone’s pro-Earth."

A train arrives in the station, metal brakes screeching on the tracks, and you ball up both hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Since when do you know where I live?"

"Well, to be honest," she starts like she’s about to set some record straight and wipes a strand of loose hair out of her face, "I don’t. But Dahyun walked home from your place one time. And I doubt you’d ever make her walk far. Let’s not mince words here—you really spoiled her."

"For starters, I never had to delete homemade porn off her phone." Your eyes are pointed to the sky while you try to remember if that checks out. And it does. "If I was lenient,"—which you were—"I dunno, maybe she earned it."

"Huh." Her eyes glisten, staring straight into yours. "I had no idea guys you guys were sleeping together—"

"Sana," you say, catching her eyes again. "We weren’t." It’s not a lie or anything, but the words are choking you on the way up like it were. "We aren’t." You clear your throat again. "We haven’t."

"Man—you really need to relax." Sana lets herself enjoy this quiet laugh that you barely hear over the sound of passengers arriving and boarding."Like I dunno, hear me out: maybe we both get in the first car that shows up, and we take it to your place, and you throw me on the bed, maybe over the back of the sofa, I don’t care; wherever you think—"

"I’m going home in one car," you say, turning a cigarette lighter over in your hand. "And you in the other."

"We could have at least made out in the back of the cab."

With this disappointed look on her face, Sana folds her arms and finds a spot against the station’s bricks to lean into, a knee pushed forward and one foot against the wall. Her skirt rises and ruffles just enough for you to get yet another glimpse of the gentle curves of her thighs—not that you’re trying to look.

She lets her cheek fall into her shoulder, eyes pointed at you, and gets on with this judgmental tone. "You smoke?"

"Rarely." You’ve got your hand cupping the end of the flame as it flickers in the breeze, protecting those embers until they finally catch and glow red. You hide the lighter in your pocket, and your posture straightens out an extra inch or two when you add, "only if I have a good reason."

"Oh? Then tell me; what’s the occasion?" she asks, and she smiles at you like she knows you’re pretending not to notice how pretty she is. "Are we celebrating? That’s kinda cute—"

"Stressed. Anxious." You inhale deeply. Let this sharp plume of smoke out. Then you bend your neck side to side a few times. "That kind of thing."

Sana takes a hint. She places her hands behind her back, leaning and looking into the sky, where rain clouds had rolled and tumbled out to let you peer into this vastly black sky—no stars, no moon, just an unending dark blanket of night. Neither of you say much; it’s pillow talk without all the chatter perhaps, and it’s comforting in a sense, a warm silence that you can wrap yourself up in. When you turn your head toward Sana, she surprises you for the hundredth time, the expression on her face so innocent and soft—it’s hard not to let her fool you.

"This one’s all yours," you say, and you nod toward the cab pulling up on the curb, tapping ash from your cigarette onto the ground.

Sana’s got her hand on the door and one knee in the backseat of the taxi when her eyes find yours one last time. "You sure? Last chance."

"I’ll see you tomorrow," you say, watching Sana shake her head and let out this muted laugh. "Oh and Sana, let’s—how about we try and keep our jobs. Okay?"

Eyes are up from their desks, turning onto you, horrified maybe. Then again, your fists are clenched and your elbows locked as you maintain a pace that begs to break into a run. If there’s a scowl on your face, you doubt its efficacy all at the rainwater in your shoes squeaking on the end of every step.

A promotion was how it had all been pitched to you: fated, bound, hands tied to this incorrigible bag of hot air. If the ship’s going down, set to fail, you’ll be right there with her, and you can feel the water pooling at your feet, figuratively speaking.

-

"So?" Sana commits to the question once you’ve got yourself halfway through the door to your office, dripping wet. It’s unconvincingly casual. "You wanted to see me?"

A tragedy; in fact, you want nothing less, but it’s in the job description, a necessary evil. The baker bakes. The cobbler cobbles. And the manager manages, supposedly—you’ve mostly just been tearing your hair out.

"Honest to god," you say, and you’ve never meant it more in your life, "I think I’m starting to understand it now. This whole revolving door of staff and management these past couple months."

Sana tilts her head onto this inquisitive angle, and a bundle of copper hair falls across her cheek before getting dragged back behind her ear. "Oh? And what all did you figure out?"

"That you’re a royal pain in the ass," you answer, untangling your arms from the soaked sleeves of your coat. "And a lot more trouble than you’re worth."

"Well." The word is accompanied by a ridiculous sigh and the sound of her tongue clicking against her teeth. "You don’t suppose that’s on you? No one promised you it’d be easy."

There’s a quiet pause, Sana slants her lips into a smirk, and that’s more or less how it always starts between you.

"No one promised anything," you grumble.

Of course, the writing was on the wall, probably in big, bold letters too, you don’t know—you weren’t too interested in reading it—there were more important things on your mind. Fame; wealth; success; bragging rights; you’ll only let yourself call it hubris once you’ve really stepped in it, finally found something you couldn’t talk your way out of, come up with reason to believe there would be no digging yourself out. But until then—

"By the way…" Sana’s voice trails as she leans into the arm of the sofa, cheek resting on her hand, and then she furrows a manicured brow. "Why are you, like, totally soaked?"

You’re lenient or something, so it’s a question of your own you’ll trade with her, undoubtedly a better deal than she deserved. "Okay, sure then—let’s get into it. What’s your guess? Why is it do you think I had to chase down some jagoff in the middle of a damn rainstorm?" You toss Sana’s phone from the soaked pocket of your pants onto the table, and she watches it bounce and flip until it rests screen-side down. "It’s unlocked I guess. So, why don’t you do me a favor and just help me get out in front of it all; what the fuck did you have on there?"

"Oh." Her voice fills with worry, head cocked anxiously. She seems completely taken aback, but like with most things, it’s all just a front, you’ve learned—and here, you couldn’t be more on the nose. She holds back a laugh, adding, "photos, videos—I mean, I don’t know, it could be anything. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t check yourself."

"Sana," you groan. It’d be foolish not to believe her; it really could be anything, but that’s beside the point. You find the edge of your desk with your thighs, lean back, and you’re shaking your head. "The next time some shameless opportunist stumbles upon your phone and that meticulous archive of bad decisions, maybe I ought to just let you deal with it."

She raises her eyebrows at you, mulling it over for a second like she was ever once invested in being useful. "That’s like, what the publicists are for aren’t they?"

Sana’s young, you remind yourself. It’s good practice. But she’s old enough to know better, what all she’s doing, how dangerous she can be. It’s not like her praises are hard to come by around the office: the beautiful Sana Minatozaki, an angel among us, she’s perfect! If you can hear them in passing through the glass windows of your office, so can she; they’re right on the money, mostly, but you’re also not so easily fooled—or rather, you aren’t anymore. See, you get in front of a girl like her, and she’s got these big, bright, beautiful eyes, a face that never fails to be the most charming in the room without boasting about itself, a body like that, legs like those—

"Look." You blink several times.

Caught yourself staring.

"I mean, sure—but I can’t imagine that’s going to be an easy one to spin."

She cocks an eyebrow in something like curiosity. "What’s not going to be?"

"The video Sana—the one where you’ve got your lips around some cock like it’s a cheap homemade porno."

"So then, you did take a look," she says, rising onto the pointed tips of a pair of black heels. It’s a sign, an omen, a premonition—the renewed smirk on her lips that speaks louder than that soft, measured voice of hers might ever dare. "Hard opportunity to pass up, huh?"

"For god’s sake—" Going with your gut, you cross your arms. And your voice searches frantic for a commanding tone. "If it isn’t my job to know how you’ve fucked up."

"And I so very much appreciate all your wonderful effort," she over-enunciates through each syllable of your name. That same exact pleasantry she’d wish to the staff and crew at the end of a photo shoot, a recording, some nonsense event or another—only now, it’s derisive, laced with this sarcastic edge that is anything but subtle.

"It isn’t funny, Sana."

"Do you see me laughing?"

You don’t. Though there’s still a lot to see admittedly, a lot to take in, most of it beyond damning. A long leg of hers ruffles and furls the bottom of her dress until she’s a step closer, two steps now actually. You can take your pick—start at the bottom up or from the top down, and the result is just about the same by the time you’ve gotten to her tiny waist: she’s gorgeous.

For a lot of reasons however, you’re not about to leer.

Her shoulders square to yours and you remind yourself she’s not very tall; even in those ridiculous heels, she comes up just shy of your nose. Between you and absolutely nobody else, you have considered it, let it fill an evening of fantasy or two—how she might bend and fold, how her small, tight body might be best put to use, the faces she’d make cumming on your cock, the sound of her straining voice when you really—

No, you’re absolutely not leering.

"I’m serious," you hear yourself say, and it’s shaky, struggling to come across resolute, hardly anything convincing. "Just keep on fucking around—I promise you; you’re on your own."

"Oh, is that so?" She smiles again, and you note how it deepens a dimple in each cheek. "And when it all comes crashing down—how should I ask that the director refer to you in their letter to the board: idiot or incompetent?"

Eyes glowing, she seems wholly uninterested in the stark departure from how she normally needles you—all that subtext and words unsaid. You simply raise an eyebrow. There’s a pause, and she raises one back.

"Ahem," you try to recover.

Sana leans into you, one hand on either side of your waist, palms flat on your desk. And there’s that thought running a muck in your head again: all those musings about power dynamics, authority, subordination, governance, whatever it is this mess is you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s comical. You’d never once had a problem with any of your previous assignments. Dahyun? Delightful. Tzuyu—a total saint. Nayeon might as well have managed herself. It’s unclear when or how, but the woman in front of you had puzzled out that she was capable of anything—destruction, demolition, devastation. You knew it; she knew it too; Sana could ruin you.

"Hmm?" she adds, smug and indignant.

"I’ve given it some thought," you start, letting a heavy sigh roll through your chest like that’s ever been some herald of a rousing speech. But there is a plan, or at least what you’d learned about in those binders and seminars on this kind of stuff. "Look, to be honest, you’re going to hate me for it—but we’re going to be moving to some sort of curfew; until all this gets sorted out."

"A curfew?" Her eyebrows twist, disappointed.

"Among other things," you say, and now you’re digging a heel into the dirt of this forsaken partnership. "No more clubs."

"No more clubs?"

"No boys, no bars, and for god’s sake Sana—no fucking filming yourself having sex."

"No boys?" she gawks like it’s the most egregious of what you’d asked, mouth dropping agape in this faux outrage.

"Just until we hit a groove; figure out what works; find our rhythm."

"Find our rhythm?"

"You can stop repeating me."

"You can stop repea—" She takes a beat to swallow down the rare slip-up, eyes looking for even a momentary weakness in yours. But you’re a professional; she comes up empty. Her brows relax and she tilts her head. "Reprimanding me."

Your voice, finally solidifying in its fitful composure, opens into a complaint, "it’s honestly a shock to me you know—how you’ve lasted this long. In this industry, like this."

You lean back, chest tightening, acutely aware that her eyes refuse to leave yours.

"They always say that." And she’s grinning, ear to ear, again. This time, you’re gazing—the shape of her lips, the pretty things swelling and curving into that fine little point beneath her nose. A finger lands on your chest and she’s determined to cross a boundary or two.

You swallow again at the dryness in your throat. "Really."

"You know what else they always say?"

"If you think I’m about to guess, you’d be—"

"Curfew," she mocks, voice hitting at an unrealistically low register. It’s rather heartless the way she rolls her eyes, deceiving the roundness in her cheeks, the ever-so-perfect waves in her hair, the intoxicating charm that is her image. "No boys, no bars, no—"

"So, you’re telling me," you interrupt, more than satisfied with the imitation, "that in six months, six different managers, six different calamities, I’m not the first person to suggest some structure? Color me shocked Sana."

"No. You’re not. But this is the part where you tell me: Sana, I’m a professional. And you’ve got your hands out like you don’t want it and you’re backing up into the desk, bumbling and stuttering like you’re not losing control." One more step into you, and it’s evil, wicked, sinful the way you’re noticing it all: the pretty little details in her eyes, her cheeks, her smile. "I always say the same thing; I’m a professional too ya know. And I just so happen to be in the business of making people want me."

The motion is inelegant given what you’re sure she’s capable of, the way her hand cups your crotch. It sounds silly when you say it like that, but that’s just kind of how it happens.

"Sana—"

"Wow. You’re like, so fucking wet down here." She laughs to herself, having now found some comedy in it all. "That’s usually what they say too."

There’s a smug glimmer in her eyes when she finds you, the semi-hardened jut at the rise of your pants, fingers happily mapping out your shape beneath all the damp fabric. It’s more than just a boundary, and this searing heat starts to lick at your jaw. You’d grab her wrists, wrestle her away, but you’re not confident how it might all go if you start touching her; pin one behind her back, bend her against the desk; hell, she’s probably not wearing anything under that—okay, now you’re leering.

You swallow hard at the absolute casualness about her light fingers, undoing the belt and button at the waist of your pants. "So now what?" you ask, as though you were incapable of putting two and two together, as if you hadn’t been privy to these kind of rumors for months. "You’re going to bargain your way out?"

"Bargain?" She scoffs, and even that’s a pretty noise—the sound of it running through your head where it twists into moans, squeals and whimpers. Her eyes light up, and you’re hopeless, coming undone. "Isn’t that charitable. Like you haven’t been dying to stick your cock in me for weeks."

"Sana." Your last chance at professionalism, at propriety; so, abysmally it’s just her name that falls out of your mouth. But that’s how it comes together—or perhaps it falls apart—your cautionary tale, The Story of Manager Number Seven you’ll call it. It’s ruinous, it’s disastrous, worst of all—it’s instinct.

"Don’t waste the effort." Her chin cocks up and you’re left staring down the barrel. "Besides, I’m just saying the quiet part out loud, aren’t I?"

You doubt you’ll be around to meet manager number eight, and you’re certain one will come to be—maybe they’ll even read your memoirs; you wish them luck. Because the truth is, and you hate to say it, she’s got you all figured out.

-

Right from the jump, Sana confirms all your suspicions: she’s incredibly selfish. Pulling, gnawing, grabbing at your lower lip until it starts to swell, she hops up onto your desk. Something critical snaps, a cable cut, and you’re following right along with her. Each and every sinful step surely on a path to damnation.

"Well?" she asks, expectant and landing kisses on your cheek.

A whole assortment of paperweights, papers, pens, things that have been little use to you, crash onto to the floor. "Anything I want?" you ask, repeating yourself, unable to tire of its answer. "What if I’m - well, for lack of a better word, a total freak? Deal still on the table?"

"Hah." Sana smirks again—it’s kind of her thing, you’ve come to realize, but now you feel it on your skin. Her fingers are working down the front of your damp shirt, and she answers with a bluntness that leaves you feeling if anything, a little insulted, "You’re not."

"And what then, I suppose you know everything there is to know about me?" You’ve got your hands on her waist when you realize she’s not wrong. You’re not. But the shape of her body, under your fingertips, from just above where her hips narrow, it is everything you imagined it might be: wholly divine and capable of anything. You’ll ruin it—it just might ruin you too.

"Trust me, there’s a type," she laughs, "you come in here every day…" The sleeves of your shirt fall around your shoulders, and her gaze makes this journey about you, a momentary glance, and her eyebrow lifts as if to say not bad or this will do. "Same suit, same shoes, same coffee, same frustrated look on your face—just trust me."

She’s got it pretty dead on, not that you really care; you’re just not that kind of guy. But the way she says it, with such confidence, that’s a challenge. Oh, it’s probably to your detriment; you’ve always been competitive—you’ll surprise her. "I guess we’ll see."

You bury a hand into her hair before she has the chance to get on with the next snarky thought or another, and her head is tilted back, lips parting for you. Your tongues meet, first in your mouth, then in hers. Humming gently, Sana’s voice fills your throat, and all that hangs in the balance is rushing through your thoughts again—go ahead, mark your calendar; today’s the day you’ve thrown your career away. Because when you push her legs apart, her dress finally all hiked up around her tiny waist, and you’ve got your finger against the lace fabric across her entrance—

"Fuck," she gasps into your mouth, at least you think she does. It’s a good guess considering those nails, manicured and polished into sharp points, sinking into your shoulders. Her hips push themselves into you, pressing more of that fabric into your touch. You follow it down, trace it with your finger, dragging the loose-fitting lace along the way, and her folds nearly wrap around you, begging.

Your lips smack, spit trailing off them when you pull yourself back. You’re both catching your breath and it’s your turn to be smug, "I think this is the part where I say, wow Sana, you’re so fucking wet down here."

"Just stick to the script, and I promise I’ll go easy on you," she says, voice cold and calculated, as if her lip doesn’t wince every time you swirl the pads of your fingers over her mound.

Day by day, brick by brick, Sana’s broken you down to this. And now the smell of her hair in your nose, the taste of her lips filling your mouth, the feeling of that tender skin spreading between your fingers—you’re beyond fucked, she’s necessity.

You’ve sunk to your knees, and apparently the feeling is mutual; her hands pushing down on your shoulders as you go, impatient, greedy even. You start from her calf, down the length of a thigh, considering how it might bruise and mar, the taut pale skin a fresh canvas for your work. It’s a mistake, or you’re moving too slow, some transgression or another—isn’t it always? There’s a stifled groan off her lips, and she’s got her legs wrapping over your shoulders, heels clacking when she digs them into your back, pulling you into her. But you’ve earned it—you’re usually the one making demands, and it’s your turn to ignore them.

"What’s all this, hmm?" Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you away from the kisses, licks and nibbles you find all over the curve of her thigh, the places you’ve only buried and turned over in your thoughts for weeks. "You think you’re going to, like, make me fall in love with you or something? Get me so hot and bothered, I scream out, please, anything! I need you!" She gets her hand firm on your jaw, eyes smoldering something into yours like they’re stamping out a cigarette. "It’s actually kinda cute."

"Maybe. Then again, I’m not the one gushing through my underwear at the thought of getting fucked." Your fingers are hooking into her panties when you thoroughly catch the look on her face one last time—it’ll be worth remembering. You let yourself laugh through your words, "so I mean, I guess that’s up to you."

"Careful what you wish for." If she’s wagging a finger, you can’t see it, buried between Sana’s thighs. "Or I swear I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you."

"I’m kinda counting on it."

You’re talking about it like it’s casual, like this dereliction of duty has any other outcome than your ass on the curb or her name into scandalous obscurity. You catch it briefly, the eyebrow jumping and the haughty laugh out her nose; she really is pretty, even when she abandons that whole front, the delicate projection of sweet innocence and mild mischief. Who knows—maybe you prefer it now, all the more that the expression on her face is yours to pull apart.

Tightening her thighs on you, holding you firm, Sana cooperates only in so far as to help a pair of underwear roll down a leg and onto her ankle, and her pussy’s there, shimmering and glistening at you, an open invitation for your tongue—you’ll get around to it, but not until you’ve had your fill of everything else that’s been driving you nuts for weeks on end.

She swallows hard and snaps, "Why the hell are you teasing me?"

You’ve said it before, you’ll say it again, "boy Sana, you’re real mouthy today." A finger on her lips, brushing the surface of her aching entrance again, and she pulls a short tight breath past her teeth. "Aren’t you?"

"Then maybe you can stop fucking around and just get to—"

It doesn’t matter what she was going to say. It gets all caught and stuck in her throat on the way up so bad that you know it wasn’t important. The more pressing matter, your tongue against her clit, is about how the muscles in her stomach jerk and spasm about. That touch, it’s like it electrifies her. The lilting groan however—the one she fails to choke back—that’s from your finger you reckon, pushing its way inside her. You add another one for good measure. She can take it. She’ll take more.

"Shit," Sana mumbles, sucking on her lip, and then before a tiny punched-out breath punctuates the thought, she releases it, letting her mouth hang open when you find her swollen nub in yours, sucking and teasing without too much consideration. The shoe’s on the other foot: each brush of your fingers against her, where you’ve found her, and she shakes, hips jolting around you. Given that you’ve been laboring without any useful results to lead, direct, govern this girl for weeks, you’re chuckling out your nose that it’s now, like this, that she finally becomes anything close to compliant.

Whatever clutter’s still left on your desk rattles. Sana’s leaning back into it now, elbows propping up her small torso, and she steadies herself, failing against your tongue, your lips, especially your fingers. Her cheeks flood with this brilliant shade of pink, and she’s inching off the desk trying to force as much of herself into your mouth where you find her so wet you can feel her dripping down her chin. Even though you’ve never been the type, you can’t help yourself—licking around her quivering lips, around where she clearly needs you, you find yourself teasing, "What do you know Sana? I think I’ve lost my place in the script—you always cum this fast or…"

She shoots you a glare despite the blush staining her cheeks, but when her mouth opens to voice a complaint, you’ve got her mewling again—a cruel pace set into your fingers, creating this absolute mess between her thighs. Her palms slap the table, and she’s breathing in fits and starts, something akin to anticipation. She’s close and she knows it. In fact, you know it too, considering she’s so soaked her taste lingers long in your mouth when you stand yourself up, fingers still buried in her cunt.

"Ohhh… that’s it, right there, fucking hell," she whines, and the ends of her words are soaked in these rasping moans. "I can’t—fuck!"

"Sana," you start, and she’s dodging your eyes, ashamed at the twist on her face, the way her brows knit all at that squelching pleasure between her legs. It seems her pride may still have its limits.

"I’m gonna—" Her expression freezes, and that’s when you think you have her, but she keeps going. For a while. There’s only that loud, messy noise on your fingers in the shallow heat of her pussy until she decides she’s going to collapse into it all. Her eyes shut, and you watch as Sana realizes the bound of her voice to be no more than a hushed whisper, each utterance filling with these needy gasping breaths that rack her whole body, "I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna - I’m gonna—"

Her hips buck and jump, dragging herself along the shape of your fingers and she swallows down a husked moan. And then another. Until finally, she’s crying out.

"Fu—ah! I’m cumming!" Sana manages, and only now you’re believing her, the words on the verge of tears. "I’m cumming - I’m cumming—"

Mouth agape, some silent curse or another, she locks up. It’s a whole look—you tuck it away somewhere, the score still horrifically in her favor, but at least you’re finally on the board. "There you go," you whisper, knowing your assurances make it all the more embarrassing, "That’s a good girl Sana; just keep cumming for me."

It’s the smoldering heat quivering on your fingers, the first words of praise out of your mouth in god knows how long, those office supplies still falling to the floor as you suspend her in anguished pleasure—it undoes her. You’ve never seen her like this. Your fingers gliding through the mess of her aching cunt, you have to see more.

"Fuck—" she huffs.

You can nearly see the bright red flush on her cheeks peek out through the hands she’d thrown up to cover her face.

"—you," she finishes, and it’s a little more on brand.

When you reach down to pull her hands away, to kiss her, there’s no resistance—she’s putty, malleable, whatever you need her to be. She squirms when you pull your fingers out from inside her, sloppy and messy with her own cum, but you’re more shocked at how easily she lets you put them in her mouth. That’s a development. And you’re not going to be shy to say it. It’s fucking hot.

"Sana…" your voice trails as she hums on your fingers, her tongue gently finding the space between them. Her cheeks still burning, the way she sucks and licks her taste off you has you stuck daydreaming how it will look, how it will feel when it’s your cock between her perfect lips.

A light knock lands on the door to your office. Twice. And when that second knock does arrive, it has your stomach jumping into your chest. It’s unfortunate, but you’ll have to keep imagining.

"One second!" you shout out, realizing now you’ve never once had the blinds drawn or the door locked. It’s not a great look; hopefully you’re overthinking it. You pull your shirt off the floor and prance toward the door.

Sana sits herself up, brings her dress back down around her thighs and plops herself right back down on the sofa where you found her. Steadying her breath and watching you quietly spread apart the blinds with your fingers, she wipes a lash from her eye, asking, "Who is it?"

"Dahyun." You rise on the toes of your shoes to get a better look. The black hair pulled back into a ponytail and those wide lenses sitting across the bridge of her nose more than clue you in. "I think."

"What does she want?"

"Hell if I know."

"Well, let her in."

The last button on your shirt comes together and you’re opening the door—slowly. "Yeah?"

"Hey. Sana here?" Dahyun asks as though there’s nothing out of the ordinary. She sticks her head into the opening further until she’s half in your office, half out. Innocently unaware of the scene she’d just interrupted, her lips snap to this toothy grin and it becomes a pitiful reminder of the countless days you toiled to get where you are—responsible, respected, time specifically not spent fucking Sana with your fingers.

"Oh hey hello," Sana nearly sings, and her voice is no where near rasped like it just was. It’s a little incredible honestly how she springs back, elastic. Still preening her hair back into something close enough to perfection, she asks, "What can I do for ya?"

Dahyun scans you head to toe, taking a full confident step into your office as you open the door further. She lifts a disapproving eyebrow. "Wow. You look awful by the way."

You let out this heavy, labored sigh. "Yeah, well, the rain, and the—"

"He’s had a rough go at today," says Sana, filling in the rest with only what’s prudent.

Dahyun looks at Sana, then back to you and smiles with half her mouth. "Well, maybe you need it too—Nayeon’s got a tab open at the place on the corner opposite the station. The one with the weird windows. Told me to tell you."

"Sounds fun." The words come out of both Sana’s mouth and yours in this strange tandem. It sounds suspicious because it is; you’ve never once been in accord on anything.

"Yeah. Well. See you there or something, I guess." The door closes behind Dahyun and it takes a moment for the sound of your heartbeat to leave your ears.

"You mind handing me those?" Sana points to your desk, and your stomach drops when you see them: her wadded underwear sitting right in the middle of it all. "I kinda need ‘em."

You’re blocking it all out in your head, assessing the damage before you find yourself willfully distracted. It’s a spectacle even in reverse, Sana’s legs stretching out as she rolls the black lace back up her thighs.

"Thanks," she says, standing up and tossing those long copper locks of hair behind her shoulders. It could be a few things that earned you that gratitude, so you’re answering for all of them, "Yeah, no problem."

You’ve got your jacket back on, pulling your office back together into something orderly when you decide you’re going to try and repair more than just the room. "Look. Sana."

Her head tilts and a curtain of hair spills over her shoulder. She’s waiting on your words.

"I don’t care what you do—just do me a favor. Try to behave yourself. For your sake. All of that just now," you say, and your tongue clicks while you stew in discomfort. "Look. That was a mistake—"

"Oh?" Her voice pitches, and you’re left staring. It’s not long before she realizes you haven’t much of anything else to add, amused at the half words and sounds forming on your lips.

"I’ll tell you what we’re going to do." Sana wedges herself between you and the door, hands tucked behind her back, and her chin cocks up again. "You’re going to go home. You’re going to shower, get some decent clothes, and you’ll be at that bar."

Your lips tighten and your eyes narrow, a glance at the small wet stain lingering on your office’s sofa. "For what Sana?"

She laughs, really just a lovely sound—you shouldn’t be dwelling on it. You shouldn’t have already dwelled on it, but you abandoned prudence some time ago. Holding your eyes with hers, she lets her lip go from between her teeth and in a few simple words, she reminds you that you’ve really stepped in it.

"Cause - we’re - not - done." Another smile, and the dusty browns and grays in her eyes are as deep as ever. "I better see you at seven."

-

So, you’re sitting, sipping on something strong because it’s more than what you need when you notice there’s this line dividing the table, staff on one side, the usual suspects on the other. And you’re in the booth as well, disappointed there wasn’t some sort of larger crowd—something you might slip away into.

There are a few changes in seating when someone gets up to get more drinks or use the restroom or something like that. And it’s at the bottom of a rum and coke when Sana’s found the spot next to you, ever so slightly hanging on your shoulder—just absent enough that she might blame the alcohol, lean into it, play it up; present enough that it’s all you can think about.

"Hey," she says, once softly into your ear, and it’s overflowing with more suggestion than might ever fit into a single syllable. It registers; something clicks; you’ll play. Your gaze shifts around the table and back to where the neckline of her dress dips before it finds her.

"Hey." You’ve got it casual. At that, she smiles.

You’ll say something, and it’s got her laughing. Sana’s eyes are bright, cheery, and even though the lights are dimmed, you swear you’ve seen nothing prettier. Her head is on your shoulder and she tucks the corner of her lip between her teeth when you make her laugh again. She listens well. She speaks even better—clever, sharp-tongued, sharp-witted—making it look effortless. It’s magnetic. Hell, you don’t even notice her reeling you in, capturing you, cursing you. Perhaps it’s like this, outside of all that about rules and protocol—where she’s poised, presentable and balancing herself on the razor’s edge of this perfect image everyone’s come to expect from her—who couldn’t fall for her if just a little?

"I bet you’re still thinking about it," she whispers when she’s sure no one else is listening. "How your cock will stretch me. How you’ll use me."

Catching yourself, it is just a little you fall; god knows you’ve fallen further. There’s plenty of reason to take a pause, a breather, resume your worry—but you’re fixed on the lines of her face, serene and perfectly uncomplicated in the dim light, her expression full of simple joy. Though you trust her as far as that smile stretches across her lips, you’re watching closely as they part again.

"Let me tell you what I think…" Her hands land in your lap, asking questions whose answers might only be found where your cock struggles beneath the fabric of your pants. You’re sure someone’s bound to notice how close she is, hanging, clinging, wrapping herself around you. It’s like she wants to be caught—but fate isn’t so kind; a disaster it is that no one does. The stroke of fortune only ignites the hushed breath landing in your ear, "why don’t we, like, go find somewhere quiet?"

She’s duplicitous, destructive, deadly—spins lies for the sheer thrill of it, you’ve decided—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But you’re leaning into it too, you’re allowing it, you’re letting her—you’ll be damned if you aren’t just one of the herd.

-

It started when Sana dragged you by the wrist across the length of the bar and leaned into your ear. She first asked about someplace more private, then she suggested the ladies’ room, then you scoffed about what a terrible idea it was and then she said I promise I won’t be too loud and you felt your entire body shift.

It’s rare for you to make mistakes, to slip up like this—especially like this—but then there Sana is, her back against the door of one of the stalls, chin up, the swell of her lip caught cruelly between her teeth, and eyes shut tight as you push your fingers deeper inside her. It’s not like you, you repeat for the last time in your head, airing out the loose thought somewhere to dry when you notice the dull burn of something like adrenaline, the throbbing pulse in your tongue, your throat, the tips of your fingers—both those holding Sana tight at her waist, and the ones that keep coaxing these little whimpering hums out of her chest every time you curl them inside her. Your voice is coarse, and your tongue sticks to the rough of your mouth when you mutter her name; a betrayal apparently—those half-lidded eyes catch yours, and her lips slant like they know it just as well as you: you had plenty more mistakes to make.

"It’s kinda fucked up, you know that?" Sana sputters as though you need the reminder. "Like we went weeks, and what, your biggest fear that I’d end up somewhere like this? getting fucked?"

"I mean, if you’d rather I’d leave," you suggest, pushing her hard enough into the stall that the whole assembly shakes and rattles, "maybe you could help me remember all that a little more—"

"Don’t." It comes out more severe than you’d expect from this girl creaming the lining of her underwear at your fingers gliding between her aching lips. You catch the look in her eye and it’s so badly betrayed by the shortness in her breath, the blush searing against her cheeks—you do the math; find it all adds up to need and lust and whatever else could’ve dragged you both into this stall.

"Yeah?" you ask, reveling once in these few opportunities you get to be the one looking smug and smirking at her. "And why not?"

Sana releases her fingers from around your cock, her hand sliding up from inside your pants and snapping at the front of your shirt. "Because you owe me."

Before you can say anything, she pulls you into her, lips hard against yours. It hadn’t been long since she’d kissed you in your office—those few hours now feeling like ages ago. And even though you noticed it, beyond the way she licks your lips, bites them, pulls you into her and sends these tiny quiet moans into your mouth, you couldn’t quite put it into words then.

See, you’ve kissed your fair share of girls who’d done nothing less than a good job, but never before had they given it their whole attention, their whole being. There was always something on their mind, some idle thought or distraction: what time the last train left the platform, what day of their cycle it was, doubting their own technique, too much tongue, not enough tongue, if it’s too forward to grab that hand on their breast by the wrist and shove it between their thighs—Sana is none of that. Even while the fingers you shove up her cunt are drawing out all these gasps and hiccups, and ignoring the fact that between her legs is precisely where she needs you, she’s on you with this intensity that never once seems to let you out of its focus.

But no, to be clear, she’s not perfect—the wide pad of your thumb on her clit more than reminds you both of that. Her lips smack as she pulls herself off you, those cute brows knit like she’s about to sneeze.

"Oh, fuck!" She throws her head back and it sends all this silky hair flying.

With a fistful of her dress, her ass, you pull her against you. Her cheeks are so red and her pussy so unbelievably wet that you’re blinking in awe, in admiration—Sana’s features twisting into this masterpiece, this look of pure delight. Her voice gets strangled into something more hoarse, something debauched, and she’s punching out these tiny nods as you fuck her with your fingers, circling your thumb around her clit.

"That feels so fucking good. I—please sir," says Sana, and she’s leaning in like she knows you. Maybe she really does. "Make me fucking cum on your fingers, please, sir. I need it."

You hear it; something short of understanding it. Tuck it away like it’s a clerical error or some trifling hiccup—fuck if that’s the Sana you know—but the way she’s got it repeating in your ear makes it click. It’s familiar, and fucked up, that musing again, except now it’s all turned on its head, about authority, about subordination: she needs your hand stern like she needs your cock hard—she gets off on it, you figure. It’s ridiculous and it’s so out of line and it’s so like nothing you’ve ever done and you can’t believe it’s in this restroom of all places and it’s so fucking hot and you’re living on borrowed time, leaning into it—

"Go ahead, beg for it Sana"—like, really leaning into it—"I need to hear you say it."

"I can’t - fucking believe - just don’t stop, okay? Please sir, right there - right there - right there…" Sana is whimpering and mewling through it all as you match and mirror that grind she makes against your fingers. Frustrated, fucked, she’s giving up on your pants, which to her credit, there was a bit more complication to a button and a zipper than simply hiking up her dress around her hips, but still, it’s fascinating to watch her come apart. Her arms fall limp and she’s finding a place to rest them over your shoulders, mumbling, murmuring, repeating, "Please sir, I’m so close…"

"Sana." You’ve got your lips against her ear and it all but kills her; she whimpers and whines as she sinks her weight onto you, the heat of her own name on your breath, the way you say it, pushing her so far onto that edge.

"Put it in - please, please, please, I need it," Sana’s bleating only compounds when you pull your fingers from her cunt, looking at you like you’ve committed something heinous—which isn’t entirely off. Her voice squeals and trails again when you drag your palm across her clit, up across her stomach, "I’ll do anything, just give me your cock, and I’ll do anything, anything, please sir, I promise - I promise."

Sana can’t even keep her own voice down, those needy moans splashing over all that tile around you and probably leaking out the door and into the hall. She’s in no position to bargain or plea, but as you pull her together enough in your hands, wrap the swell of her thigh around you and press your body against hers, she’s not the only one making promises she doesn’t intend to keep. "Don’t worry Sana. I’ll take good care of you." Your voice is drier than expected, but it’s more than up to the task. "I’ll put this cock in you - and I’ll be nice and gentle; I’ll let you cum, now just be good for me, and I promise I’ll fuck you right."

The sound of your zipper makes this echo—loud, uncompromising, unholy as if it were somehow the most debauched thing pouring out from where you and Sana had committed to turning the restroom into this whole menagerie of lustful noises. You pull her soaked panties to the side and her voice floods with desperation. "Please—"

Sana whines, shuddering when the tip of your cock parts the swelling lips around her wet, needy entrance. Search for it, find it, and you’re groaning too—there’s no more hesitation the moment you slip your cock inside her.

"I can’t - you’re so fucking - fuck!" Sana swallows down these flailing gasps of air like she’d been held underwater, struggling spectacularly to bite back this broken moan. The lithe frame in your arms is teetering on the single heel still on the ground, relying on you, your chest, and your hips to keep her pinned to the stall. You’re holding her fragile world together; draw your hips back; drive into her again; you’ll tear it all apart.

Your teeth are gritting and your jaw clenched because she is so unbelievably tight, even all creamed and wet for you—but still, your focus is honed on her voice, keen to her movements, tuned to the way she writhes in your arms. Beyond the small tears filling out in her deep brown eyes, the lines of her face wincing and quivering, her eyelashes fluttering as your hips slam up into hers again, you’re acutely aware of the machinery in her head, of something deep inside her thoughts hitching, changing tracks, going with it; because this wasn’t what she’d expected: this was so much more than she’d expected.

"That’s it," you say, jamming it into that moist breath you push out of your chest, "just feel how you’re stretching around me, Sana, you fucking need this. I promise - you’re going to cum on this cock - and I promise - you’ll do it again."

"F-fuck," Sana rasps through it, her new favorite word. Your fingers dig into her ass and she’s biting down hard on its harsh final consonants, hiccuping, stuttering in the spaces your hips force between her mewls and cries. She swallows down at her indecency, scrambling for composure. "It’s so - I need you please - please, I need you to fuck me! - just use me."

And so there you are, raising the stakes. Each thrust into the smoldering heat deep in her pussy finds you harsher, stronger, the pauses between your thrusts approaching nothing; far more than Sana can hope to recover. You gasp, shocked at how she manages to fit you, her tightness working against you just shy of allowing you to ruin her. "Sana," you start, and her own name becomes music to her ears, how it sounds deep and gravelly on your panting breath, "fuck yes, Sana, that’s a good girl - your pussy feels incredible."

It’s your voice, it’s the small affirmations, it’s the way your cock swells and stiffens when she swings her leg open, the angle, the depth, the pressure making her incoherent and cry out like the fucked mess she is—for weeks now she’d been your foil, the thorn pricking sharp into your side, and here you are, driving your cock deep into her aching cunt, nothing less than her salvation.

"I can’t," she whispers, face falling into your shoulder and her teeth biting into your neck, leaving marks like you both don’t have to be at the office tomorrow. "I can’t keep - you feel so good, you’re going to make me cum - you’re gonna make me fucking cum."

She’s slipping, falling apart in your arms, breaking at the seams. The delicate application of mascara around her eyes is ever-so-slightly starting to run, and you feel her leg begin to wobble and buckle under her weight as it sits helplessly on the sharp point of that single heel. You struggle to scoop her up, finding the soft curves of her thighs over your forearms.

"Do it Sana," you sputter from between gritted teeth, and your hips crash again into Sana’s body, held pitifully between you and the stall’s indifferent wooden frame. "Cum all over this cock - cum for me."

Sana’s so close to the edge, so wet, so needy, that even craning her neck and seizing your lips is some exaggerated and laborious effort. But it’s the only way she can channel all that raw pleasure, that emotion searing its way from her cunt and shooting up the length of her spine, so she gets there, even if you have to meet her halfway. Her voice hums and cracks inside yours, and you can count the last thoughts of her waning composure in her tongue, in those tears gently wetting your cheeks, at the heart beating wild in her chest, all in those legs wrapping desperately behind you, pulling you deeper into her, yearning to find how much of that lust dripping between her legs you can fill.

"I’m cumming, I’m so close to cumming," she moans into your mouth, and there’s no question that she is—the quivers her cunt makes around your cock every time you bury yourself inside her heat—the way she clenches onto the emptiness that torments her when you drag your hips away from her again.

A final inhibition, that what if, the final shred of concern that someone could walk into this impromptu love nest and undo her career—entirely obliterate yours—in so little as the flash of a camera—it vanishes, like a candle snuffed out, first in her head, and then in yours. You smash your hips into the backs of her reddening thighs again, thrusting deep between them and you’re left only thinking of Sana, of her husked voice in your ears, of her ass spilling out between your fingers, of the torrid heat of her cunt—how she invites you, pulls you in, how she begs to be ruined.

"Oh my god." You can hear the wet breath that she draws fast into her chest scrape against her upper teeth. "Oh. God."

When Sana cums, she holds nothing back. And she cums hard—muscles tense, her chest holds onto one final breath, and she digs her fingernails into the backs of your shoulders without even a shred of consideration for the poor skin beneath them. Those short staccato breaths that filled your mouth become long, gasping wails that sit just aside your ear as Sana holds tight around your body, hips shaking and bucking between you and the wood behind her.

"Fucking hell, Sana." And your head is cocked, gaze pointing into the ceiling. "You’re so wet and tight - you’re cumming like you’ve never been touched once - I can’t fucking believe it."

"Y-you-you-you," she stutters, and you’re listening to the bolts and screws holding the stall door together start to grumble and complain. They’re not built for this kind of treatment, not meant to be pounded and punished beyond their breakpoints. Sana on the other hand—she falters, threads coming loose and cracking and falling apart—it only makes her more subdued, more fuckable, more perfect.

"I’m—" You toss your hands beneath her, readjusting your grip, and your lips are resting on her ear. "I’m going to cum inside you. I’m going to fucking use you."

She’s nodding into your shoulder, and it’s got her babbling and whimpering like she needs it even more than you. "Do it," she whispers, the first coherent thing out her mouth that wasn’t god, fuck or you in quite some time. "Do it, fill me up, please sir, cum inside my pussy—"

Knees locking and muscles burning, your fingers squeeze into her soft ass. They pull her to you, burying your cock deep into Sana’s cunt. "Fuck - Sana."

In that warmth, in the slopped mess of that fucked, used hole, you cum.

Sana coos when she feels that first rope of cum fill and pool inside her. She’s got her mouth gaping at the second and the third, and she keeps pleading like at this point you’ve got any choice in the matter, "Please sir - fuck all that cum into me - I need it - please."

Your eyes are shut tight, and your orgasm has you counting the stars in your eyelids, all of that tinnitus of blood rushing between your ears. Call it impropriety, unprofessional—you’re not arguing with any of that; it’s beyond logic; you’re just like the girl in your arms: ruined, fucked.

There’s all this mess between your hips, stains at the hem of Sana’s dress, and you’re still thrusting, slowed and deliberate now, and you’re reeling as you unload everything inside Sana. Your lips part, though nothing really comes out, just a long groan, and soon you’re laughing, returning back into reality—which at this point, it’s just the restroom, and it smells so badly of sex, beyond the harsh odor of cleaning agents. It’s bad, it’s that obvious.

One final shared groan—your voices trembling in unison on two wildly different sounds—fills the restroom when your cock slips out from between Sana’s wet, swollen lips.

"Jesus." Sana slides from your grip, lands on her feet, and barely finds her balance on her heels, knees bowed and wobbling as she straightens herself out. She wipes a few stray tears from her eyes and pulls her dress back down her thighs to somewhere slightly more modest, always a familiar challenge. "That was something."

You sink backward into the stall’s firm embrace, clearing your voice a few times. "Yeah," you start, and you realize you need more time to pant and huff your way back to anything presentable. "Okay. Five minutes. Walk out of here no sooner than five minutes after me."

"What?" Sana asks, and she crosses her legs, leaning back and sliding down the stall wall a few inches. "Are you that afraid someone’s gonna find out you just had your dick in me?"

"I mean, sure, it’s one fear." It’s all the dominos you have lined up after that, how they might fall. "Believe me, the last thing I need is Nayeon and Dahyun getting suspicious and—"

"They can kick rocks," says Sana, raking her fingers through her hair until it sits on her shoulders more or less how it was before you’d gotten your hands in it, all tossed and ruffled. "Besides they’d just be jealous they’ve never been fucked like that in their short, sorry lives."

You lean forward, smirking. "Oh? Fucked like what?"

"Don’t flatter yourself." She says it like it insults her, but the breathy laugh she holds back gives her away. "You’re the one who’s always saying, it’s unbecoming to gloat."

"Well, it isn’t my job to be becoming now is it?"

"Hey," she says, uninterested in the banter, taking a step through all the back and forth, and she leans into you, close enough to where you can see all those small, dangerous details again.

A few of the hints now inches in front of you become pretty recognizable: those few strands of hair stuck to the sweat on her brow, the smudges of mascara around her eyes, the way her knees buckle just a little when she shifts her weight—if anything, the rosy flush in her cheeks could be explained away with whatever she was sipping on minutes ago. But the mess leaking down her thighs? That was going need to some extra attention, and maybe a few tissues.

"This is the ladies’ room." Her head tilts, and you watch her hair fall on her cheek again. "You should totally, like, get out of here."

"Yeah. That’s what I was saying."

"Seriously." Her eyes light up and her teeth worry the corner of her lip. "I might just start touching you again if you don’t."

-

You figure all that guilt and anxiety was going to be there waiting for you in the morning. So for now, there’s this strange calm you find in the sound of tires hitting wet pavement and the smell of fresh rain on the wind. Though the evening crowd had started to thin, a few people are still out—couples mostly, holding hands, sharing umbrellas to satisfy some romantic hankering or another; you’re pretty sure it had stopped raining a while ago.

"You called two cars?" Sana asks, finger on her chin, "What’s the fun in that?"

"None, probably."

"Well that’s…" her voice trails off and her eyes narrow alongside this mild grin, "How are you supposed to walk me to my front door, you know, stand there with your hands behind your back, wait for a kiss, and then hang around missing all these queues that you should leave—until I finally decide to let you up for coffee even though it’s late and it’s a little too soon to be letting you stay the night and we’ve got work in the morning and—

"I’m sure you’ll manage." You snuff out the thought before it can brew any further in your mind—the power of restraint coming to you now apparently. Timely.

"Well it’s not like you live that far from me," says Sana, running her thumb over her lips and looking at how that fresh application of lipstick bleeds onto it. To her credit, she’d spent some time touching up after you pulled yourself off her tight, well-fucked body and before you watched her appear on the sidewalk outside the bar. Her lips pull back into a smile, and she clicks her tongue against her teeth. "It’s, like, eco-friendly or something."

"Uh-huh."

"It’s good for the Earth. You gotta be pro-Earth. I mean, everyone’s pro-Earth."

A train arrives in the station, metal brakes screeching on the tracks, and you ball up both hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Since when do you know where I live?"

"Well, to be honest," she starts like she’s about to set some record straight and wipes a strand of loose hair out of her face, "I don’t. But Dahyun walked home from your place one time. And I doubt you’d ever make her walk far. Let’s not mince words here—you really spoiled her."

"For starters, I never had to delete homemade porn off her phone." Your eyes are pointed to the sky while you try to remember if that checks out. And it does. "If I was lenient,"—which you were—"I dunno, maybe she earned it."

"Huh." Her eyes glisten, staring straight into yours. "I had no idea guys you guys were sleeping together—"

"Sana," you say, catching her eyes again. "We weren’t." It’s not a lie or anything, but the words are choking you on the way up like it were. "We aren’t." You clear your throat again. "We haven’t."

"Man—you really need to relax." Sana lets herself enjoy this quiet laugh that you barely hear over the sound of passengers arriving and boarding."Like I dunno, hear me out: maybe we both get in the first car that shows up, and we take it to your place, and you throw me on the bed, maybe over the back of the sofa, I don’t care; wherever you think—"

"I’m going home in one car," you say, turning a cigarette lighter over in your hand. "And you in the other."

"We could have at least made out in the back of the cab."

With this disappointed look on her face, Sana folds her arms and finds a spot against the station’s bricks to lean into, a knee pushed forward and one foot against the wall. Her skirt rises and ruffles just enough for you to get yet another glimpse of the gentle curves of her thighs—not that you’re trying to look.

She lets her cheek fall into her shoulder, eyes pointed at you, and gets on with this judgmental tone. "You smoke?"

"Rarely." You’ve got your hand cupping the end of the flame as it flickers in the breeze, protecting those embers until they finally catch and glow red. You hide the lighter in your pocket, and your posture straightens out an extra inch or two when you add, "only if I have a good reason."

"Oh? Then tell me; what’s the occasion?" she asks, and she smiles at you like she knows you’re pretending not to notice how pretty she is. "Are we celebrating? That’s kinda cute—"

"Stressed. Anxious." You inhale deeply. Let this sharp plume of smoke out. Then you bend your neck side to side a few times. "That kind of thing."

Sana takes a hint. She places her hands behind her back, leaning and looking into the sky, where rain clouds had rolled and tumbled out to let you peer into this vastly black sky—no stars, no moon, just an unending dark blanket of night. Neither of you say much; it’s pillow talk without all the chatter perhaps, and it’s comforting in a sense, a warm silence that you can wrap yourself up in. When you turn your head toward Sana, she surprises you for the hundredth time, the expression on her face so innocent and soft—it’s hard not to let her fool you.

"This one’s all yours," you say, and you nod toward the cab pulling up on the curb, tapping ash from your cigarette onto the ground.

Sana’s got her hand on the door and one knee in the backseat of the taxi when her eyes find yours one last time. "You sure? Last chance."

"I’ll see you tomorrow," you say, watching Sana shake her head and let out this muted laugh. "Oh and Sana, let’s—how about we try and keep our jobs. Okay?"

The challenge starts as soon as the members bid you farewell and the door is shut, leaving you on your own in this oasis known as their dorm. You’ve only stepped foot here once or twice (ten times if you count all of the instances that you’ve had to personally carry a drunk Yunjin home) and it only hits you now just how stunning the place is, the company clearly invested heavily on the group. The living room is as big as your studio apartment and filled with furniture that you know you’ll never be able to afford while the kitchen is filled with top-of-the-line appliances that chefs could only dream of. 

Sit on the couch and feel just how soft the fabric is, perfect to sleep on—you didn’t even need to bring your sleeping bag. But you didn’t want to move around too much, this is still their personal space and you are just a guest. A male guest, more specifically, and considering that they’re a girl group, they probably don’t have guys over their dorm that much (except for that one time Yunjin brought some random dude she met at a bar and you went to great lengths to make sure she didn’t get exposed). But you don’t know what else to do, Chaewon is probably sleeping in her room and management specified for you to never leave her side for “security purposes.” Since when does a grown person need babysitting? And why did she choose not to tag along with the rest of the girls?

But orders are orders, plus you’re getting paid to basically do nothing so you can’t exactly complain. Thankfully you brought your laptop with you so you can get some work done and watch some Netflix to pass time so these next two weeks should be a breeze, right? Maybe Chaewon will only leave her room for meals, maybe you won’t have any heart-racing interactions with her that will cause you to inevitably stutter and start fanboying like an idiot, maybe everything will go smo–

“Hey, manager-nim.”

A familiar soft, yet piercing voice breaks your train of thought and the aforementioned woman emerges from her bedroom looking oh-so-adorable in an oversized white shirt—the sight alone already has you malfunctioning internally. Fuck, she looks so cute. Even more so when she flashes you a smile and a wave as she walks over towards the couches and sits next to you. Your palms are starting to perspire and your heart is beating so quickly you might as well have just ran an entire marathon. You’ve already lost your composure and just like that, your plans are thrown out the window.

“H-Hey.”

Great. Now you can’t even utter such a simple word. It must be so obvious just how much you’re freaking out because she laughs hard and the way her eyes form crescents stirs butterflies in your stomach—or maybe that’s just hunger from not eating breakfast due to how much you were dreading this day. 

“Yah, why are you so nervous? It’s not like I bite or anything.”

“R-Right, sorry.” A sheepish smile. How are you supposed to tell her how infatuated you are with her and how such a simple task as striking up a conversation is harder than all of the exams you took in high school?

“Come on! We’ve known each other for over a year now, and yet you still act like I’m a stranger?”

Right. You still couldn’t believe your eyes when she walked through the doors of the company, you only heard the rumors swirling around but you refused to believe any of it; more so when you were told that you were going to manage her group. When that fateful day finally came, it was like your birthday and Christmas combined into one. Forget studying to be a doctor or an engineer, you consider becoming a manager of her group an achievement that can’t be matched by anything.

“And we’re even the same age! That’s pretty insulting to a woman, you know.” A fine woman, at that

You try to come up with something, anything but you’re scrambling like a deer in the headlights and your vocabulary has been reduced to only saying: “I-I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be hurt if you keep apologizing.” She playfully pouts, though you can see how there’s some truth to the words she’s saying and it’s enough to finally get you to your senses. She’s right. You’re a professional and it’s time to act as such; this is just a work assignment and nothing else. So what if you have a painfully huge crush on her?

With that renewed mindset, you straighten your posture and begin to relax though giving her a direct look in those captivating eyes still manages to fluster you—but given how absolutely stunning she is, who wouldn’t be? “Fine. No more apologies, okay? I’ll do better from now on.”

“There you go. It’s just gonna be the two of us for some time, so lighten up!” You miss the way her cheeks redden at her own statement because you’re too caught up at the thoughts that came up in your head at such implications.

Fortunately, everything was peaceful after that. Chaewon wanted to catch up on some movies and that’s exactly what she did, not before begging you to go to the convenience store with her to buy some snacks. For once, it felt nice not losing your mind every time you were in close proximity with her. You don’t miss the way she would sneakily initiate skinship by either casually brushing her hand against yours and leaning ever so closely but you ignore it.

It was only inevitable that she’d be tired after the third movie; you were surprised that she even managed to stay awake for so long because you were definitely drifting in and out of sleep after the second one—you still haven’t fixed your sleep schedule after all. It was already pretty dark outside and knowing Chaewon, her schedule is probably just as broken as yours. As the credits rolled, you yawned which caused her to do the same—fatigue settling in after such a long movie marathon.

“Looks like you didn’t get to watch any movies during promotion, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m using up all of the opportunities now to do so.” She grabs a pillow and places it on her lap, a pout forming on her lips once again at the thought. “We’re gonna be busy next year preparing for our world tour so I won’t have any time again.”

“I can only imagine, being a leader must be stressful and time-consuming so I’m glad you’re getting some time off.” You really are, which is why it baffles you even more that she decided to stay here in Seoul instead of going out on vacation with the rest of the members.

“Of course! You should know just how chaotic the rest of the girls are but I love them so I’m completely okay with it.” 

But as they say, curiosity kills the cat and you wouldn’t be able to stay put without ever finding out the reason. “By the way, why did you decide to stay home?” And you almost immediately regret asking her the question because of the smirk on her face.

“So I can do this.”

In a flash you feel Chaewon’s soft pair of lips mash with yours as she straddles your lap, allowing you to taste her strawberry lip balm. It only takes a quick second to realize that she’s not wearing any shorts underneath her shirt as you can feel a growing wetness on your crotch. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around her waist while her hands creep up underneath your shirt. It also only takes you a quick second to realize that none of this should be happening, though the growing bulge on your pants completely says otherwise.

You use your last ounce of professionalism to pull away from the liplock, every passing second withering it away. “C-Chaewon, wait!”

“I want you, manager-nim.” Her response is quick and firm, but even if she didn’t tell you anything you can see the burning passion in her eyes. She doesn’t let you respond as she engages into another kiss, this time it’s much more desperate and lustful as she swirls her tongue around yours. Feel her whimper and moan as she presses her body against yours—she must not be wearing any bra either because you can also feel her soft breasts through the cloth.

But this can’t happen; you’re a manager and she’s an idol—getting caught under such circumstances is almost certainly a death sentence in this harsh industry. If she doesn’t give you the opportunity to talk then you’ll have to do it yourself. You pull away from the kiss once again, though your male instincts wants to keep going. And just the thought of her choosing not to be with her members for this is causing your brain to go haywire. “Wait! We can’t do this!”

“Why not? No one is here.” Chaewon shrugs as if that was the overarching problem about this entire ordeal, her hands rest on your chest as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes captivate you once again and seeing them up close is much better than any fancams or pictures taken by her dedicated fansites. You almost get lost in the vast ocean of her beautiful eyes but you try to remain firm. 

“That’s not the point!”

“And the point is what, exactly? Does it say in your contract that you can’t have sex with the talent, manager-nim?” She then grabs the hem of her oversized shirt and begins to pull it upwards gently, exposing more of her lovely thighs and her white laced panties. A soft moan from her as she can feel your length throb underneath her and she knows that she’s oh-so-close to convincing you.

You want to look away, you have to look away. As much as your dick is loving what is currently happening, you know what the consequences of engaging in such an act would be. But it’s hard to make a logical decision when all you can feel is her crotch grinding against your bulge as she slowly and painfully continues to pull her shirt upwards, revealing her tight tummy.

Unfortunately you can’t look away as her intense aura glues your eyes towards her heavenly body as she eventually reveals it to you, throwing the shirt somewhere in the living room. Your cock can’t stop twitching at the sight: small but perky breasts, well-defined abs, and shoulders so beautiful that you just want to leave hickeys all over them. Her body is even more perfect than you imagined and you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t have a wet dream (or two) about her. She smirks seeing you drool at her half-naked body and the alluring lip bite that she gives you is the nail in the coffin.

Fuck it, might as well grant her wish right? “N-No.”

“Exactly. It’s only a problem if you make it, manager-nim. No one has to know about this.” She urges you to take off your shirt and that piece of clothing is quickly discarded as she mashes her lips with yours, the lack of clothing making this liplock more intimate as you allow your hands to wander around her tanned skin, tracing her curves and every single defined muscle obtained from hours of dance practice. At this point you have conceded to her, the explosion of pleasure you’re currently receiving is too good and Chaewon is too resistible. “Plus, I’ve been dreaming about this for so long…”

Move your lips down towards her jawline and neck, leaving chaste kisses but careful not to leave a mark. The sultry and lewd moans she releases in your ear sends blood rushing through your length and you can feel more precum dripping out that your boxers are starting to become sticky. Meanwhile your hands continue to wander around her body, finding a resting place on her buttcheeks and giving them a gentle squeeze which emits a louder moan from her.

“Y-Yes, manager-nim…”

Leave more kisses down to her clavicles before your pair of lips latch on to her breasts, sucking and licking her left nipple while your free hand massages the other. She continues to moan desperately and the sound of your name leaving her lips in such a lustful manner is only causing your control to slip away every moment. You want to continue pleasuring her so you do the same to her right nipple, making sure that it receives an equal amount of pleasure. And you would gladly suckle on her breasts for hours but the growing patch of wetness on her panties is hard to ignore. Plus, you’re going to lose your mind if you have to spend another minute with your pants on.

Catch your breath as the session temporarily ends and she does the same, using it as an opportunity to remove herself off of your lap to take off her panties which reveals her pussy already glistening with her juices dripping down her meaty thighs—it’s starting to get painful just how erect your cock is at the moment and it’s obvious with the massive tent it’s pitching on your shorts. Thankfully she gives you a look urging you to remove your undergarments as well and you do exactly just that, your cock springing out of its prison and dripping with so much precum.

Now you are both completely naked but before you can truly appreciate the sight in front of you, Chaewon immediately lunges towards you again. You’d think a girl like her would be interested in some form of roleplay but she’s clearly needy as she straddles your lap and angles her hips so that her pussy sinks directly into your dick. It’s hard to concentrate on multiple things at once because she’s also continuing her assault to your lips, biting and licking your lower lip as she slowly engulfs your length in her pussy.

“A-Ah fuck! So–so fucking big!”

She’s so tight, much more than you expected due to her light body frame and you know it’s going to take a while for her to get used to it. The way she clenches on your length as she rides you leaves you a groaning and growling mess, much more so as her skin glistens due to sweat which makes her look even hotter in your eyes. You want to burn this image of Chaewon forever, your crush, pleasuring herself using your cock and how you’re continuing to leak precum which have probably stained her walls already.

As you bottom out, her nails clutch onto your shoulders tightly which will definitely leave marks but you don’t care about it right now. You wrap your arms around her waist to press her tight body against yours while you give her deep and passionate kisses, feeling her whimper in your mouth as she wraps her arms tightly around your neck. Due to how wet she is, you can hear squelching with every exit and entry of your cock and the sound only adds to the fire burning in your stomach.

“Fuck! Fuck! So fucking tight, Chae.”

And you’d gladly give her all the time in the world because just feeling her immaculate body on yours already makes this an experience that you’ll remember for the rest of your life. Chaewon alternates between grinding on your hips and slowly lifting her hips off your dick before sinking herself back down and the position directs her moans and hot breaths right into your ear. 

It took a few minutes but eventually she started to gain rhythm, her movement starting to resemble more like bouncing as opposed to just grinding. This was the sign that you needed to begin thrusting upwards, matching the pace of her bounce with the thrust of your cock inside her tight walls. Such actions only made her cries of pleasure even louder and you’re truly thankful that it’s only the two of you in the dorms because the sound of flesh on flesh and your combined moans and groans complete the hottest and dirtiest symphony ever created in this living room. “Kiss me as well, manager-nim!”

Chaewon doesn’t need to tell you because her addictive lips are making you just want to dive into them and after a particularly hard thrust, you initiate sloppy, wet kisses. Her succulent lips are truly a joy to taste and the way they mold perfectly with yours is only serving to grow the familiar tension in your stomach. Another hard thrust causes her to ragdoll in your arms, unfortunately ending the makeout session as her breaths become more hurried, moans turning into cries as her sweaty skin glides smoothly along yours.

“Shit! Oh god I’m so damn close, manager-nim. P-Please just keep pounding me like that.”

You want to test just how high her vocal range is so you begin to shift your cock inside her until your tip hits a soft bundle of nerves that causes her to let out her loudest scream of the night—such vocal range is what makes her such a great singer but tonight she showcases it in a dirtier and sexier way. 

“Manager-nim! Manager-nim! I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum all over your fucking cock. FUCK!”

Chaewon bites into your shoulder hard as her walls squeeze you so tight that you almost end up finishing alongside her. She uncontrollably shivers as she rests her head on your shoulder, panting heavily while she recuperates from the intensity of her orgasm. The amount of fluid that gushes out of her pussy is enough to completely stain your thighs and the couch below, the squelching sound with every slow thrust you make only adds to the dirty symphony you two are creating. You want to give her time to rest and recover but only mere seconds after, she’s already nibbling and kissing your ears while you leave more kisses all over her sweaty neck.

“Bedroom, please.” A whisper to your ears and you were not going to be told twice. With ease, you lift the petite woman off the couch, causing her to wrap her limbs tightly around you. You bounce her on your length a few more times which causes more moans to reverberate throughout the living room as you make your way to her room.

You turn on the lights and gently place Chaewon on the bed and she spreads her legs immediately, showing off her inner thighs that are completely drenched by her squirt and her pussy that’s continuing to pulsate. “I want your cum to fill me, manager-nim. Come ravage my tight pussy.”  A seductive look, then another lip bite which completely unshackles every single piece of professionalism that you’ve ever had—as if you still had some after what just happened minutes ago.

“Fuck!”

You harshly grab onto her waist to bring her closer to you while you hover over, easily sliding your length back to her pussy in one motion. With arms resting on either side of her head, you lean forward to kiss her as you start thrusting at a frantic pace—you were desperate to chase your own orgasm after her and you were going to make sure to fill her up like she wanted. Chaewon understands this as well as she wraps her legs around your waist while you continue to piston your cock into her pussy. The harsh thrusts unfortunately makes it difficult for your lips to remain attached to hers so you settle for her neck instead, nibbling on the soft and delicate skin while her sultry moans only brings you closer and closer to your peak.

“I’m gonna fill you so fucking much, Chae. That’s what you wanted, right? You want me to breed you?” 

A hurried nod is the only response you get from her, those velvety walls of hers that’s already had an orgasm are beginning to tighten again much like the familiar tension building up in your stomach. It only takes a few more sporadic thrusts before you completely erupt inside of her with a loud groan, almost mirroring her screams of pleasure from earlier. You've left hickeys on her neck that will definitely have to be covered as you reach your peak. Shot after shot of your hot sperm fills up her walls to and over the brim, flowing out of her pussy while a second, smaller orgasm overcomes her in the aftermath. It didn’t take too long considering you were holding yourself back for her and perhaps that just made your orgasm stronger.

“Oh god Chaewon, fuck. Shit. That was fucking hot.”

When you pull out, more seeds flow out of her used pussy while you lay down on the bed besides her—you’re still mind blown by the fact that you just had sex with your crush, who also happens to be a member of the group you manage and the implications of what just happened will absolutely hit you like a truck tomorrow morning. But you couldn’t care less at the moment as Chaewon gives you a tired smile, leaving one more kiss on your lips before the intense session instantly takes her to dreamland.

As if on cue, your phone’s notifications immediately start blowing up which almost makes you jump off the bed—who could be messaging you at this very hour? Carefully, you make your way back to the living room to grab your clothes and the device that’s continuing to make noise. Chaewon is already sleeping and the last thing you’d want to do is wake her up so you silence your phone only to be left surprised by the messages.

From: Yunjin

“Hi oppa! Did you like my new year’s gift? Hope you didn’t break her.”

What the fuck?

“You must be shocked, right? Don’t act like I didn’t see you drooling over unnie’s fancams~”

No way…

“I hope you used the condom I slipped in your pocket~”

You quickly grab your pants and fish through your back pockets and sure enough, the aluminum foil-wrapped piece of contraption is there. When did she…?

“Aigoo~ Sounds like you didn’t but it’s fine.”

You’re already panicking but her next message leaves you shell-shocked.

The lights of the first floor and every room in the second and last are shut, except Yujin's, despite the late time. She is studying for her finals the best she can, and being her boyfriend, you know she'd study her heart out till five. You think of how boring that must be as you try to lighten your steps on the roof to avoid the creaking, but of course there are still inevitable sounds. They are softer, though. Much softer than your cock is, the very thing that drove you to walk all the way to your girlfriend's house and give her a "present."

The darkness is the friend of your black sweater. You camouflage into the night naturally. You blend in so well that if her parents looked out the window to inspect the sounds, they'd think that they are being caused by another rowdy black cat. Praise yourself for thinking of wearing all black, and prepare another internal compliment to be able to walk across the thin edges to Yujin's window.

This is the part where you begin to get a little scared.

Climbing a house in the night is one thing, but crossing the edges lining the box-shaped building? That's another level that even your daredevil personality won't rank up to unless it's a matter of great importance that most likely won't happen out of the blue, like rescuing important documents or retrieving a cat lost in a fire.

You pause and consider your options. You can stop this and go home with blue balls and scraped knees, or you can continue doing this. However, the grass is greener on the downer side. One wrong move, it's going to be splattered red.

Think, dumbass, think.

Your decision is seen in the way you take a deep breath, holding on to the first window frame for balance, then step forward.

Don't look down, don't look down, don't look down—

Of course, you look down anyway.

Jesus fucking Christ, you curse, as you almost slip and fall off. The edges of your sneakers are barely holding on to the thin and short floor you're navigating. You swear that it isn't too high from the ground when you originally thought out the plan.

Going to Yujin's window, which is not far from the porch roof, is going to be harder than you thought. This is what horniness does to a motherfucker.

Press yourself against the outside wall of the house to calm yourself down. You can't bring yourself to close your eyes because you are afraid that putting your guard down will lead to scary consequences: Yujin's parents looking out from their own bedroom window and screaming their heads off, a neighbor spotting you climbing their house, or worse, some killjoy calling the police and erase any chances of you getting into a good college forever.

That's not going to happen. No, it won't. You will get to Yujin's window and get what you came for.

You are inching closer and closer to your beloved's bedroom, although your legs still tremble. You can't give up just now.

You are almost there. Just one more brave step. Just one more.

You are clinging to the wing-like structure of the mini window roof, comfortably setting your feet down on the table.

You are knocking on her window.

You are finally here.

Yujin is inside, lying on her bed with her stomach down and fingers pacing on the keyboard of the laptop she got for her nineteenth birthday. She is wearing a blue sweater, which you recognize as yours, and the plaid yellow skirt from school. It's late at night, yet she is still wide awake. Her bright eyes read the text material on her laptop screen, studying every detail and date there is that will be mentioned in the tests.

Knock your hand against the glass. She doesn't look up. Rap your knuckles four times a little more urgently, and she finally breaks out of her trance and directs her attention to her window.

At first, her eyes widen. She's suddenly afraid. Who is this guy? Why is he here? And why does he look—

But she recognizes your face after those few rapid-fire questions settle down. That is when her face changes to an expression of delight and shock. It remains on her as she leaps up from her bed and rushes to her window to open it.

"Oppa!" Yujin says. She's a smart girl; her tone is hushed to avoid her parents from waking up and she's carefully helping you inside to prevent you from (1) catching a cold and (2) looking stupid standing outside of her room. You step inside gladly. "What are you doing here?"

You hug her tightly. "Nice to see you too, Yujinie. Nice house," you add, although you've been here before a thousand times in the course of your three-year-old relationship, in secret and not.

She rolls her eyes. "Cute."

"Thanks, love."

"Don't love me," scolds Yujin, shoving you in the chest. She looks at her bedroom door fearfully to check if it's locked. It is; the circular contraption is shoved inwards. The fear in her heart still rages, though. "You still haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see my baby, of course," you say to her. Pinch her cheek to prove your innocence."I figured she would need a little help for her finals?"

That's a lie. Yujin never needs a tutor for studying, much less her boyfriend who is a dumbass at writing. She can understand anything after just a few moments of reading. So, she sees right through your falsehood, as if she were wearing 3D glasses that made everyone's words transparent.

She narrows her eyes at you. "That's not why," she informs you. "Tell me what you're really here for."

Choi Yujin is annoyance personified. She's crossed her arms over her sweater, scrunched her eyebrows at you, while tapping her shoe expectantly on the carpeted floor. She's very serious about her education, and if something distracts her from it purposely, she will find out why they dared to, whether they like it or not.

You really wanted this to be a little softer at first. Maybe some sweet foreplay then a nice pounding into Yujin's bed. But no, she's furious, and you are sexually frustrated. And when two very different people meet and try to interact with these slightly different emotions, the outcome usually isn't rainbows and sunshine.

"Well, for one, these fucking earmuffs—"

—Yujin gasps as you take her roughly by the waist by one hand, and grope her slim thighs with the other, urging them apart—

"—this pretty neck—"

—your teeth dig into Yujin's pale skin, evoking a gaspy moan out of her—

"—and this tight cunt."

With no warning whatsoever, your fingers swiftly slide themselves inside her, pushing aside her underwear. Yujin's knees buckle, and she has to hold on to your sides to keep herself standing. And even with your body to support her, she remains atremble.

As expected, Yujin is tight as ever. Your fingers have to spread and fight to even be able to fill her up. She shifts and whines as you do so, biting down on her lip to let the initial pleasure reap through her.

Her tension does not mean she doesn't like it though. Look down and Yujin is circling her hips onto your fingers, filling herself up again and again, while her moans that she is so desperate to keep quiet reach your ears in the form of rough, husky sounds. You rub your fingertips at the velvety tight walls and smirk when they are met with a rush of wetness.

Yujin lets out a series of whimpers. Closing her eyes, she makes a quivering sigh. "God, okay," she whispers. Inside, she's euphoric because of your busy fingers, but she is also wondering why the hell she's so weak for your touch. She's never been like this around her exes! "I-I'll give it to you. All of it. I needed a break anyway."

"Thanks, babe." You reward her by kissing her on the lips, and of course, by fucking her snatch harder. She is so utterly tight, it's actually delicious. Just looking at her thighs wrapped in her lengthy socks press together to bear the first impact of your initiation is like a taste of heaven. "I owe you one."

"You owe me a lot, actually," she corrects you breathily. She's constantly on her toes because of your finger-fucking. "Seriously, what were you thinking? If you wake him up, my dad can just elimimate you from the face of the—"

"Shhhh."

You start kissing Yujin like crazy. Her hips are constantly convulsing on your hand at the added sensation of your tongue lapping at her lips. The two of you are so wrapped up in each other, so drunk in one another's touch, that Yujin actually knocking into one of the autumn-themed wallpapers comes as a sobering surprise.

"Ow," says Yujin. "Let's take this to the bed, shall we? Can't have you fucking me against these walls."

Well, that's disappointing. "You can, actually," you propose, raising your eyebrows and quirking them at her. But you take away your fingers from inside her and let her push you to her bed. Your back lands on a soft cloud-like mattress, complete with fluffy pillows and a teddy bear, which you turn your gaze to. "Or did you just want me to see this teddy bear?"

The pink teddy bear sits beside you with stitched eyes and a threaded smile. You can't remember if you were the one who gifted it to her or if it was her mom.

Yujin rolls her eyes while she undoes your jeans. "Why the fuck would a teddy bear play such importance in me wishing to have sex the classic way?"

There she is again with her textbook way of speaking. It's endearing, sure, but sometimes you wonder if that's the result of too much studying. Sure, after prioritizing education, one comes out as smart and knowledgeable, but maybe they also get out of school unable to speak casually.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe you rub yourself off on it when I'm gone."

"Oppa!" Yujin is surprised at your obscenity, even if you are literally about to have sex with her. Not to mention your rock-hard cock standing freely now that your bottoms are unzipped. Her blush is deep and bright.

"What? Come on. We all have those needs, Yujin. Why do you think I climbed a house for you? Maybe... just maybe, you ride this teddy bear. Tell him all your wants and needs that can't be fulfilled because I'm away."

It's the usual teasing between you and Yujin, but then her blush gives away something else. Something that says there is some truth in your words. That she does do that when you're gone.

"Oh, don't tell me you actually—" You are cut off by your own moan due to Yujin jerking you off with her tiny hand.

"First of all, she's a she," Yujin informs you. She remains narrow-eyed as ever as she jacks you off, circling her tongue around your head. "Her name is Betty."

"Ooh, didn't know you went both ways, Yujinie. Not that I have a problem with it, you know. I always saw you and Seungyeon and thought there was something between the two of you."

"Learn to shut up sometimes, okay?"

Yujin returns eye for eye, or rather, mouth for mouth. She laps at the underside of your cock, knowing it's one of your most sensitive parts, and licks at it sharply with only the tip of her tongue. You gasp loudly in response. Remembering Yujin's parents are only two rooms away, you bite your lip to keep quiet.

Yujin kisses your cock all over, peppering it with her chapstick-glossed lips. She makes sure to observe your expressions the whole time, verifying if you like what she's doing or not. You quiver at her licking your balls, and you have to resist grabbing her by her dark hair and downing her on your dick. All the foreplay is making you feel too hot. Damn Yujin and her talented mouth. Damn her for being too pretty and too kind.

Yujin is not an inexperienced girl. She knows how to suck a mean dick, and it shows a lot. She rubs your balls and effortlessly takes in the whole of your shaft, alternating in between breathing through her nose and through her mouth to puff hot breath on your cock. Whenever your head knocks the back of her throat, you groan pleasurably. Your hips start jerking by themselves when Yujin deepthroats you. Like her pussy, her throat is slick and tight. It constricts around you like cuffs. If you were in charge of everything, you'd take the keys to those "cuffs" and swallow it so you can stay in Yujin's mouth forever.

The tip is her favorite part. She teases her tongue on the underside of the mushroom-shaped tip. Her eyelids flirtatiously flutter at you, innocently and teasingly, as if she doesn't know the impact of that almost subtle action.

One active lick almost makes you cum. "Oh fuck, Yujin!" you cry out. Her innocent face isn't pure enough to hide her smirk, or the evil desires in her eyes which she performs: downing your cock all in one go repeatedly, licking and lapping whenever her tongue can, and sucking your tip like it were a straw.

The precum is good enough juice. "You wanna cum on my face," Yujin asks you, showing the white on her tongue, "or would you rather my pussy instead?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"Hmph. Fine. Let me give you a sample.

"Do you want this?"

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, as Yujin's tongue dances on your cock yet again, rubbing the right spots and licking the best places.

"Or is this better?"

Suddenly, she straddles you. Her panties tugged sideways, she teases her pussy on your dick. Never letting it directly penetrate her, she simply rubs herself on the head, making it stimulate her hard clitoris and spread her pink outer lips. She purses her lips and lets out a soft "Mmm!"

"Shit... Yujin, just ride me."

She nods sympathetically, but not without confirming, "Final answer?"

"Yes. God, yes. Fuck!"

Your swear jar is almost as full as Yujin is. She sits down completely on your rod. It pierces her insides in the best way possible. It's hard to keep up her dominant façade when it's just so perfectly big inside her. The guise becomes slightly transparent because of her delicious hiss of pleasure, and the silent plead you almost hear leaving her lips.

Yujin is entrancing, in every way there is. Every move of hers, though calculated to bring pleasure to both sides, seems natural. Her mouth falls open slightly to the heavenly sensation of your penis rubbing at her sensitive spots. Her hips sway sideways, as if she were dancing instead of riding you, and sometimes they rotate. Each direction brings the same pleasure but at a different height. Yujin's wetness is simply lube for it all.

It's like a wet dream come true, when Yujin lifts herself in the air, leaving your head barely inside, then slams back down on you, filling herself up again. "Oh!" she exclaims, eyes wide. Her cunt seals around you strictly to keep you in place.  "You're so big, oppa."

"And you're so fucking hot." Your mind is only filled with Yujin in her uniform mounting you again and again. The way her skirt bounces and so do her subtle tits through her sweater make you crazy. How can a girl be so perfect and be yours?

Yujin humps your cock at a velocity that isn't too fast, but isn't too slow either. It's the perfect pace to appreciate the snugness of her cunt, on your side. On Yujin's, it's to let your cock veins rub a certain place inside her. That need is so constantly met that her expression is orgasmic, even if it has barely started yet.

The routine of her hips and the jiggle of her thighs in the process are dizzying. Tight as she may be, she relaxes her walls enough to let the rest of you inside her. She lets out a shuddering sob once it has completely filled her up. Her voice sounds higher now, almost at the note she reaches that makes her choir's harmonies perfection. Little did her choir teacher know how much bigger her range actually is when your cock is around.

Her hole involuntarily tenses and releases around your dick. "Hmph... haaah. Does that feel good?"

You are unable to focus on what she's saying. Yujin's cunt leaking and quivering is distracting you from makimg a decent answer. Luckily, there's no need for you to answer in words. Just your red face is enough to make Yujin smile her signature wholesome grin that is the very thing that made you fall in love with her.

Yujin's grinding eventually makes her frustrated. Yes, it feels good, and it is very pleasurable foreplay. But she's already so wet. She doesn't have time for anything else.

Yujin clenches around you as tightly as she can and resorts to rough and fast riding. "Hngghaaah!" she squeals, gathering your shirt in fistful balls. "This... feels... so much better—!"

Yujin can't keep up her tough façade any more than you can maintain your indifferent one. There's too many parts about this whole thing that make yout desires as transparent as day. For one, there's the size difference between Yujin and your cock is incredibly arousing. You have no idea how such a tiny body can take so much energy into doing this.  When she bounces on your stick like the bunny she is, her skirt flies up, and you catch a glimpse of how much your cock is stretching her. Even with how tight she squeezes, it manages to pierce through the strictness of her cunt and hit her cervix. For some this action is painful, but for Yujin, it's everything but.

And another thing that just contributes to the deliciousness of it all are Yujin's wails of delight.

"Yes yes yes, yes!" she screams loudly when you take her by the hips and start slamming her onto you. Exhaustion accents her bounce, but you hold it off by thrusting her onto you like a doll. "Keep fucking me, oppa! Keep fucking me so hard I can't walk properly to school!"

That statement turns you on even more. Yujin is someone that by now you are aware won't even take a joke about her learning. Hearing her make such a bold statement, to indirectly say that school isn't that important when you are around, works you up so much.

Yujin is as light as a feather. Her extracurricular dancing activities basically guarantee that. So it isn't a big problem for you to suddenly stand up, your hands still wrapped around her sides and hips still diligently pounding her, then switch the positions.

Yujin is now on the bed instead of you. From here, you can see her cute face contorted into an expression of bewildered pleasure. Her legs are splayed far apart so that you can see her tiny pussy, and how your cock is spreading it to its limits.

But you don't care if you are too big for her. You're here to do specifically what she said: to fuck her so hard her legs give out on the way to school.

Holding her legs high in the air, you fuck her cunt like an animal. In this missionary position, it feels deeper, and ten times better. Yujin still wants more though; she inches her delightful cunt closer to your approaching and exiting shaft just to feel it stab her leaking lips even more. Her screams are as loud as the sound of slapping.

"Fuck! Give it to me, oppa!" Yujin's falsetto pleads deafen your ears. But you still take her as hard as you can. Your hands squeeze and caress her thighs while you lean down to coax Yujin into a deep kiss in an attempt to hush her down.  After all, her parents are still in the house. In a drunken trance, Yujin obliges happily. Somehow, the kiss amplifies the experience even more, especially with how delicious Yujin's mouth is and how good of a kisser she is.

Her beautiful bed is ruined with her juices. If the teddy bear sitting across you were alive, it would have been greatly traumatized. But these are all factors that you dismiss. Your mind is too wrapped around Yujin furiously making out with you. Even when you pull her closer by her thighs to shorten the path to her juicy cunt, her hands remain on the sides of your head. They also tug you closer so she can feel your tongue deliciously swiping at her jaw and mouth. What was supposed to be a deep French kiss to quiet her down became a series of laps and smooches on her cheeks and neck. They do the opposite of making her quiet. They make Yujin feral.

"Hmmmm, mmm!" Her broken hums are like subliminals designed to make you want her even more. And if they are, you're pretty sure they're working. "Fuck, I'm close... don't stop!"

Finally, that's one thing you are asked of that you can do excellently. If you can't help Yujin out with her exams, then you can simply assist her in her carnal needs.

She does the same, too, without realizing it. The reason why you keep blushing around her at school is not just because of her prettiness alone, but that cursed uniform. It's been a kink you've tried to hide for so long, but now you let it all out. Besides, the fantasies you've had of fucking her while she wears it have finally come true. Maybe the house climbing risk is worth something after all.

Sex with Yujin is not frequent, but it isn't so seldome either. So throughout the times you found in your days to make love to her, you learned how to bring her there. It's a simple method: although one would think to go faster, you must stay at the same pace, applying more force in your movements. Then, you have to tease your thumb over the glistening little pear above her slit, and rub it up and down. All this you do, bringing Yujin's legs together at your back as she tries to get you closer. Her screams are becoming more insatiable than ever.

As you count down the thrusts that will lead to her orgasm, you lean down and snarl at Yujin, asking her, "Come on, Yujinie, aren't you afraid your parents will hear me fucking you? And they'll come here and ask us what we're doing?"

Your face being too close flusters Yujin. It adds to the redness in her face from the rough sex. Wide half-moon eyes staring up into you, she fires you a smile that is so sweet and innocent in the midst of your clashing sexes, and says: "I don't fucking care. If you're too pussy to do it with them, then just tell me."

That stuns you. Yujin has never dared you like that before. She's too sweet and kind to even playfully make dark jokes like you do. But now, with her menacing but attractive smile blinding your eyes, you take that as an opportunity to show why she should never even think of doubting you. Definitely not in the thing you do best.

Yujin is a smart girl. You're not so bad yourself, so you know exactly what she's doing. She's doing all this to get what she wants, which is her own orgasm. She's purposely riling you up solely to reach her high.

You know that, but you find yourself devouring her neck nest. You find yourself drowning in her screams and the goddamned uniform she looks so hot in. You find yourself fucking her harder, forgetting the classic method or her stupid old parents, reaching under her sweatshirt and pinching her tiny sensitive nipples. Her scream is the equivalent of fresh cold water in a desert. Maybe it is the desert's blistering sun that has surreptitiously melted all common sense and logic melts from your mind the way it always does when you're screwing Yujin, but each time it still feels like heaven. No, not heaven—somewhere in between heaven and hell. As if you were crossing on thin ice with a large smile on your face.

Your groans drown out your thoughts and leave room only for Yujin. Who wouldn't be drowning in her right now? Just simply looking at her, seeing her own adorable smile is gone and that she's losing herself, too, is enough to make you submerge yourself in the sea of pillows again to kiss her. They drive loud yells out of her that increase in stuttering volume. You hear the most deafening one when your angry thrusts are attemped to be paused by her cunt suddenly contracting.

"F-fuck, Yujin!" Shove your hips upwards and slam her to the wall her bed stands beside, which is luckily filled with more pillows. "Since when did you get so naughty?"

"Hunghhh, I don't know. When..." Choi Yujin isn't able to finish her sentence. The straight-A schoolgirl everyone knows and loves has erupted in your arms with a final yelp. With her plaid skirt hiked up to her stomach, you can perfectly see how you creampied her so well. You let out more than you thought.

As pretty as the view of Yujin's creampied cunt is, you suddenly remember something. The panic begins to rise in you. "Yujin, are you—"

"No, I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm kidding, silly," she answers. Her smile is so full of sunshine that one can forget she joked about you unknowingly impregnating her. "Of course I took the pill. I even shaved for you."

A surge of relief reaches your nerve-filled shore. It is only now that you notice her hairless patch. But observing it just brings you another question:

"Wait, so you knew I was going to come here to fuck you all along?"

Yujin smiled up at you and raises both her hands up dismissively. "I don't know~ I guess you'll have to find that out for yourself."

You would have. You really would have thrown a thousand and one more questions at her just to investigate a clue to what her truthful answer may be. You would have teased her and pleaded her to tell you more. All those things will now only remain as "would"s due to Yujin's concerned father standing at the door of his daughter's room, whom he has just now discovered is not as good as he thought she was.

This is wrong, I shouldn't do this.... Hyeju thinks to herself, her lips claimed by someone and squished against the wall of the apartment.

He's waiting for me.... She feels her clothes getting ripped off her clothes, her body caressed and touched in a hungry, almost savage way.

"What are you thinking baby? ~" The man asks, a wicked grin on his face as he looks at her with a lustful, predatory gaze.

"Thinking of him, perhaps? ~" Hyeju's body stiffened at the question, her eyes darts around in an attempt to avoid the question, yet her body shivers underneath the pleasure he is giving her.

"After today, you'll forget all about him~"

"After all, can he please you like this? ~" he kisses her lips roughly, his dirty hands touching all over her private place, yet instead of repulsion, she feels pleasure and disgust at herself.

"Can he do it like I do? ~" The man leaves numerous hickeys on her neck, marking her at his.

A mistake she so dearly regrets.

He can't never do it like you because he's so gentle. That's what I love about him…

Gradually, her body succumbs to the pleasure that the man is giving to her. Her legs turn wobbly, almost falling before the man catches her, lifting her up and carries her to the bed. He looks down on her, like a predator looking at its prey, licking his lips with a grin "You are mine~"

"...I am yours..." Hyeju succumbs fully to his vile, domineering nature The deepest part of her mind yells at her, screaming and wailing, broken because of her adulterous act.

Yet all Hyeju can do is to surrender to him.

I'm sorry…

~~~~~~

Meanwhile....

You have been waiting for 2 hours, sitting alone in the VIP room that you have rented for privacy, with waiters standing by waiting for your orders. With a heavy sigh, you decide that enough is enough, and signal a waiter over. "It seems like I have wasted your time, you guys can go now, I'll still pay for the full service, so don't worry."

The waiter looks at you for a while, then smiles, a smile contains politeness, trained professionalism, and a hint of pity. "You have chosen our services, so of course we have to serve with our utmost respect."

You smile gently at the response, tipping the waiter generously before asking him to share it amongst his coworkers, before leaving the room, with a table full of already gone cold food. Not like you have any appetite to eat now.

Exiting the restaurant, you calmly make your way towards your car, showing absolute calm, just to break down into a crying, sobbing mess the moment your back lean against the seat.

You cry your heart out, cry for the years of relationship that you've committed, for the love that you hold for her.

Foolish, she doesn't love you, she wouldn't have done that if she did love you. You cry for everything you have sacrificed for her, everything you did to make her happy, everything...

After what felt like hours (it was just minutes) you receive a message. A message from an unknown number.

It only contains 2 words: "she's mine." Attached with a picture of a naked back, something that you are very intimately familiar. After all, you have laughed, cried, hug, even kissed it.

Once your safe haven, now look very foreign and distanced.

At that moment, you have decided. It's time to die disappear.

With surprising clarity, you scroll to a number in your phone, and dial it without a second thought. The line rings...1 ring...2 rings...3 rings. That person answered.

"Oppa?"

"I need your help, Bunny." You say with a trembling, hoarse voice, the product of all of that crying.

Stop crying, she doesn't deserve your tears, not anymore.

"Oppa, what happened? Aren't you supposed to be with Hyeju right now?" The voice clearly shows concern for you.

Unlike a certain someone

"I... I can't take it anymore, enough is enough...." Your voice starts to break down as all the emotions come up to you, clogging your throat, preventing anything sound from coming out of you, except of your muffled sobbing.

"I'm sorry oppa, I truly am...."

"It's not your fault Bunny, don't apologize for her...." even amongst the sobbing, you couldn't help but manage a little chuckle for her, someone who is apologizing on the behalf of her friend, someone who is innocent, yet got caught up in this mess.

"...Will we see you again oppa?" Now it's her turn to cry, her voice shivers, and trembles, as the thought of never seeing you again break her heart into pieces.

"I don't know Bunny. I truly don't know...."

"... Then I wish you a good trip, a-and...."  she is full on crying now, her voice a sobbing mess. "If fate wills it, we will meet again, ok..." Somehow, her weak voice, filled with sincerity and emotions, breaks you even more than the fact that your girlfriend cheated on you. All you could do is to turn off the call then bails your eyes out yet again, until you feel yourself almost collapse from exhaustion.

No, not now. you think to yourself before driving off to your shared her apartment.

~~~~~

2 hours later:

Hyeju runs into the almost closed restaurant, her hair slightly disheveled from all the running. If anyone is keen enough, they can also notice that her dress is crinkled at all the suspicious parts, namely the chest, hip, and thigh parts.

Looking around for a waiter, she tries to ask a question before she got interrupted.

"He left" The waiter that served you answer her question before she got to ask it. " You are looking for the gentleman that rented to VIP room, correct? He left, 2 hours ago" The waiter looks at her with equal part recognition and contempt.

"Olivia Hye huh.... you might be an idol, but that's no way to treat your partner like that, leaving him hanging for 4 hours." Luckily his voice is small enough that no one can hear him, but she can feel the contempt and disgust he holds for her. "Go home, we don't serve people like you." With one last cold glance, he sends her out of the restaurant, locking the door behind her.

Despite being treated rudely like that, Hyeju can't muster any anger towards the waiter, or any fear of being recognized. She knows, she deserves it, after everything she has done to him.

With a heavy heart, Hyeju reluctantly makes her way back to her shared apartment with him, hoping to ease his anger and disappointment at her.

She would rather him scold and hit her than all the kind, forgiving things that he has said to her. Those words hurt more than any kind of wounds she has ever had.

Maybe because he was too kind, she had taken it for granted.

What awaited her at home Isn't the sight of him waiting for her at the couch, his eyes equal parts angry and affection towards her. Isn't the sight of him cooking in the kitchen, with the aroma filling the entire home. Isn't his gentle smile greeting her every time she came home late.

What greets her is silence, cold, dark, bone chilling silence. An apartment devoid of life, sending chills down her spines.

".... Jagi?" She calls out to him, hoping that he is only sleeping, and that...

But her fear quickly becomes true, the more she goes through her apartment, the more she couldn’t find any traces of him. No signs of his shoes, of his clothes, of his laptop, not even his toothbrush and towels can be found.

The only thing she can find, however, is a small piece of note on top of a small black box. Slowly, she picks up the note on top of the black box, its content simply contains a few words: For the girl who broke my heart, that box will be the last thing you ever received from me. Goodbye Hyeju.

Without needing to open the box, his words are enough to bring her to tears, her body shivers and trembles as small sobs turn into full on ugly wailing as she clutches the piece of paper to her chest, holding it tightly like it's her life. Only one thought surfaced in her head now:

 I lost him....

~~~~~

With her brain in autopilot mode, her brain all consumed by the grief and sadness, she stumbles back to her dorm with the other members with miraculously means…

Why wasn't she hit by some random cars? She deserves it.

Entering the dorm, she is immediately greeted by a sobbing Heejin, with the other members consoling her, almost no one noticing her presence. Almost no one.

Heejin's ears perked up the moment she hears Hyeju entering the dorm. Hyeju can't help being see an image of a bunny overlapping her, no wonder why he always called her "Bunny".

With surprising strength, Heejin breaks out from the comforting hug of the other members and strolls towards Hyeju.

SLAP

To everyone's horror, Not Hyeju, she has predicted this she slaps Hyeju, leaving her staggering before leaning against a wall. "Why did you do it?" She asks with a cold, chilling voice. Hyeju can do nothing but look down in shame.

"After everything you had done, after everything we have done for you. After everything he had done for you, even giving you his forgiveness and trust, why did you commit it again?". All eyes fall on Hyeju now, eyes full on surprised, anger, even contempt and disgust. "I...." is all Hyeju manage to utter.

Heejin trembles as she looks at Hyeju with both anger and sadness. "It should have been me...." She says, her voice lacking any of the previous anger, instead containing a sense of sorrow and misery. "His attention, his love, his everything should have been mine... I am his best friend, his longest friend, it was supposed to be me...." Heejin's body starts to tremble, collapsing on her knees in front of Hyeju, her hands grasping her pants so tightly, its nearly ripped apart.

"I love him... but he… He's gone now..."

Heejin devolves back into a puddle of tears, sobbing and crying until she can't anymore.

"W-what did you say unnie?? What do you mean, 'he's gone'?!" Hyeju starts to panic, her mind trying to register the words that her unnies have said.

"Oppa accepted the business proposal and decided to move oversea. At this moment, he has already left Korea, he has already left us...." Haseul answers, her answer contains hint of sorrow, as he wasn't just Heejin's best friend and Hyeju's boyfriend, he was also a brother to everyone here, so his departure evidently left a mark in everyone here, some more than other.

You don’t really like to think about it: about being sixteen and getting the news that your best friend in the whole world - the person who’d been by your side as long as you could remember, the person who’d been there for every single significant event in your life, who you’d been with through tears and failed tests and shitty high school relationships and nights spent at the beach in your hometown, running right into the waves the moment school let out - was heading off to chase her dream, to become wildly, unimaginably famous, which meant that you probably wouldn’t see her again for a very, very long time. 

“It might not even go anywhere,” Nayeon told you, wrapped up in a towel, the two of you huddled together on the beach, stars glimmering overhead. “I might - I mean, it’s totally possible that I’m going to fail miserably.” 

“You won’t,” you said, wistful, because you were acutely aware that Im Nayeon - gorgeous and charismatic and talented beyond belief, even then - was meant for so much more than anything she could get in your town. “There’s no chance you’re going to fail.” 

Nayeon glanced over at you, bottom lip caught between her teeth, eyes glassy, and you already both knew that things would never be the same. 

So - that’s where it ends, really, or at least where it should. She left, and got famous, and you stayed, and went to college. She didn’t keep in touch, because she couldn’t, and you didn’t expect her to. You stayed and you loved her and you understood. 

It’s not like you haven’t been keeping up with her, though. 

See, she’s everywhere: magazines, social media, on the radio, playing over the speakers in every store - there’s that voice, that perfect face, that body in form-fitting gowns and slinky designer dresses, caught by paparazzi in jeans and crop tops - now she’s all grown up, and a superstar, and so breathtakingly beautiful you do a double take every time you see her. Snapshots of her on red carpets, music videos; Nayeon’s present all the time, even when she’s not with you. You’ll be okay with it, you think. Not everything’s meant to last forever. Sometimes, it’s just a moment, but it’s enough. 

Your childhood best friend, taking the world by storm; you, behind the scenes, always cheering her on. Like you said, that’s where it all should end. Call it there - give it a clean break. It’s what you both deserve. 

-

It’s all over, except you’re in grad school, and it’s winter break, and by some miracle, you’re both in your hometown at the same time.

You don’t know it right away. You’re too caught up in the stunning nostalgia of your childhood bedroom, which is so deeply saturated with Nayeon’s presence that it’s almost like she’s still there - almost like she never left. It’s the pictures, it’s the candle on your nightstand that she bought for you, graphic t-shirts in your dresser that she used to steal; being here is like cracking open a time capsule, playing a supercut of the two of you, a short film cutting off right before the end. It’s more than a little bit suffocating, this kind of history spread out right in front of you, but you’ll deal. You always have. 

You’ve been here for a day, and you’re still settling in. It’s a sleepy afternoon, chilly in mid-winter, but the sun’s out, and the sky’s clear and cloudless. You step outside with your keys in your hand, about to go for a drive - there are ways to seek out nostalgia without drowning in it; you’re thinking old streets, movie theaters, coffee shops-

You stop short, confused.

You don’t actually make the connections, at first. Look, you were never close with Nayeon’s family: for all you know, they could’ve moved away years ago; you wouldn’t be surprised. And there’s no reason for her to be here - so it’s a fleeting thought, flickering out like a light.  

Plus, the girl you see right now, loitering by the car parked in the driveway of the house across the street, has long, silky blonde hair, catching in the sun like a halo. So - there’s no chance, you’re thinking, no way: it’s some new neighbor, or, like, a criminal - well, she’s tiny, she’s unassuming, so probably not that, but still-

The girl keeps leaning in, mumbling to herself, checking the back left tire. 

“Oh, shit,” she says, suddenly, and then lands a very ill-placed kick to the tire with her shoe. 

It’s a bad choice. It must hurt, because she gasps, tips to balance herself on the car - you notice her nails, which are these ridiculous acrylics, talon-sharp and with swirly white patterns - and you can’t see her expression, but her head ducks, swivels fast, glancing from her shoe to the tire, and then-

“Shit,” she says, again, and she bursts out laughing - and that's when you realize it.

Even from all the way across the street where you can’t see her face, even though this girl is blonde and there’s zero fucking chance she should be here right now, kicking her parents’ car with one of her beat-up leather boots - it’s all in that laugh, ringing brilliantly in the air like the music she makes. It's been seven years, and it’s still her. 

“Nayeon,” you call. It’s not a question. You've never been more sure of yourself. 

She turns, and - God - it’s like everything kicks into sudden slow motion, blurs, sharpens; you see her like you're seeing her for the first time, and in an instant, it's all in perfect clarity.

There’s that face: the one across billboards, album covers, the one in every photograph you have from high school, pressed close to yours - and abruptly it’s like you can’t even breathe, looking at her. Oh, none of the pictures do her justice, but you already knew that: she’s unbelievable, and right in front of you, and so, so real.

It’s something straight out of a movie, out of some fantasy, a far-off dream. Nayeon stands, straightens, stares, stares-

Then, casual to the point of comedy, she says, “Hey.” 

And it’s all so easy: like it hasn’t been years since you two have spoken, like you might be sixteen again and preparing to corral her to your side so you two can go to the beach - so natural, like nothing has changed at all. Nayeon props a hand on her hip, gestures to the car, asks, “Does this tire look flat to you?” 

You'll play along. Hey, you always did. “Um,” you say, from the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot. “I’m not an expert or anything, but - yeah, it does look kind of fucked up, huh?” 

“Kind of,” agrees Nayeon. 

“Yeah.” 

Nayeon doesn’t even look at the tire; doesn’t take her eyes off of you for even a second. She’s so insanely, impossibly beautiful - and then her full lips crack to a smile, flashing her teeth at you, radiant enough to rival the sun. 

“Hey,” she says, again, except now her voice is thick with emotion. 

“Hey,” you echo, and wait. 

It takes one beat, then two, and then Nayeon’s running at you, her laugh carrying on the wind. Her leather boots clap on the asphalt, her blonde hair streaming behind her, giving up every act, every attempt at playing it cool. It's just like her, around you again: you'll click right back into place like it's the only thing you were ever meant to do, and-

“Oh my god,” Nayeon exhales, and then she’s launching herself right into your arms. 

For those few moments - those moments when you catch her around the waist, and her hands loop around your neck, and you hug her body close to you, half-drunk on the smell of her hair - she’s not Im Nayeon, global phenomenon; she’s your Nayeon, your best friend, your girl, yours. Yours, and she’s laughing that wonderful, infectious laugh, giddy like she knows it. 

It’s been seven years - and then Nayeon pulls back, palms slipping to cup your cheeks, and it’s like it’s been no time at all. 

“Oh my god,” she whispers again, reverent. “You…” 

Her thumbs find the sides of your face, the dimples bracketing your mouth that she used to obsess over, and her words slip away into nothing. “Me?” you ask, teasing her. “You. That hair, Nayeon-” 

“It fits me, right?” Nayeon’s tongue pokes out between her teeth, eyes sparkling. There’s something about her name on your lips: it makes her shiver, and you press your fingers into her hips, needing her closer - her chin’s tilted up at you, expression open, like she needs the exact same thing. “It’s for my new comeback. No one’s seen it yet.” 

“Saving it for me?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

You laugh out loud - the vulgarity. You can’t imagine she’s been able to be so profane in her day-to-day life, not in her line of work: she’s had to be pristine, this whole time, holding back with a camera-ready smile and a script. It’s something else, seeing her instead of her image. There’s something you’ll test later - what rules she’s ready to break, after all this time. You’ll get back to it.

Nayeon’s beaming, sunlight threading through her hair. She’s still got your face in her hands, and you’ve got your hands on her waist, and there are no boundaries like you’ve never spent any time apart. “You look so…” 

She trails off, flushing prettily. 

“I look so what?” you prompt, entertained. 

“No,” says Nayeon, accusatorily. She pats your cheek with one hand, and there’s that charming glint of her front teeth in her grin - that’s a smile people’d pay just to see, and they have. “I’m not saying it.” 

“You don’t have to,” you say, and pat her hip in retaliation. It gets another laugh from her, bright and pleased. “I know what you meant.” You grin, pull her closer, add, “Right back at you.”

You could kiss her and you don’t. Instead, you draw her into your arms, hug her body tight to yours, feel all the new, firm muscle where youthful softness used to be; everything seems so different, on the surface, and you’re both older and busier and there’s her blonde hair, her nails, how every part of her seems planned and curated, a trademark of the celebrity life - she’s in a cream-colored sweater and jeans and no makeup, and still looks permanently silver-screen perfect. It’s been years, and she’s grown into herself elegantly, beautifully. It’s been years, and she’s in your arms again, and she’s become everything she wanted to be and more. 

Nayeon buries her face in your neck, and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, trying to keep it together - and you realize that maybe some things never change.

-

See, you and Nayeon never actually date in high school. 

There’s all this pretense, at first. You’ve spent basically all your lives glued to each other’s sides, right on the edge of codependence, but it’s high school, and it’s the status quo, so you both try dating other people. It’s not that it’s totally disastrous, or anything - it’s just that none of the relationships last, and none of them are as important as the two of you together. 

“They’re so boring,” Nayeon complained to you one day, both of you in your living room, watching some movie, her feet kicked up in your lap. “Well - okay, maybe that’s not totally accurate. It’s just - every date I go on, I just think of how much more fun it would be if you were there.” 

“Yeah,” you said, pinching her knee, earning a squeal from her. “You, me, and your boy toy of the week. It’d be a laugh riot.” 

“Fuck off,” said Nayeon, nose wrinkling, staving off a smile. “No, I mean - if you were there instead of him.”

So - sure, it’s really obvious, and everyone who knows you two sees it too. It’s you, and it’s her, and no one else is ever really going to be able to compete. 

The reason why you never say it out loud is because of the only thing bigger than how you feel about her: Nayeon’s ambitions, her goals, her passion and drive. She doesn’t belong in this town, with you. She’s got stars in those gorgeous eyes, dreams of glitz and glamour and fame - and if there’s one thing you know about Im Nayeon, it’s that she knows exactly what she wants and just how to get it. You sort of always know that one day she’s going to end up leaving you behind. You know that the thought of tying her down, shackling her to the streets of this town, to you - it makes you nauseous. Holding a girl like that back would be a mortal sin: the universe would never forgive you for it. 

(You know it all the way up until the night before she leaves for good, when she kisses you at your front door, her suitcases already packed - it’s not the first time you’ve kissed her, and it certainly doesn’t feel like the last, but you know it’s all you’ve got for now. 

Don’t forget about me, alright? Nayeon said, then, tears in her eyes, tears in yours. 

Never, you said. I could never. 

You didn’t tell her you loved her, because you wanted to have something to give her when she came back, no matter how long it took.)

-

You and Nayeon never actually date in high school, but somehow - as delightfully easy as breathing, as inevitable as the stars slipping right into alignment - you two end up falling in love anyway. 

-

It’s seven years later, and your heart is hers, just the same way as it always has been. 

“No one knows I’m here,” Nayeon tells you now, from the passenger seat of your car; turns out her tire actually is flat, so now you’re chauffeuring her around, basically - not like you’re complaining. “I’ve done a pretty decent job at keeping my childhood private - the general public cares a lot more about my present than my past.” 

Plus, no one knows she’s blonde yet, you point out, not even her fans. “Because you were saving that for me,” you insist. “You wanted to get my opinion first.” 

“Shut up,” says Nayeon, then softens, goes serious. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure if you’d even be here, you know.” 

The truth is you haven’t been, for the most part. Your university’s around an hour and a half away, and you don’t visit as much as you should. But now you’re here, and she’s here, and you’ve been driving in circles for the past hour - going past your old school, the church, all the rich neighborhoods. It’d be too risky to actually go anywhere, so this is what you’ve got, and neither of you seem to mind. 

“Hey,” you tell her, flick your blinker, hook a left. “I’m always going to be here.” 

You’re not talking about the town. When you glance over at Nayeon, she’s got this tilt to her mouth, a telltale sign: she understands exactly what you mean.

-

You’re falling back into old rhythms, patterns. You go through a drive-through, and Nayeon studiously stares out the window the whole time, trying to cover her face with her hair - it’s an admirable attempt at staying incognito, considering anyone who takes a single look at those eyes and that dazzling smile is going to know exactly who she is.

“Smooth,” you say when it’s over, pulling into the parking lot. You’re splitting a giant coffee and it’s like you’re back in high school. “Were you just planning on holing up in your house the whole time you’re back? You can’t exactly go anywhere without being recognized.”

You both click your seatbelts off, and now Nayeon’s got her legs tucked to her chest, her cheek resting on the tops of her knees. “Honestly?” She waves her hand at you, glittering acrylics flashing - you tip the coffee towards her, let her sip from the straw. “I didn’t really plan any of this. I had time off for once, so I took it. It’s the holidays, so it was just…” She shrugs. “The most reasonable plan of action, I guess.” 

“You could’ve gone anywhere,” you say; you’re fishing for something, and she knows it. “Like, way more fun places than this shitty town. Los Angeles. The Bahamas. Paris.” 

“Sure.”

“So?” You set the coffee in one of the cup holders. “Why didn’t you?”

You and Nayeon were best friends for so long that you basically grew to share a brain, thoughts, opinions - there were those times you’d look at her and know exactly what she was thinking, those times where just a lift of her eyebrows or a curl to her lips could communicate whole sentences, sentiments - things with her have always been so natural, so instinctual. It should be awkward, after seven years, after her rise to fame and your lack thereof. There should be oceans between you, whole worlds. There should be stumbling, time to find footing, missteps and whatever thread always tied you two together at least frayed, if not snapped entirely. 

There should be, but there isn’t. Nayeon’s always been able to read your mind just like you can read hers, and that’s not about to stop now. 

“You don’t need me to answer that,” she says, gaze stuck on your eyes, your teeth, your throat. The two of you are just as inevitable as you always were, and she’ll prove it. “I think you already know.” 

-

Like you said, you’ve kissed Nayeon before: too many times to count. 

You don’t really have a logical explanation, for all of that. It’s just that when you were younger you two spent every waking moment together, and you two were deliberately, unusually touchy: you can’t even begin to fathom the amount of times your classmates ran into you and Nayeon in the halls, or at parties, and pointedly backed off like they thought they were interrupting something. 

(Well, they kind of were - it’d be her with a grip on your forearm, her with her legs in your lap, you with an arm slung around her shoulders, her waist, caught up in some conversation that was only comprehensible to you two. It’d have killed you to be apart, back then, even though you always knew it was coming. You knew you’d be ripped apart, eventually. You took all the time you could get.) 

The kissing - you can’t even blame that on alcohol, can’t fall back on cop-outs or excuses. It wasn’t like you two ever truly planned for it to go down like it did. Just - sometimes, you’d be looking at her, so filled with unbridled, uncontained affection, something you couldn’t even begin to put into words - you’d see her eyes, and the soft way she’d look at you, and it was like everything you’d wanted had already happened.

So that’s where it starts, really: you’d kiss her just to make a point, tilt her face towards yours, slot your lips together. If it were anyone else, they’d have freaked, called you insane; Nayeon just smiled afterwards, eyes shutting, content and understanding, the kind of knowing that comes with whatever cosmic connection that was obviously keeping you two tangled up together beyond repair - intertwined at the hands, at the heart. 

You didn’t talk about it, because she was always leaving, even while she was right there with you. You could feel it, more than anything. You’ve always sort of been running out of time. 

The point is - well, you’ve kissed her plenty of times, just to tell her how you felt without saying it out loud. Careful, and gentle, and with all the clear intention in the world. 

(The point is, it’s all these years later, and you know exactly how it feels to watch Nayeon leave. The point is that you have nothing left to lose, so-)

-

You’ve driven around so long that it’s dark outside. You’ve talked for hours, recapping the past seven years as best you can, hanging on each other’s every word: going through friends and careers and drama and conflict in excruciating, meticulous detail, and you’re still not even close to being done. It’s pouring outside, raindrops coating the windshield, and Nayeon says, abruptly, “I’m leaving in a week.” 

“Okay,” you say, and pull your car into the driveway. 

It’s not a question, and it’s the opposite of tension. You park the car and step out, and she’s right there at the passenger side, rain soaking her blonde hair, dripping down her neck, staring at you. It’s pitch-black outside, but there are those eyes: luminescent, longing personified. She’s the most famous woman in the country - you’ve seen those eyes everywhere. It’s nothing compared to having her in front of you now. 

“A week,” Nayeon says, again, shutting the car door. “That’s all we’ve got.” 

It’s not a question, so you don’t answer it. 

It all gets away from you, in a split second - time, and your mind, and all your inhibitions - you’re rounding the car, and then you’ve got your hands in her drenched hair. Your mouth’s inches from hers, and her lips are already parted - you think of deja vu, you think this has already happened, or it was already meant to - you think of crazy, impossible things, and then you kiss her. 

Nayeon melts underneath you, like succumbing to a wound - no, it’s too soft to be that, too safe - like slipping between sheets, like finding rest and relief after months on your feet - it’s a thunderstorm after a drought, an oasis, a second chance - and she’s so small when you press her against the car, as her mouth opens, spine curving, hands finding the nape of your neck. 

The energy between you is electric, a shock to a system: it’ll be an overload, if you don’t fuck her right now - it’s been too long, it’ll blow all the breakers. You need her and it’ll kill you if you don’t have her. “Nayeon,” you murmur, fingers tangling in her hair, hips trapping her to the car door-

Nayeon makes this otherworldly noise into your mouth, high and keening and needy, and for a beat you actually think you’re going to die. 

“Your house,” gasps Nayeon, panting when she pulls back, the pressure from what feels like eons wanting you and being denied finally dropping to the pavement, washing away with the rain. “Is it - please tell me no one’s home.” 

It’s the two of you, and every single star aligns, for once in seven years: call it a comet, an eclipse, something to capture and study and scrutinize. “No one’s home.” 

There’s that moonlight, gleaming overhead, breaking through the clouds. It bathes Nayeon like it’s blessing her, like it sees the extraordinary life she’s led so far and deems her deserving of it - like it looks at you, and by some million-in-one chance, by some surreal string of fate, it deems you deserving of her.

(Maybe you are, then. Maybe you always were.) 

“Okay,” says Nayeon, and her hand takes yours - for a moment, you swear she’d run away with you, leave it all behind. “Then let’s go.” 

-

Somehow, in the dark, you still know her. 

You stumble up to your bedroom and you never even make it to the light switch - the moon’s coming in through slats in your blinds, the rain’s a drum line, a soundtrack - and Nayeon’s peeling off your shirt, fumbling with her ridiculous nails at the button of your jeans. 

“Don’t strain yourself,” you say, grinning, your hands finding the hem of her top. “Your company will crucify you if you fuck up that manicure.” 

“Fuck you,” says Nayeon, and suddenly she’s laughing, a harmony to the growing storm outside. She pops the button, drags the zipper, slow like she knows she’s unraveling you in the process. “Fuck you. Fuck me.” 

The rain’s got her soaked to the skin - you get her sweater off, and then her jeans, and she’s in this scarlet-red bra, matching panties - it’s an image straight out of all your wet dreams, and you can’t help but stare, mouth agape, fingers lingering at her hips. Nayeon’s too flawless to be real; she’s smirking at you like she knows it. She’s used to be ogled, stared at, lusted after: she’s used to people wanting to rip her apart, and she’ll act like it. 

“Jesus christ,” you say, unable to tear your eyes off her body - there’s her collarbone, her tits, her smooth, toned midriff - her wet hair, her creamy thighs - it’s all there, just for you. No one else gets to see her like this, no eager fan or follower - just you. 

“Right?” says Nayeon, breathless and amused, high on how you’re looking at her. “Red really is my color.” 

Somehow the arrogance only heightens the mood, the overwhelming arousal steeping the room. Something about making a god learn manners, respect; something about taking a deity and putting her in her place. “That ego,” you consider, skating your nails up her back, stopping at the clasp of her bra.

“What about it?” 

“No, nothing.” You unhook it, grin at the shaky breath it gets from her. “I just think you might need to get it fucked out of you.” 

Nayeon’s used to being mythologized, idolized, painted so perfect that everyone arounds her considers her something more than human, more than magic: she’s got hundreds of thousands of people ready to kneel at her feet, give her the world on a silver platter. She’s been spoiled, you think, tracing her body with your fingertips. She’s been treated like carved marble, behind glass and roped off, invulnerable, untouchable. 

(But here you are, anyway: the one person on the planet who truly knew her before all that - before fame took hold of a girl and made her a legend. Before fame took the love of your life and let everyone else fall in love with her, too. Well, you’re not about to blame them; you never could.) 

Nayeon’s staring at you, a challenge in her eyes, a sharp, secret violence in her smile. 

“I don’t know about all that,” she says, “but you can try.” 

-

It’s a dare, it’s a taunt - after all this time, and you’re still the only one who can match her beat for beat, touch for touch: there’s her bra, slipping to the floor, there’s your thumb over her nipples, hardening them to points, your teeth on her chest and leaving marks. She’s on your bed, her damp hair tumbling over one shoulder, the intoxicating ring of her irises like a shot in the dark. 

“You don’t even know,” pants Nayeon, voice thick with heat, as you stroke her pussy through her panties. “You don’t even fucking know how long I’ve wanted this.” 

“Oh,” you say, and pull her underwear to the side roughly - there’s that cunt, just for you, glistening and sopping wet and so, so ready - and a smirk finds your mouth, just off the brink of cruel. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

Nayeon’s so greedy, and you get it - she’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted for years and years, without question or hesitation - and she’s reaching for your hand, your fingers, needing you inside her in any way she can get you. She’s beyond wet; you already know she’s going to ruin your sheets, she’s gonna ruin something-

“Watch it,” you snap, grabbing her wrist so hard she yelps. “If you wanna get fucked, Nayeon, you need to behave.” 

“Please,” Nayeon shoots back. The words tremble - she’s so turned on, she can’t hide it - but she’ll never back down from a fight. “I could get anybody to fuck me. I could walk out of here right now and have someone else’s dick in me in ten minutes.” 

She’s rambling. You’re gonna bruise her wrist. Her tits heave as she tries to catch her breath, and when you brush against her pussy with your other hand, she lets out this gorgeous, weakened whimper - you’ve got her, you’ll make an example of a higher power, take an idol and make her human again. 

“Sure.” Your fingers find her clit, teasing; Nayeon’s eyes snap to yours, ferocious, murderous. “But you don’t want just anybody.” Your dick throbs - there’s something primal, animalistic; if you wait any longer she’s gonna jump you, take what she wants and fuck you stupid. It’d be a threat if you didn’t want the exact same thing. “You want me.” 

“Fucking asshole,” says Nayeon, hoarsely, but then you’ve got two fingers in her, her pussy clenching around you, and there’s a waning edge in the hostility: you know her too well. She’s not into being patient, ever. There’s never been a line between you two that she hasn’t been willing to toe. “You know - you know I never wanted anyone but you.” 

That’s the blow, the bomb that’ll implode the two of you - or it would, but there’s never been a single secret between you and Nayeon, and that’s not about to change now. 

“I know,” you manage, stunned, mesmerized by her, your palm falling from her wrist to her flat stomach, your fingers sliding out of her with an obscene, slick sound. “I know.” 

“Please,” she begs. “Please fuck me.” 

It’s filthy, it’s feelings, it’s years in the making. The head of your cock is at her needy, drooling cunt, and you can see it in her eyes, in the bruising marks you left scattered across her tits, her throat. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. No one’s ever going to know her how you know her - no one’s ever even going to come close. 

Your bury your dick inside of her, and it’s like there’s an ache you’ve waited lifetimes to relieve - and then, finally, ultimately, you’ve got her perfect pussy just for you, and you relieve it. 

“God,” you hiss; Nayeon’s already whining, squirming under your hand firmly at her middle, holding her down - you think of going for her neck and you will, you think of flipping her over and watching her ass bounce back on your cock, and it’ll happen - but working your dick inside her impossibly tight pussy is more than enough for the time being; you’ve got your hands full, figuratively, literally. “This fucking pussy, Nayeon-” 

You say her name, and it wrecks her - her fingers find yours where they’re balanced on her midriff, curling around you - and her jaw is slack, expletives falling from between her pretty, pouty lips like she’s never been advised to keep up a clean image. She’s with you, and she’s nothing like she is on camera. “Fuck me,” she’s babbling, “fuck me, fuck - your cock is so - fucking big, fucking me so good-” 

She’s nothing like she is on camera, wrapped around your cock and crying out, but she’s everything that Im Nayeon has always been, otherwise: beautiful, irresistible, the most incomparable thing this town’s ever seen, and ever would. There’s all that bite to her, but she’s giving it up. You’re fucking her and for once she’s not gonna fight you on that. 

“Just like I thought,” you murmur, and your thumb skates over her clit, gets a squeal, gets several. “You were fucking made to take my cock, weren’t you?” 

You’re back in your time capsule of a room, and your veins are on fire, skin up in flames - you knew you wouldn’t be able to fuck her without dragging emotions into it, dragging your heart along as you pound Nayeon’s cunt, jerk your hips and get her screaming - you know that when you say it, you’re really saying something else, too. We were always going to end up this way, weren’t we?

“Yes,” Nayeon moans, voice ripping at the seams - it’s all the pleasure, all the anticipation, consuming, devouring. “Yes, yes, yes-”

You’re captivated by every single sound out of her mouth, every minute expression of that face, every gut-wrenching squeeze of her pussy, tight around your cock - call it a vice, the way she clamps down around you, the way you indulge in her perfect body like it’s a drug you’re using. Nayeon’s features crumple, fold: you’ve seen her onstage with all that bravado, all that confidence, showing off for a crowd - you’ve seen her hips and her tits and her tiny waist in form-fitting, skimpy outfits, practically painted to every curve - but now, she’s all for you. 

(Hey, maybe her ego’s contagious; maybe you’ve got the girl everybody wants, and you get why they all treat her like a god.)

You’ll mind all your breaking points. “Cum for me, baby,” you order, and Nayeon screams. 

There’s no air in the room, anymore, none in your lungs - it’s a fire without oxygen, nowhere to stay or go or feed on - and as she’s still shaking from her orgasm, jaw slack, you’re pulling out of her just to shoot your load all over the flawless, flat plane of her stomach, covering her skin in your cum - there’s everyone’s god, now, underneath you, slutty and sloppy and so thoroughly fucked-

“Oh, god,” Nayeon chokes out, strangled, the moment your cum soaks her. “Oh my god-” 

It’s all in the air, with the two of you: the sex, the intimacy, the history. You take her stunning face in her hands and you dip to kiss her, fully aware of how responsive she is, the very second your lips meets hers. There’s a moan, there’s the arch of her back, there’s her tongue licking desperately into your mouth - “Nayeon,” you murmur, and tip your forehead to hers. Her breath’s uneven, eyelids fluttered shut. “Nayeon.” 

Her eyes are closed, but a smile finds her lips, lights up her whole face; it’s a smile you’ve seen forever, in photos, across billboards, in all your best memories. 

“You don’t even understand what you do to me,” she says, serenely, faintly. “When you say my name like that.” 

There’s all that desire, and then the quiet honesty, and you swear a moment like this could last a lifetime. “Hey,” you say, and kiss her face - her nose, her forehead, both cheeks. You’ll take her as long as she’ll have you. “I think we’ve established by now that I know all about what I do to you.” 

-

Nayeon’s a little hypnotized by how much you came across her stomach, a little stuck on it - you get up to get her some tissues, and when you turn around, she’s got cum-covered nails in her mouth, sucking on them shamelessly. The noises she’s making are fucked, and you stare. 

“Fucking hell,” you say, dropping at her side on the bed. 

“What?” asks Nayeon sweetly, licking her bottom lip. “You’re the one who came all over me. What did you want me to do?” 

She’s trying to go for your usual banter, but it’s too soft, her smile too knowing and familiar, her body too open and comfortable. You can’t call this a one-night stand, can’t call it a fluke - she’s so safe in your bed that it looks like she’d stay there forever, if she could, you and her and these four walls. 

Nayeon’s clothes are all over your floor, and you clean up all that silky skin. Her hair’s a mess, and the moon’s still coming through your window, glossing her body, her gorgeous eyes. You watch her face, and you can read her as well as you always have: every thought, every single intent. 

(She’ll have to let this go, but she’s got a week to feel it first. It’s torture, the ticking clock, but it’s nothing the two of you haven’t had to feel already.)

“I can’t believe we haven’t done that before,” muses Nayeon, as you brush her hair off her forehead - she’ll have to take a shower, and you’ll have to join her, naturally. “Well, what’s the verdict?” 

You eye her, sensing the jab like she’s already said it. “Sorry?” 

“Fucking someone famous.” Nayeon tilts her head, smile sparkling like the stage lights she spends all her time under. “Was it everything you thought it would be?” 

“Shut up.” You grab her at the hips, and she laughs, a mess of giggles, filling the space - she’s a celebrity, she’s larger than life - you’re the only one who can ground her like this. “You’re such a fucking idiot.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah,” you say, touching your lips to the top of her head. “That’s the only reason I wanted to fuck you, Nayeon. Because you’re famous. That’s all this is, obviously. Thanks for the bragging rights.” 

The sarcasm drenches each syllable, and Nayeon laughs louder - she can read your every thought, but this one’s a lie that’s too clear to call out: you loved her long before all the superstardom, all the money, all the recognition. She knows exactly how you feel about her, and she won’t pretend otherwise. You know just how she feels about you, and it’s the most certain you’ve ever been about anything. 

“Oh,” she says coyly, and leans in to kiss you. “You’re so welcome.” 

-

The next morning, you’re taking inventory, staring at the girl in your bed and wondering how you’re going to explain this to your parents. She’s dressed by now, in one of your t-shirts and a pair of your pajama pants, drawstring pulled tight around her small waist and so oversized they cover her feet - that’s already bad enough, but then there’s her neck, pale skin marred with hickeys - okay, it’s worse. 

“How do you feel about sneaking out the window?” you ask. 

Nayeon tries to kick you and almost slides off the bed. “You think your parents will care that we had sex?” Her hair’s freshly washed, tied up and out of her face. “They’ve wanted you to marry me since the first time I came over.” 

You gape at her, but her nose crinkles up with her grin, and, well - it’s not like she’s wrong. 

True to her word, your parents are thrilled that she’s here - they’ve never really grasped the scope of exactly what a big deal Nayeon is, now, so they treat her just like they did when she was younger, spending breakfasts and family dinners with you, fitting in so smoothly it was like she’d always been there. To your parents, you think they’ll kind of always see Nayeon as that bright-eyed, eternally charming girl that stuck by your side like you’d both collapse if you had to be apart. There’s that same smile, that effervescent laugh - you can’t really fault them for it. 

“How long are you here?” your mom asks her, as she’s making breakfast, and Nayeon’s at the kitchen table, nonchalantly recounting stories of all her famous friends. “Just for the holidays?” 

“A week,” says Nayeon, glancing at you, mouth twisting ruefully. 

Your mom makes a sympathetic noise. “Oh, that’s not very long, huh.” 

Compare it to the seven years you spent apart - and no, it’s not. It’s a blip, a snag in time. In the grand scheme of things, it’d probably be nothing. 

“No,” agrees Nayeon; it’s never nothing, when it’s the two of you. Her hand finds yours under the table, and it’s everything that matters, wrapped up in an hourglass, sand slipping through your fingers. “But we’ll make it count.” 

-

“We’ll make it count?” you berate her, later, in the car as you’re driving up to the mansions on the hill, testing codes for gated communities, pointing out gaudy architecture like you’re real estate snobs - it’s an old game, a remnant from high school shenanigans. Nayeon could buy this whole neighborhood, and it’s somehow become hilarious, all these years later. “Way to tell my mom that you and I are going to be fucking nonstop the whole time you’re here-” 

“Like she didn’t already know,” says Nayeon, unapologetic, and points to her neck. She’s still in your clothes: no point in getting dressed when she can’t exactly leave the car without getting recognized, but you think she’d stay in your t-shirts all week, regardless. 

It’s an old story, between the two of you. “You’re such a slut.” 

“Yeah, and you’re directly benefiting from it, so I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

She says it like a proposition, and - hey, that’s an opportunity you’re never going to pass up. You’ll cash your checks, reap your benefits. You’ll pull off to the side of the road and throw the car in park, bury your hand in her hair as she leans over the console, tugs down your pants, gets her pouty lips wrapped around your dick in record time-

“What would your fans say?” you tell her, lowly, hypnotized by how she gags around you. “Seeing their angelic little idol with a cock shoved down her throat.” 

Nayeon pulls back just to laugh, raspy and shot, spit dripping from the corners of her mouth. “They’d fucking love it and you know it.”

You’re up in the hills, in the midst of construction sites, all danger and risk and safety hazards waiting to happen; you can’t get enough of how Nayeon slobbers around your cock, how she’s everything you’ve ever wanted wrapped up in one - the slickness of her tongue, the tightness of her throat, her blonde ponytail in your fist as her head bobs, fast, faster-

When you cum in Nayeon’s mouth, she chokes on it, can’t even swallow it all down. “Jesus fucking christ,” she gets out, and she’s giggling, so pleased with herself, wiping the cum dribbling from her lips, down her chin. “You - wow.” She taps the head of your cock with the ridged back of one of her nails, works her jaw like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of your dick filling her mouth. “Your cock is so sensitive.” 

“Gloating?” you ask, struggling to catch your breath. “That’s - like - that’s such a turn-off, Nayeon.”

It’d be slightly more convincing if she didn’t still have your cum staining her lips. “Liar.”

You hook your fingers in the collar of the shirt she’s wearing, tug her closer to nip at her neck - she gives this noise that’s somewhere between an affronted squeal and an aroused, needy exhale. She’s so easy, but so are you. She’s so transparent, but with this little time there’s nothing else to be. 

You’ll make it work; you’ll catch up. “Fine,” you admit, pressing down on hickeys you’ll only darken, aggravate - she’s got you wrapped around her finger, but at least it’s mutual. “I guess your narcissism is kind of sexy, or whatever.” 

“I hate your fucking guts,” says Nayeon, but she’s smiling. 

-

There’s all this ease to it, something you’ve never found with anyone else; something you don’t think you’ll ever find again. You two have always been a little obsessed with each other. 

“More than a little,” Nayeon revises, considering it; you’re three days in, walking back all your history. You can’t keep your hands off of each other, can’t keep your mouths closed, can’t keep from falling for the millionth time. “I just remember thinking that I could tell you about every embarrassing shitty thing I’d ever done, and you’d just listen, and not make fun of me for it. You knew what I could handle, you know?” 

You get what she means: teenage boys like to tease, to insult - you weren’t exempt from that, but you looked at Nayeon and you always seemed to know what lines never to cross. How to be gentle with her, when you knew she needed it. 

“You too,” you point out; Nayeon was perceptive when it counted, reading rooms, boundaries. She’d defend you to the death without hesitation. “Whenever I was with you, I knew I could trust you. Like I felt safe with you.” 

You can think of situations where you’d feel emasculated, admitting it - but there’s Nayeon with her eyes, her genuine, generous smile, sitting at your desk chair, jeans and a gauzy white top. She gets you, and you never have to explain, never have to bother with defenses. You’re with her and vulnerability spills like it’s never had a reason not to. 

“All this past tense,” pegs Nayeon, charmed more than concerned. 

“Right,” you say, realizing. “Hey, it all still applies. I feel safe with you.” 

There’s your past: teachers knowing you two were a matching set, classmates calling her your other half, texting any second you were apart, touching the moment you were together again. Shifting from jokes to sincerity so easily, ride-or-die in all senses of the phrase. Well, here’s your present: there’s the sex, now, and that’s another angle to it. You’d think it’d ruin a friendship this intense; you’d assume it’d only complicate things - you’d be wrong. There’s never been anything simpler, between you and Nayeon. 

Nayeon softens, and rises from your chair just to fit herself into your arms. There’s that smile: no one gets me like you get me, she’s saying. You’ve got only days left; you’re picking your battles. You’ll remember everything that made you two exactly who you are now. 

(Oh - it’s not like you ever really forgot. Nayeon’s got all the love and attention she could ever need, and she’s still here, with you.) 

“Flattery,” Nayeon says, finally, arching an eyebrow at you, her face too adorable for the suggestive tilt to her voice, “will get you everywhere.” 

Her palm slips to your chest, finds your heart. “I’m not even trying to flatter you,” you say, amused. “And if I was, I can do better than that.” 

“Then do better,” replies Nayeon, rapid-fire. “What, you need some incentive?” 

It’s just like the two of you: teasing, to truth, to seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off, taking sexual tension and bending it entirely to your will. There’s so many routes to intimacy - you loop your fingers in the waistband of her jeans, and this is the one you’re choosing tonight. She’s leaving, either way. You’ll fuck her like you’ve got all the time you could ever need.

-

You’re all about old habits, the two of you: your jaw drops when you get her out of her clothes, and then you laugh so hard you almost topple over. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, enamored, fascinated, “you packed lingerie for a holiday break in your hometown? So - you aren’t even pretending that your plan wasn’t to get fucked, now.” 

Nayeon sticks out her bottom lip, furrows her brows. She’s playing at irritated, but she’s too proud of herself, how your eyes are glued to her body even though the laughter - she plants her hands on her waist, and that’s only one place to look. Her lingerie’s all lacy and black and ribboned, panties so tiny you could snap them between your fingers, the cups of her bra with scalloped edges, fit to every curve like it was custom-made for her. It’s Im Nayeon, anyway: you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. 

“What can I say?” She shifts, tosses her pale curtain of hair over a slender shoulder. All those cracks about her ego - well, you won’t lie here: it’s so fucking hot. “I like to be prepared.” 

You hook your fingers in the sides of her panties, tangling your grip in what virtually amounts to nothing but flimsy strings, biting into the creamy skin of her hips. “Was this expensive?” 

“Very.” Nayeon’s dark eyes flash at you, already following where you’re going. Perks of fucking someone who basically shares half your brain. “Which means if you rip any of it in any way, you’re paying for the damage.” 

“You’d foot the bill for me,” you say, one hand already going to cup her pussy.

Nayeon’s knees tremble, glare slipping down a few watts - she attempts to recover, to double back with twice the venom. It’s a valiant effort, or it would be, if she weren’t so visibly, undeniably desperate. “Uh, the fuck I would.” 

“Hm.” She’s already soaked, and the whine you get from her when you slip a finger inside her cunt is music all her fans would bankrupt themselves just to hear. “I think I could probably find a way to convince you.” 

-

You rip the panties, because you know what lines to never cross, and which ones Nayeon’s just begging you to run right through. “See?” you say, gratified, as you make her cum, and cum, and cum. “Told you: I can be very convincing."

You think she’d probably try to put up a fight, on this one, but she’s too busy clamping down tight around your cock, her gorgeous eyes rolling back into her head, lips dropping moan after moan. She shudders when you slide out of her, your cum dripping from her pussy, and curls up right to your side - okay, so maybe there’s no fighting anything. Nayeon presses her lips to your jaw, and smiles like her own satisfaction is a secret she’s hiding. 

“I’ll let it slide,” she whispers, soft against your neck. “Only just this once. Only for you.”

-

Here’s the thing: you’re running out of time, but you always were. You could ask her to stay with you, give it all up, but you won’t; you’d never. She fills you in on every minute detail of her life, and she’s so happy - you’ve never seen her so happy. 

“Fame suits me,” says Nayeon, unashamed. “It’s exhausting and fucked and anxiety-inducing - and it’s so much fun. It’s exhilarating. It’s like - it’s a non-stop adrenaline rush.” She laughs, free, talking the dream she’s living into reality - like you’d ever be able to wrap your head around it. “I think I’m kind of good at it, too.” 

Her lips quirk at a corner, a deliberate understatement; she never needs to act humble with you. 

Nayeon doesn’t even have an agenda, with this. She loves talking about her life, all the opportunity: the events, the fans, the attention, the way she can sing anything and people will listen. You talk about your own life, your major and your mentors and the friends you’ve made, and it’s then that you realize it-

“We really did make it,” you tell her, a little wondrously. “Without each other.” 

Nayeon’s curled up to your side, on your couch. Something’s playing on the TV that she keeps laughing at, her whole face scrunching with delight. She looks at you sideways, says, “You didn’t think we would.” 

It’s not a question, and you know because now she’s playing with the cuff of your shirt, bottom lip tucked into her mouth thoughtfully. Codependent - everyone said you were. You had a lot of skeptics, looking at the two of you, people disbelieving that either of you would even survive after Nayeon left. 

“I wasn’t sure if we would, either,” she says, quietly. 

Her life’s all in lights, in every magazine, spread across all the websites; yours is the opposite, but she listens to all your stories anyway - she gets the gist. You’re happy, too. You’ve worked hard to get where you are and it’s all you could’ve ever asked for. You and Nayeon have got success in completely different places, but you’ve got it anyway: you’ve found it all on your own. 

“But we did,” says Nayeon, after a beat. There’s a joke on the television that she grins at, wrapped up in your arms. She’s leaving in a few days, a bomb waiting to go off. There’s an implication in this, something she’s not telling you but you understand anyway. “We did make it.” 

We did make it, she’s saying. We can make it again, you and me. You with me, even if we’re worlds apart. 

Your thumb skims her cheek, slips into her hair. Nayeon looks over at you, then says, “Give me your phone.” 

You twist so she can slip it out of your back pocket - she knows your passcode, knows every facet of your life down to the letter. “Nayeon?” you ask, a little puzzled, as her nails click across your screen, the top of her head bumping your chin. “Are you…” 

“Shh,” she says, mildly, then without warning, she’s on the camera, flipping the phone to take a picture of the two of you. You raise your eyebrows, intrigued; she’s falling back on her idol training, a peace sign and her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. “There,” she says, after, tapping once and then handing the phone back, a new, decisive set to her lips. “That’s my number. My real number.” 

Your gaze drops to the phone screen - there it is, her number and her name and the picture she’d taken sitting as the contact photo - and when you glance back, Nayeon’s observing your face, checking for your reaction: if you’re in this just as much as she is. If you’re serious - if you’re really going to do this. If you get what’s going to come next and if you’re ready for it. 

“I can call you on this?” you ask, slightly struck. 

Nayeon scoffs, eyes sparkling, shoulder pressed to yours. “Uh - yeah, genius, that’s kind of the point.” 

You’re smiling too wide. “So…” 

“So if you leak my phone number, my company’s gonna sue you for everything you’re worth,” Nayeon says, haughtily, rapping her knuckles against your thigh. She’s severing the sentimentality of the moment, covering it up with humor. You get it - it’s a way out, an exit route. You know what she means by this even if she’s not saying it out loud. 

“Okay,” you murmur, and kiss her temple. Nayeon’s nose scrunches up, pleased. There’s another one-liner on the show you’re watching, and this time it makes you both laugh, Nayeon hiding her giggles in the back of her hand. You’d think it’d be the point where the moment snaps shut, but instead it’s spreading, encompassing - like in a few days, she’ll be on the next flight back to the place she calls home, and you’ll still be able to feel her next to you, music in her laugh, forever wound in the curve of her smile. 

She’s leaving, already. Her number’s in your phone, her heart’s in your hands. She’s leaving, but for once, maybe it doesn’t mean that anything has to end. 

-

There are two days left, so you’re taking all the chances you can get. Sure, there’s catching up on shows, gossip; there’s her in your room, telling you things that probably break NDAs - from the outside looking in, you’d never guess that she’s at this ungodly level of fame and that you two haven’t talked in seven years. It’s all so normal, so relaxed, so cute. 

Well - okay, most of it is cute. As long as you’re overlooking all the-

“You know, if you get any louder, we’re gonna get caught.” 

Your week’s almost up, and you’ve got all your extended family filling your house, so you’ve found your escape the only way you can: in the backyard, your cock tapping against Nayeon’s pouty lips, the both of you drenched in shadow. And - true to form - she’s being a fucking menace about the blowjob that she’s barely giving you. 

Everything’s pared down to the tactile, the physical; her hair’s back in two braids that you’ll tug, she’s testing your patience. You glare down at her - her fingers wrap around your cock just to release it. “And who’s fault would that be?” 

Nayeon’s tongue darts out to lap at the head of your cock, flicking fast, eyes trained on you, watching as you struggle to keep it together, struggle not to wrap your hand in her hair and bury your dick inside her throat. She’s a tease like it’s her job - because if you think about it, it kind of is. There’s that intoxicating, cunning glint in her eye: she could do this all day.

“You’re fucking evil,” you manage, voice strained. 

Like you said, Nayeon’s always had that ego - all the fame’s only stoked the fire. “Sorry?” she murmurs, blinking pointedly up at you, breath hot on your cock, torturous. “I can leave right now, if you wanted to take care of this all by yourself.”

“Fuck you.” 

“You’re not gonna get to if you keep talking to me like that.”

Oh, that’s a threat with absolutely zero weight behind it, but you already know it. A split second after you cum in her mouth - she’s still wiping semen off her chin, cheeks puffing out trying to swallow it all - you’ve got her up against you, your hand down the front of her sweatpants, her pussy already dripping wet, getting her right to the edge of her orgasm like it’s nothing. 

“Look at you,” you say, vicious like a risk just begging to be taken; you know exactly what she wants and how to give it to her. “Now who’s being loud?” 

Nayeon tries to roll her eyes only to get caught on a climax, instead. Ah, well: it’s one way for you to call it even. 

-

“I’d kiss you,” she tells you, after, “but some guy just came in my mouth five minutes ago.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, unnecessarily - you’ll make her, instead. 

-

Your time’s almost up. She wakes up in your bed on the very last day, hickeys spanning her neck, her tits, her thighs. You run your fingers along them and wonder how the two of you are ever going to get away with this. “What’s your company going to say about this?” 

Nayeon laughs, soft in the morning, sun-soaked and ethereal. “Contrary to popular belief,” she says - she’s built her living around playing coy, showing just enough to tantalize, baring what’ll draw allure and nothing more - “it’s not my company’s job to keep me out of trouble.” 

“No?” 

“Nope.” There’s that gorgeous face, those eyes trapping stars, captivating anyone who even comes close. “It’s to keep everyone from finding out about it.” 

“Oh," you say, grinning. "Is that right?” 

“Yep.” When Nayeon kisses you, it’s like a promise she’s making, an oath she’ll make and swear on. “Believe me,” she says, and smiles just to sign on the dotted line. “I can get into all the trouble that I want.” 

-

You stay in for old times’ sake, enjoy no one’s company but each other’s - wrapped in your duvet, Nayeon half in your lap - except instead of talking about shitty classes and dramas and movies you’re planning on watching together, Nayeon’s tilting her phone towards you, letting you flick through unreleased photos for her new comeback. “Perks of fucking me,” she tells you crassly, conversationally, like that’s all it is - the fond curl of her mouth betrays her. “You get all the sneak peeks.” 

“I’m getting more than a peek,” you say, struck dumb by a series of photos of Nayeon in this sinfully tight, abominably short pink bodysuit, monogrammed with red. It’s fucked up, so you’ll say it out loud. “Jesus, this outfit.” 

Nayeon taps the screen excitedly, nails clicking; it’s beyond adorable how excited she gets about it all, about the music and the aesthetics and the clothes and the choreography - it’s one thing to see her on-screen, and it’s another entirely to see all the passion in person, all the effort. It’s times like this where you understand it all perfectly: if there’s anything in the world she was made for, it’s this. “Right? It was made from this Louis Vuitton towel just for me to wear it - insane, no?” 

“Yeah,” you say, gawking at the photos of her with those mouthwatering thighs all on display, the buttons popped at the collar. She’d said red was her color - and it is, but it’s Nayeon, and every color looks like it was created for her. “It’s fucked up.” 

“That it’s made out of a towel? I actually thought it was ingenious.” 

You take a look at her expression - there’s that mischief in her eyes, a dead giveaway. “Obviously not that,” you say, then amend, humoring her, “well, that’s cool, too. You’re right. A towel - ingenious.” 

“Totally.” 

You clip her on the hip, making Nayeon gasp, go to pinch you on the shoulder. “No,” you correct, dodging, “the fucked up thing is how hot you are.” 

Nayeon’s in one of your t-shirts and her own underwear and nothing else, her neck so marked up that anyone would think she’d gotten mauled, her blonde hair disheveled from sleep and tumbling over her shoulders. You’ve never once had a filter around each other - never had any room for embarrassment or shame, between the two of you.

“You and that flattery,” says Nayeon, her teeth gleaming in her grin. 

“Uh-huh.” You press the phone back in her hand, lift your eyebrows in a provocation. “Where’s it getting me?” 

Nayeon clicks it off, tilts her head like she’s studying you. You’ll take all your last risks before you wrap it up. “Where do you wanna go?”

-

You bring it back to the start. You end up on the beach, the two of you curled up on a towel, another one around both your shoulders, staring out at the waves: there's the moonlight overhead, everything hazy like you’re living in a dream. 

It’s freezing, so you won’t touch the water. Nayeon’s head is on your shoulder, and neither of you want to snap the silence, but you will, anyway. It’s a night for confessions - there’s the moon, listening; the waves, all salt and seafoam, thinning out to reach the sand. Nayeon whispers, like she’s afraid someone will hear her, “I’m gonna miss this.” 

Your hand is slipped under her cardigan, thumb notched under the strap of her tank top - sometimes it’s like you’d just die if you weren’t touching her. Her fist’s at the hem of your shirt, nails brushing your abdomen; you know she’s always felt the same way. 

“I know,” you say, and there’s no one else to hear it, but for once Nayeon’s right here, and it’s enough, and she doesn’t need an audience to prove it. “Me too.” 

-

There’s a presence to this kind of intimacy, how it blooms, how it settles. It’s freezing, so you’ll pull her body into yours - there’s the wind, there’s the risk of being caught, nipping at all her smooth skin - and there’s never been any sex like this, for either of you. It’s more than just feral, more than just fucking: Nayeon moans your name, lets her back arch like she has no control over her body, lets her cunt clench tight around your cock like the only thing she has control over is you. 

“Please,” she whimpers, the swirling winter air stealing the words right out from her lungs. “Please - please fuck me, please cum in me, I need to feel your cum - filling me up, wanna feel it leaking out of me - please.” 

The beach is empty, but you’d fuck her the same way in front of rooms full of people, of watchful, prying eyes. It's all meant to be secret, something between the two of you and no one else - you'll keep it as long as you have her, safe somewhere in your chest, spread between your fingers. When she falls back to flashing cameras and adoring fans, she’ll play like she’s up for grabs, but she isn’t: she’s yours, in every way. She’s yours, always.

“I’m yours,” Nayeon breathes into your neck, pliable and needy underneath you, every part of her body reaching for you as if you’re her first and only instinct. “Yours, yours.”

Please don’t forget, her eyes beg you. Please love me like this forever. 

Your fingers wrap around the pale column of her throat - you’ll steal her words this time around, make her eyelids shutter and her eyebrows draw together, panting; she’s slicker than the ocean around you, thighs salty with sweat, cum - and when you squeeze, Nayeon falls apart. 

She’ll be gone tomorrow. She’ll be gone, and there’s no telling when she’s coming back. 

“Baby,” you exhale, dipping to kiss her, shuddering as your orgasm builds like it’s something to break. You can’t even fuck her without throwing your feelings right at her feet; can’t have her neck in your hand without having her heart, too. There’s no separating the sex and the sentiment. She’s your best friend, she’s the love of your life; you’ll never have one without the other. “Always.”

Forever, you tell her, in your lips on hers, in her nails scoring welts down your back. Years in the making, and it all culminates here. I’ll love you forever. 

Nayeon’s whining and writhing and gasping for air by the time you cum inside her, and the moment you let up on her throat she’s rising to kiss you again. There’s so much, between the two of you - there’s the ocean, threatening to drown, consume; there’s fame, alive in every shimmering skyline - and then there’s her number sitting in your phone, a years-long yearning waiting to become something more. The stars are overhead, aligning. The moon’s winking at you, turning all the tides. 

You kiss her one more time, and say, “Let’s go home.” 

-

It’s the middle of the night, and you’re back in your bed together, thumbing her ribs like you’re counting lifelines, following the curve of her waist like you’re cartographing all the places you’ve already been. You’ll be back, someday. You’ll trace her bare wrist, follow the pathways of her veins right on home. 

“You know I always loved you, right?” Nayeon asks, voice soft, close. 

It’s not the time for insecurity, for mincing words, for purposeful ignorance. “Yeah.” 

“You know I still do, then.” Nayeon lifts her head, irises glinting with unshed tears, her blonde hair a mess over her forehead. Fame turned a girl into a god, and she came back to you anyway. She’ll do it again, in time. “Don’t you?” 

“Nayeon.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, heart high in your throat. “I know. I always knew. I love you, too.” 

There’s too much emotion in the room for words, and Nayeon finds your mouth in the dark like she’s been doing it her whole life. You’ve said so much already. You’ll crack open every window, let the air in; you’ll crack your chest apart, and let your love breathe. 

-

The morning comes, and it’s time for a return to form - you’ve got lives to live, both of you. Responsibilities, obligations. There’s something in the sunrise, like it’s calling her back; the limelight won’t know how to survive without Im Nayeon sparkling under it. She can’t stay. She never could. 

“It’s been fun, I guess,” says Nayeon flippantly, defaulting to stupid humor; if she doesn’t make you both laugh, then you’ll both crumble. 

“Shut up,” you say, thickly, as she takes your hand, drags you out of bed. Her eyes are glassy, her fingers laced with yours like she’s scared to let go. “You’re such a dumbass.” 

You lean in to kiss the crown of her head. There’s a twist to Nayeon’s mouth, tender - and you know that even when she does let your hand go, you’re still going to be hers and hers alone.

-

Well, you know what they say about distance, absence: it’ll all make the heart grow fonder. It’d been true, before. Maybe it can be true again. 

“What an optimistic take,” says Nayeon, dryly, and her bottom lip’s already trembling, breathing already uneven as she tries to choke back tears. You’re out on the sidewalk again, and it’s all circling back, cyclical; she’s in your arms, and you’re both right where you started. “I agree completely. Seven years wasn’t enough. I need to get away from you, stat.” 

It’s so her, making dumb jokes just so she doesn’t sob herself to pieces. Her hair’s spilling over her shoulders, golden; her stunning eyes are locked on yours, one hand pressed to the side of your neck, thumb finding your jaw. There’s a car waiting, her luggage packed up and put away; it’s gonna hurt, and you already know it. Nayeon’s shoulders are high like she’s preparing herself for some physical ache, the moment she steps away - she’s putting up her fronts, but they’re all slipping. She’s putting up a good fight and it’s already lost. 

“I love you,” you say, emotion twining up your throat, and it’s enough to cleave her façade in two. 

“Fuck,” Nayeon manages, and lifts her wrist over her mouth, expression collapsing in on itself. “I know. I love you. I’m - I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, hey-” 

You go to everything you’ve ever learned, all the ways to ground Nayeon again before she floats away: there’s her face in your hands, and you’re looking right at her, firm so she can see how serious you are. “Hey,” you say, trying to soothe her even as your own heart threatens to constrict, shut off; she’s more important. She always has been. “You don’t need to be sorry, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong. This is just - it’s just how it is. We both know that.” 

It’s been seven years: you and Nayeon, and it’s the oldest story ever told. It’s no one’s fault - not hers, for everything she’s accomplished; not yours, for not begging her to stay. 

(See, she’s got the whole world waiting with bated breath, clamoring to get a glimpse of her. She’s got her whole life at her fingertips, ready for her to reclaim her titles. You’d never, ever hold her back.)

“Yeah,” chokes out Nayeon, visibly distraught, eyes wide and watery, “but, like - it still fucking sucks.” 

It’s not the place, or the time - you’re both fracturing at every place that’s already been broken, over and over - but she says this, and it’s such a crass, blunt, stupid way to sum it all up. You can’t help it. She says it, and before you know it, you’re both dying laughing. 

Nayeon’s leaning into you, breaths caught on giggles, on sobs - laughing like it’s all okay, laughing like she’s not leaving - and her fingers are gripping your elbows, her face crinkling up, that brilliant grin even through her tears. “Nayeon,” you get out, and your adoration strikes a match through your bloodstream, forest-fire flames licking, demolishing. That’s your girl: so gorgeous no one else exists. “Nayeon.” 

She’s laughing, and free, and wonderful, and in that one stunning moment, you feel it: you know you're both going to be okay.

“Like, this is stupid.” Nayeon’s still on her tirade, her palm slapping your forearm vigorously, pitch picking up. You can’t stop smiling, can’t stop the tears building; you’ve never loved anyone more, and never will. “We’re in love and all that shit. We’ve always been in love. Why - I just - I feel like we never have enough time.” 

“Nayeon,” you say, for the third time, and finally her focus tunnels completely and only on you. 

“What?” 

“We’ll be alright,” you say, and press your lips to her forehead so she knows you mean it. “We have all the time in the world.” 

-

She kisses you, one last time. It’s a prospect, or that oath she’ll swear to keep, coming back around. She’s in your arms, chin tipped up at you, and there are doors you’ll throw wide open, hurdles to get over. It’s not going to be easy, this kind of love, this kind of distance, but you’ll make it work. You’ll love each other, and it’ll work. 

Nayeon’s smiling up at you, heavy-hearted, hopeful, eyes glittering like constellations. “Promise me something.” 

Anything, you think of saying. Anything you want and I’ll do it. “Okay.” 

“Call me.” Her hands are in yours - there’s the sun, overhead, and it can’t even hope to compete with her. “If I can’t answer, leave me voicemails. Text me. Tell me everything, even the dumb shit.” There’s that pain building in her voice, half-strangling her - you tap the inside of her wrist, mind her pulse points. You’ll listen like everyone does. “I’m going to miss so much of your life, but - make me feel like I won’t, okay? Make me feel like I’m there.” 

“I promise,” you say, softly. 

Nayeon sinks into your arms, breath catching, stumbling. You bury your face in her hair and wonder if you can memorialize a second in time like this one, weave it into your soul, lock it up in your ribcage; if there’s a way to take this feeling and make it physical - if there's a way to cup it between your palms and make it forever.

“One more,” whispers Nayeon, into your neck. “Make me one more promise.”

“Anything,” you tell her, out loud - there’s not a thing you’d ever hide from her. 

“Promise you’ll remember that I’ll come back to you.” 

It's an exhale, a pause to take a breath. It’s not even a question. Your pinky finds hers, coils them together. “I promise,” you say, and you feel her smile against your skin. 

Whatever thread’s always been between you two knots, and tightens, encased in steel - you’ll feel it even miles away, whatever’s tying her to you, tugging at your heart, linking your fingers. You’ll feel her, even if it takes years; oh, it’s Nayeon, and there’s nothing you won’t do. You’ll have faith. You’ll keep your arms open, ready for her to come running home. She’ll love you from worlds away, and you know she always will. 

(I promise, you say, and you know you’re gonna make it.)

-

Her car leaves, peeling off the asphalt, taking her back to a universe that adores her, worships her, would do anything to possess her and make her theirs. You could stand on the sidewalk forever, unmoving. You could let your own life disintegrate into nothing. You could cry, and scream, and curse out every deity you can think of, damn everything pulling you two apart down to hell.

Instead, you call her.

"Oh, shit," Nayeon says, on the other line, forgoing any greeting. "I just left three seconds ago. If you can't even handle that, this relationship is totally fucked."

You can still hear the remnants of tears in her voice, the ghost of watery laughter. A phone call can't hide a thing - not from you. "I love you."

A sigh, a huff, a put-upon irritation that's seconds from cracking wide open. "You're so clingy. How are you gonna survive on just phone sex until you see me again?"

"Nayeon," you say, grinning.

"I love you," she says, with all the unabashed endearment in the world, and just like all her songs, you swear it's a melody sweet enough to break records. "I'll see you soon."

You smile up at the open sky, and you know that you will.

-

Chaeryeong frowned, rushing to kiss you, even more, experimenting like her life depended on it to try and make it work, sucking in your lower lip and biting it lightly, clutching onto your thighs, her hands burning your skin as she rubbed your clothes against it while her lips were as smooth as ever, their distinctive, amazing taste ever-present. Yet she didn’t seem satisfied, you couldn’t understand why. 

She places herself securely on your legs, before kneeling further to further heat up your exchange, her legs wrapping around your waist, her feet pressing against your back and simultaneously pushing you into her too. She then grabs your hair with one hand, using the other to scratch your back, her blunt nails creeping down the length of your back, making you moan into her mouth, only to be met by a grunt from her in exchange, a sign of her frustration.

She switched up the angle of the kiss by tilting her head before eventually pulling back. 

“Baby, I don’t get it, why do your lips taste so weird?”

Only then did you realize your fate was to reap what you sowed, since in actuality, what she spoke of made perfect sense… your eyes widened shortly after that.

~~~

She grabbed both your wrists with her hands, Yeji was stronger than you thought. She forcefully pulled your arms towards her and pushed her two feet side by side against your face, covering it completely. Now totally under the control of her feet, all you could smell was her sweat in combination with her fruity aromatic lotion, and all you could feel was the strength of her arms on your wrists and the warmth of her feet pressing against your face. 

Your duty then got underway, you began to breathe heavily into the space between her toes while trying to huff in as much of the scent as possible, the intoxicating pheromones you felt the need to breathe in before they dissipated. You did this for several minutes, switching back and forth between both feet at times or pressing the entirety of them into your face. You could see on Yeji's face that she was very pleased, a good thing considering her gentleness in allowing you to do this while promoting her latest comeback. Then, with the toes of her right foot, she squeezed your nose, in consequence not allowing you to breathe and thus forcing you to breathe through your mouth, in that sense, she was a very smart woman,  she had you trapped, sooner or later you would end up opening your mouth. You had no escape, even though you didn't want to escape, with no choice other than to succumb to her clammy feet. 

Your lips parted and instantly you felt the pressure of her right foot pushing into the inside of your mouth. The taste was salty but familiar. You could feel her long toes playing on your tongue, squeezing, massaging it, claiming it as their own. The sensation was indescribable, you had the foot of another human being in your mouth. Once she pulled it out, you placed her heel in your mouth while your tongue stroked in different directions, drawing geometric shapes on her skin as you cleaned it– then came her sole, slow, steady licks up and down onto them, making sure not to leave a trace of their taste, then moving up to find yourself between her toes– dancing with your tongue between each of them, you got the most concentrated taste of her natural flavor– finally, you started sucking her toes one by one, from the smallest to the biggest, the main attention rightfully attributed to her big toe, a lever as it went in and out of your mouth.  Yeji couldn't stop giggling, "the other one" she then commanded, ordering you around like a natural-born leader as you submitted to her, ripping you off the possession of her now saliva-covered right foot, only to let you start over again with the other, the sensation of your tongue on her soles was unsurpassed, their softness on your tongue felt immensely pleasurable.

Then, your task was done, looking up to her while her left foot shined from your saliva, and thanking her for the opportunity. Expecting a prompt exit, you watched as she knelt, in your mind to put her sneakers back on, yet were soon corrected once she grasped your pants and pulled them completely down, exposing your raging hard-on, the cool air of the apartment the only thing touching your burning jealousy as she licked her lips and got to work. 

Yeji started by working one bare foot up the inside of your leg, taking her time in foreplay to tease your inner thigh, only then would Yeji move her foot to where you both wanted. The sheer sensation of the lowest part of her body crushing your device of reproduction sent your head flying back, it felt so right, you couldn’t bear to look away whatsoever, the sight of Yeji’s barefoot stroking your length was more erotic than the feeling itself.  

Yeji grew into a rhythm, musically up and down your length as you shivered either from the temperature or the extent of your lust. You had thought about this so many times before, yet were always too afraid to ask for it.  Yeji then pressed the ball of her foot firmly against the underside of your erection, her heel dragged across your balls, deaf to your squirming. Clutching at straws, just when you thought your mind could equalize, Yeji brought her other foot up as well, placing one on each side of your shaft and squeezing your cock in between both of her feet. Eyelids grew heavier, forcing you into a battle against your cognition to watch it all godown. 

Struggling to keep up the fight, you looked up at her again, only to find nobody there, to then look back down, to see Yeji’s feet were gone and Chaeryeong’s mouth was there instead, the glass had broken, and you were back at present. 

Still, it felt right, her lips parted and took both of your churning balls into her mouth, as she suckled on them, rolling her slick tongue across the underside, her voice reverberating through them as she moaned contently. Her mouth served as the perfect replacement since the makeout session had left the taste of Yeji’s feet infused into her lips.

Reaching down to grab a handful of her hair, you earned a soft moan of approval. 

With a deep back-arching purr, you then slipped your free hand down and into her clothes, between her humps. Instinctively, she pushed forward, going deeper until her bottom lip pressed against your base and the tip of your cock was nestled snugly inside her throat.

The wet sucking and slurping sounds filled my bedroom as your cock thrust into the back of her throat with increasingly greater force and speed. It couldn’t go on forever, she didn't slow down, and after a few more strokes you’d forcefully buck your hips forward for the final act. She allowed you to hold her head in place as the first blast of cum exploded from your lower head to shoot down her eager tunnel. You buried her nose against your skin until you were done, she barely gagged or choked as she swallowed it.

You kiss her back as you wrap your arms around her. Tzuyu’s hands grab your head to pull you into her lips even harder. The kiss is sloppy and lustful, but it is also passionate and full of love. 

Your tongues explore each other’s mouths as your hands make their way down her body and to her ass. You squeeze Tzuyu’s plump and round ass and Tzuyu moans into your mouth.

You’re content with making out with Tzuyu forever, but eventually Tzuyu breaks the kiss. Both of your mouths and chin are drenched with saliva and a string of saliva connects your lips.

“I missed you so much,” Tzuyu pants, her hands still holding your head.

“You wouldn’t believe how much I missed you,” you reply with a smile from ear to ear. 

Tzuyu reengages the kiss and slowly walks you back towards the couch. Once the back of your knees makes contact with the couch she gently pushes you down so you’re laying on the couch and she’s on top of you. Tzuyu then makes her way down your body to your chin, then your neck, then your chest, and eventually to your clothed crotch. It doesn’t remain clothed for long as Tzuyu pulls your pants and underwear off your legs and tosses them somewhere in the yard. 

Tzuyu smiles when your cock springs free. It’s practically rock hard already just from the kissing. Tzuyu sticks her tongue out and gently licks the tip of your cock, sending an electric shock throughout your body and causing you to moan. She takes it up a level and slips your cock past her soft lips and into her mouth. 

Her mouth is so wet and warm just as you remember. You can’t count the amount of times Tzuyu has sucked your dick, but this time it feels even better than before. Maybe it’s because you haven’t experienced it for three years, but none of that matters. All that matters is that you never thought you would feel the sensation of Tzuyu’s lips around your cock again, but here you are.

Tzuyu bobs her head up and down your cock coating it with her saliva. It felt like Tzuyu was just getting into a good rhythm, when she abruptly takes your cock out of her mouth.

“Eat me,” she says as she takes her shorts off. The old Tzuyu wouldn’t dare to make demands like that unless she wanted to be punished, but this isn’t the same girl you knew. Both you and Tzuyu know who’s in control now, and it isn’t you.

Tzuyu turns around and climbs back on top of you, presenting her ass and her freshly shaved pussy to you. Her smell is absolutely intoxicating. You grab her hips, pull her down onto your face and dive into her pussy as Tzuyu dives back into your cock. Tzuyu moans on your cock as you lick her increasingly wet folds.

It’s been way too long since you’ve tasted Tzuyu and you savor every lick. Just like her scent, her taste is sweet like honey. To say that you can’t get enough of Tzuyu’s taste is an understatement. You eat her out like there’s no tomorrow, making sure to lap up every single drop of her sweet liquid. 

The two of you eat each other like you haven’t eaten in three years. You could live the rest of your life with Tzuyu sitting on your face, but she has other plans. 

Tzuyu releases your cock from her mouth and gets off your face. “I’m going to ride you,” she says as she turns around and straddles you. 

She wastes no time and lifts her body up, lines up your cock with her slit and sits down on your cock. You both let out loud gasping moans as your cock slides into Tzuyu’s pussy. Just like Tzuyu’s mouth, her pussy is wet and warm, but it’s a completely different sensation being inside Tzuyu’s pussy. It’s so tight. It squeezes your cock, but it also fits your cock like a glove. 

Tzuyu just sits on your cock for a few moments to adjust. “I missed your cock so much. It feels so good.”

No more words need to be said as she lifts herself up, then slams her body back down on your cock. She does it again, then again, then again. Her rhythm is quick and hard. Each time she slams herself down onto your cock, a sharp moan from Tzuyu follows. 

Tzuyu pushes her shirt over her chest and she guides your hands to her small but soft and perky tits. You grope her tits as she bounces on your cock. Her pussy squeezes you even tighter now that you’ve started to fondle her breasts. Her moans and gasps have also become even louder. The sheer volume of her voice and the sound of wet skin slapping with every bounce of her body, there’s no way her neighbors haven’t heard. 

Tzuyu’s pussy tightens even more around your cock and you can tell she’s about to cum. As if right on cue, Tzuyu screams, “I’m cumming!” Tzuyu slams down on your cock one last time and throws her head back. Her pussy pulsates around your cock. Her whole body shakes and her hands grip your wrists tight to relieve some of the pleasure that’s wrecking her body. Her moans turn to pants as her chest heaves up and down. It takes some time but Tzuyu comes down from her high. 

She releases her grip on your wrists and removes herself from your hard cock. Your cock is now covered in Tzuyu’s creamy white liquid. 

“Get up,” Tzuyu says. You aren’t sure what she has planned next, but you do as you’re told and you get off the couch. Your cock is painfully hard and you’re also painfully close to cumming. 

Tzuyu lays down on the couch the same way she was when you arrived. 

“It’s your turn. Fuck me and cum inside of me. It’s been too long since your cum has been inside of my pussy,” she says.

You most definitely don’t have to be told twice. You lay down your side behind her, line up your cock with her pussy and thrust into her. 

Just like Tzuyu, your rhythm is quick and hard. You grab her hip and pull it back towards you when you thrust so you can fuck her even harder and deeper. The sound of skin slapping and Tzuyu’s moans, gasps, and screams fill the yard once more. The whole neighborhood could be watching you fuck Tzuyu and you wouldn’t care.

You grunt as you use all of your energy to thrust into Tzuyu. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching. 

“I’m about to cum Tzu. Oh fuck. I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, cum inside of me baby.”

You thrust your hips and Tzuyu’s ass slaps against you one last time and your hot sticky seed explodes into Tzuyu. Wave after wave after wave of cum spurts out of your cock and into Tzuyu’s tight hole. 

The only thing you can do is lay there, holding Tzuyu close to you as the two of you recover. Eventually, your softened cock slips out of Tzuyu’s pussy.

You finally regain the ability to talk and for some reason you ask Tzuyu, “Hey Tzu, what if I have a girlfriend?”

Tzuyu turns her head so she can look at you. “If you did, then I would feel bad for her because I’m the queen of your cock.” 

You’re not sure what answer you were expecting, but you’re speechless. All you can do is stare at her pretty face, now with a smirk on it.

“Well, I’m going to go shower,” Tzuyu says as she removes your hands from her body and gets off the couch. You watch her long thick legs as she begins to walk towards the house. Her round ass bounces and her wide hips sway with each seductive step. When she reaches the door she turns around and asks, “Are you coming?” before leaving the door open and disappearing into the house.

…

Overcome by the intense vibration against her sensitive spot, Winter begins to lose control. The image in her head of you becomes a blur while the pleasure takes over. Her mind is mush, and her face is flush. Winter cannot find the presence of mind to flick the switch on the vibrator that would send everything into overdrive. However, it's already enough to drive her perilously close to a high.

The soft pillow had become the victim of this act. Still squeezed and scratched by her hand, gnawed and ragged inside her mouth. A tool to soak up the sounds escaping Winter's mouth. From the soft continuous whimpers that lose all their audibility once muffled by it to the occasional shrill shriek as she hits the perfect spot with her toy before her shaky hands let it slip, and she has to find it again. It was her saviour because if it were not there, her roommates, maybe even the neighbours, would hear screams of your name.

Winter's sculpted legs slam closed, her thighs hitting together, sending a ripple outwards through pale flesh. Her hand and toy are now trapped between them, held in the perfect place that will bring the desperate girl to a climax. Rising into the air, her knees bend, and her feet slide along the soft sheet toward her supple ass. The drumroll up to her approaching orgasm causes her toes to curl, gripping the sheets and pulling them out of place. Winter rolls onto her side, writhing in pleasure. Her hand slips from the pillow and slams down onto the firm mattress; she hits it a few times with an open palm before taking a handful of the sheet. Winter buries her face into a second pillow, the one behind her head, her wide open mouth letting out a stream of inaudible profanities between hyperventilating breaths. Thinking only of you, your face, your body, your long hard cock, Winter drives herself to a mind-shattering toe-curling orgasm.

Taking in as much air as she can in one deep breath, Winter rolls onto her back and sprawls out on the bed. Long legs fall open again, releasing her crushed hand and letting the vibrating toy fall onto the bed amidst a waterfall of cum. Body twitching, hips jolting forward, and legs spasming as her orgasm passes. The hole between her legs leaks uncontrollably, running down her fair skin and onto the bed. A pool of tasty juices goes to waste, making even more of a mess of the bed.

Winter whispers to herself, as if saying it out loud would make her fantasy come true, "I need to be fucked." She waits for a moment for her wish to come true. When inevitably disappointed, she sighs and reaches for her still vibrating toy, resting on the wet sheets. She switches it off and places it to the side before picking up its partner in crime, her favourite dildo. "Guess I just have to fuck myself…."

Winter observes the cold glass dildo as she rests and prepares—the bubbled shape slotting perfectly between her fingers as she holds it. She longs for the smooth shaft in her hand to be real—to be your stiff cock which she loves so much. She has tried plenty of toys over the years, and this one is by far her favourite, but it's still so different from the real thing.

She shifts it in her hand and holds the phallic imitation by the base, then trails the icy touch of the glass down her body, starting at her chest. Contact of the cold, hard toy with her taut nipples sends slight sensations through her body. She runs the side of the toy down between her perky tits and towards her toned stomach. The glass slides and bobbles over the tense muscles of her abdomen before moving dangerously close to her pussy.

She holds her breath as she pushes it down, and the cold, smooth dildo makes contact with its inevitable target. She slides the shaft between her small folds and against her used clit. It was more sensitive than ever after the intense period of play she just had with it. The cool sensation was both soothing and shocking, enough to make a small gasp escape her mouth. Slowly, Winter slides the toy up and down along her pussy, rotating it to ensure it's covered in her cum, the most natural lubricant. 

Winter gently closes her eyes, and a soft smile forms on her pink lips. "Okay, baby, fuck me, please," she says under her breath to the imaginary you that kneels over her. She rubs the tip of the dildo up and down, from hole to clit, teasing herself just like you often do. "Please, baby, put it in me. Fill me up and fuck me."

Winter answers her own pleas. She presses on the underside of the toy, allowing the first bubble of now cum-covered glass cock to push open her needy hole. Enabled by her own liquids, the tip slides in effortlessly.

She brings her free hand up to her chest, cupping one of the small tits inside it and trapping a nipple between two of her fingers. Winter squeezes and plays with her breast and makes one final plea to the imaginary you now leaning over her with the head of your cock buried inside her. "Don't go easy on me; just fuck me. Fuck me good," she whispers.

Another answer, another press and another section inside her, Winter repeats between sharp gasps, pushing deeper into her hole and causing her head to fall back and eyes to roll. Her hand squeezes tightly on her breast, almost as strong as her walls clench to the foreign object inside. So difficult now to continue, but determination and desire are strong forces. Winter digs deeper, stretching her passage, creating a corrupting combination of pain and pleasure. Her face contorts—all manner of expression—-as she can go no further. The limit has been reached, but more is yet to be done. 

Winter tries her best to imitate when you pierce her with your cock. She rocks back and forth, self-impaling repeatedly—hips rocking into the thrusts, accepting the stiff attack of the intimidating toy. 

Winter thinks of her favourite times—legs spread wide, knees slightly bent, and her milky thighs flanking her exposed innocence, ready to be defiled by you. All that is missing is your imposing figure, leaning over her and your real cock pumping in and out of her throbbing cunt. The size might compare, but Winter struggles to replicate the feeling, pumping the glass imitation in her narrow hole.

Winter desires you to be there, your body pressing down onto hers, keeping her pinned to the bed while you pound your cock into her, giving that splitting feeling as she struggles to contain you. She desires that feeling of the heat in your body as it burns up from the hard work and the sweat that starts to form under her palm as she paws at your chest. 

Winter's hand does become warm and sweaty from the hard work she endures, pumping herself full. Each time she hits deep into her stretched hole, a small whimper can be heard, quiet enough, so neither Karina and Ningning, nor Giselle have any idea of the rough fucking Winter is giving herself. 

Suddenly aware of her rising volume in tandem with the pleasure, Winter shifts to her favourite position. She brings the other pillow next to the one beneath her head to give added comfort. She flips herself over—knees propping her hips into the air and face nestled into the feather-stuffed pillows. The cheeks of her tiny, tight ass were on show for anyone who would walk in at this inopportune moment. Winter’s hands reach beneath her burning core to her stuffed cunt, one taking hold of the phallus plugging her cunt, and the other reaching for her sensitive clit. 

In rhythmic sync, one full circle of her clit with a fingertip matches one full thrust into her cunt. The bobbled toy pushes outwards against her sensitive walls in tandem with the rough playing of her most sensitive spot, stimulating Winter and driving her toward the second finish of the evening. 

The waves of pleasure threaten to cause the tense muscles in her legs to give way. They tremble, physically shaking, and she struggles to hold herself up. Her knees begin to give way, sliding down the sheets, and her feet can’t stop them as toes curl under the pleasure. Her crotch is falling closer to the wet patch on the bed. 

The pleasure culminates—the anticipation of her orgasm at a maximum. She is close now and completes the transition you had seen many times when you’re fucking her from behind, and her body gives way underneath you. You often found yourself pounding downwards into the subdued mess below you, prone boning Winter through her orgasm, something she desperately tries to replicate. She pulls aggressively on her toy, slamming it inside her and instinctively bucks her hips in response, desperate to extract every bit of pleasure.

The pillows under her face provide ample safety for Winter to allow herself to be louder. No longer restraining her voice, she can enjoy every aspect of the rough fucking she gives herself. A series of “Oh fucks!” intertwined with whining moans and repetitions of your name are all absorbed by the pillows. It also prevents the sweat from running onto her face; her body is now glistening under the low light in the room—which is a testament to the effort she is exuding into chasing a high.

Finally, she hits the breaking point. Not even her animalistic desires to be fucked can fight against the explosion of pleasure inside her. She’s forced to let the dildo fall from her pulsating cunt, the tightening walls rejecting its presence and her arms too weak to fight it. Winter jams two fingers into her pussy as a last resort, attempting to extend her orgasm.

The upper body of the subdued woman heaves up and down as she breathes deeply in exhaustion. Viscous liquid seeps from her hole, escaping around her fingers and onto her hand. The second release of cum runs down her palm and onto her forearms before eventually finding its way to joining the already soaked patch on the bed. The energy is sapped from Winter’s body. Unable to move, she rests silently in her own sticky mess.

“She’s in her room and has been there a while. We think she’s taking a nap.”

“Thanks, Jimin,” you reply calmly. You never had any trouble coming over to visit Winter; you always got along with her friends pretty well, especially Jimin. She was always more than happy to greet you and even asked you to hang out alone, a suggestion you have passed upon several times. 

You reach out for the cold metal door handle to Winter’s room and open the door to her bedroom. The lights were out in her room, and walking in from the lit corridor made it challenging to make out much in the room. Only the faint outline of the objects you knew to always be in here. From the bed in the centre of the room to the desk by the left wall and the clothes rack on your right. One thing stood out—her milky skin stands out in even the darkest of rooms—your beautiful girlfriend, lying stark naked in the middle of the bed, face down. It couldn’t be anyone but her; you would recognise those slim legs, tight ass and toned back anywhere.

“Minjeong?” you say softly.

“AH!” she shouts, throwing herself over onto her back and having to reach out to stop herself from falling off the bed. She’s breathing heavily, but those shining eyes glint with happiness and excitement. “You’re here!”

“Surprise, I got off work a little early.”

She runs towards you naked, jumping onto you, wrapping her sweaty limbs around you and kissing you. 

“Oh. I’m so happy you’re here! Come on. I need you.”

“Minjeong, what are—”

“Fuck me.” Winter reaches out a hand for the door and slams it behind you. “I need you to fuck me.”

***

She smelled faintly of alcohol while the familiar scent of both sin and romance lingered in the air. Gahyeon held a hand as she gasped through every fluid movement and surge of that intoxicating euphoric pleasure. The sun had already set and the clock had struck midnight, exhausted souls and bodies should have already gone to sleep but there were gasps for air, silent whimper, and whispers of comfort. The night hasn’t been this long for a long time, and it was all filled with mixed feelings.

It was a momentful pause as thousands of thoughts coursed through the mind and each was almost invalidated by the heart. Her sight… A full masterpiece on sight, the full shape of her body from the back. Wide shoulders for a woman, her shoulder blades somehow looked so pleasing to the eyes, adding to how her back muscles were flexing. A ghost of a finger down the graceful curve of her spine to where her full hips were in full view. It was so easy… simple, just stay true to one’s animalistic instinct to breed, such a beautiful being bent over and impaled by a dick, but what made each thrust carried out with hesitation?

It was all because of her… not the woman bent over, receiving the pounding you were giving, but the woman holding her hand. Not Gahyeon who was ever loud and not shy of crying her pleasure out, but Bora… the woman underneath the younger girl, Gahyeon’s precious friend, your ex… that is if one can count a one-day relationship as a legit romantic one.

The very reason why Gahyeon got her unrequited love reciprocated. The very reason why you got your heart broken for the first time. Now she was there underneath the woman you were balls deep in, hugging her, supporting her, and holding her hand. Naked. Bared. Exposed.

How did it come to this?

Love is taught. Bora was the proof of this. After all, that one memorable night was all that was needed to learn how to love, how to give it, and how to receive it. How to please a woman and how to pleasure her. Be gentle, be soft, be attentive, be rough at times, and don’t forget yourself. Bora was the first, hoped to be the last, but she taught one last thing before she left… and it was how it felt to have a broken heart.

Despite the shattered heart from being with her, she left a promise or rather a deal. A promise that was kept, unspoken but not broken that also acted as a driving force… a push to pick up all the shattered pieces and glue them back together. A promise that involved the sweetest woman in the whole world, Gahyeon.

Love can be learned. Gahyeon was the proof of this. The childhood friend who was secretly harboring romantic feelings towards her friend. The childhood friend who seemed hopeless, but was blessed by a silver lining. A rebound she might be… but she was there. She was there to ease the pain and care even with her busy schedule. She was sweeter and more expressive of her affection even if there was a problem with distance as they had their world tour. It wasn't hard to love Gahyeon as you already did, given you had known her for years. It wasn't hard to open up to her more. It wasn't a challenge for the love felt for friends to transform into one felt for lovers. Heartbeats boomed and butterflies started warming whenever she was around. Gahyeon became both a best friend and a lover. Learning to love Gahyeon was as easy as eating her favorite snacks.

Love is both taught and learned; Love grows. Just as Bora taught an important lesson, Gahyeon did the same, and you have also given Gahyeon something. Love grows and this feeling was no longer that of a toxic rebound-dependent relationship as you had grown to truly love her. Her feelings pierced through and it was warm like the morning sun—warm to the skin and soothing to the heart. It was excruciating, but it was fruitful and ever unforgettable—each moment and each memory.

That one night, the one long long evening.

The same as this one.

But it was different.

It was of pure intimacy.

“I love you…” Gahyeon whispered before planting a kiss on your cheek. Her lips were supple and soft, and for some reason, they were warm to the skin. Maybe it wasn’t her lips but just that contact flared up your burning cheeks that were beet red from the things that had happened. 

It was the alcohol, it was the bright moon that was in full view through the window, it was the soft cushion of the hotel couch, it was the sweet and sour wings she wanted to pair with the beer, and that one accursed romantic scene from that cliched romcom movie… It was anything but the way she looked, the way her smile curved, the way she leaned towards your shoulder comfortably, it was anything but the way it felt like running a marathon with the way she made your heart boom… Boom. Boom! BOOM! Faster and faster. Then suddenly it all calmed as she slid her fingers, intertwining them with yours.

A touch of calmness to an angry wave of thoughts and indescribable emotion. Calm, soothing, serene, and peaceful. Then there came a kiss, a peck a little different from the first one as it was planted directly on your lips. A peck that was followed by another that was deeper and more passionate, but was not hurried. 

Slowly. She pressed her body against yours. Her weight on your chest, and a soft pillowy mass… The kiss broke, and Gahyeon shifted in your arms, and soon she was on your lap. Gahyeon answered that something that was brewing in the pit of her stomach, and it wasn’t just the wings she ate or the usual butterflies, but it was different… something more carnal yet pure—the drive to make love. It was hot, it felt a little suffocating with all these clothes hugging her body. 

To be honest it might all be boring… after all, even though those clothes came flying, soon enough all there was a torrid kiss. Deep, hungry, but she wasn’t devouring, Gahyeon was still patient… a suckle, a pull, and a dance with her tongue. She was on the receiving side and when it was her turn, she was attentive to take what she deserved.

A tight hug to keep it all sealed together. Soon Gahyeon was devouring your neck and you were skillfully massaging her breast. She mewled, and you huffed under your breath but quickly relented as she stuffed you with her cherry tips. From then on, it all became fuzzy and fleeting. It was all imprinted in the mind, but there were simply no words to describe it—to word how you soon came to find yourself in the paradise of bedsheets and pillows, or how pleasurable making love with her was.

Words weren't enough and retelling the story was close to impossible. Gahyeon wanted it inside her, and there was the need to feel her lips diverging. Thanks to Bora’s teaching it wasn’t as awkward, it was all smooth sailing, and the rest came naturally from the heat of the moment. The way she wrapped her arms around your neck as you entered and exited her again and again, repeatedly while her mouth kept agape and wordless.

Eyes to eyes, lips to lips, and a dick to a pussy. No matter how vulgar or wholesome it might sound, it was just that and it wasn’t something magical yet it was blissful… just because it was Gahyeon. Lee Gahyeon’s touch, her mischievous smile, those chocolate eyes of hers, her warmth, and her love. A simple old boring sex between lovers. No kinks, no pet names, no obsession with one specific part (whether it may be the breasts or the thighs), just her whole and your whole, the dimmed room, that comfortable hotel bed, the moon who was rudely watching a private moment, and the drive to give it all (pleasure, love, warmth…) to your partner. There was no goal—whether it might be orgasm or sexual fulfillment… It was just a man and a woman making love.

All night long on that long long night.

It was that simple closeness and boundless intimacy that was the very definition of euphoria.

Not like this…

Love is a path taken by a pair.

The existence of the third makes it more complicated than it already was.

Lee Gahyeon 

and

Kim Bora.

How did it come to this? Go back to the start. A successful world tour and welcoming celebration for the whole group, or that was supposed to be the plan… but the others bailed because of their own personal reasons—mainly going to their own home whether it might be internationally or somewhere in Korea, leaving only two who didn’t have any plans in particular: Gahyeon who most likely stayed because of you(her boyfriend) and Bora whose intentions weren’t so clear.

“So… it’s only the three of us?” Gahyeon asked as she clung to your arm.

“Well, that clearly didn’t go as planned… This might be embarrassing to admit but I already rented the group a hotel suite to celebrate privately as I was worried you can’t enjoy yourselves properly in a public restaurant,” You explained while you scratched your head.

“A hotel suite? Wow, someone turned into a hotshot while we were gone,” Bora teased.

“No! I was just lucky enough to land this job and the boss liked me… besides it wouldn’t be good to be stingy while celebrating, money can be earned but memories are—” you stopped as Bora and Gahyeon were both smiling weirdly, clearly teasing you without needing to say a word but just by using their smiles and expressions.

"Babe, I'm so proud of you!" Gahyeon exclaimed and after, she quickly up with a peck. "Don't worry, the three of us could just go, and then when everyone comes home, we do another one with everyone else.

Bora faked throwing up, seeing this sweet interaction between two lovers—it sucks to be single for her even though it wasn't like her to be bitter but… her past with you was still there.

"Don't worry about me, Kids. I'll just take a hot bath at the dorm, drink some soju, and I'll sleep. You lovebirds can have the hotel by yourselves and you can do 'your' own thing. I know you two missed each other and I even caught Gahyeonie doing 'it' alone our accomm—"

"Unnie! Stop it! I told you I wasn't masturbating!" Gahyeon cut off her member.

"Yeah yeah, I'm just hearing and seeing things and I certainly didn't hear you yelling his name while you touched yourself," Bora smirked.

"Unnie!" Gahyeon exclaimed once again as she desperately tried to cover up your ears while you stood flustered hearing all these things that happened during their time overseas.  "Forget about that, what I'm saying is that we will not leave you alone and like I said we should just enjoy ourselves. I'm really craving soju and tteokbokki."

With that said, even with your still red cheeks, you nodded in agreement and Bora shrugged as she knew that she wouldn't win against the younger woman's logic. She sighed in defeat, and you three soon found yourself in a hotel suite.

“Kids, drink up!” Bora yelled out as she stood at the top of the table waving her glass of soju bomb and dancing as Gahyeon cheered for her while there you were, worried that the table might collapse with her on it.

“Yey! Here’s to one successful world tour!” Gahyeon joined her and you were once reminded how chaotic these girls could be with the presence of alcohol. One bottle was certainly not enough for these two girls—Gahyeon who was still young but had an innate talent for drinking and Bora who built up her drinking skills through the years. Well, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but you just hoped that you would be able to keep up with the two, the sun was just starting to set and these two would not be stopping anytime soon.

It was fun.

Time passed swiftly. Ample bottles of beer and soju rolled on the floor, and room service went back and forth to deliver all sorts of food they were craving but no one seemed to be getting drunk, this drinking sess—no! the celebration was with two heavy drinkers and a witty man with too many techniques to just get out(sneaking shots, pretending to drink, shifting the topic, etc.) which surprisingly none of the two ladies have caught up on.

“Yah! Drink up! Here I’ll teach you kids how to mix your drinks!”

“Teach us your way, Master!”

“Yey…  Wait! Noona, don’t torch the gin! You might trigger the sprinklers!”

It was joyous.

Thankfully, no fire systems were triggered and the drinks Bora made were actually great—maybe she should have just become a bartender instead of an idol. 

“Noona, these are actually great…” Bora smirked and Gahyeon who was watching suddenly wanted to show off. Maybe she was jealous and wanted a compliment or her competitive self just wanted to win—against who? Against Bora? 

“Lemme try making one too! Babe, you should drink it.” Hearing her made you swallow anything that was down your throat—well, it was natural to feel fear since the woman was notorious for making things… you wouldn’t be able to identify it as food.  As expected, her plan didn’t go so well as not soon after she attempted to make her concoction, trouble happened… The worry about Bora triggering the fire system came to life with Gahyeon accidentally setting things on fire.

It was chaotic. 

Gahyeon was shouting but you couldn’t help but laughed while rain fell down without clouds inside the hotel suite. Flames went out, but something inside Gahyeon ignited as she didn’t stop punching your shoulders. Bora watched all of this unfold, smiling and genuinely happy just being with the two people she care about. Although she was just as thankful for the sprinklers that literally made everything wet, she couldn’t help but wish that the beads of water that pour down her face were tears.

It was bliss to be with them… Although, I couldn’t help but think that destiny did us dirty, yet I’m not angry.

“Okay, calm down now Gah. It wasn’t his fault and it was yours so go now call the lobby to make this rain stop,” Bora sternly said to the younger woman and Gahyeon didn’t have any choice but to obey her unnie. You patted Gahyeon's head to comfort her before going to fetch some towels and robes for you all. As you grabbed each towel, Gahyeon’s image flew over your head and she was just pretty even in that drenched state, there was no need for blush-on, the alcohol provided that and the way cotton stuck to her body, showing her voluptuous body…

“동생, can you excuse me for a moment, I kinda wanna change into one of those robes in your hand as you can see…” Bora interrupts your train of thought as she pointed at her own body and just like Gahyeon… yes, wet clothes were erotic but bad if left out as it might cause troubles later. Speaking of trouble, Bora was a walking trouble, and your eyes glued to her were asking for it.

Does first love never die? That is if you can once again count that as love…

Black… Wet clothes and black underwear weren’t good combinations it seems. Especially, with a top like that, Bora just being herself… seductively beautiful and the existence of that night. The next thing you knew was… a tongue wrestling with yours, trying to steal some of Gahyeon’s property (you) which could have been hers. Bora made her move inside that bathroom where Gahyeon could walk in and find this scene—she knew this fact, but she couldn’t stop…

“Noona… stop we can’t do this,” you mumbled as you tried to break out of her hold, but she chased and followed that hunger gleaming through her eyes. 

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5 seconds.” 

Her hand ghosted to caress your cheek as she went deeper into her invasion inside that oral orifice still tasting alcohol. 

6, 7, 8, 9, 10 seconds,” Gahyeon counted behind the closed door as you forcibly pushed Bora away even though your body was screaming to let go.

“Noona, you’re drunk. Stop it, please… I loved you but I love Gahyeon,” You pleaded as you stepped back. The simple difference between one letter and the tenses of present and past brought back Bora from her hazed. She wanted to speak, opening her mouth to utter something, but no words came out. Bora was left standing there, regretting but not fully. She was intoxicated but not with alcohol, she was fully sober and she knew what she was doing.

You walked back to the suite’s main room where you were celebrating only to find Gahyeon and the hotel staff cleaning the room. 

"Gah, here you go. Noona is in the bathroom changing into so you can go and change as well. I'll take care of things here and we can continue hanging out when you come back."

You handed her the robe and the towel and she smiled… bitterly, imagination or what but Gahyeon wasn’t a fool. Although, it seemed that she was forced to act that way every time: that one time watching a movie and she went to use the bathroom, what happened in the concert, what happened that night, your confession the next day, and now that little secret event inside the bathroom. Gahyeon always knew, she always knew about Bora and You.

"Sure… we need to tone down a little anyway. We can just drink without being too chaotic." Gahyeon giggled as she disappeared from sight.

You apologized to the hotel staff because everything was drenched inside, they offered a transfer to a similar room which you gladly accepted after informing Gahyeon and Bora.

Then after a small move, the night continued a little bit more tamed now. No more Gahyeon accidentally triggering the fire system and Bora standing on top of things while drinking.

Open balcony and a class of preferred liquor on each hand. Countless stories from their endeavors in the west and a lot of catching up happened. It was so blissful that you had almost forgotten about what happened inside the bathroom. Or maybe the glass of wine did the trick.

Gahyeon watched the moon and the stars who were staring back at her, and Bora was looking at the younger girl as she sipped her drink. Surprisingly, no one was drunk yet… still?

"Gahyeonie, what are you so seriously thinking about that I almost mistook you for Minji frowning there," Bora teased but Gahyeon didn't react the way she normally would retort back with her own witty line. The younger woman took steps, approaching the older woman, and before you know it, Gahyeon’s lips met Bora’s. All of it unfolded right before your eyes as Bora’s spilled her red wine onto the ground and Gahyeon clashed her own red pair onto the older’s. A beautiful but rather confusing sight to see, Gahyeon doing this and Bora slowly losing to her.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 seconds, and their tongues fighting for dominance were in clear view. 6, 7, 8 9, 10 seconds, and Bora was stepping back, subtly trying to escape but then Gahyeon pushed onto her, chased her, and made her submit little by little while you were frozen in place with a strange feeling, pinching the heart.

“Gahyeon… what’s this?” Bora mumbled as she gasped for air but was quickly thwarted. Forceful, Gahyeon was with her approach… so sudden and it caught Bora and You off guard. Bora tried very hard not to submit and not to freeze, but with the way Gahyeon maneuvered her tongue inside of her mouth… it was insufferable. In addition, was the way her hand sneaked to support her back and waist, caressing and lulling the older with her. Bora was clearly losing and not sure whether it was that she was deprived of touch and sex or it was just that Gahyeon had innate talent despite being you her only experience.

“Unnie, wanna have a threesome?” Gahyeon whispered as she broke their kiss, a bridge of saliva and her voice a little raspy. Bora stared at her, locking eyes as she at that one question brought upon mixed feelings, a small glimmer of joy but also a shimmer of annoyance— ‘Sex? With her? With him? I can’t decline… can’t I? I don’t want to. She knows, is she pitying me? Sharing and flexing what’s already hers… what should have been mine. No! Maybe, I’m just looking too deep into it. Gahyeon is not like that, she’s a nice girl. I believe that, I wanna believe that…”

“Gah, you’re drunk. Don’t ask noona for unreasonable things…” Bora's trance was broken by your voice, “Come on, it’s time... let’s go to bed, hmm?”

Bora watched you as you caringly approached Gahyeon, your eyes, attention, and worry glued on her… only her alone. Bora bit her lip, Gahyeon saw this who was watching the older intently—studying and observing like what she had always been doing all this time, but now it was different, she decided to take action. Bora was watching you, You were watching Gahyeon, and Gahyeon was watching her friend—what a triangle it was.

“I’m not drunk!” Gahyeon declared and exclaimed that she quickly rebuffed using her famous smile. You pursed your lips and tried saying something but nothing came out. Look at Bora but she was just as speechless, she shrugged, sighed, placed her wine glass somewhere before she dropped it, and held Gahyeon’s hand… and one of yours.

“Okay Gahyeonie, but…” She pulled, in front of Gahyeon(a sight she wasn’t able to see as she was behind the door earlier) she kissed you—amorously but was done maybe out of spite or a threat to make the younger backdown, “are you sure you’re okay with these type of things? Me and your boyfriend… doing things in front of you.”

It would be a lie if Gahyeon were to say that it didn’t sting, that it didn’t hurt her… perhaps more than it did when she was just listening or imagining that image she was forced to swallow now. However, to back down wasn’t a choice when she already made up her mind.

“Swa, you're wrong with one thing though, it won’t be just you and him doing things but it would be the three of us, so yeah. It would be contradicting for me to say I’m not okay with it when I was the one who suggested it.”

Gahyeon smiled.

My Love… Bora-unnie, you do know I love you both right? I’m sorry, but… I guess fate is a such prankster.

From then on it was hazy, Gahyeon didn’t ask if it was okay for you, and before you knew it, one of them pushed to capture your lips, biting and devouring as another sneaked to cover your eyes with their palms. Dark, hazy, and fast(?), it was all happening so fast and you fell into her snog as she pushes and you tip over. One step at a time, backward into an abysm of ecstatic jouissance that shouldn’t be entered at all.

“Don’t worry, Love… I promise no more of ‘this’ and ‘that’ just focus on me from now on.” Love? Gahyeon had never called you that… What did she mean by this and that? These strings of thoughts were all broken as a push forcibly disconnected lips and tied tongues; suddenly, you were falling, hands that acted as a blindfold were removed, and in sight were Bora and Gahyeon.

Why do they look as if they are hurting? Is it my fault? No, please…

Softness cradles, close your eyes, lie comfortably, dive, indulge, and escape—do it and trust her, she said no more and whatever she might mean, there was no time to think anyway as soon hands crawled. Pay attention, soft not just soft but with bumps, calluses? This is Gahyeon, her hands were a lot bigger compared to Bora with her famous tiny hands, besides she got those calluses from lifting dumbbells in the gym, and this person has long nails—Gahyeon was so fond of nail art, but Bora wasn’t so much.

Robe tie came undone, a finger circled your chest and a palm softly caressed your thighs; both going to where? Crawl down, ghost dangerously near it… near that throbbing member—the only honest thing in that room, your dick. A blow of hot breath on it did the opposite as warming it up as just that was enough to send a shiver down one’s spine. What do tiny hands have? Tiny fingers that soon hugged your length. What do tiny fingers do? They stroked gently, they weren’t enough to grasp the entirety of your dick, but that just leave more space to move upwards and downwards—a little bit rough without any lubrication, but that was soon solved by a liquid that dripped down the tip, coating and lubing Bora’s handjob.

What came after that liquid was softness presenting itself to your tip, pressing and diverging as it engulfed its entirety. Open your eyes and crunch up to see Gahyeon parting her lips to suck your dick, gently wrapped around it, a small suction to apply both pressure and pleasure, and her tongue circle inside, tickling and sending electricity.

Bora wasn’t one to be left out as alongside her hands, she worked her tongue where she could, going under and there she found those heavy sacks where she focused her attention. A suckle to start things off and a tongue to fully cover everything with spit. You groaned with each of these simultaneously and continuously happening… Gahyeon and Bora were truly members of the same group because their teamwork was impeccable and there was a great balance.

Although, it seemed like Gahyeon don’t want that at all. Break the balance and take one step further, she bobbed her head faster and faster without any build-up—more passionate and more hungry, showing the youth she held as an advantage. As for Bora, she had a different idea as she planted a kiss and broke away from your dick, she stood up, and soon that tie on her came undone. White fabric draped down her shoulders slowly revealing the lack of undergarments underneath it. One by one, shoulders, upper torso, her breast, lower torso, that flat-toned stomach, her hips, and then the fabric hit the ground. Fully naked she stretch for a little bit, intentionally flaunting her body that was clearly to die for, earning your stares while Gahyeon who was still down under was clearly beaten by such a bold move from Bora.

“What? Enjoying the view so much? Be careful your girlfriend might get jealous if you ogle too much.” A smirk and you were left speechless as she walked and sat by your side to pat your head. Gahyeon was honestly more curvaceous, but that doesn’t mean Bora was any less sexy than her. “Gahyeonie, why are you still down there? Come on, strip and let’s have fun… you’re letting me use your boyfriend for once and you’re just gonna slurp his dick?”

Gahyeon halted and looked at her unnie a little bit annoyed as she let go of your dick—Bora’s statement was provocative after all so it wasn’t a surprise. The younger woman stood up and did the same as Bora but more swiftly than the older. Gahyeon was clearly someone who turn heads with her visuals alone, she was every insomnias’ dream girlfriend, and you’re just glad she’s yours. More glad now that the robe was stripped off, simultaneously revealing that gorgeous body that was the result of her efforts in the gym. All at once, firm rounded breasts, those hips that were meant to carry a child, her defined abs, and that slick in between her luscious legs. A fox Gahyeon was, a stunning and enrapturing fox she was.

"He's not a thing for you to use, Unnie." A firm declaration Gahyeon made as she got on top of the bed and sat comfortably on your lap. “Things don’t care for you and look at you fondly.”

“Things don’t react when you touch them.” Without breaking eye contact, locked eyes with Bora as she crawled her way through your body. Handsy, naughty hands tracing your abdomen. Her two fingers took steps, one by one slowly trailing your trails before she laid comfortably on top of you. 

Your member sandwiched and pressed in between the two of you, aching, throbbing, and on its full hardness. Gahyeon pressed peck on your neck, and then bit your left ear playfully making you release a sigh of pleasure as she whispered in your ear, “They don’t moan when you stimulate them…”

“Things don’t have feelings nor express their feelings. They don’t love although they could be loved by their owner, however the thing is… you don’t give out the things you love, Bora-yah.” Gahyeon finally broke eye contact with Bora, she couldn’t see her reaction but she knew that Bora would turn sour after the things she said; Gahyeon was right and you confirmed them as you watched Bora’s eyes lit up with both anger and sadness, but that was before Gahyeon shifted your gaze to her.

“Love, you’re not a thing, are you? I really love you… so tell me if you love me too.” Gahyeon’s face lit up and she was expectant of what your answer would be. All of that heavy and scary aura she was exuding suddenly dissipated and she was back to being bright, brighter than the sun.  “Gah? Of course, I love you, only you…” words escaped your mouth unknowingly without much thought but with bits of questioning as to what she meant by her words—Gahyeon’s words were filled with vagueness and all you could do was cracked up your brain, but doing so was just too hard with a body that was shouting for sexual gratification.

“Aish, what a player… You didn’t have to include the last bits but I guess I’ll take it,” Gahyeon mumbled before changing her position, now sitting on your lap once again, she took your dick once again and stroked it while Bora was still frozen and speechless. Gahyeon reached for Bora’s cheeks and broke the trance that was keeping the older girl before saying the following words while she chuckled, “Unnie, just be honest with your feelings. Look at yourself, at least your body is honest unlike you.”

From then on Gahyeon didn’t waste any time as she positioned herself on top of your cock, 

aimed at her entrance, and slammed her ass down, impaling and diverging herself using your hardwood. She moaned loudly in duet with yours, seeing this Bora felt a familiar uncomfortable sting in her heart. The scene in front of her stung, Gahyeon’s words stung, and these intrusive thoughts, her assumptions of what was the meaning behind Gahyeon’s actions were uncontrollable, but remembering what the younger last said made her shake all of these off—not completely but it was enough to give her a push to move.

“Okay Gahyeonie, if I’m being honest here… I am a little bit pent up so let me blow some steam off.” Gahyeon smirked at her and she just shrugged while she stood over your head directly; her pink slit was in full view as you appreciated her beauty from below—in that position, it wasn’t hard to notice her glistening core.

“Noona? What are you planning?” You asked nervously if the image that was in your mind was the same one she was planning to do. Bora looked down and smirked before you averted your gaze to Gahyeon who started grinding her hips. Gahyeon looked at you without much tutelage as she was slowly getting lost in her own world of pleasure, she gave some sort of reassuring smile… For God JiU’s sake, if she wasn’t using her hands to support herself and her deed, you were sure that the girl would give a thumbs up.

It wasn’t that bad though, it was hypnotizing to watch as her breast jiggled to follow her movements, and her pussy clenched down your cock as she moved fluidly, and pleasurably, allowing you to hit her walls constantly and reach her deepest depths.

“Relax your head down and stopped ogling your own girlfriend,” Bora instructed, and to your surprise her clearly glistening cores and full ass was lowering slowly, inching closer and closer to your face. “Just sit tight, enjoy the feeling of your two goddesses using and pleasuring you. I promise not to break your neck or something.”

Before you could even retort Bora’s ass engulfed your face, taking away your view of Gahyeon as her slickness introduced itself to your mouth. Bora was careful enough to not cover your nose with her toned ass. She made you eat her pussy that was spoon-fed to your mouth, and all you could do was lick her slit, kiss her delectable delicacy, and drink whatever liquid that your tongue could lap.

A tongue inside of Bora and a dick inside of Gahyeon. Your tongue explored Bora’s inside, from her walls to the depths of how deep that wet muscle could reach while Gahyeon used your member to impale herself, again and again, bouncing on it. They moaned in unison, a new kind of symphony that Bora and Gahyeon performed using the sounds of sex from her moans, gasps for air, and the wet slapping sounds made from her Gahyeon ass colliding your thighs. Gahyeon’s voice was deeper than Bora’s so they complicated each other perfectly, Gahyeon was naturally vocal with her pleasure and Bora was more of a talker who enjoy dirty pillow talks, but now she was in unison with Gahyeon; it was pleasing to hear, these are the sounds only three people inside that hotel suite could hear—moans of idols were so pleasant to the ear, something that would surely put those JAV moans that sounds like crying seels in shame.

Word wasn’t enough to convey the feelings that the two women were feeling as they locked eyes while they rode the person that they love, well even surprising that Bora couldn’t think of one witty thing to utter as their eyes did the talking for the—those brown orbs of them who reflected the crazed look of love and lust drunkenness. Gahyeon held Bora’s hand and the older ghost her free one to the younger cheek as she went in for an amorous kiss. The younger giggled through their momentary disconnection to catch their breath.

“This is so nice…” Gahyeon mumbled as things got faster and hotter. There was a feeling of getting left out as the two made out but there was something about it that drove the two women. Gahyeon bounce up and down, constantly and continuously pulling out and impaling herself faster and faster with haste while Bora’s pressed on you more and even started to grind her hips, also allowing you to find that small numb that was her clitoris. You sucked and focused on it, making Bora unglue her lips from Gahyeon as she couldn’t handle her most sensitive part getting stimulated religiously. 

She bit her lips, trying to suppress her cries of pleasure, and leaned onto the younger who was as intoxicated as her. Together they pressed their forehead onto each other, leaning and looking for support while they gasped for air. Gahyeon hugged her and Bora reciprocated.

Bora was the first one to implode… unannounced as her weight pressed on your more—her musky, heady, and sweet lavender smell became stronger as your nose was dangerously near her slits, in between her ass cheeks. Her mouth gaped, and her body quivered as she tighten her hug with the younger, and came into your mouth. She came, releasing waves of her juices as you kept the pressure on her clit, sucking hard as fast to keep the pace and help her ride out her orgasm all in all as you lapped and drank her juices to keep yourself from drowning for her juices. It was getting harder to breathe, the possibility of drowning was there, head spinning, and consciousness was fading from both pleasure and the lack of air, but to take Bora to her highest was the goal. She trembled her nails were surely digging into Gahyeon's back, but the younger opted to kiss the older as her own way of helping.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 seconds, and the older slowly and although still wet and dripping, she stopped cumming. Bora leaned towards Gahyeon and the younger gladly let her do so. Simultaneously the older finally lifted her ass, and a surge of air entered your lungs as you gasped desperately for air.

“Fuck! I thought I was going to die!” You exclaimed and the two looked at you. They both laughed before Bora let herself fall beside you, leaving Gahyeon who still had your dick inside of her. She leaned forward to plant a peck on your forehead. A reward? Maybe it was for successfully making her unnie cum.

“Oh my, that was so nice. It has been a while since I ca—Yah!” Bora broke her own sentence to exclaim as she cringed watching you two being lovey-dovey. “You guys are too sweet. Gosh, you’re making me puke seriously.”

“Yah, Swa! You already came, let me have my fun!” Gahyeon retorted, she looked like she still had other things to say but you were quick to calm her down by holding her hand. She sighed in defeat before looking at you fondly. She was about to ready herself to fuck herself once again using your dick, but unfortunately and fortunately(?), she had a different idea in mind. Gahyeon who was ever playful decided to remove your shaft from inside her flop on top of Bora who was as surprised as you.

“Lee Gahyeon, get off of me!” Bora shouted but the group maknae just pressed herself more on her unnie. Well… for Bora, she was acting opposite to what she said as she hugged Gahyeon who was nestling comfortably. Gahyeon wiggled her butt, enticing and alluring anyone who could have seen it… seriously, for God JiU’s sake(2) no sane man could refuse such an invitation.

“Seriously Love? Are you really your group’s maknae?” A palm to imprint a handprint on her mouthwatering full butt. She giggled, furtherly proving your point that she wasn’t fit to be the maknae who was supposed to be in charge of innocence. “You’re so naughty and fuckable… and breedable”

Cringe! Yup chills but what can you do? The situation called for it… whelp, yeah let’s just hope she liked it, or at least she wasn’t cringing as hard. Run up your cock up and down Gahyeon’s pink wet slit; take a breath before pushing in slowly and parting her wet plump quim that welcomed you with an intense hug of warmth.

“Yah! I’m only like this because we’re actually dating…” Gahyeon whined as you pushed in deeper, from only the tip until it was halfway inside, and was stopped by what she said. 

“What? Kid, you’re actually blushing!” Bora teased, giggling as she watched that exchange. For God JiU’s sake(3) who wouldn’t be flushed after that… you shook your head. Focus! Don’t be distracted even with that picturesque sight in front of two of the most beautiful woman in the world hugging while they’re both naked and bare… their bountiful eye-ogling breast pressed together. Wonder how would that look from the sides? How it would look like with their stiffened rosy buds brushing together, and how would it actually be to watch them eat each other’s faces fiercely… 

Focus(2), hold onto her perfectly wide hips, and you found Bora’s eyes who nodded. Slowly, in one stroke with the use of your hips, give Gahyeon the pleasure that she deserves. Feel it, your whole shaft inside her warmth, relish the slick of her walls gripping tight around it and refusing to let go.

Thrust deep and full—go in deep as much as possible, pull out up until before the tip sees the lights of this vicious night, and then repeat those two in a cycle with vigor and persistence. Use a steady rhythm, and focus(3) on Gahyeon and her alone.

Now we’re back from the start… 

She smelled faintly of alcohol while the familiar scent of both sin and romance lingered in the air. Gahyeon held a hand as she gasped through every fluid movement and surge of that intoxicating euphoric pleasure. The sun had already set and the clock had struck midnight, exhausted souls and bodies should have already gone to sleep but there were gasps for air, silent whimper, and whispers of comfort. The night hasn’t been this long for a long time, and it was all filled with mixed feelings.

However, that momentful pause had already passed and all of those thousands of thoughts coursing through were all fading and melding into the absurdity of this situation. How could you fuck your ex and your current lover at the same time? Forget about it and focus(4) on what was served in front of you.  It was so easy… simple, just stay true to one’s animalistic instinct to breed, such a beautiful being bent over and impaled by a dick, throw all hesitation outside, and thrust like there’s no tomorrow.

There are too many things to be said, but this is not wrong when all of us are happy amidst all those guilt and unsaid feelings, untold stories as to how we got here… 

There were too many things to be done, but just continue from where things were left off. Trust your instinct, don’t from those carnal thoughts, and be guided by your feeling no matter how unsure and complicated they are. In and out, enter and then exit, pound her into oblivion and take her into that blissful high. Feed her already intoxicated and addicted self with more of that drug made from sex and love.

Romance is such a funny thing and Love is a double-faced entrende.

Another slap to add to the already red part of her cheek, and gain a sharp cry from the woman was receiving. Give it to her, repeatedly spank on each cheek while continuously moving your hips into each full thrust into her wet honest flesh that was wrapped around your member, squeezing tighter, clenching even further with every thrust.

Gahyeon buried her face in Bora’s neck, muffling her moans as the older lulled her and serviced her using her sneaky fingers that pressed and circled her exposed clit. Two for one was clearly not a fair battle for Gahyeon, but this was a battle she surely would like to lose. Two meant double the dose, and right now she would kill for the dose that brought that odd knot inside her stomach, that heat on her quim, and that haze it gave her consciousness. It was an awkward angle for Bora and it was far from your comfortable position that was perfect for pistoning into Gahyeon's ass, but it did the work as with her help, Gahyeon was tuned into a moaning sloppy mess with that wet sound her cunt makes compliment her as you drive into her.

“I… Ahh! Fuck! More!” Gahyeon whimpered, and you increased the speed—pound, thrust, piston, again and again, faster and faster up to that breakneck speed. All of this while Bora upped the ante in her own way by teasing Gahyeon, overloading Gahyeon senses as she found the younger’s ear. She was whispering something, but it was not audible to you. She bit into and tongued her ear, resulting in the younger clawing onto the bedsheets.

Adrenaline rushed through your veins, you couldn’t help but groan in a duet to Gahyeon’s muffled noises. You should have done more cardio as your lungs were starting to fail you, everything felt more shaky and sloppy as Gahyeon knees started to give up on her too. Thankfully, Bora was still there to keep everything intact as you entered the last haul.

“Gahyeonie… come, kiss me.” Bora’s thumb back on Gahyeon’s clit, drawing and circling as she instructed the younger to her mouth. You squeezed onto Gahyeon’s butt and she accidentally bit on Bora’s lips. With your remaining vigor thrust as you two felt a build-up in your loins. Clench your teeth as Gahyeon quim clenched too tightly to move fluidly.

All three were too engrossed in that euphoric paradise enclosed in the four corners of that bed and the comfortable pillow fortress it provided. Gahyeon’s eyes shut close as she tied her tongue with Bora, leaving her breathless and unable to release her moans. Usually, Gahyeon preferred it to be slow and sensual, but now she relished in the roughness of it—well nothing was wrong with hard and painful once in a while.

“Love… Swa…”

Nothing is wrong with the presence of a third person inside the bed. Sex could have as much participants, but Love is a path taken by two, but right now she doesn’t have the luxury of that as her body tensed up more than ever, halting everything as she froze up. It was beautiful even though you were watching from the back and Bora was the only one who could see her face, and that was one undisputed fact as you buried yourself deep inside of her.

Gahyeon started to pulsate uncontrollably before she bit into Bora’s lips. She bucked her hips, and released her juices, leaking onto the connection between her quim and your pussy as she writhe and quivered. Electricity coursed through every nerve, followed by a numbing pleasure as you continued thrusting and Bora kept the pressure on her clit.

Gahyeon’s cunt pulsed once again, stronger this time, and you could feel the gush of her wetness as it leak, dripping down Bora’s hand and some on her thighs. And that was when you too felt it, the need to release that fast-crawling liquid from your balls to your dick, following Gahyeon through her high.

One last thrust before pulling and cumming uncontrollably on Gahyeon’s ass and back. String after strings, painting her that pristine ass and back of hers with white. And what came after was silence. Not a word but only gasping as you and Gahyeon both came down your high. Gahyeon flopped completely on top of Bora completely spent while the older scraped off the cum from her back and licked it.

“You know, you can just ask me to get some tissues for that right?” You asked Bora and she just smirked before saying her reply, “That would be great. Please do so but let me enjoy what I can get first though.”

“Hey guys, I’m still here… Don’t leave me out on a conversation about the cum on my back, but uhm… yes please do wipe it off.” You and Bora laughed in unison as you reached for the nearest box of tissue to wipe it off for her, and when you did succeed, the older pushed her off herself. 

“Gah, come on and stand up. Let’s take a shower before you sleep,” You said to Gahyeon who already had her eye shut, but it was futile as the woman was already asleep or was too stubborn to stand up so she pretended to be asleep. You look at Bora beside her who was wiping off any liquid from her thighs for help, but the woman just shrugged her shoulder.

“Noona, you can go shower first and I’ll go after you,” You sighed in defeat while the older one did as you said. Bora walked toward the bathroom but stopped before she entered and looked back at you.

“What will you do? Wanna go in with me?” Bora asked.

“Noona, don’t joke around. You know I can’t do that, but uhm… please fetch me a towel so I can at least wipe and clean Gahyeon before she completely falls asleep.” Bora laughed before handing the said towels and disappearing to clean herself, leaving you alone with Gahyeon. 

“Babe, are you still awake? Can you at least sit up so I can do my job properly?” Gahyeon was clearly still awake, half awake but she didn’t move so you just continued what you ought to do, wiping off sweat and any other things, cleaning her without any bathing.

“What’s your job?” Gahyeon finally talked after you finished wiping her from the back and she rolled to face you.

“My job is to take care of you and make you happy,” You answered as you continued even reaching her private parts, armpits, groins, etc but there was no problem with that as you are her lover after all. She was naked but you can’t be lusting over her all the time.

“What’s my job then?” Gahyeon asked and you planted a kiss on her forehead before replying, “Your job is to be yourself because that’s when I love you the most… I just hope that you love me as well.”

As if on cue Bora emerged from the bathroom naked as she wiped her body with a towel, it was your turn to shower. You’re sure that when you do disappear they will talk, and curiosity strikes, but you decided to give them privacy and not listen. When you finished, all lights were turned off and the two of them lay comfortably, sleeping beside each other. The bed was big enough for the three of you so you decided to tuck inside the sheets too besides Gahyeon. Now Gahyeon was in the center with you on her left and Bora on her right.

That long night finally came to an end, but you couldn’t just sleep at all when all those thoughts came back. An hour passed, and then another but to no avail, no hints of ever falling asleep were there with the worry of what would happen tomorrow… or from now on.

“Can’t fall asleep?” Bora asked, turns out she can’t fall asleep too.

“Noona, what will happen from now on?” You answered with a question.

“I honestly don’t know,” She turned to Gahyeon and hugged her, “she didn’t say it but I think she knows, but I’m too scared to ask. I’m happy and grateful for her tonight so I decided not to be greedy from now on. Tonight might happen again or not ever again but either way, I’m fine with it. Whether she might decide to keep this sexual thing going or decide to acknowledge my feelings for you and let me share your relationship with the three of us or just bury it, I will not complain and do something. After all, I already gave you up to her ever since that day, and it’s a decision I don’t wanna take back and regret.”

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it,” She said before turning her back off and drifting to sleep. Soon sleep called for you too, but without the knowledge of you and Bora, Gahyeon opened her eyes, meaning she was awake all this time. Once again, listening and finding out things she was better off not knowing. She smiled bitterly, before closing her eyes once again to force herself to sleep mumbling the words, “Thank you, but please wait for me… at least until I can make a decision”

Amour & Liaison

***END***

Yow have you all reached here? I hope the two parts so far was okay and all reader enjoyed it. I didn't expect this to have continuation but here it is. The requester of the first part and second part jokingly said that he wanted it but leave it the second part as a cliffhanger XD so that someone would commission the third part hahaha. That's so witty XD. Anyways thanks again to him.