lys

following her around the mall like two lost pups, both hands occupied by endless shopping bags as she bounces from one store to another, the sound of her newly bought kitten heels echoing through heeseung and jake’s ears whilst their eyes are glued to the back of her pink little miniskirt swishing around, barely covering a thing. geez, such perverts! (˶˃𐃷˂˶)

and then comes their favorite part of the day. their hearts practically leap out of their chests when your eyes catch a glimpse of their your favorite lingerie store, dragging them inside cluelessly to ask for their opinions as you naturally did with all the other stores, questioning them on which color looks good on you the best. their hungry gaze trailing your every move almost going unnoticed by you.

and who are they to say no when you ask them to join you in the dressing room to help? you might be an airhead, but you’re not that stupid to not notice them ogling you the entire day. plus, you think they deserve a little treat for putting up with you and your shopping addiction. so when they tower over you from the front and the back, trapping you between themselves, all you can do is let out a pleased hum as jake kisses you rough on the lips, not wasting a second while his slender fingers play with your hardened nipples through the lace bra he had picked out minutes before.

“look at her jake, such a pretty mess for us already..” heeseung mumbles before pressing a soft kiss against your neck. his hands slid down your bare waist, knee in between your thighs and pressed against your soaked core, making you mewl against jake’s lips.

you then decide that shopping with these two will be your favorite part of the week from now on.

CHAPTER 1: LATE NIGHTS IN LAKE COMO

I didn't come to Lake Como to fall into bed with a stranger. I came because my father's company was closing a deal with an Italian textile group and someone with a Singaporean passport and a decent grasp of contract law needed to sit in on the meetings, and that someone was me. Three days of negotiations, translators, and men twice my age calling me "young lady" instead of my actual title, and by the third night I was so done being professional.

"One night," my colleague Minji had said, clinking her glass against mine while we were on a terrace that overlooked the water so still it looked like it was painted on. "One night where you're not Mr. Song's daughter. Just you."

I'd laughed her off at first. And then I'd had a second glass of wine, and a third. Somewhere between the second bar and the third… a place with string lights and a DJ who clearly thought hip hop was a personality, Minji had gone off with some guy she just met at the last bar we were at. So I'd found myself alone at the counter, spinning the handle of my glass between two fingers, when a voice beside me said, in heavily accented but confident English…

"You're doing that thing where you're thinking too hard for someone on vacation."

I'd turned, ready to deliver the practiced brush off I gave every man who tried his luck with me in a bar, but the words had evaporated somewhere in my throat.

He was… objectively, impersonally, in the most detached way I could manage while I was literally half drunk… the best looking man I'd seen in person in my entire adult life. Dark hair pushed back like he'd run a hand through it and wasn't bothered to fix it, a jaw I could've used as a straightedge, and eyes that held a kind of lazy, unbothered amusement, like he found the whole world a little bit funny and had decided I was the funniest part of it tonight.

"I'm not on vacation," I said. "I'm working."

"In a bar. At eleven at night."

"It's a very demanding job."

He'd smiled then… slow, crooked, entirely too aware of its own effect, and ordered us both something with too much rum in it, and by midnight I'd learned nothing true about him. Not his last name, not what he did, not which hotel he was staying at, only that his name was Jay, that he laughed like he meant it, and that he had a way of looking at me that made me forget I'd sworn off men in suits after my last two relationships had both ended over a damn spreadsheet.

"You're trouble," I told him, somewhere around my fourth bar, when his hand had found the small of my back and left it there like it belonged.

"I get that a lot," he said. "You gonna do something about it, or just complain?"

Somewhere between bar three and bar four, I'd made him guess my job, "finance," he'd said immediately, squinting at me like he could read a balance sheet off my face, "no, wait… something in law, you argue like someone who's used to winning," and I'd neither confirmed nor denied it, just let him keep guessing, delighted by how genuinely invested he seemed in being right. He, in turn, had refused directly to tell me what he did, only that it involved "a lot of boring meetings and even more boring men," which had made me laugh so hard I'd nearly knocked my drink into a total stranger's lap.

"You're avoiding the question," I'd told him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

"I'm creating mystery," he'd corrected. "It's a strategy."

"It's evasive."

"It's working, isn't it? You're still here."

I couldn't argue with that. By the fourth bar, the DJ had switched to something with a Latin beat that made the whole floor move as one body, and Jay had pulled me into it without asking, hand at my waist, hips finding the rhythm like it was something he did often, and I'd stopped pretending, even to myself, that I had any intention of going back to my hotel alone that night.

"For someone who does boring meetings," I'd shouted over the music, "you dance like you do this professionally."

"Hidden talents," he'd said against my ear, and I'd felt the words more than heard them, warm and low, and something in my chest had done a slow, dangerous flip that I chose, deliberately, not to examine.

I should have called it a night right there. I didn't.

The walk back to his hotel blurred into a memory I'd revisit more than I'd ever admit… the lake at my left catching the moon, his jacket over my shoulders because I'd complained once about the wind, his mouth against my temple at a red light because apparently he couldn't wait until we were inside. The lobby of his hotel was the kind of quietly obscene luxury that told me he wasn't just some backpacker with a nice face… marble floors, a chandelier that had probably cost more than my apartment, a night staff that greeted him by name with the particular deference reserved for people who paid for entire floors.

I noticed. I filed it away. I didn't ask.

Neither of us were interested in talking anymore anyway.

I didn’t even make it past the doorstep of his suite before he had me pinned against the door, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that stole every last bit of breath from my lungs.

The click of the lock was barely audible over the pounding of my heart. His body pressed flush against mine… hard chest, strong thighs, the unmistakable bulge of his erection already straining against my hip. One of his hands tangled in my hair, tilting my head exactly how he wanted while the other gripped my waist, fingers digging in like he was afraid I might disappear.

“God, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled against my lips, tongue sweeping in to taste me deeper. The kiss was messy, urgent, all teeth and tongue and raw hunger. I moaned into his mouth, hands fisting the front of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

When he finally broke away, both of us gasping, his lips trailed hot, open mouthed kisses down my neck. He sucked hard at my pulse point, then soothed it with his tongue. “Been thinking about this since the second I saw you at that bar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Wondering how you’d sound when I finally get my mouth on you.”

My dress was already riding up from how I wrapped my legs around him earlier on the dance floor. Jay’s hand slid under the hem, palming my ass, squeezing. “So fucking soft. I can’t wait to taste every inch.”

He lifted me effortlessly, my legs locking around his waist as he carried me toward the massive king bed. The suite’s floor to ceiling windows overlooked the moonlit lake, but neither of us spared it a glance. He laid me down gently, but the look in his eyes was anything but… dark, predatory, starving.

Jay knelt between my spread thighs, pushing my dress higher. “Let me see you.” His fingers hooked onto my lace panties, dragging them down slowly, teasingly. Once they were off, he spread my legs wider, eyes locked on my glistening pussy. “Look at you. Already so wet for me. Such a pretty little cunt.”

I whimpered at his words, hips shifting restlessly. He leaned in, blowing cool air over my heated flesh before his tongue licked a slow, broad stripe from my entrance up to my clit. The sensation made my back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—Jay—”

“Mmm, say my name again,” he demanded, then sealed his mouth over my clit, sucking gently while his tongue flicked rapidly. Two thick fingers pushed inside me without warning, curling to stroke that spongy spot that made you see stars. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the room.

He ate me out like a man possessed… long, hungry licks, tight circles around my clit, then sucking hard while his fingers pumped faster. “Tastes so fucking good,” he groaned against me, the vibrations shooting pleasure through my core. “Sweet and creamy. I could stay down here all night.”

My hands flew to his hair, gripping tight as my thighs started to tremble. He added a third finger, stretching me deliciously, scissoring them while his tongue worked my clit relentlessly.

“Come for me, baby. Let me feel this pussy squeeze my fingers.”

The orgasm hit me like a wave, crashing over me hard. I cried out his name, hips bucking against his face as he licked me through every pulse, drinking down every drop.

But he didn’t stop. He kept licking, gentler now, until the overstimulation turned back into building pleasure. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny with my arousal, and crawl up my body.

He kissed me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue. “See how good you taste? I’m going to make you come on my tongue again before I fuck you.”

I reached for his belt, desperate to feel him. He helped me strip him, his cock springing free… heavy, thick, veined, the head already glistening with precum. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking slowly.

“Fuck, your hand feels amazing,” he hissed. “But I need your mouth first.”

He guided me up, sitting back against the headboard. I settled between his thighs, looking up at him as I licked up the underside of his cock. Jay’s head fell back with a groan.

“That’s it… just like that. Take your time, baby. Worship it.”

I swirled my tongue around the head, tasting the precum, then sucked him into my mouth. He was big… stretching my lips wide. I bobbed my head, taking more each time, using my hand on what I couldn’t fit.

“Shit—your mouth is perfect. So warm and wet. Suck harder—yeah, just like that.”

His hand rested lightly on my head, not forcing, just guiding. I relaxed my throat and took him deeper, humming around him. Jay cursed, hips twitching.

“Gonna come if you keep that up,” he warned, but I didn’t stop. I wanted to push him over the edge.

When he finally pulled me off, his eyes were wild. “Not yet. I want to be inside you when I come the first time.”

He rolled on a condom quickly, then positioned himself between my thighs. “Ready?”

“Yes—please, Jay.”

He pushed in slowly, letting me feel every thick inch stretching me open. When he bottomed out, he stayed there, grinding deep. “So tight. Taking me so well. This pussy was made for my cock.”

Then he started moving… long, deep strokes that built steadily. I wrapped my legs around him, nails raking down his back. He leaned down to suck on my nipples, alternating between them while he fucked me.

The pace quickened. Skin slapped against skin. He reached between me to rub my clit in tight circles.

“Come again for me. I want to feel you milking my cock.”

I shattered around him, clenching hard. Jay groaned, thrusting through my orgasm before pulling out.

“On your hands and knees,” he ordered.

I obeyed, ass up. He spread my cheeks, licking from my clit all the way up, teasing my other hole briefly with his tongue before diving back into my pussy.

“Fucking delicious,” he muttered, then slammed back inside me from behind. The new angle was devastating. He fucked me hard, one hand in my hair, the other reaching around to rub my clit.

“Tell me how much you love my cock,” he demanded between thrusts.

“I love it—fuck—so deep—don’t stop—”

He reached around and pinched my clit, sending me over again. This time he followed, burying himself deep and coming with a guttural moan of my name.

"Gosh, y/n"

We collapsed together, but the night was far from over.

After a short breather, he pulled me into the shower. Under the hot spray, he dropped to his knees again, water falling over both of us as he ate me out against the glass wall… tongue fucking into me, fingers everywhere, until I came screaming.

Then I returned the favor, sucking him off on my knees until he spilled down my throat with a hoarse shout.

Back in bed, he took me slow and deep in, whispering filthy praises the whole time, “Look at how well you take me… your pussy is so greedy for my cock… gonna fill you up again soon…”

I rode him next, grinding down, his hands guiding my hips while he sucked marks into my breasts.

By the time the sky started to lighten, I'd lost count of how many times he’d made me come… on his tongue, on his fingers, on his cock. The room smelled of sex and sweat. Jay held me close afterward, kissing my temple, both of us boneless and satisfied.

But even as sleep pulled at me, I knew I’d have to leave soon.

CHAPTER 2: THE NOTE

I woke up to sunlight shining gold across a bed that wasn't mine, in a room the size of my childhood living room, with an arm slung heavy and warm over my waist and my flight… my flight… leaving in three hours.

For one forgiving, traitorous second, I let myself lie there. Let myself feel the solid heat of him at my back, the slow rhythm of his breathing, the absolute stupidity of how good it had felt to be someone else's for one night, no expectations, no last names, no Song Corporation trailing behind me like a shadow with a balance sheet.

Then my phone, buried somewhere in my discarded clothes, buzzed with a reminder, and reality slapped me awake.

I slid out from under his arm with the sneakiness of someone who had, in a past life, definitely been a cat burglar. He stirred, murmured something impossible to understand, and rolled onto his front, and I froze mid motion for a full ten seconds before he settled again.

Dressing in the dark… or rather, dressing in far too much golden Italian sunlight while trying to be quiet about it… was its own special kind of chaos. I found my dress inside out on an armchair, one shoe by the door and the other, mysteriously, on the balcony. I did not investigate how it got there.

I should have just left. That would have been the smart thing. The clean thing. I had done this before… not this exact scenario, not a man who made my pulse skip just by saying my overthinking out loud, but the general shape of it, the one night stand that ended at sunrise with no numbers exchanged and no promises made. I was good at leaving. I'd built an entire adult life around being good at leaving before anyone got the chance to leave me first.

So why did my hand shake, just slightly, reaching for the hotel notepad.

I told myself it was the time pressure. The flight. The three hours narrowing by the minute while I stood in a stranger's hotel room debating the ethics of a goodbye note like it was a legal document requiring careful drafting. I told myself it had nothing to do with the way he'd said my name… just my first name, I realized with a small, absurd jolt, because I'd never told him last name, nothing to do with Song, just hey, you, careful, murmured against my hair sometime after midnight in a way that had felt, in the moment, more intimate than anything a stranger's name had a right to feel.

Instead I found a hotel notepad by a bowl of fruit no one had touched, and a pen with the hotel's logo engraved in gold, and I stood there chewing my lip, staring at a man whose last name I didn't know, feeling something uncomfortably close to guilt.

Had to run… flight I can't miss. Last night was fun. Sorry for ghosting, it's not you, it's timing. Left some money for the minibar since I definitely helped myself. Take care of yourself, stranger.

I looked at it, cringed, and added a folded stack of euros on top… not much, just enough to make the note read as a joke instead of what it actually was, which was panic dressed up as nonchalance. Then I slipped my shoes on in the hallway, and I left.

I did not look back at the bed. I told myself that later, on the plane, somewhere over the Arabian Sea with a complimentary champagne I didn't taste, three separate times, and I did not believe myself even once.

CHAPTER 3: THE ANNOUNCEMENT 

Jay woke up to an empty bed, a note that made his jaw tighten in a way he didn't examine too closely, and a stack of euros that felt, more than anything else that morning, like an insult.

Money for the minibar. Like he was a service she'd paid for and rated four stars. Like he was forgettable.

He wasn't used to forgettable. He wasn't used to being forgotten, not by women who'd looked at him the way she had… like he was the punchline to a joke only she knew, like she'd already decided he was fun but temporary before he'd even opened his mouth. He'd let a stranger walk into his hotel room, into his night, into apparently his head, and she'd left him folded currency like a tip.

He didn't know her last name. He didn't have her number. He had a room that still smelled like her perfume and a bruised ego he was going to pretend, for the sake of his own dignity, that he didn't have.

Fine, he thought, staring at the note until the words blurred. Fun while it lasted.

He had no idea, standing there in a hotel bathrobe at nine in the morning with wounded pride and lake view sunlight in his eyes, that the universe had already decided this was very much not over.

…

Three weeks after returning from Lake Como, I'd almost convinced myself the whole thing had been nothing more than a reckless business-trip mistake. I landed back into my routine feeling like myself again...… jet-lagged, sunburned in one uneven stripe across my shoulder, but myself, the version of me that answered emails and knew her own last name and hadn't spent a night pretending to be someone with no responsibilities. I told myself the whole flight home that Lake Como had been a bracket I was closing. Nothing that would follow me home.

My family had built Song Corporation from a single shipping route between Busan and Singapore three decades ago, back when my grandfather first left Korea with nothing but a cargo plan and a stubborn streak my father had inherited in full. I'd grown up between two languages and two sets of expectations… the quiet formality of my parents' generation, still rooted in Seoul even after thirty years abroad, and the faster, blunter world I'd built for myself in Singapore. Dinners at my parents' house still opened with a bow to my grandmother's photo on the mantel. My father still switched to Korean the second he was truly angry, which was usually the only warning I got before bad news landed.

My father was waiting for me at the dining table that evening, which was never a good sign. My father did not wait for people. People waited for him. The fact that he'd cleared his calendar to be sitting there with my mother, both of them wearing the particular stillness of people about to deliver news they'd already decided I would accept, made my stomach drop before he'd said a single word.

"Sit," he said. Not unkind. Just certain.

I sat.

"The Park deal," he began, and I already hated where this was going, because my father only used that tone… measured, deliberate, like he was reading from a contract instead of speaking to his daughter, for things he knew I wouldn't like. "Chairman Park and I have been in discussion for the last several months. Song Corporation and Park Industries merging our shipping and logistics divisions would put us in a position no one in this region could touch."

"Okay," I said slowly. "That's… good news? Why do you look like you're about to tell me someone died."

"Because," my mother said gently, reaching for my hand, "the merger comes with a condition. A marriage. Between you and Chairman Park's son."

The room tilted slightly. I laughed… an actual, disbelieving bark of a laugh, because surely, surely this was a joke, the kind my father sometimes attempted and always failed to land. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It secures the partnership for a generation," my father said, unmoved by my reaction, already reciting the argument he'd clearly rehearsed for this exact response. "It's not unusual in either of our families' histories. You know that."

"I know it's not unusual for it to happen to other people," I snapped. "I didn't think it would be me. I have a life, I have a job, I have… I don't even know this man!"

"You'll meet him tomorrow night. Dinner, here, informal. Chairman Park's son has agreed to the arrangement." My father's voice didn't so much as waver. "His name is Jay. I'm told he's reasonable. Personable. You could do far worse." Common name, right?

"And if I say no?" I hated how small my voice sounded, even to my own ears. "What happens then?"

My father set down his fork with the deliberate care of a man choosing his next words carefully. "Then the merger falls through. Ten years of negotiations, gone. Six thousand jobs across both companies put at risk over your reluctance to have dinner with a man you haven't even met." He softened, marginally, seeing something in my face he hadn't intended to put there. "I'm not asking you to marry a stranger tomorrow. I'm asking you to give this a chance. If, after time, you genuinely cannot stand him, we will find another solution. I promise you that. But I need you to try."

"That's not a real choice, father, and you know it."

"No," he admitted, quietly, which was somehow worse than if he'd simply argued. "It isn't. I'm sorry for that. But I built this company for you to inherit one day, and I need it to still exist by the time that day comes."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to slam my palms on the table and demand to know since when my entire future got decided over a boardroom handshake while I was out of the country closing a completely different deal for this same family. But I'd grown up in this house, under this roof, with this particular brand of love that came wrapped in obligation, and I knew… the way I knew the tide would come in, the way I knew the sun would set, that there was no version of tonight where I won this argument.

"Fine," I said, because it was the only word left that didn't come out as a scream. "Fine. I'll meet him. But I'm not promising anything beyond dinner."

My father, for the first time all evening, allowed himself something like a smile. "That's all I'm asking."

I went to bed that night thinking of Lake Como. Of a stranger's mouth against my temple, of a note I'd left folded on a hotel pillow, of the particular freedom of one night where nobody expected anything of me at all.

I had no idea how badly the universe was about to collapse those two lives into one.

CHAPTER 4: THE MAN ACROSS THE TABLE

I spent the following day in a fog somewhere between denial and minor panic, which was, in thinking back, an appropriate emotional state for what was coming.

My mother had chosen the restaurant… a private dining room in one of the hotels my family half owned, all dark wood and candlelight and a view of the skyline that was supposed to make everyone feel expansive and hopeful about the future. I wore the green dress my mother liked, the one that made me look, in her words, "like someone a Chairman's son would be lucky to marry," which was possibly the least comforting compliment I'd ever received.

I sat between my parents, watching the door, running through every version of this conversation in my head. Hello, nice to meet you, I hear we're being sold to each other for a logistics contract. I'd decided, somewhere around my second glass of water, that I would be polite. Cool. Unbothered. I would give this man exactly as much warmth as the situation legally required and not one degree more.

Then the door opened, and every rehearsed line I had died in my throat at once.

He walked in like he owned the room… because, I would later learn, in a very literal sense, he frequently did… dressed in a black suit that fit him with the kind of precision that only exists on men who've never had to wonder if they could afford tailoring. Dark hair, pushed back. A jaw I would recognize with my eyes closed, in a pitch black room, from memory alone, because I'd spent an embarrassing amount of a transatlantic flight trying not to think about that exact jaw.

He stopped mid stride. His eyes found mine, and for one full second, the easy, practiced charm on his face cracked straight down the middle into something like disbelief.

Him.

The stranger from Lake Como. The one I'd left a note and a stack of euros for. The one whose bed I'd slipped out of eighteen hours ago like a thief in the night, convinced… convinced… I would never see him again.

He recovered faster than I did. Of course he did. He slid into the seat across from me, straightened his jacket, and looked at me with an expression that was, if I had to name it, delighted… the specific delight of a predator that had just realized its dinner walked directly into the trap.

"Jay," my father said, standing to shake his hand, oblivious to the silent war being waged across his dining table. "This is my daughter."

"We've met," Jay said, eyes never leaving mine, mouth curling into a smile with teeth in it. "Haven't we?"

I picked up my water glass and drank the entire thing to keep from saying something that would get me disowned.

"Briefly," I managed. "In passing."

"That's not really how I'd describe it," Jay said, settling back in his chair with the unbothered ease of a man who had just been handed the single best piece of leverage of his entire life. "But sure. In passing."

My mother, blessedly, missed the hidden meaning entirely and launched into some pleasantry about the wine list. My father asked Jay about his flight in from Lake Como… of course he'd been in Lake Como, of course the business trip that ruined my life and the business trip that arranged my marriage were the exact same trip… and I sat there, spine locked straight, silently calculating how many ways I could disappear from this table without causing an international incident.

Jay answered every question my parents asked with the polished, charming ease of someone raised for exactly this kind of performance. And every few sentences, without fail, his eyes would slide back to me… amused, sharp, unmistakably promising that this conversation was very much not over.

Under the table, his knee brushed mine. Deliberately. I yanked my leg back like I'd been burned.

"So," he said, once dessert had arrived and my parents had drifted into a side conversation about the merger's logistics, low enough that only I could hear him. "Fun while it lasted, huh?"

My stomach dropped straight through the floor. "You read the note."

"I read the note." His voice was pleasant. Terrifyingly pleasant. "Money for the minibar was a nice touch. Very classy."

"I panicked," I hissed. "I had a flight to catch."

"You could've woken me up."

"I didn't want to wake you up. That was rather the point of leaving quietly."

"Right." He leaned back, studying me the way I imagine a shark studies a swimmer it hasn't decided whether to eat yet. "Because I'm just some guy you paid for room service and left behind. Except now it turns out I'm the guy your father wants you to marry. Small world, huh, Ms. Song?"

I hated how good my last name sounded coming out of his mouth like a threat. "This isn't funny."

"I think it's a little funny."

"Jay—"

"Relax." He picked up his wine glass, and something flickered behind his eyes that wasn't amusement at all… something colder, sharper, a decision being made in real time. "I'm not going to tell them. Wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your parents. But you and I—" he tilted his glass toward me, the picture of civility, "…we're going to have a lot to talk about."

I had never, in my entire adult life, wanted to disappear so badly.

"This isn't a punishment," I said. "For me. Whatever you're thinking. I don't owe you an apology for leaving."

"Didn't say you did." His smile turned into something private, something I didn't trust at all. "But you left before I got the chance to make an impression. Seems only fair I get a second shot. We're going to be married, after all." He said the word married like he was trying it out for size, testing its weight, and something about the way it landed in his mouth made my whole body go warm and furious at once. "Might as well make it interesting."

He's going to make me pay, I thought, watching him raise his glass toward my parents in a toast neither of us had agreed to. This is a man who is going to make me pay for that note for the rest of my life.

I had absolutely no idea, yet, how right I was… or how much I'd eventually come to regret ever wanting it any other way.

…

Jay walked me to my car after dinner, which I was fairly certain was less about being a gentleman and more about getting me alone long enough to finish the conversation my parents hadn't been allowed to overhear.

"You could've said something," I hissed, the second the valet was out of earshot. "At the table. You let me sit there thinking I was about to meet a total stranger."

"And what would you have preferred? Me standing up mid appetizer announcing, 'Actually, we've met, she left me for dead in a hotel room in Lake Como after we did it'? Your mother would've had a heart attack into the bread basket."

"This isn't funny, Jay."

"I told you, I think it's a little funny." He leaned against the hood of my car, entirely too relaxed for a man whose entire future had just been decided over dessert. "Here's what I don't get. You looked at me tonight like I was a problem to be managed. But less than three weeks ago you looked at me like—"

"Don't."

"…like you couldn't get enough," he finished anyway, watching my face for a reaction he clearly enjoyed getting. "What changed? Besides the small detail of our fathers turning it into a business contract."

"Everything changed," I said. "That night was supposed to be nothing. A story I'd tell at parties. Not a… a lifetime commitment."

"Scared?"

"Furious," I corrected. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" He straightened off the car, close enough now that I had to tip my chin up to hold his gaze, and something in his voice dropped, lower, more serious than the teasing he'd kept up all night. "For what it's worth, I didn't ask for this either. I found out about the arrangement two days ago, same as you probably found out today. It's not like I knew it was you either… only to discover tonight it's the lady who decided I wasn't worth a proper goodbye."

That landed harder than I expected. "I told you. I panicked."

"I know." Something in his expression softened, just slightly, before the familiar smirk slid back into place like armor. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to enjoy watching you squirm about it for a while."

"You are the worst person I have ever met."

"You said something very different 3 weeks ago," he said, opening my car door for me with an exaggerated little bow. "Goodnight, Ms. Song. See you at the engagement shoot."

"The what—"

He was already walking away, hands in his pockets, whistling something I was fairly sure was deliberately, infuriatingly cheerful, and I sat in my car for a full five minutes after he'd disappeared around the corner before I trusted myself to drive.

…

The engagement shoot, as it turned out, was very real, and very public, and scheduled for exactly six days later… a joint press release for two companies merging their shipping empires needed a photogenic couple to sell it, and apparently Jay and I were now, officially, that couple. A stylist tumbled in my apartment with three racks of clothing. A photographer with an assistant who called him "genius" without a trace of irony spent two hours arranging us against a backdrop of the harbor, murmuring instructions like closer, a little closer, now look at each other like you mean it.

"We're supposed to look like we mean it," Jay murmured, tilting my chin up with two fingers, entirely for the camera, entirely too gentle for a gesture that was supposed to be fake. "Think you can manage that?"

"I've been managing it all week," I muttered back, aware of how thin the line had become between performing something and actually feeling it.

The photos ran three days later… me in cream, Jay in navy, his hand at my waist and my head tipped back mid laugh at something he'd actually said, not scripted, a genuine reaction the photographer had caught by accident and declared "the shot." My mother framed it. Chairman Park used it for the official press release. Half my social circle sent me messages about how happy we two looked, how natural, and I sat there scrolling through the comments feeling something uncomfortably close to guilt, because the photo wasn't a lie, exactly. It just wasn't the whole truth either.

CHAPTER 5: ENGAGED, APPARENTLY 

The engagement was announced within the week, because apparently when two companies decide to merge their shipping divisions, nobody sees the point in a long engagement. There was a press release. There was a photo… me in a dress that cost more than my first car I bought for myself, Jay's hand at the small of my back in the exact same place it had been in a bar in Lake Como, except this time there were cameras, and this time it meant something entirely different.

"Smile," Jay murmured through his teeth as the photographers called for one more shot. "You look like you're being arrested."

"I am being arrested," I muttered back, teeth also gritted, smile also plastered on. "Just with better lighting."

"Careful," he said, low enough that only I could hear. "People might start thinking you don't like me."

"People would be correct."

"That hurts," he said, sounding not remotely hurt. "Especially considering how much you liked me a few week ago in a hotel room with a view of the lake. While you moaned my name—"

I stomped, discreetly, on his foot. He didn't even flinch, just smiled wider for the cameras, and I hated… hated… how much I wanted to laugh.

…

Jay and I were, by both families' decision, to move into a penthouse together ahead of the wedding… "to get comfortable with each other," my mother said, with the specific confidence of a woman who had clearly never had to share a bathroom counter with a man she was furious at. The penthouse was Park property, forty floors up, all glass and steel and a view of the harbor that would've been romantic under literally any other circumstances.

It had two bedrooms. Thank goodness…

The first month was a war led almost entirely through passive aggression and pointed silences. Jay left his shoes in the hallway specifically, I was convinced, because he knew it drove me insane. I reacted back by rearranging his entire closet by color instead of by season, which he discovered at seven in the morning while trying to find a specific navy suit and instead found himself surrounded by a rainbow of confusion.

"You're a menace," he told me over breakfast, hair still damp from a shower, tie hanging undone around his neck because he hadn't had time to finish it.

"I'm efficient," I said, not looking up from my coffee. "Color coding is a perfectly reasonable system."

"It's an act of war."

"Tie your tie, Jay, you have a board meeting."

He glared at me. I didn't look up. He tied the tie badly out of spite, and we both knew it, and neither of us said another word about it, and somehow that felt like the closest thing to a truce either of us had managed in weeks.

…

The banter was constant, and it was, if I was being honest with myself… which I tried very hard not to be… the best part of my day. He teased me about my coffee order (too complicated, he said, for someone who claimed to hate complications). I teased him about the fact that he talked to his car like it could hear him. He'd catch me smiling at something he said and immediately point it out, "Was that a laugh? Did I just make Ms. Song laugh?" and I'd immediately stop, purely on principle, which only made him laugh harder.

It would have been easy, dangerously easy, to enjoy it. I reminded myself, nightly, in the privacy of my own bedroom with the door locked, that this was a business arrangement wearing the costume of a relationship, and that the man three doors down had made it very clear, that first dinner, that he intended to make me pay for leaving him in Lake Como. I didn't trust charm that came with a motive. I'd learned that the hard way, long before Jay Park ever existed.

So I kept my walls up. Mostly.

It was easier some days than others.

…

RULES

Two weeks into this, I'd decided the situation required structure, so I'd drafted… because of course I had, I was my father's daughter whether I liked it or not… an actual list of household rules and taped it to the refrigerator.

Jay found it while looking for orange juice.

"'Rule one,'" he read aloud, deadpan, holding his glass of juice like a prop, "'No shoes in the hallway.' Sweetheart, this is a shared home, not a monastery."

"Rule one exists because you have never once, not a single time, taken your shoes off before the front door."

"'Rule two: knock before entering shared spaces if the other person is, and I quote, "visibly stressed."'" He looked up at me over the side of the paper. "How am I supposed to gauge 'visibly stressed' from outside a closed door?"

"You'll know."

"'Rule three—'" he squinted, "'… do not, under any circumstances, refer to this arrangement as "cute" in front of either family.' Why would I call this cute?"

"Because you called it cute to my mother yesterday and she looked ready to start planning nursery colors."

"It was cute. You made me a cup of coffee without me asking. That's basically a marriage proposal in this household."

"It was leftover coffee. I was being economical."

"Sure." He folded the list in half, tucked it into his back pocket like a souvenir instead of leaving it on the fridge, and I decided, very firmly, not to comment on that either.

Jay and I fell, without either of us quite agreeing to it, into a rhythm that felt almost domestic… he made appalling instant noodles at midnight and somehow always made a second bowl without being asked, I learned, against my will, the exact way he liked his coffee, dark, no sugar, one useless ice cube "for the aesthetic," his words, not mine. We argued about the thermostat. We argued about whose turn it was to deal with the dry cleaning. We argued, once, for a full twenty minutes, about whether pineapple belonged on pizza, an argument Jay won not through logic but through the sheer, relentless force of ordering one anyway and watching me eat three slices while insisting I hated it.

It didn't feel like an arrangement most days. It felt, terrifyingly, like something closer to a life.

I still wasn't ready to call it that. Not yet.

…

My mother had opinions about wedding dresses the way my father had opinions about shipping contracts… extensive, firm, delivered with total confidence regardless of whether anyone had asked. I stood on a small pedestal in a boutique that smelled like tea and money while a worker pinned fabric at my hips and my mother circled me like she was appraising livestock.

"This one," she declared, for the third dress in a row. "No… wait. The last one. Definitely the last one."

"You said that about the first one too."

"I have many opinions ." She adjusted a stray pin. "You seem distracted, darling. Everything alright with Jay?"

I hesitated a beat too long, and my mother, who missed almost nothing when it came to my moods, caught it instantly.

"Everything's fine," I said. "It's just… a lot. All of it happening so fast."

"You've been happier since Lake Como," she said gently, not unkindly, folding a swatch of lace over her arm. "Whatever's between the two of you, real or not, I've watched you smile at your phone more in the last two months than you did in the entire two years you dated that awful man from the shipping conference."

"His name was Nick, and he wasn't awful, he was just—"

"He once corrected your grammar during your own birthday toast. He was awful." My mother fixed me with a look I recognized from childhood, the one that meant she already knew the answer and simply wanted me to say it out loud. "I know this didn't start the way either of you wanted. But I've been married to your father for thirty one years, and I promise you, some of the best marriages start as arrangements. It's not how it begins that matters. It's what you both decide to make of it."

I didn't have an answer for that, not one I trusted myself to say without my voice cracking, so I just let the worker finish pinning the dress and hoped my mother would mistake the shine in my eyes for exhaustion instead of what it actually was.

CHAPTER 6: BACK TO THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Six weeks before the wedding, the Park-Song merger required one final round of negotiations … in person, in Lake Como, with the same Italian business I'd first met with the night I'd met Jay. My father, delighted by what he assumed was budding chemistry between his daughter and her fiancé, insisted we both attend together.

"Absolutely not," I said, the second I found out.

"It's one trip," Jay said, entirely too pleased with himself, lounging in the penthouse's kitchen doorway with his arms crossed. "Besides, you love it there. You told me so yourself. Very memorably, actually."

"I will end you."

"Promises, promises."

…

The flight over was, against my best efforts, almost pleasant… Jay stole my armrest for the entire eleven hours and somehow made it feel less like an act of war and more like an invitation, and by the time we landed I'd watched two mediocre romantic comedies with him, argued about which one was worse, and split a truly ill advised amount of the airline's complimentary chocolate.

The negotiations themselves ran two full days, and I found myself, for the first time since this entire arrangement began, genuinely impressed by him… not by the practiced charm he displayed at dinner parties, but by the sharp, unglamorous capability he brought to a boardroom. He caught a clause in the shipping contract that would've cost both companies millions if it had gone unnoticed, argued the business's lead counsel into a corner without ever raising his voice, and did it all with the same easy confidence he'd used to talk me into a second drink the very first night I met him.

"You're staring," he murmured, leaning close under the act of reviewing a document, during a break in the second day's session.

"I'm reviewing your work," I said. "It's a legitimate business function."

"Sure it is." His mouth twitched. "For what it's worth, you're better at this than half the men in this room. Your father should let you run point on these negotiations instead of just sitting in on them."

I blinked, thrown by the sincerity of it, the total absence of teasing. "That's—" I fumbled for a second, "…actually a genuinely nice thing to say."

"Don't get used to it," he said, already back to his usual smirk, though something warmer lingered behind it that neither of us acknowledged out loud.

…

With the negotiations wrapped early that afternoon, we found ourselves with a rare, unscheduled block of hours before the celebratory dinner… no meetings, no families, no reason to be anywhere but exactly where we wanted to be. Jay suggested, with the particular casualness of a man trying very hard not to sound like he cared about the answer, that we take the hotel boat out onto the lake.

"That sounds suspiciously romantic for a business trip," I said.

"It's efficient sightseeing," he said. "You've been to Lake Como twice now and seen nothing but hotel lobbies and a boardroom. That's practically criminal."

I went. The lake in the afternoon light was almost romantic in its beauty… pastel villages stacked along the hills, the water so clear I could see straight through to the rocks below, mountains still capped faintly with snow despite the season. Jay, it turned out, was a genuinely terrible boat driver, and I spent a solid twenty minutes laughing at him trying to dock at a small café along the shore, nearly clipping a much nicer boat belonging to a very unimpressed elderly Italian man.

"In my defense," Jay said, mortified, as we both scrambled onto the dock, "boats are unreasonable vehicles."

"You almost took out a man's entire summer."

"He'll live." He handed me out of the boat with more grace than his docking had suggested he possessed, and didn't let go of my hand once I was steady on solid ground. Neither of us commented on it. Neither of us let go, either.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering a village whose name I never quite caught, eating gelato that Jay insisted, with total confidence and zero evidence, was "objectively the best in Italy," and browsing a tiny shop that sold hand painted ceramics, where Jay bought a small blue bowl for no reason he'd admit to and I caught him, later, packing it carefully into his suitcase like it mattered.

"For the penthouse," he said, when he caught me watching. "Somewhere in that place we could use a little color that isn't gray and glass."

"That sounds suspiciously like nesting, Jay."

"It's interior design. Don't read into it." He absolutely wanted me to read into it. I absolutely did.

By the time the sun started dipping toward the hills, gold spilling across the water in a way that made the whole afternoon feel like something out of a memory I hadn't made yet, I'd stopped keeping track of how many times he'd made me laugh, or how many times I'd caught myself wishing this particular afternoon didn't have to end.

That night, with the contracts finally settled and one more signing ceremony scheduled for the following week, the business's lead partner insisted on a celebratory dinner… the same terrace, coincidentally or not, where I'd first found Jay leaning against the bar with a drink in his hand and a comment about my overthinking. I wore red. He noticed. He didn't bother pretending he hadn't.

"This feels like déjà vu," I said, watching the same lake catch the same moonlight it had the night we first met, a lifetime ago, back when I still thought I'd never see this man again.

"Good déjà vu or bad déjà vu?" he asked.

"Ask me tomorrow," I said, though we both already suspected we knew the answer.

The hotel… a different one this time, a relief, at least, though not by much… had, thanks to some administrative mix up that I was fairly certain Jay had personally engineered, booked the two of us into a single suite. One suite. One bed.

I stood in the doorway, staring at it, then at Jay, who was already unbuttoning his cuffs like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"No," I said.

"There's a couch," he said, gesturing vaguely at a chaise longue that was approximately five feet long and shaped like a crescent moon, entirely unsuited to the human spine.

"You take the couch."

"I'm six foot."

"That sounds like a you problem."

He grinned, infuriatingly. "We've shared a bed before. I don't remember you complaining."

Heat crawled up my neck, fast and unwelcome. "That was different."

"How, exactly?"

"That was one night with a stranger. This is—" I gestured helplessly between the two of us, "…this. Whatever this is."

"Fiancés," he supplied, far too casually, sitting on the edge of the bed like he already owned it, which, technically, given his family's stake in the hotel chain, he might have. "That's the word you're looking for."

"I know what the word is, Jay."

"Then use it. Might make the whole thing easier." Something flickered behind his eyes when he said it… not quite a challenge, not quite something softer. I didn't examine it too closely.

I ended up sharing the bed. I told myself it was purely logistical… a strict, enforced border down the middle of the mattress, a wall of decorative pillows stacked between us like the Berlin Wall reincarnated as home decor. Jay found the entire arrangement hilarious and said so, repeatedly, until I threatened to relocate him to the crescent-moon couch by force.

I woke up at 3 a.m. tangled against his chest, his arm slung over my waist exactly the way it had been the first time, in a different hotel, a different life, and I lay there in the dark for a long, unbearable minute, listening to him breathe, hating how much it felt like coming home.

I didn't move. Not right away.

When I finally did, careful, silent, he caught my wrist in the dark.

"Stay," he said, voice thick with sleep, and there was none of the usual bite in it. Just something quiet. Something real.

I stayed. I told myself, the next morning, that it hadn't meant anything. Neither of us brought it up again.

CHAPTER 7: JEALOUSY… WAS IT?

The closing gala for the merger was held on the terrace of the same hotel where the Italian business had first courted my father's business, string lights, a jazz trio, champagne that flowed like the lake itself had been bottled and served. I wore navy. Jay wore black. We'd agreed, wordlessly, over breakfast, to be civil for the cameras, which had somehow, without either of us fully noticing, evolved into being civil in general.

For the first hour, it was almost easy. Jay kept a hand at the small of my back as he introduced me to a rotating different executives and their spouses, and I found myself falling into an easy rhythm with him… finishing his sentences when he got bored of a conversation, catching his eye across the terrace when someone said something particularly absurd, sharing the kind of silent, private laughter that made me forget, for whole stretches of time, that any of this had started as a contract instead of a courtship. My father caught the two of us mid laugh at one point and looked, for a moment, so un-embarrassingly pleased with himself that I almost forgave him for the entire arrangement on the spot.

"You're enjoying yourself," Jay murmured, refilling my glass. "Careful. Someone might think you actually like me."

"Don't get used to it," I said, echoing his own line back at him, and he grinned like I'd handed him a gift.

That lasted exactly until Karina Yu showed up.

Karina was the business's newest assistant, stunning, sharp tongued, and, I gathered within about four minutes of watching her operate, extremely aware of exactly how good she looked with her hand resting on Jay's forearm while she laughed at something he'd said. I told myself I didn't care. I told myself this several times, with increasing insincerity, while I held a glass of champagne on the other side of the terrace and watched Jay throw his head back and laugh… an actual laugh, not the polished business one… at whatever Karina had just said.

So when Yeonjun Choi, a family friend from Singapore who happened to also be at the gala for reasons that felt suspiciously well timed, walked up beside me with two fresh glasses of champagne and an easy smile, I let myself lean into it. Just a little. Just enough.

"You look like you could use better company," Yeonjun said.

"You have no idea," I said, and let him make me laugh… genuinely, loudly, at a joke that wasn't even that funny… specifically angled so it would carry across the terrace.

I felt it the second Jay noticed. The air seemed to change temperature. I didn't dare look over, but I could feel the exact moment his attention snapped away from Karina Yu and landed, heavy and distinctively, on me and Yeonjun and the two inches of space between our shoulders that Yeonjun had very deliberately closed.

Ten minutes later, Jay's hand found the small of my back.

"Having fun?" he asked, voice pleasant, smile fixed, eyes doing absolutely none of the smiling.

"Loads," I said sweetly. "Yeonjun was just telling me about his new venture. Weren't you, Yeonjun?"

"I was," Yeonjun said, entirely oblivious to the fact that he had just become a casualty in a war he didn't know was being fought. "Actually, I was going to ask if you'd want to—"

"She'd love to," Jay cut in smoothly, "catch up with you later. Right now I need to steal my fiancée for a dance."

He didn't wait for my answer. His hand slid from my back to my waist, and he was already pulling me toward the small cleared space where a few other couples swayed under the lights, and I went, because making a scene in front of half of Lake Como's business elite was not on my evening's agenda.

"That was rude," I said, once we were close enough that only he could hear.

"That was necessary."

"He was being friendly."

"He was flirting with you." Jay's jaw was tight, his hand at my waist gripping just a little too firmly to be casual. "In front of me. At our engagement gala."

"And you were doing what, exactly, with Karina Yu for the last half hour? Discussing shipping tariffs?"

"That's different."

"How is that different?"

"Because I wasn't trying to make you jealous," he said, and then, a beat too late, the muscle in his jaw ticking, "Were you? Trying to make me jealous?"

I didn't answer. Which was, in itself, an answer, and we both knew it.

"You were," he said, something dark and satisfied slipping into his voice even through the anger. "You wanted me to see that."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"I'm not flattering myself. I'm reading the room. And the room says you didn't like watching me talk to another woman any more than I liked watching you flirt with Yeonjun Choi's Rolex collection."

"I don't care who you talk to."

"Liar," he said, low, and pulled me a fraction closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him through two layers of expensive fabric. "You've been glaring at Karina Yu's dress since she walked in."

"It's a hideous dress."

"It's a Valentino."

"It's a hideous Valentino."

Something in his expression cracked then… not quite a smile, something rawer than that, something that looked almost like relief that I was finally, finally saying something true. The song ended. Neither of us stepped back.

"We're going back to the hotel," Jay said. It wasn't a question.

I didn't argue.

CHAPTER 8: CRASH… HEHE

The elevator ride back to the penthouse floor was silent in the way that meant it wasn't silent at all… every inch of space between us charged, both of us staring straight ahead at the doors like the reflection there might explain what exactly we were doing.

The second the door clicked shut behind us, it all came out at once.

"You embarrassed me out there," I said, rounding on him, heels forgotten by the door, adrenaline and champagne and something far more dangerous humming under my skin. "Pulling me away like I'm a possession you needed to reclaim—"

"I embarrassed you?" Jay's jacket was already off, tossed over the back of a chair, tie loosened like he couldn't get it off fast enough. "You spent an hour hanging off Yeonjun Choi's arm—"

"I did not hang off his arm—"

"…laughing at everything he said like it was the funniest thing you'd ever heard—"

"Because it's more fun than watching you and Karina Yu practically undress each other with your eyes across the terrace!"

"There it is." He turned to face me fully, and the look on his face wasn't the charming, lazy amusement I'd grown used to… it was something sharper, hungrier, months of banter and almost truths finally boiling over into something neither of us could pretend was just anger anymore. "That's what this is about. You don't get to be jealous of me, sweetheart. Not after Lake Como. Not after you left me a note like I was room service."

"I'm not jealous."

"You're jealous." He took a step closer. I didn't step back. "You've been jealous since the second she put her hand on my arm, and you know what? So was I. Watching Yeonjun Choi look at you like that. Like he had any right to."

"Maybe he does," I said, breathless, reckless, the words leaving my mouth before my brain could stop them. "Maybe I'm tired of being handed off to a man who's spent the last two months trying to make me pay for one night I don't even regret."

Something in his face went dangerously still. "You don't regret it."

"No," I said. "I don't. And that terrifies me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

The distance between us disappeared.

In a crash of mouths and hands. Jay’s kiss wasn’t gentle… it was a claim, teeth clashing, tongue demanding entry as he backed me against the nearest wall with enough force that a framed picture rattled. I bit his lower lip hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of blood, and he growled into my mouth, the sound vibrating straight down to my core.

“You think I don’t know what you were doing?” he rasped, one large hand fisting in my hair and yanking my head back so he could bite down the side of my throat. “Parading Yeonjun in front of me like I wouldn’t lose my fucking mind?”

“I wasn’t—” My words cut off in a gasp as he sucked hard on my pulse point, hard enough to leave a mark I’d have to hide tomorrow.

“Bullshit.” His other hand shoved the hem of my navy dress up roughly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my thigh. “You wanted me jealous. Mission accomplished, baby.”

He spun me around suddenly, pressing my front to the cool wall, his chest hot and solid against my back. The zipper of my dress gave way under impatient hands, the fabric pooling at my feet in a whisper of expensive silk. I was left in nothing but lace panties and heels. Jay’s palm slapped against my ass… sharp, possessive, before he kneaded the sting away.

“Mine,” he snarled against my ear, teeth grazing the shell. “Say it.”

“Fuck you,” I shot back, even as I pushed my hips back against the hard line of his cock straining through his trousers.

He laughed, low and dangerous. “That’s the plan.”

He dropped to his knees behind me without warning, yanking my panties down my legs and tossing them aside. Strong hands spread my cheeks, and then his mouth was on me… hot, wet, relentless. His tongue dragged from my clit all the way up, circling the tight ring of my ass before diving back down to lap at my dripping pussy. I cried out, forehead pressed to the wall, fingers scrabbling for purchase.

“Jay—fuck—”

He ate me like a man starved, like he could erase every second I’d spent smiling at Yeonjun by devouring me instead. Long, broad licks that made my thighs shake, then tight, focused suction on my clit while two thick fingers plunged inside me, curling viciously against that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room… his groans vibrating against my folds, my own broken moans echoing off marble.

“You taste so fucking good when you’re jealous,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to speak before spitting on my pussy and diving back in. A third finger joined the first two, stretching me open as his tongue flicked rapidly over my clit. “Gonna make this pretty cunt remember who it belongs to.”

I came hard, suddenly, thighs clamping around his head as my walls pulsed around his fingers. He didn’t stop… kept licking me through it, gentler then rougher again, until I was whimpering and trying to twist away from the overstimulation.

He stood, spinning me to face him. His mouth was shiny with my arousal, eyes dark with lust and something fiercer. He kissed me again, letting me taste myself on his tongue while he stripped off his shirt and trousers. His cock sprang free… thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. I reached for it, but he caught my wrist.

“Not yet.” He lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the massive bed. He dropped me onto it and followed immediately, crawling over me like a predator.

His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his hand pinched and rolled the other. I arched into him, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. He hissed in pleasure, grinding his cock against my thigh.

“These tits,” he groaned, switching sides, biting down gently before soothing with his tongue. “Been thinking about them all night while that asshole flirted with you.”

He worked his way down my body with single minded focus… kissing, licking, biting every inch of skin he could reach. Over my ribs, across my stomach, dipping into my navel, then lower. He settled between my thighs again, pushing them wide apart until I was completely exposed.

“Look at this greedy little pussy,” he murmured, spreading my folds with his thumbs. “Still dripping for me even after you came on my tongue.” He leaned in and licked a slow stripe up my slit, eyes locked on mine. “Tell me you don’t want anyone else tasting this.”

“I don’t,” I gasped, hips bucking. “Just you—fuck, Jay—”

He rewarded me by sucking my clit into his mouth while two fingers pumped steadily inside me. The pressure built again, fast and overwhelming. He added a third finger, scissoring them, stretching me as his tongue worked magic. When I was right on the edge, he pulled back, ignoring my whine of protest.

“Not yet. You don’t come again until I say so.”

He moved up my body and straddled my chest, knees on either side of my shoulders. His heavy cock bobbed in front of my face, glistening. He tapped the head against my lips.

“Open.”

I did, eagerly. He pushed in slowly at first, letting me swirl my tongue around the head, tasting the precum. Then he gripped my hair and thrust deeper, fucking my mouth with controlled rolls of his hips.

“Fuck, your mouth y/n…always so perfect.” He groaned as I hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper, relaxing my throat. “Suck it like you mean it, sweetheart. Show me how sorry you are for teasing me tonight.”

I hummed around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. Saliva dripped down my chin as he used my mouth, not rough enough to choke but deep enough that my eyes watered. I loved it… the weight of him on my tongue, the way his abs flexed above me, the filthy praises falling from his lips.

He pulled out suddenly, breathing hard, and flipped me onto my stomach. He hauled my hips up so I was on my knees, ass in the air, face pressed into the sheets.

“Gonna fuck you so deep you forget Yeonjun’s name,” he growled, lining himself up and slamming in with one brutal thrust.

I screamed into the mattress, the stretch bordering on too much after his fingers. He didn’t give me time to adjust… just pulled back and drove in again, setting a punishing rhythm. Skin slapped against skin, his balls hitting my clit with every thrust. One hand fisted my hair, the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise.

“Whose pussy is this?” he demanded, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot.

“Yours—fuck—yours, Jay!”

“That’s right.” He reached around to rub my clit in tight, fast circles. “Come on my cock like a good girl. Let me feel you.”

The orgasm ripped through me, walls clenching around his thick length as I shook and moaned. He rode me through it, thrusts growing erratic, then pulled out and flipped me onto my back again.

He buried his face between my thighs once more, licking up every drop of my release with long, hungry strokes. “Can’t get enough of this taste,” he muttered against my folds. “Could eat you for hours.”

I was oversensitive, trembling, but he didn’t stop until I was whimpering and pushing at his head. Only then did he crawl up and kiss me deeply, sharing my flavor.

“On top,” he ordered, lying back and pulling me over him. “Ride me. Show me how much you need my cock.”

I straddled him, sinking down slowly, savoring the way he filled me completely. His hands gripped my ass, guiding me as I started to move… rolling my hips, grinding down so my clit rubbed against his pelvis with every motion.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, eyes hooded as he watched his cock disappear inside me. “So fucking beautiful taking every inch.”

He sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around me, mouth latching onto my breasts again as I rode him harder. I threaded my fingers through his hair, tugging as I bounced on his cock. He met me thrust for thrust, one hand sliding between us to rub my clit.

The angle was devastating. I came again, clenching around him, and he flipped us so he was on top once more, pounding into me through the aftershocks.

He pulled out and moved down my body again, this time pushing my thighs up toward my chest, folding me in half. His tongue attacked my pussy and ass with renewed passion… licking, sucking, probing, while two fingers fucked into me and his thumb pressed against my clit. I was a mess of sobs and pleas, overstimulated and desperate for more.

“Please—Jay—I need you inside me again—”

He rose up and slammed back into me in one smooth motion, the new position letting him hit impossibly deep. His hand wrapped around my throat… not squeezing hard, just holding me there, possessive.

“Mine,” he repeated with every thrust. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to make you come like this.”

I clawed at his back, legs locked around his waist as another orgasm built. He leaned down, biting my shoulder, then soothing it with his tongue. His pace became brutal, hips snapping against mine, sweat slick skin sliding together.

“Come with me,” he growled. “Now.”

We shattered together. He buried himself to the hilt, pulsing deep inside me as my walls milked him through wave after wave of pleasure. His groan of my name… raw, broken, sent fresh aftershocks through me.

"Oh gosh—y/n fuck!"

We stayed locked together for long moments, breathing hard. Then he pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from my pussy with dark satisfaction. He gathered some on his fingers and brought them to my lips. I sucked them clean without hesitation.

But he wasn’t done.

He slid down my body again, gentle this time, and began licking me clea… soft, deep strokes of his tongue that had me twitching and sighing. He paid attention to every sensitive inch, my clit, my entrance, even pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs where faint marks from his grip were already forming.

When he finally moved back up, he pulled me into his arms, my head on his chest. His hand stroked down my back in long, soothing lines.

“I hated seeing you with him,” he admitted quietly, the roughness gone from his voice, replaced by something vulnerable. “Even knowing it was just to piss me off.”

“I hated seeing her touch you,” I whispered back, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

He tilted my chin up and kissed me… slow, deep, thorough. “No more games like that.”

“No more,” I agreed.

But even as we lay tangled together, bodies sated and hearts still racing, I knew the fire between us was far from extinguished. If anything, the jealousy had only stoked it higher.

He rolled us so I was beneath him again, already hardening against my thigh.

“Round two?” he murmured, lips brushing mine.

I smiled, wicked and wanting. “Make me forget every other name but yours.”

And he did… thoroughly, roughly, with his mouth and hands and cock worshipping every inch of me until the sky outside began to lighten and all that remained was the two of us, breathless and undeniably bound.

…

He lay awake long after I'd fallen asleep against his chest, staring at the ceiling of a hotel room in the one city on earth that seemed determined to keep rewriting the terms of his life without asking his permission first.

He'd meant what he said, in the heat of the argument, about making me pay for Lake Como… he'd meant it that first dinner, watching me go pale across the table as I recognized him, some petty, wounded part of him lighting up at the thought of finally getting to watch me squirm the way he'd squirmed reading that note. He'd built an entire plan around it, in the weeks after the engagement was announced. Charm her. Get close. Make her want him the way she'd wanted him in Lake Como, and then, at the last possible second, be the one who walked away first.

It hadn't survived the second week. It hadn't survived me falling asleep on his shoulder during a boring merger briefing, or the ridiculous, genuine way I argued about pineapple pizza like my life depended on it, or the morning I'd stayed in his bed instead of running, hand in his under the sheets, no note, no euros, no goodbye.

He looked down at me now, curled against him, and felt something settle in his chest that had nothing to do with revenge at all.

So much for making her pay, he thought, and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, careful not to wake me. Guess the joke's on me.

CHAPTER 9: THE MORNING AFTER THE MORNING AFTER

I woke up tangled in sheets that smelled like him, sunlight cutting gold across the same kind of luxury bed I'd woken up in months ago in a different hotel, in a different life, except this time there was no flight to catch, no note to write, no reason at all to leave.

Jay was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching me with an expression I didn't have a name for… something quieter than the smugness I'd come to expect, something that looked almost unguarded.

"No note this time?" he asked, but there was no real bite in it. Just a question, testing the ground.

"No note," I said. "I'm still here."

"You are." He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and the gentleness of it undid me more than anything he'd said in the heat of the night before. "I keep waiting for you to run."

"I keep waiting for you to actually let me stay," I said, quieter than I meant to. "You've spent two months telling me you were going to make me pay for Lake Como."

"I know." His jaw tightened, something like guilt flickering across his face. "I meant it, at first. I wanted to. You made me feel like—" he stopped, exhaled, started again. "You made me feel like something I wasn't used to feeling, and then you left like it didn't matter, and I didn't know what to do with that except be angry about it."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know what I'm angrier about," he admitted. "That you left. Or how much I don't want you to leave again."

"For what it's worth," I said, tracing an absent pattern against his chest, "I thought about you. After Lake Como. More than I wanted to. I told myself it was because you were a mystery I hadn't solved. Turns out it was just because I liked you, and I didn't know what to do with that, either."

"You could've texted."

"I didn't have your number. That was rather the design flaw in my whole escape plan."

He huffed a laugh, low and real, pressing it into my hair. "I looked you up, you know. After the note. Took me two days and an embarrassing amount of Google searches involving 'Singaporean businesswoman' and 'Lake Como' before I gave up entirely."

"You didn't."

"I absolutely did. My assistant thought I'd lost my mind." He tipped my chin up with two fingers, the same gesture from the engagement photoshoot, except there was no camera now, no performance, just the two of us and the quiet. "Turns out I didn't need Google. I just needed my father to have terrible timing and worse business instincts."

"Remind me to thank him," I murmured, "right after I finish being furious at him."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I didn't say anything. I just reached for his hand under the sheets and let the silence be its own answer, and for one suspended, golden morning, it was almost enough to believe none of the rest of it… the merger, the arrangement, the families watching my every move like a stock ticker… mattered at all.

It wouldn't last. It never did, not for people like me.

…

I called Minji the second I landed back in Singapore, because if I didn't say any of this out loud to someone, I was fairly certain my own head was going to implode from the sheer volume of unprocessed feelings rattling around inside it.

"So," Minji said, the second she picked up, "you disappear on a stranger in Lake Como, said stranger turns out to be your arranged fiancé, and now you're calling me at nine in the morning sounding like you just ran a marathon. Catch me up."

"I think I like him," I said, miserable. "For real. Not in the fake engagement, keep up appearances way. In the actual, terrifying, can't-stop-thinking-about-him way."

There was a pause on the other end, and then Minji, ever helpful, burst out laughing. "You're just now figuring this out? I could've told you that the second you texted me a full paragraph about the way he tied his tie badly on purpose."

"That's not… that was an observation, not a—"

"It was absolutely a symptom." I could hear Minji grinning through the phone. "So what's the problem? You like him, presumably he likes you, considering the man rearranged an entire hotel's booking system to get you both in one bed—"

"The problem," I said, "is that this whole thing started because our fathers wanted a shipping contract. What if none of this is real? What if I fall for him for real and it turns out I'm just… convenient? The easiest option? The daughter who happened to be in the right hotel room at the right time?"

"Do you actually believe that," Minji asked, gentler now, "or are you just scared?"

I didn't answer right away, because I didn't have a good one. "Both, maybe."

"For what it's worth," Minji said, "I watched that man's face when you walked into that gala in navy. He did not look like a guy fulfilling a business obligation. He looked like a guy who forgot how to use words." A beat. "Stop trying to find the exit before you even know if you want one. That's the same thing you did in Lake Como the first time, and look how well that turned out."

I hung up feeling more unsettled than before I'd called, which I supposed was the entire point of calling Minji in the first place.

CHAPTER 10: THE FIGHT THAT ACTUALLY MATTERED…

The trouble with almost truths is that they don't survive daylight for long, and by the time Jay and I were both back in Singapore, back in the penthouse, back under the weight of two families and a merger worth more than either of our lives combined, the softness of Lake Como had curdled, slowly, into something more complicated.

It wasn't any one thing at first. It was the wedding planning eating into every spare hour of both our schedules, endless calls with caterers and venue coordinators and a florist who seemed personally offended by every choice I made. It was Jay's schedule filling up with calls from the conglomerate's Singapore office as the merger moved into its implementation phase, calls that ran later and later into the evening. It was the two of us, still learning how to be honest about wanting each other without immediately following it with a joke to soften the admission, slowly running out of jokes to hide behind and not yet having anything solid to replace them with.

It started, as these things always did, over something small. A dinner Jay canceled at the last minute for a call with Karina Yu's firm… purely business, he swore, and I believed him, mostly, except believing him didn't stop the old, ugly voice in my head from whispering that I was, at the end of the day, a business arrangement he could deprioritize whenever something more important came along.

"You could have told me sooner," I said, standing in the kitchen while he shrugged his jacket back on for the second time that night.

"I told you the second I knew."

"You told me twenty minutes before we were supposed to leave, Jay."

"It's work. This merger doesn't run itself just because we had a nice morning in Lake Como."

The words landed harder than he probably meant them to. A nice morning. Like that was all it had been. Like I hadn't spent the last week turning it over in my head, wondering if it meant what I desperately, quietly hoped it meant.

"Right," I said, voice gone flat. "Of course. Wouldn't want the merger to suffer because you spent an evening with your fiancée."

"That's not what I—"

"It's fine." It wasn't fine. We both knew it wasn't fine. "Go to your call."

He didn't go, not right away. He stood there in the kitchen doorway, jacket half on, looking at me like he wanted to say something and couldn't find the shape of it. "I'm scared," he finally said, so quietly I almost missed it. "Of how much I want this to be real. And every time I get close to saying that out loud, I remember it started because our fathers wanted a shipping contract, and I don't know how to trust that any of this is actually about us."

The anger drained out of me at once, replaced by something far more exposed. "I'm scared of the exact same thing," I admitted. "That's why I left Lake Como the first time. Not because of you. Because of how much I already didn't want to."

He crossed the kitchen in three steps and kissed me like he was trying to prove something to both of us at once, and when he pulled back, forehead resting against mine, he said, "Cancel your evening. I'll cancel the call. Let's just… figure this out. Together. No merger. No fathers. Just us."

We canceled the call together. Neither of us brought up Karina or Yeonjun again.

…

It didn't stay easy. I hadn't expected it to… nothing about the two of us had ever been easy, not from the very first night in a bar with too much rum in the drinks… but the fight that came three weeks later still managed to knock the wind out of me in a way none of the others had.

It was over something stupid, in looking into the past. Jay had made a decision about the wedding venue without consulting me… a favor to both fathers, he said, a way to smooth over a disagreement about vendor contracts that had nothing to do with either of us and everything to do with two companies trying to look good in front of shareholders. I'd found out from my mother, not from him, and something about hearing it secondhand had cracked open every insecurity I'd been quietly protecting since the day this arrangement started.

"You didn't think to ask me," I said, voice tight, "because at the end of the day, this is still a business decision to you. I'm still a line item."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? You made a decision about my wedding to smooth over a contract dispute, Jay. Tell me how that's not exactly what I was afraid of from the beginning."

"I did it because I was trying to protect you from getting dragged into another negotiation," he snapped, temper flaring to match mine. "I didn't think you'd rather sit through another four-hour meeting about seating charts and vendor exclusivity clauses just to prove a point."

"I'd rather you asked me. That's it. That's the whole point. You don't get to decide what I can handle."

"Maybe I overstepped." His voice cracked, just slightly, on the word. "But don't stand there and tell me this is still just business to me, because I have spent the last four months falling in love with a woman I met in a bar and then spent every day since terrified she was going to wake up one morning and leave another note."

The room went very quiet.

"That's not fair either," I said, softer now, the fight draining out of me as fast as it had risen. "Using that against me."

"I'm not using it against you. I'm telling you the truth, because I'm so far past pretending this is manageable that I don't know what else to do except be honest and hope it doesn't scare you off." He dragged a hand through his hair, the picture of a man who had clearly rehearsed a calmer version of this speech and abandoned it entirely under pressure. "I love you. I've loved you probably since the hotel room I woke up alone in. And I am so sick of both of us treating that like a liability instead of just… saying it."

I stood there, heart hammering, every practiced defense I'd built over the last four months suddenly useless in my hands. "You've never said that before."

"I'm saying it now." He looked, for the first time since I'd met him, genuinely unguarded… no charm, no smugness, nothing performative left in him at all. "I love you. And if you walk out that door right now, I'm not going to chase you, because I'm done being someone you run from. But I'd really, really rather you stayed."

I didn't walk out the door.

I crossed the room instead, and kissed him, and neither of us brought up seating charts again for the rest of the night.

…

Two days later, I came home to find the penthouse dark except for a trail of candles leading from the front door to the balcony, which was, I thought, either the most romantic thing Jay had ever attempted or a genuine fire hazard, possibly both.

"If you set off the smoke alarm," I called out, toeing off my heels, "I will never let you live it down."

"Just come outside," his voice floated back, suspiciously nervous for a man who negotiated multi-million-dollar contracts for a living without breaking a sweat.

I found him on the balcony in the same suit he'd worn the night of the engagement announcement, the harbor spread out gold and glittering behind him, and something in his posture… hands shoved in his pockets, weight shifting like he couldn't decide where to put himself… made my chest go tight before he'd said a single word.

"We're already engaged," I said slowly, eyeing the candles, the suit, the unmistakable set dressing of a moment he'd clearly planned. "This is either extremely romantic or you're about to tell me something has gone horribly wrong with the merger."

"Neither." He huffed a laugh, more nerves than humor in it, and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket… not the ring our families had already selected together for the official engagement, the one that had been photographed and press released and worn on my hand for months now, but a different one entirely, simpler, clearly chosen by him and no one else. "The first ring was picked by a committee. Our fathers, a jeweler, a PR team who wanted something 'photogenic for the press release.' I didn't get a say in it, and I don't think you did either. This one, I picked myself."

I stared at him, throat suddenly too tight to speak.

"I know we're already getting married," he continued, dropping to one knee anyway, the picture of a man determined to do this properly no matter how backwards the order of operations had gotten. "I know the contracts are signed and the venue's booked and my father's already started planning the honeymoon like it's his own. But none of that was ever really us choosing this. So I wanted to ask you myself. Not because a merger needs it. Because I do." He opened the box… a simple band, understated, nothing like the statement piece on my hand already. "Will you Marry me, y/n? For real this time. Not because of Lake Como, or the contract, or the note, or any of the reasons this started. Just because I love you, and I'd choose you even if none of the rest of it had ever happened."

"You're an idiot," I said, laughing and crying at once, dropping to my knees on the balcony floor to be level with him because I couldn't stand to have him below me for this. "You already had me. You've had me since the boat, or the pizza argument, or possibly since the very first night, I genuinely can't tell anymore."

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a yes." I kissed him before he could say anything else insufferably charming, and somewhere behind me, entirely unnoticed until this exact moment, I registered that he'd set up a small speaker quietly playing something slow and warm, the kind of song that made the whole ridiculous, candlelit, slightly hazardous scene feel like something out of a life I never would have predicted for myself a year ago and wouldn't trade now for anything.

"For the record," Jay said, sliding the second ring onto my finger beside the first, "I'm keeping both rings on you. One for the contract our fathers wanted. One for the choice we actually made."

"Sentimental," I accused.

"Only for you," he said, and meant it.

CHAPTER 11: FULL CIRCLE

The final signing ceremony for the merger was scheduled, fittingly, for Lake Como… the same business, the same lake, the same string light terraces where this entire impossible chain of events had started. My father called it poetic. I called it the universe having an extremely specific sense of humor.

This time, there was no confusion about the hotel booking. Jay booked the suite himself, one bed, no crescent moon couch in sight, and when I raised an eyebrow at him over the reservation confirmation, he just shrugged, entirely unbothered.

"Figured we'd save everyone the trouble of pretending," he said.

The signing went smoothly… my father practically glowing with the kind of pride that came from watching two companies and two children merge into one very profitable future. Chairman Park shook my hand with real warmth, told me Jay had been, in his words, "unbearable to live with" in the weeks after Lake Como the first time, and that he was glad to see I'd apparently cured that particular ailment. I'd laughed, genuinely, and looked over to find Jay watching me with an expression that had nothing to do with business at all.

That night, after the papers were signed and the champagne toasts made and the last of the business's executives had finally, mercifully, gone home, I found myself back on the same terrace where I'd first met him… string lights, dark water, a version of myself that had walked into this exact spot months ago convinced she'd never see this man again.

"You know," Jay said, coming to stand beside me at the railing, his tie long gone, sleeves rolled to his forearms, "I used to think about what I'd say to you. If I ever saw you again. I had this whole speech planned. Very cutting. Very devastating."

"What happened to it?"

"You showed up at my dinner table three weeks later and I forgot every word of it." He turned to face me fully, and whatever careful distance he usually kept even now, even after everything, was entirely gone from his eyes. "I don't want to make you pay for Lake Como anymore. I just want Lake Como. Again. With you. For real this time… not a stranger's name, not a note on a hotel notepad. All of it. If you'll let me."

My throat tightened. "I was so sure I'd never see you again," I admitted. "I left because staying scared me more than leaving did. I didn't know how to want something that wasn't part of a plan I'd already made for my life."

"And now?"

"Now the plan includes you," I said. "Which terrifies me a little less every day."

He reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine, and I let him pull me back toward the suite with none of the panic of that first morning, none of the urgency to run before the sun came up. This time, I wanted to stay for the sunrise.

We walked the short distance to our suite. The moment the door closed, the rest of the world fell away. Jay turned to me under the soft glow of the bedside lamps, the moonlit Lake Como sparkling beyond the windows like a painting made just for us. No rush. No games. Only the quiet weight of everything we had finally admitted.

He cupped my face with both hands and kissed me deeply… slow, soulful, like he was pouring every unsaid feeling into the press of his lips. His thumbs stroked my cheeks as his tongue gently explored my mouth, tempting soft sighs from me. I melted against him, hands sliding up his chest to loosen his tie and work open the buttons of his shirt.

“I love you,” he breathed between kisses, voice low and thick with emotion. “Not because of the merger, or our families, or Lake Como. Just you. The woman who argues with me about pineapple on pizza and rearranges my closet to drive me crazy.”

Tears pricked at my eyes as I smiled against his mouth. “I love you too. I think I have for a long time… I was just too scared to stay.”

He kissed the corner of my eye, then my temple, then the sensitive spot beneath my ear. With soft hands, he eased the zipper of my dress down my spine, following the path with his lips… pressing open mouthed kisses along my shoulders and the nape of my neck. The fabric slid to the floor in a whisper. He unclasped my bra and let it fall away, then hooked his fingers into my panties and drew them down my legs, dropping to one knee to kiss my thighs, my knees, the delicate skin just above my ankles as he helped me step out.

When I stood completely bare before him, he rose slowly, eyes dark with desire but softened by something far deeper. I finished undressing him with the same care… pushing his shirt off his broad shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle in his chest and abdomen, unbuckling his belt and sliding his trousers and boxers down until he was as bare as I was.

Jay lifted me effortlessly and laid me in the center of the large bed. He followed, covering my body with his, but keeping most of his weight on his forearms so I felt surrounded, protected, cherished. He kissed me for a long time… deep, slow kisses that left me breathless… before trailing his mouth downward.

He lavished attention on my breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth while rolling the other between his fingers, switching sides with unhurried devotion until I was arching and whimpering. Lower still, he kissed every inch of my stomach, my hips, the tops of my thighs. Then he settled between my spread legs, spreading me open with gentle hands.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice full of awe. “So beautiful. So mine.”

His tongue traced a slow, broad stripe from my entrance to my clit, then circled the swollen bud with patient, loving strokes. He took his time, exploring every fold, savoring my taste with soft hums of pleasure that vibrated through me. Two thick fingers eased inside me, curling gently against that perfect spot while his mouth sealed over my clit, sucking with tender rhythm. The pleasure built gradually, like a wave rolling in from far away, growing deeper and warmer until it crashed over me in a long, shuddering orgasm. I cried out his name softly, thighs trembling around his head as he licked me through every pulse, gentle and devoted.

He kissed his way back up my body, settling between my thighs. His cock… thick, heavy, and leaking at the tip… nudged against my slick entrance. Our eyes locked as he pushed in slowly, letting me feel every inch as he stretched and filled me completely. When he bottomed out, he stayed there, buried deep, forehead pressed to mine.

“Feel us,” he whispered. “This is real.”

We moved together in a slow, rocking rhythm. Long, deep strokes that dragged pleasure through every nerve ending. His hips rolled against mine in a sensual grind, hitting that spot inside me with each thrust. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, holding him as close as physically possible. Our breaths mingled, soft moans and whispered “I love you" filling the space between kisses.

Jay slipped a hand between us, fingers finding my clit and circling it with perfect, gentle pressure. The pace stayed tender but grew more intense… deeper, more intentional thrusts as pleasure coiled tighter inside me. I came again with a broken moan, walls fluttering and clenching around him, pulling him deeper. He followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt with a low, guttural groan of my name as he spilled inside me, pulsing hot and deep.

Even after, he stayed buried within me, holding me close while we caught our breath. He rolled us onto our sides, facing each other, still connected. His hand stroked down my back in long, soothing lines, fingers tracing my spine, my hips, the curve of my waist. I pressed soft kisses to his chest, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.

“No more running,” he said quietly, tilting my chin up to kiss me again… slow and sweet.

“No more notes,” I replied, smiling against his lips. “Just us. Every morning. Every night.”

We stayed like that for a long while, trading lazy kisses and touches, bodies still joined, hearts finally in perfect sync. Eventually he pulled out gently, cleaned us both with a warm cloth from the bathroom, then pulled me back into his arms. I fell asleep with my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, the same lake outside the window that had once watched me slip away now witnessing me stay… willingly, completely, forever.

The universe had brought us full circle. This time, we were exactly where we belonged.

CHAPTER 12: THE HILLS, REPRISE 

Minji threw me a bachelorette dinner two nights before the wedding… small, just a handful of close friends on a rooftop bar overlooking the exact stretch of harbor I could see from the penthouse, which Minji swore was a coincidence and I was fairly sure was not.

"To the world's most chaotic love story," Minji said, raising her glass. "One night stand, arranged marriage, at least one shouting match that the building's security definitely heard—"

"That happened one time—"

"… and somehow, against every possible odd, an actual, real, sickeningly cute relationship. I still can't believe you almost didn't recognize him at that dinner."

"I recognized him immediately," I admitted. "I was just praying I was wrong."

"And now?"

I looked out at the water, dark and glittering, not so different from the lake that had started all of this, and felt something settle in my chest that had taken the better part of a year to arrive. "Now I can't imagine having prayed for anything else."

Across town, in a considerably less sentimental gathering, Jay was enduring a bachelor party that mostly consisted of his closest friends ribbing him mercilessly about the note.

"Money for the minibar," one of them said, for what had to be the fortieth time that week, raising a glass in mock tribute. "A toast… to the greatest insult ever survived by a Park heir."

"I've moved past it," Jay said, entirely unconvincingly.

"You named your dog after the hotel."

"That's… unrelated."

It was not, in fact, unrelated, and everyone at the table knew it, and Jay let them have the joke because some jokes you'd earned by now, and because in two days none of it was going to matter anyway. He was going to marry the woman who'd left that note, and somewhere between the fury and the note and the year that followed, he'd stopped thinking of it as something to make her pay for and started thinking of it as the first sentence of a story he was, against every prediction he'd have made about his own life, deeply grateful to be living.

…

The Ceremony…

The wedding, when it finally came, was nothing like the dinner where it had all started… no stiff formality, no families sizing each other up across a table like it was a negotiation. Just our two families, genuinely joined this time instead of merely merged, and Jay at the end of the aisle wearing the same crooked, unguarded smile he'd worn the night he first bought me a drink with too much rum in it and told me that I looked like I was thinking too hard for someone on vacation.

"You're doing that thing again," he murmured, when I finally reached him, voice pitched for only me to hear. "Thinking too hard."

"I'm just wondering," I whispered back, "if you're going to make me regret leaving that note for the rest of our lives."

"Every single day," he said, grinning. "But mostly because it's the reason I got to fall in love with you twice."

When it came time for vows, Jay went first, and the room, which had been politely rustling with the low murmur of two hundred guests, went entirely still.

"I had a whole speech written," he admitted, pulling a folded card from his jacket pocket and then, after a beat of consideration, tucking it away again unread. "My assistant helped me write it. It had a quote from a poet I've never actually read in it, to sound sophisticated. But I think you'd know if I was reading someone else's words instead of mine, so… here's the truth instead. I met a woman in a bar who told me she was working, at eleven at night, in a bar, and I thought that was the funniest, most transparent lie I'd ever heard, and I decided right then I wanted to know everything else she wasn't telling me. It took me a lot longer than I'd like to admit to realize that the version of myself I like best is the one that exists around you… the one that argues about pizza toppings and loses fights about thermostats and gets absurdly, embarrassingly jealous over nothing. I promise to keep choosing that version of myself, and to keep choosing you, for every single day we get, starting today and not stopping for a very long time."

My own vows came out shakier than I'd rehearsed them in the mirror that morning, but I got through them anyway. "I left you a note once," I said, and heard the ripple of laughter move through the crowd, most of whom had heard some version of that story by now. "I told you it wasn't you, it was timing. I have never told a bigger lie in my entire life. It was absolutely you. You were the first person who ever made me want to stay somewhere I hadn't planned on staying, and I've spent the year since trying to figure out how to say that without sounding as terrified as I actually was. I'm not scared anymore. I choose this… I choose you… not because of a contract, or our fathers, or a shipping deal neither of us fully understood at the time, but because somewhere between a bar in Lake Como and this exact terrace, you stopped being an arrangement and started being home."

Minji, somewhere in the crowd, would later swear she heard me laugh mid vow, which was, everyone agreed, entirely on brand.

Chairman Park gave a toast at the reception that started as a speech about shipping tariffs and ended, somewhere around his third glass of champagne, in genuine tears about how he'd never seen his son smile the way he smiled around me, contract or no contract. My father, not to be outdone, stood up next and admitted… publicly, in front of two hundred guests… that he'd fully expected me to hate the arrangement forever, and that watching me dance at my own wedding like I'd chosen this myself was the best business decision he'd ever made and he intended to take full credit for it at every future shareholder meeting.

"He's never going to let this go, is he," Jay murmured against my ear, swaying with me under string lights that looked, deliberately, unmistakably, like the ones from a terrace in Lake Como.

"Never," I agreed. "You're stuck being his favorite success story for the rest of your life."

"Worse things to be stuck with," he said, and spun me once, easy and sure, the same way he had the very first night, except this time there was no mystery left between us at all… no last name withheld, no hotel notepad, no note to write in a panic before a flight. Just the two of us, exactly where we'd both, somewhere along the way, decided we wanted to be.

Later, much later, when the guests had thinned and the band had switched to something slower, Jay pulled me toward the edge of the terrace, away from the noise, and pressed his forehead to mine the way he had the night everything finally cracked open between us.

"No regrets?" he asked. "Even with everything it took to get here?"

"None," I said. "Although I do think you owe me for two months of insufferable jealousy and a color coded closet war."

"I owe you," he agreed, "for a lot more than that. I'll be paying it off for the rest of our lives. I'm looking forward to it."

…

Years later…

Somewhere over the years that followed… the arguments that still happened, because two people that stubborn were never going to stop clashing entirely, and the jealousy that occasionally flared, more playful now than desperate, and the quiet mornings that mattered more than either of us had expected an arranged marriage to ever produce… I'd think back, sometimes, to a stranger in a bar in Lake Como who told me that I looked like trouble.

He'd been right. He usually was, though I'd never admit that to his face.

There would be more trips to Lake Como over the years… anniversaries, mostly, an unspoken tradition neither of us had planned but both of us protected fiercely, the same terrace, the same string lights, a standing reservation at a hotel that still, to this day, kept a bowl of untouched fruit in every suite because Jay had once complained, half joking, that nobody ever ate it. There would be a dog, badly named, exactly as his friends had predicted. There would be, eventually, a nursery my mother had been quietly hoping for since the night of that very first engagement announcement, though that particular chapter belonged to a different story entirely.

I wouldn't have changed a single second of it. Not the note. Not the running. Not the fights, or the jealousy, or the year it took the two of us to stop being afraid of wanting something that started as an arrangement and ended up as the realest thing either of us had ever had.

Some things, it turned out, were worth staying for.

THE END

I hope you guys like this fic! I didn't get to proofread it properly, so hopefully everything makes sense! I lowkey teared up writing the end of it. I really like this storyline so I hope I delivered it well! If you have any suggestion what who or what I can write next please drop a comment!

wonluvzu taglist ;)

You have been waiting for this moment for months, even years. You are finally moving out. It is because of college, but still, it is a new beginning far from home — a brand-new chapter in your own space. A mix of excitement and nervousness settles in your chest, because living alone requires a lot of responsibility, and you are not sure if you are ready to handle it all.

For the past five minutes, you have been staring at the mountain of boxes crammed into the trunk and backseat of your car like a game of Tetris. You are wondering how you are going to carry so many boxes up to the third floor where your apartment is. With a deep breath, you finally grab one of the boxes, and immediately stagger under its weight.

"Maintenance. Sorry for the inconvenience" reads the sign taped to the elevator doors.

Drops of sweat form on your temples, down the back of your neck, and pool on your spine, making your shirt stick to your skin. Of course it would be hot as hell on the day of your move, and of course the elevator wouldn't be working — talk about lucky.

You take another deep breath, hug the box against your chest, and begin climbing the stairs slowly, careful not to lose your balance.

Your arms are trembling and your breathing is almost as heavy as the box by the time you finally reach the first floor, forcing you to set it down for a moment to rest. But just as you pick it up again, mentally preparing for the next flight of stairs, the sound of footsteps coming down from above catches you off guard.

A man is coming down the stairs. He’s tall, wearing a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the prominent veins on his forearms. His jaw is sharp — probably sharper than any knife you’ve ever seen. He looks so put-together that you suddenly feel embarrassed by your sweaty face and disheveled state.

Seeing you, he stops immediately, his eyebrows furrowing with mild concern. "Whoa. Let me help you with that." His voice is low and smooth, the kind of voice that sends a shiver down your spine before you can stop it.

You blush, heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Oh, you don’t have to. I can manage—"

"I insist," he replies gently, waiting with his hands hovering, giving you the choice. You let him take the box, and the relief is immediate — your arms practically sing in gratitude. He lifts it as if it weighs nothing, cradling it against his chest with just one arm — the same box you were struggling to carry with both. "I’m Jay, by the way."

You quickly wipe the sweat from your forehead and try to fix your hair because you want to look at least a little presentable for the incredibly good-looking man helping you. "Thank you so much. I’m y/n. I’m moving in today, to apartment 3B."

Jay’s expression softens, and a warm smile spreads across his face. "3B? That’s interesting. I live right next door, in 3A." He nods toward the stairs. "Looks like we’re neighbors." He gestures ahead. "After you."

You both climb the remaining stairs together and your heart still pounding. You can’t tell if it’s from the physical effort earlier or from his company. Because of the nerves, the words start tumbling out before you can stop them.

"I’m starting college this week. I got accepted and everything, and I was so excited when I found this apartment. It’s the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, so I’m really thrilled… but also kind of terrified? Like, what if I get lost on campus? What if my classes are way harder than I expected? I brought way too much stuff, I’m kind of attached to my things, you know?" You let out a breathless laugh. "Sorry, I’m probably talking too much. I get really chatty when I’m nervous."

Jay glances at you as you walk, the box still balanced effortlessly in his arms. He doesn’t look annoyed — in fact, he seems amused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re not talking too much. It’s a big change, but you’re doing great."

You bite your lower lip, watching him as you climb. There is something intriguing about him that sparks your curiosity. "And you? Are you a student too, or…?"

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I’ve already graduated. I work at a company downtown." He says it casually, offering no further details — which only makes you even more curious.

You reach the landing of the second floor and have to stop to catch your breath, while Jay doesn’t even seem slightly winded — it’s honestly impressive. "My parents helped me pack my bags, but they’re hours away now. It’s exciting, though. New city, new people. I just hope I don’t ruin everything."

"You won’t," Jay says gently. "Everyone feels like that at the beginning. The nervousness is normal. Besides, you seem like you have a good head on your shoulders. You’ll find your rhythm." He sets the box down carefully in front of your door. "Ready for another round?"

The words hit you like a spark. "Ready for another round." And before you can help it, your mind immediately drifts, imagining Jay on top of you, his strong body pressing you into the mattress, that same low voice murmuring the question against your neck while his hands pinned your wrists above your head. Heat flooded your face and settled lower in your belly.

You quickly shake your head, trying to push the thought away, desperately hoping your blush isn't too obvious. "Yes, let's do it."

He carries the rest of the boxes for you, going up and down the stairs multiple times. Meanwhile, you keep rambling nonstop about what you are studying, where you are from, and how you are feeling about this new phase of your life. He listens as if he genuinely cares, and even though you can’t quite place the age difference between you two, you feel surprisingly comfortable with him.

When the last box finally makes it through the door, you stand in the hallway with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Jay. Honestly. I don’t know what I would have done without you."

"Glad I could help. Moving is a big step. If you need anything else, I’m right next door." With that, he returns to his own apartment, leaving you surrounded by a sea of boxes that will clearly take hours to unpack.

A few days pass. You unpack — not everything, just the most important things. Your first classes are overwhelming. You get lost twice, accidentally walk into the wrong lecture hall, and sit through an entire lecture on quantum physics before realizing your mistake. But as embarrassing as it was, that mistake ended up leading you to a guy named Jake, who turned out to be incredibly nice and cute.

Now you are standing outside Jay’s door with a plate of cupcakes in your hands, ready to properly thank him for helping you with the move. The thing is, you can’t really bake; you tried making the cupcakes yourself but ended up burning the batch, so you had to go to the bakery on the corner to buy a box of them instead. They look a bit too professional, but since he doesn't know about your complete lack of kitchen skills, you're confident he won't suspect a thing — especially since you took them out of the box and arranged them nicely on a plate just to be extra safe.

You knock on his door, your heart pounding hard in your chest. He opens it a moment later, and his face lights up when he sees you. "Hey, neighbor," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "How are classes going?"

"Good," you reply, pushing the plate forward with a little too much force. "Great, actually. I only got lost twice today, which is an improvement." Your smile widens. "I brought these for you. For helping me with the move. I made them myself."

He looks at the cupcakes, then back at you, this time raising an eyebrow. "You made these?"

"Yes," you say, nodding firmly with your chin held high, trying to look confident. "From scratch. All by myself. I’m pretty good at baking."

He picks up one of the cupcakes and examines it, narrowing his eyes as he brings it closer to his face. You feel your determination starting to crumble.

"Really?" he asks with a smile, clearly testing how long you will keep up the lie. "From scratch?"

You hold his gaze for three whole seconds before you look away in embarrassment. Your shoulders drop and your face turns as red as a tomato. "Okay, fine. I bought them at the bakery on the corner. I took them out of the box so you would think I’m a functional adult who knows how to bake." You laugh at yourself. "I tried making them the other day, Jay. I set off the smoke alarm. I’m a danger to this entire building."

He throws his head back and laughs — not mocking you, but with a genuine, warm laugh that makes you feel less embarrassed about pretending you had baked the cupcakes. "Oh my God, you actually burned them?"

"I once burned noodles. I’m a total disaster in the kitchen."

He steps aside, still smiling, and gestures for you to come in. "Alright, come in. I’ll split one of these ‘homemade’ cupcakes with you. It’s the least I can do for someone who put so much effort into the task."

Your mom’s voice whispers in the back of your mind: "Don’t talk to strangers and definitely don’t go into their apartments, sweetheart." But is he really a stranger? He is your neighbor who carried all your boxes without complaining, and the way he stands there holding the plate of cupcakes with that smile makes you not hesitate at all.

You follow him inside. He leads you to the kitchen, grabs two small plates, and carefully unwraps a vanilla cupcake, splitting it in half before sliding one piece toward you.

"Have a seat," he says, pointing to the stool by the kitchen island.

"So, you mentioned you work downtown? What exactly do you do?" you ask as you sit down.

"I’m a lawyer," he replies, taking a bite of his half and nodding in approval. "Good choice of bakery, by the way."

You laugh, biting into yours. "A lawyer. That makes a lot of sense. You have this… I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird, but you have this organized vibe. Like you’re really good at arguing without even raising your voice."

His smile widens. "People have definitely told me that before that I have a ‘courtroom voice.’ It’s just my normal voice, only lower and slower. People tend to listen when you don’t yell."

"You’ll have to show me someday. If I ever get in legal trouble, I’ll know exactly who to call."

"Please don’t get in legal trouble. But if you do, I’m your guy."

The conversation flows just as easily as it did on moving day, and before you know it, you’re venting about your annoying professor, how massive the campus is, and all the times you’ve already managed to get lost. Between all the talking, the cupcakes completely disappear, leaving the coffee he made to sit cold and barely touched in your mug. There’s just something about him that instantly puts you at ease.

Despite the age gap, he never talks down to you or makes you feel small, which makes talking to him completely effortless. It’s just so comforting to have someone around who listens to you with that much care and attention — especially when he happens to be incredibly good-looking, leaving you totally hooked since the very first day.

As he walks you to the door when you finally get up to leave, he snatches a pen and a post-it note to scribble something down. Before you know it, he’s pressing the paper into your palm, his fingers brushing lightly against yours and sending a sudden warmth to your cheeks as he says, "Here’s my number, in case you ever need anything."

"Thank you," you say, smiling a little too wide.

He nods. "Anytime. Seriously. Don’t be a stranger."

────────

The grocery bags dig painfully into your fingers as you stand in the lobby, staring at the elevator doors that are still under maintenance. You look at them as if a miracle might happen — maybe if you stare for one more second, God will take pity and finally fix it. Nothing happens, of course, which makes you let out a long sigh of frustration. It has been days since you moved in and the elevator is still not working.

Your arms already hurt from carrying way too many bags. You definitely should have made two trips, but stubbornness won.

Reaching the second floor is pure torture; your arms are burning, those plastic handles are digging right into your palms, and the bags keep swinging awkwardly against your legs. Trying to stop and adjust your grip only makes things worse, to the point where you're seriously considering just sitting right there on the stairs and crying.

You finally collapse against the wall at the third-floor landing, letting the bags slide to the floor just to catch your breath. Right then, the door to 3A clicks open and Jay steps out — perfectly dressed for work with that annoyingly handsome lawyer look that instantly makes your stomach do a little flip.

He sees you immediately. For a second, his eyes take in the whole scene — your flushed face, the many overloaded bags, and the way you are leaning against the wall breathing heavily. A light, amused laugh escapes him. It is not mocking, just genuinely entertained, as if he expected nothing less from you.

"Carrying heavy stuff again?" he asks, walking toward you. "You really don’t learn, do you?"

Before you can even open your mouth to protest, he is already reaching for the bags, picking them all up at once as if they weigh absolutely nothing. His strong arms support the weight so effortlessly that his biceps press against the fabric of his dress shirt, making it completely impossible for you not to stare.

He turns and walks toward your door, carrying everything like it is nothing.

At your doorstep, Jay sets all the bags down carefully against the wall and turns to face you. His expression is calm, almost unreadable, but there is something more in it. You understand it the moment he starts speaking in a gently scolding tone. "You really shouldn’t carry so much at once," he says, crossing his arms. "It’s not safe and it’s clearly too heavy for you. Make two or three trips next time. Look at your hands, they’re all red. You were hurting yourself. Why? Because you’re way too stubborn, huh?"

You glance down at your palms, and they are red where the plastic handles dug in. "I was fine," you say, though even you do not believe it. "I almost made it."

"Don’t be stubborn."

"You sound exactly like my dad," you reply, crossing your arms to mimic him. "He’s always telling me I’m too stubborn for my own good."

Jay’s lips curve into a small smile. "Because you really are," he says with so much certainty that you cannot even argue back. "I’m serious. Next time, make multiple trips or just text me. I’d rather help than watch you struggle like that."

There is a protective tone in his voice that makes your cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and something else stirring low in your stomach. He is lecturing you like a child, but somehow it sounds kind of hot coming from him.

Then he glances at the grocery bags again. Now that the scolding is over, he seems to actually pay attention to what is inside them. He picks one up and looks inside — it is full of frozen meals, instant noodles, ultra-processed food, and canned goods. "Look, I know you’re in college now, but that doesn’t mean you have to live on processed food. It’s quick, sure, but you need real fresh stuff, not just things that come out of a can. Eating like this long-term isn’t good for you. You could get sick."

You blink, caught off guard by the extra lecture. He is fully in dad-mode now, and there is something strangely attractive about how seriously he takes it, like he is genuinely worried about you. "Okay, okay. I get it… I already told you I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so I just grabbed whatever is easiest so I don’t starve."

Jay’s expression softens a little. "I’m not trying to scold you. I just know how easy it is to fall into bad habits when you’re living on your own for the first time." He pauses and adds in a gentler voice, "If you ever need help in the kitchen, you know where to find me. I’m not exactly a chef, but I know how to make real meals."

Your mind wanders again because you can’t help it — you picture him in your kitchen, standing right behind you while teaching you how to cook, his hands guiding yours, the warmth of his body against your back…

"I’ll try to do better, I swear. Thanks for helping again. I think I owe you something now. How about brownies as a thank you this time?"

Jay shakes his head, chuckling softly. "You don’t owe me anything. Just be more careful next time." He glances at the heavy bags one more time. "Need help carrying these inside?"

You shake your head quickly. "I can handle it from here. I bet you’re busy, you look like you’re heading to work."

He checks the watch on his wrist. "Yeah, I have a meeting soon, but the offer stands anytime." Before turning to leave, he gives you one last firm look. "Take care of yourself."

After he leaves, you drag the bags inside, one half first and then the other, just like Jay suggested.

That night, you are sprawled on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you open your contacts. You saved Jay’s number, of course, but you have been telling yourself you don’t need to text him. It is an emergency-only number, but then you think about him carrying your groceries, the effortless way he took them from you, and the gentle scolding in his voice. Before you can overthink it, you are already typing a message to him.

────────

It is already past midnight and you have been staring at the same page of your textbook long enough for your vision to blur. Your brain has officially given up — it is impossible to absorb a single word more after hours of studying.

You are about to slam the book shut to take out your stress on it and drag yourself to bed when a soft knock sounds at the door. Your heart jumps slightly because you were not expecting anyone, especially not at this hour.

Another knock.

You get up slowly, stretching your sore muscles, and walk to the door. When you open it, Jay is standing there, looking different tonight without his formal work clothes and lawyer posture. He is wearing a simple white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and is barefoot. He looks relaxed, holding a bottle of red wine — as if he made the sudden decision to knock on your door and came straight over without even putting shoes on.

"Hey," he says, his low voice making your stomach flip. His eyes scan over you, taking in your tired face, messy hair, and pajamas. Something in his expression softens.

"Hey," you reply softly, matching his tone.

"Hey," he repeats, then laughs when he realizes what he just did.

"Hey," you answer again, this time with a small smile. "You already said that."

"I know." He laughs again, shaking his head. "I just… it’s late."

"Very late."

"I know." He lifts the bottle slightly. "I bought this earlier today but… it’s no fun drinking alone."

You look at the wine, then back at him. The way he is standing there — messy hair, ridiculously handsome, and a little too soft — makes going back to bed suddenly seem like a very stupid choice. "Are you inviting me to drink with you?"

"I’m asking if you want to take a break. From everything."

The way he looks at you with those inviting eyes makes the decision easy, but you decide to tease him first. "I don’t usually drink with strangers."

"We’re not strangers," he says, his voice soft. Your teasing does not seem to faze him.

"We’re not exactly friends either," you reply, tilting your head and studying his reaction.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost lazy smile. "Then let’s change that."

You pretend to consider it for a moment, even though you were already fully committed the second you saw him at your door. "Mmm, okay. But let’s do it at your apartment. Mine is a mess."

His smile widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Alright, whatever you want."

You grab your keys and follow him, also barefoot, to the door next to yours. His apartment is clean and organized as always, which makes the space feel strangely comforting. In the kitchen, he pours two glasses of wine and hands you one, his fingers brushing against yours for half a second and sending a spark through your body.

"Cheers," he says, raising his glass.

"Cheers," you repeat, gently clinking your glass against his.

You take a sip and let out a small, involuntary hum of appreciation — it is much better than you expected, probably the most expensive wine you have ever tasted. He gestures toward the living room. "Come on, let’s sit," he says, leading the way to the couch. You follow and settle onto his couch, trying to look more relaxed than you actually feel.

"This is nice," you say, taking another sip.

He sits on the other end of the couch — close enough to talk comfortably, but far enough to be polite. "It’s just wine." He takes a sip, watching you over the rim of his glass.

"I mean relaxing… not thinking about classes for the first time."

He nods, understanding. "You think about classes a lot."

"It’s pretty much my entire life right now," you admit with an awkward little laugh, taking another sip.

"I remember going through that too. Everything revolving around exams, assignments, and exhausting responsibilities."

You tilt your head, studying him. "You make it sound like ancient history."

"Sometimes it feels like it." He takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "I still remember when I was in college. I used to think a bad grade would ruin everything." A dry laugh escapes him as he shakes his head. "There’s so much pressure."

Suddenly you find yourself wanting to know more about him, drawn by the experienced tone in his voice and posture. The wine is already loosening your tongue, so you ask. "How old are you, anyway?"

A small, playful smile appears on his lips. "I’m old enough."

You narrow your eyes, trying to hold back a smile. "That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only one you’re getting." He takes another sip.

"That’s annoying," you say, leaning forward slightly and resting your elbows on your knees.

"Maybe I am annoying." He shrugs, but there is a sparkle in his eyes that tells you he is enjoying this.

"You’re avoiding the question," you accuse, pointing a finger at him.

"I’m protecting my privacy."

"From what? Your neighbor?" You laugh, raising an eyebrow.

"Especially from my neighbor."

You pout, pretending to be hurt. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

"Everyone has secrets," he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone.

"I don’t." You are not even sure why you say it. Maybe it is the wine, or the way he is looking at you right now.

"Everyone does." He holds his ground. "You have secrets too."

Your pulse quickens. "I don’t."

"Yes, you do."

You swallow hard. The air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you can’t quite name. You shift slightly on the sofa and notice how easy it would be to reach out and touch him. "So you have a lot of secrets, huh?" you ask, curious.

"Yes. Quite a few."

"Like what?" you press, wanting to see what he will give you.

"If I told you, they wouldn’t be secrets anymore." His lips curve into a slow, almost predatory smile.

"Touché." You raise your glass in an ironic toast, making him laugh.

A comfortable but heavy silence settles between you for a moment, thick with tension as you exchange glances and take slow sips. The wine is definitely doing its job — making your words come out slower, your laughter easier, and your body warmer.

"How old are you?" he asks, breaking the silence.

You blink, caught off guard. "Me?"

"Yes, you." He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You asked me, so I’m asking you back."

You smile, deciding to play his game. "I’m old enough."

A low, surprised laugh escapes him — rich and genuine. "That’s my line."

"I know." You take another sip to hide your smile.

"You stole my line."

You just shrug. "I borrowed it."

"That’s not how borrowing works."

"Yes, it is."

He laughs again. "You’re impossible."

"Am I? What else?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

"You’re something," he says, his voice dropping again.

"What?" You are not sure what he means by that.

"I don’t know yet." He keeps his eyes fixed on you. "But I’m figuring it out."

You feel your cheeks heat up and take another sip of wine to try to hide your reaction. Jay, however, keeps watching you, and you can tell he noticed.

"You know what I’ve noticed?" By now your voice is a little slurred, so you have to be careful with the words that come out of your mouth.

"What?" His wine glass is almost empty. He sets it on the coffee table and turns all of his attention to you.

You lean back on the couch, turning to face him more directly. Your knee brushes against his thigh, but neither of you pulls away. "You don’t talk much about yourself."

He tilts his head, frowning slightly. "Don’t I?"

"No. You listen, but you don’t share. Like, you’re dodging right now. You give answers, but you don’t really answer."

"Well, I’m trying to protect myself," he says simply.

"Protect yourself from what?" You lean forward, genuinely curious now.

"From getting too attached." The words are honest, and you definitely were not expecting them.

You stare at him, your hand frozen halfway to taking another sip. "From what?"

"To you." His voice is almost a whisper, making your pulse race and your skin flush.

"Why would you get too attached to me?"

He stays silent for a moment, his eyes tracing over you as if he wants to memorize every detail. "Because it’s easy to get attached to you."

"No, it's not," you say, shaking your head as a small, incredulous laugh escapes you.

"It is." His voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. "You just don’t see it."

You look away, feeling your entire body grow warmer. "You’re dodging again."

"I’m being honest." He leans forward slightly, and you can smell him now — a masculine scent mixed with the light sweetness of the wine.

You set your glass on the coffee table and turn to face him completely, the wine making you bolder. "You’re giving me half-answers. You’re telling me just enough to make me curious, but not enough."

He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. "What do you want to know?"

You hold his gaze. "Something real. Truly honest."

Silence stretches between you, thick with something heavy and suffocating that you can't quite name. Then he whispers, "I think you’re beautiful."

Your breath catches, and for a second you are not sure you heard him correctly. "That’s not—" you begin, but he interrupts you.

"It’s honest."

"You can’t just say that," your voice barely comes out as a whisper.

"I just did." His gaze doesn’t leave yours for even half a second.

"It’s too… direct."

"You asked for it." He says it simply, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

"You’re a tease," you say, not sure if you are complaining or not.

"Wait until you find out what else I am. You want to know me? Then make sure you’re ready."

You do not know what to say or what to do, so you look away, your face burning.

When he finally walks you to your door, you are a little unsteady on your feet. He steadies you with a gentle hand on your waist, and the touch is enough to send shivers through your body. "I’m fine," you murmur, even though you are swaying slightly.

"You’re drunk," he says, smiling at your messy state.

"I’m a little tipsy," you reply, giving him a blurry-eyed look.

"You’re drunk."

"It’s the same thing," you mutter dismissively.

"No, it’s not." He is looking at you with that warm, steady gaze that makes your knees feel weak.

You smile, light and tipsy. "Yes, it is."

At your door, you miss the lock twice. He laughs softly before helping you. "Thank you," you whisper. "For this, for the wine, the company, and everything."

His lips curve into a small, warm smile. "Good night, old enough.:

You smile again — you seem to always be smiling when he is around. "Good night, old man."

You step inside, close the door, and lean against it with your heart racing and your whole body warm from the wine and his words — still smiling like an idiot.

A few minutes later, you are curled up in bed when your phone buzz on the nightstand.

────────

You have been tossing and turning on the mattress for what feels like hours — shifting positions, turning to the other side, but nothing helps. You can’t fall asleep — you mind refuses to stop, racing with thoughts about exams, deadlines, and the weight of all your responsibilities pressing down on your shoulders. You need air, you need to feel like you are not suffocating in that apartment, surrounded by boxes you haven't even had the time to unpack yet. There are several unfinished notes on your desk that constantly remind you that you are not doing enough, no matter how hard you try.

So you go up to the rooftop. The cool night air hits your face and lets you breathe again.

The city is an endless sea of lights — countless tiny glowing points in the darkness that remind you how small you really are. You sit on the old bench near the edge of the roof, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them like a shield.

Your thoughts slowly begin to calm as the minutes pass, and the knot in your chest loosens just a little.

Then the door creaks open behind you.

You turn quickly, your body instantly on alert and your heart racing. And there he is — Jay. He is wearing sweatpants and a black shirt, something about this casual, almost domestic look makes your heart skip a beat. He sees you immediately and stops. Surprise flashes across his face for a second before it turns into that familiar half-smile.

"Can’t sleep either?" His voice is low, almost intimate in a way that makes you shiver.

You shake your head. "I have too much on my mind right now…"

He nods as if he completely understands — and he really does. Walking toward you, he stops at a respectful distance before sitting on the bench beside you — close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that he invades your personal space. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all." You shift over a little even though there is already enough space.

He leans back, looking up at the sky, which is beautiful tonight with a full moon and stars shining brightly. The silence stretches between you. He doesn’t force conversation; he simply sits there observing the sky and the city with you. The silence is not awkward — it is actually comforting, especially when you are with him.

"I can’t sleep," you admit, breaking the silence with words that slip out before you can stop them. "I try, but my brain just won’t stop. Every time I close my eyes, I start thinking about all the things I have to do, all the things I haven’t done, and all the ways I’m probably going to mess everything up."

"What’s on your mind?" His voice is gentle and patient as always, showing that he is ready to listen.

"Everything." You let out a shaky sigh. "College, exams, being away from my family for the first time… It’s a lot. I thought I was ready, that I could handle it. But sometimes it feels like I’m drowning and I don’t know how to swim. Literally."

"I know how that feels," he says after a long moment of silence. His eyes stay fixed on yours, and there is something raw in them — something honest. "I remember feeling exactly like that. Like everything was too much and I was too small to handle it."

"You’re talking about yourself. That’s new," you say softly. "You always ask about me, but you never—"

"You already have enough on your plate," he cuts in gently.

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

"You’re stressed about college, adjusting to a new city, and far from your family," he keeps his gaze steady on you, his expression sincere. "You don’t need to hear about my problems too."

"That’s not how it works." You shake your head as something warm and confusing blooms in your chest. "We’re supposed to share things. That’s what—" You pause, searching for the right word. "That’s what friends do."

"I don’t want to burden you when you’re already dealing with so much, and I certainly don’t want to make it worse."

You stay quiet for a moment, his words stirring something you cannot quite name — but it feels good. "That’s really… kind," you finally say.

"I try." He shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips.

The silence settles again, and you sit together quietly for a while longer. Then, out of nowhere, he tilts his head and asks, "How’s your succulent doing?"

You laugh at the unexpected question. "You’re asking about my plant?"

"I remember you mentioned it." He turns toward you — fully turning his body — with a small playful smile on his lips. "I bet you gave it a name."

You shake your head, still smiling. "I haven’t named it yet… but it’s still alive, which is honestly impressive."

"You’re supposed to water it," he says in a gently scolding tone.

"I know." You look away, feeling a little guilty about slowly killing a plant.

"But you forget." There is no judgment in his voice, only warm amusement.

"I forget." You laugh — something you always do when you are with him. "I have a lot on my mind, okay?"

"You’re a plant killer." He smiles, making you grin even wider.

"I’m not a plant killer! I’m just… forgetful. It is surviving, which is more than I can say about myself sometimes."

Something in your words changes his expression. It is still gentle, but now there is a hint of concern. "You’re doing better than you think."

You don’t know what to say, so you just look at him, with the words stuck in your throat.

"Does the succulent at least have company?" he asks after a moment, his voice light as always.

You blink, confused by the sudden question. "What?"

"Other plants, maybe some flowers, something to keep it company. Plants get lonely too."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think it gets lonely. It’s just a plant, after all."

"All living things have feelings. It definitely feels lonely," he says with so much conviction that you almost believe him.

"That’s not scientifically accurate," you reply, not entirely sure if what you are saying is accurate either.

"I never said it was." He shrugs. "I’m a lawyer. I deal with arguments, not facts."

"They’re the same thing."

"Not at all." He shifts closer to you on the bench, making sure you are listening. "Facts are objective. Arguments are subjective. I make a living turning subjective arguments into something that sounds like objective facts."

"That’s… something. And you’re so weird."

"I’m just concerned about your plant’s loneliness." His voice is incredibly serious, showing that he is taking this very seriously.

"You’re worried about my plant," you say, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, just like I worry about you."

You don’t know what to say again — Jay has a way of leaving you speechless. Your cheeks flush and you look away. "I’ve never received flowers before, anyway…" you say softly, the secret slipping from your lips.

Jay is not sure he heard you correctly. "What did you say?"

Even though you hesitate, you repeat it, louder this time. "I’ve never received flowers." You look down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. "I had a boyfriend before, but he was an idiot. He never did anything romantic like giving me flowers or taking me for dates."

He stays silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on you while your heart pounds loudly in your ears. He is thinking about something — you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. "Would you want to go on one? With me."

You stop breathing the moment you hear his words and everything around you seems to freeze. "What?"

"A date. A real date where I pick you up, open doors for you, and take you somewhere nice. It doesn’t have to be romantic if you don’t want it to be. It can just be two people spending time together. Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

Your heart is beating so hard you are sure he can hear it, your mouth is dry, your palms are sweaty, and the words feel stuck in your throat again. Jay is asking you out on a date — a real date. The age gap has been on your mind since the day you met — he is a lawyer and you are still trying to figure out how to live on your own, but every interaction with him feels safe, like he truly sees you.

"Jay, I—" You stop, taking a shaky breath.

"You don’t have to answer right now," he says gently, giving you time to think.

"No, I—" You take another deep breath, and this time the words come out steady. "Yes. Yes, I want that."

His face transforms — a slow, warm smile spreads across his lips and reaches his eyes, making your stomach flip and your heart race just like always.

"Great," he says softly. "I’ll plan something."

A shy laugh escapes you as the reality of it sinks in. "What do you like to do on dates? I’m sure you’ve been on plenty."

He leans forward a little, resting his elbow on his knee. "I want to know what you like. That’s what matters right now, tell me your preferences so I can plan something good for you."

As you think for a moment, you suddenly feel embarrassed by how limited your preferences are. "I’m kind of picky, honestly. I like pasta, I hate anything too spicy, and I don’t like overly sweet desserts. Oh, and I’m not a big fan of seafood unless it’s fried. Is that too much?"

Jay listens attentively, nodding as if he is absorbing every detail. "Not at all. Being picky isn’t a problem, it actually makes it easier to get it right." He pauses, a playful glint appearing in his eyes. "You know, for someone who’s a disaster in the kitchen, you have very specific opinions, princess."

The nickname lands softly between you — affectionate and teasing, with a hint of warmth. Your breath catches, your face flushes instantly, and you lower your head to hide the redness in your cheeks and the smile forming on your lips.

"I… You can’t just say that," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes.

"Why not?" He is smiling even more now, clearly enjoying your reaction. "It suits you. You have high standards and you know exactly what you want, even if you pretend you don’t."

You cover your face with both hands for a second, peeking through your fingers. "You’re going to make me regret saying yes."

"Too late," he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. "You already said yes."

You lower your hands and meet his gaze, your heart racing in the best possible way. Jay stands up suddenly and offers you his hand. "Come on, it’s getting late and you have class tomorrow. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze."

You take his hand — which is so much bigger than yours — and let him help you up. He doesn’t let go afterward, his fingers stay intertwined with yours as you walk together toward your floor. The elevator is no longer broken, but you both take the stairs anyway, wanting to prolong the moment a little longer.

Stopping at your door, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. “I'll text you about the date,” he says softly. "We’ll pick a night that works."

You nod, still feeling a little shy about everything. "Okay… Good night, Jay."

"Good night, princess."

────────

The next day, you are more nervous than you have ever been. Every notification on your phone makes your heart skip a beat, terrified that it is Jay confirming the date. Your stomach is in knots with a mix of panic and hope, even though you want to go on this date, you are still incredibly nervous about it.

Your phone buzzes while you are in the library trying to study. "Friday at seven? I’ll take care of everything. Just be ready for a proper night out."

The words "proper night out" send a shiver through you. He is taking this seriously, treating it as something special, even though he said it didn’t have to be romantic. Still, it means something. Smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt, you text back agreeing.

When Friday finally arrives, the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. In fact, they become even more restless as the time of the date gets closer. Hours before, you start getting ready — taking your time as you choose an outfit that makes you feel confident and beautiful. You spend extra time on your makeup, keeping it natural but enhancing your eyes and lips, making sure everything is perfect.

Exactly at seven, you take the elevator down. Jay had insisted on waiting outside the building instead of knocking on your door. "I want you to have the full experience," he had texted earlier, and the gesture made you smile despite your nerves. The moment you step out onto the sidewalk, you see him leaning against his sleek black car parked at the curb. He looks unfairly handsome in a tailored dark shirt and pants.

For a moment, he simply looks at you — slowly scanning from your face to your dress and back up again as his smile widens. "You look beautiful," he says, taking a step closer. "Really, truly beautiful."

Your cheeks flush quickly and a smile forms on your lips. "Thank you. You look really handsome too."

Before you can say anything else, he reaches inside the car and pulls out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. "I remembered what you said on the rooftop…"

The bouquet is perfect, wrapped so beautifully that it makes your chest tighten. "Jay…" you whisper as you reach out to take the flowers. "They’re beautiful. I don’t even know what to say."

Without thinking, you give him a grateful hug. His arms wrap around you immediately, one hand resting on your lower back while the other gently caresses the nape of your neck. "You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy tonight. That’s all I want."

When you pull away, still smiling widely, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear and asks, "Ready to go, princess?"

You nod, holding the flowers like a lifeline. He opens the car door for you, waiting until you are settled before closing it gently. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he looks at you with a playful smile. "Seatbelt, please. Safety first."

You laugh and buckle up. "Such a gentleman."

"Only for you."

The drive starts peacefully, soft music playing in the background as you talk. He asks about your day and teases you lightly when you admit that you spent half of your class daydreaming about tonight and that it took you forever to choose what to wear.

You can’t stop stealing glances at him — the way his hands rest easily on the steering wheel, those large hands with long fingers, and the way he looks at you at red lights as if making sure you are still real.

After a few minutes, you notice the city lights fading and buildings giving way to trees. "Where are we going?" you ask curiously, realizing he has been driving for a while — much farther than you expected. "This is pretty far from our building. Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?"

Jay laughs, keeping his eyes on the road. "I’m not going to kill you. I’m just taking you to a place I love, and I think you’ll love it too."

The drive takes about thirty minutes, but when you finally arrive, the restaurant leaves you breathless. You immediately understand why he chose it — it is cozy and elegant, with a stunning view of the city. He reserved a intimate corner table with the perfect view.

He pulls out the chair for you, and as soon as you sit down, he leans in slightly to whisper in your ear, "Relax, okay?"

The dinner unfolds perfectly. You order pasta — creamy, exactly the way you like it — and he chooses a steak dish, offering you a bite from his fork with a raised eyebrow that feels far more intimate than it should. You talk a lot, and he listens as always, head tilted and eyes focused only on you.

You tell him about the friendships you are making in college, about the strange noise your AC is making, and absentmindedly mention the doorman. "He’s nice, I think… but sometimes he looks at me like he knows something I don’t."

Jay’s expression shifts with something unreadable for half a second, but he quickly covers it with a soft chuckle. "He’s probably just in a bad mood. Or maybe he sees how much you’re distracting your poor neighbor."

You laugh. "Poor neighbor? You seem to be handling it pretty well."

His foot brushes against yours under the table. "Barely."

In the middle of the conversation, Jay’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, frowns, and silences it, slipping it into his pocket.

But a few minutes later, it buzzed again. Jay sighs. "I need to take this. It’s probably an emergency with a client. I won’t be long. I’m really sorry."

"Go ahead. I’ll be here judging the dessert menu."

He leans in and gives you a quick kiss on your temple before standing up. "I’ll be right back, princess."

The casual display of affection makes your heart race as you watch him walk away. While he is gone, you take a sip of your wine, observe the people around you, and study the dessert menu.

He returns after about five minutes, sliding back into his seat with an apologetic smile. "All sorted. Where were we?"

When the check arrives, Jay pays without hesitation, even though you offered to split it. Outside, the night air is cold, so he drapes his jacket over your shoulders when he notices you shivering. Then he pulls you closer for a moment, wrapping his arms around you. "Thank you for saying yes," he murmurs against your hair.

You look up at him, smiling. "That was the best decision I’ve made in a long time."

The drive back feels shorter than the trip there, unfortunately — you wish this moment could last forever. Jay keeps one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. You arrive at the building sooner than you would like, but instead of stopping at the curb, Jay drives into the underground garage.

You unbuckle your seatbelt. "Thank you, Jay. For everything, the flowers, the dinner, the evening… I had a really great time."

He turns to you, that slow smile playing on his lips. "I’m glad, princess."

You reach for the door handle, but his hand moves quickly, wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. Your breath catches at the unexpected contact. "Wait, aren’t you going to thank me properly?"

You blink, confused. "I just did? The hug outside the restaurant and just now."

Jay chuckles, and his gaze shifts into something hungrier. "That was sweet, but I was thinking of something a little more fitting for the end of a perfect night."

Without overthinking it, you lean across the console and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper again, pulling back to see his reaction.

His smile widens. "Still not enough, princess. Come here."

He cups the back of your neck and pulls you closer. The kiss starts soft, his lips meeting yours hesitantly, and you quickly melt into it, which makes him deepen the kiss while still keeping a slow, deliberate pace. His tongue traces your lower lip, and you part for him with a small sigh.

What begins as one kiss turns into many, you lose count as they grow more intense, hungry, and urgent.

Somehow, you end up climbing over the console. His hands guide your hips until you are straddling his lap in the driver’s seat. The space is tight and the steering wheel presses against your back, but you couldn't care less right now. His hands roam along your sides, sliding up your dress until they rest on your thighs, his thumbs drawing circles that make you whimper against his mouth.

You kiss him again and again, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, which draws a low groan from him. That only encourages you — hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you. The friction makes you gasp, and Jay clearly loves the sight — he squeezes your thighs, encouraging your movements.

"God, you’re incredible," he whispers against your mouth between kisses. "So responsive… so perfect."

Jay pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, breathing hard. "You deserve better than this, princess. Our first time shouldn’t be in a car like a couple of impatient teenagers."

You kiss him again, more intensely, nipping at his lower lip. "I don’t care, I want you right here."

He groans, sliding his hand into your hair to pull you into another hungry kiss. "You’re so eager, princess… and so perfect grinding against me like this."

His mouth moves down to your neck, sucking lightly and drawing more whimpers from you. Your movements become restless, rubbing harder, chasing friction. "Jay…" you whisper between kisses. "I need you, please."

His hands find the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up inch by inch with clear appreciation until he discards it onto the passenger seat. "Beautiful," he murmurs reverently as he stares at your tits. "So beautiful." He leans down, pressing hot, wet kisses along the soft skin, then his tongue circles one nipple before sucking it deeply into his mouth.

You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips. He gives the same attention to the other tit, licking, sucking, and grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth while his hand massages and caresses the first. “You taste so good,” he praises, his voice muffled. "These perfect tits in my mouth… you’re already trembling. So sensitive for me."

He kisses lower, along your sternum and ribs, then back up — worshipping every inch of you while you keep grinding against him. Your panties are soaked, and the friction against his hardness only turns you on more.

He waits until you’re trembling in his lap before he finally moves. Reaching between you, he lowers his pants and boxers just enough to free himself, and when he does, your eyes widen. He is big — thick and hard. The sight makes your mouth water and heat pool low in your belly.

Jay reaches into the glove compartment, fumbling for a condom. He tears it open and rolls it down his length with surprising skill while you watch, hypnotized and a little intimidated by his size and thickness. "You’re… really big," you say softly.

Jay notices your nervousness and caresses your cheek, trying to soothe you. "We’ll go slow, princess. I’ve got you. My good girl can take it."

He helps you shift your panties to the side, guiding you as you sink down onto him. The stretch is intense but delicious — you take him inch by inch, breathing deeply as he fills you completely, murmuring praises nonstop. "That’s it, princess… so tight, so good for me… so fucking perfect around me."

You bury your face in his neck as you sink all the way down, taking him completely until your ass is pressed firmly against his lap. "Oh God… you’re so, so big," you moan, still adjusting to the intense stretch.

The age difference flashes through your mind — he is older, more experienced, probably used to women who knew exactly what they were doing. You want to be good for him, so once you feel ready, you start moving — bouncing with almost frantic energy, desperate to please him. Your hips move and grind fast, determined.

"Easy, princess," Jay groans, gripping your hips to slow you down. "Slow… just like that. You feel incredible, but there’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere."

You moan, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. "I just… you’ve probably been with so many others who were better at this. I want to make it good for you. I want to be the best—"

He cuts you off with a deep kiss, then pulls back to look into your eyes while still guiding your movements into a slower, deeper rhythm. "Hey, none of that. It’s just you right now, and you’re already the best, baby. Look at how perfectly you take me." He thrusts up gently to emphasize his words, drawing a moan from you. "You’re my princess."

You relax into his words and the rhythm he sets, moving your hips in deep, grinding motions instead of frantic bouncing. It feels even better this way — his thickness brushing against every sensitive spot inside you. "Like this?" you ask breathlessly, your voice shy but needy.

"Just like that," he praises, his voice rough. "So good for me. So wet… so tight. You’re perfect, listen to those pretty sounds you make."

You keep whispering to him the whole time — shy confessions and soft, breathless questions. "You feel so good, Jay… I feel so full. Does it feel good for you? Tell me if you’re enjoying it."

He groans, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass, then returning to your tits so he can lick and suck them while you ride him. "I love it. I love everything you do. The way you squeeze me… the way you say my name. You’re ruining me, princess."

The pleasure builds uncontrollably, intense and overwhelming, leaving both of you sweaty and breathless. He slides a hand between you to your clit, circling it with his thumb in time with your movements. You tremble hard, moaning and gasping, telling him how close you are, how good he feels, and how much you have wanted this since the day you moved in.

When you come, your walls pulse tightly around his thickness and your body shakes as you cry out his name. Jay follows right after, holding you firmly against him as he finishes into the condom with a deep groan, murmuring endless praises. "That’s it, come for me… so beautiful giving yourself to me completely… my perfect girl."

You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard. He wraps his arms around you tightly, kissing your temple while his hands gently caress your back. "You okay?" he whispers after a while. "Was it too much?"

"It was perfect," you murmur, nuzzling into his neck. "Better than I imagined. Thank you for slowing me down when I got too excited. I probably embarrassed myself, right?"

He shakes his head lightly and laughs, then he gives you one last kiss on your temple and helps you climb back into the passenger seat, watching as you slip your dress back on. "Don’t forget these," he says, reaching for the bouquet.

You take it with a happy smile. "I wouldn’t dare."

He walks around the car to open your door and intertwines his fingers with yours as you walk toward the elevator. Once inside, he pulls you close and kisses you the entire way up to your floor.

"Your place tonight?" you ask against his lips.

Jay’s hand slides to your lower back, pulling you even closer. "Yes, because I’m not done with you yet. I need you in my bed. The thought of you in my sheets, smelling like me when you wake up… it drives me crazy."

The elevator doors open and he pulls you down the hallway toward his door, unlocking it effortlessly. The moment you are both inside, he takes the flowers from your hand, sets them on the counter, and turns to you with hungry eyes. "Come here," he growls, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His hands cup your face first, then slide down your body. "Let me take care of you properly this time."

He leads you to the bedroom and there, he undresses you slowly, admiring and kissing every inch of exposed skin. When you are completely naked, he steps back and looks at you with pure admiration and desire. "Fuck, look at you… so perfect. Every curve, every inch… all mine tonight."

He removes his own clothes and guides you onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. His warm palms caress them, spreading you open even more. His mouth is on you immediately, licking a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, savoring you. "Mmm, already so wet," the vibration of his voice makes you gasp. "You taste so sweet, princess. Like you were made for my mouth."

You let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. "Jay… that feels incredible. Oh God—"

He slides a finger inside you, curling it against that sweet spot while his mouth continues sucking and licking. The suction around your clit, the rhythm of his finger stroking that perfect spot deep inside — it all turns the pleasure into something deliciously overwhelming. He adds a second finger, then a third, carefully stretching you as he pumps them in and out.

Your hips move against his face as the pleasure intensifies. "Don’t stop… please, Jay, just like that," you moan, your voice breathless and desperate. He eats you out like a starving man — licking, sucking, and thrusting his fingers into you until your thighs shake around his head and you fall apart with a long, loud cry. You clench and pulse around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you.

Jay doesn’t stop right away, he keeps licking and fingering you through it, prolonging every sensation until you are limp and panting. Only then he drags his mouth up your body, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and up your neck. "You taste like heaven," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "I could do this all night, make you come on my tongue until you go stupid."

He grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on quickly over his hard, leaking cock. You reach down, wrapping your hand around his thick, hard length — stroking him slowly, feeling the weight, the pulsing heat, tracing the veins with curiosity. "I want it raw, Jay… I need to feel you, please."

He groans deeply, his hips pushing forward into your fist. "Baby… protection first, remember? I’ll still make you feel good even with the latex between us, I promise." After kissing your forehead, he positions himself at your entrance and pushes in inch by inch, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. You feel a burning stretch as your walls slowly give way to him, every thick pulsing vein dragging against your sensitive insides. When he’s halfway in, you look down between your bodies and see the clear bulge pressing out against your lower belly.

He notices it right after and quickly slides a hand down to press against the bulge, feeling it move under his palm as he sinks deeper. "Fuck, look at that. You see how deep I am? My cock is rearranging your insides, princess. Stretching this tight pussy so you can see it from the outside."

Your hand joins his, pressing against the visible outline, feeling him move inside you from both the inside and the outside. He teases you mercilessly, thrusting slow and deep so the bulge shifts under your combined touch. "You’re taking me so well, like this pussy was made for my cock. So greedy, swallowing every inch."

He sinks the rest of the way in with a guttural groan, bottoming out completely. "Shit… so tight, so hot. You’re already milking me."

His thick cock fills you so completely that every movement presses against sensitive spots that steal the breath from your lungs. His thrusts start controlled and incredibly gentle instead of brutal force. One hand stays intertwined with yours above your head, while the other caresses your cheek, squeezes your breast, and lightly pinches your nipple before soothing it with his thumb. "You look like pure sin wrapped around me… My beautiful princess, creaming all over my cock, taking every inch like a good girl. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Jay… it feels so good. You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere." He leans down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hips move faster in a devastating rhythm that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

You come hard around him, your walls fluttering and clenching tightly as you cry out. He does not stop, thrusting deep and steady, prolonging your orgasm until you are shaking. "Fuck, that’s it, come on my cock, baby."

Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a long, broken groan of your name as he cums, pulsing inside you. He stays buried deep for long moments afterwards, holding you close and covering your face, neck, and shoulders with soft kisses until both of your breathing steadies.

Eventually, he pulls out carefully, discards the condom, and returns from the bathroom with a warm, damp cloth. He cleans you both gently, murmuring more praises the entire time. "You were perfect, princess. So responsive, so beautiful when you come for me." He pulls the sheets over both of you and wraps you in his arms.

Your head rests on Jay’s chest while his fingers trace a lazy path along your spine, down to the curve of your waist. Without a word, you shift, turning onto your side. Jay follows naturally, molding his body against yours from behind in a perfect spoon. His chest presses against your back as he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. You can already feel him half-hard again against the curve of your ass, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.

He nuzzles into the back of your neck, placing soft kisses there. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough in the quiet room.

"More than okay," you whisper back, pressing lightly against him. "I like feeling you close like this."

Jay reaches for another condom from the nightstand. You hear the faint rustle as he puts it on, then his hand returns to your body, tenderly caressing your side and hip. He lifts your top leg slightly, hooking it over his, opening you up for him. The thick head of his cock brushes against your entrance before he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he is buried completely inside you.

"So good," he whispers against your neck, sliding a hand up to caress your breast. His fingers massage gently, his thumb circling your nipple until it hardens under his touch.

He starts moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips, thrusting unhurriedly so you can feel every inch of his thick cock dragging against your walls. While he fucks you, his hand on your breast never stops worshipping it — squeezing, rolling your nipple between his fingers, occasionally pinching lightly before soothing it with gentle caresses. And his mouth keeps placing open-mouthed kisses along the back of your neck, back, and shoulder.

You reach behind you, running your fingers through his hair as you move with him. "Jay… deeper like that feels so good."

His thrusts become a little deeper, but still controlled. "You take me so well every single time. Look at how perfectly you fit around me. I could stay inside you forever." His mouth finds the sensitive spot on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while he continues playing with your breasts — pinching, rolling, and caressing until your nipples are deliciously sore. Only then he slid his hand down to your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. The combination of sensations is overwhelming and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. "You’re so close… I can feel you squeezing me. Come for me again, princess."

And you do. Your walls contract rhythmically around his thickness as you moan his name, your body trembling in his arms. Jay follows right after you, burying his face in your neck with a deep groan as he comes, filling the condom.

You turn your head slightly to capture his lips in a lazy kiss. "I feel so safe with you," you whisper. "And so wanted."

He stays inside you until the aftershocks fade, then carefully pulls out, discards the condom, and cleans you both once again with gentle care. He pulls the sheets up around you both and draws you back into his arms, spooning you again.

Jay’s hand rests tenderly on your stomach, tracing small circles there. You feel deeply in love and completely at peace as you start to drift off to sleep, safe in his arms.

Sunlight is already filtering through the curtains by the time you slowly wake up the next morning —.only to realize the space beside you is empty, even though the warmth of Jay’s body and the faint scent of his cologne still linger around. You stretch and sit up to look around the room, noticing one of his shirts draped over the back of a chair. Slipping it on, you pad barefoot out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, drawn by the rich aroma of coffee and food already filling the air.

Jay is at the stove, flipping eggs while a plate of toast and cut fruit waits for you on the counter. You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back. "Good morning."

He turns off the stove and turns around, settling his hands on your hips. His gaze softens instantly when he sees you wearing his shirt. "Good morning, princess. You look way too good in my clothes."

You laugh softly and tilt your face up, expecting a kiss. He leans in but pauses with a playful look. "Ah, but you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. No good-morning kisses until after breakfast."

You pout and dramatically pull away. "Not even a kiss on the cheek? You’re so cruel."

With a sigh, he gives in — pressing a long kiss to your cheek, then another to your forehead. Before you can say anything, he effortlessly lifts you and sits you on the edge of the kitchen counter, standing between your knees. "There. Now I can look at you properly while I finish this."

As he moves around the kitchen, your eyes wander until they stop on the refrigerator. Something catches your attention — photos are held up by magnets, but one in particular stands out: a Polaroid of Jay smiling with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. You hadn't noticed it on your previous visits to the kitchen — you had been too focused on him. "Who is that?" you ask curiously, nodding toward the fridge. "The woman in the photo with you?"

Jay glances over while sliding a plate toward you. "That’s my sister. We don’t look much alike, I know. We’re actually half-siblings."

You tilt your head, studying the photo for another second. They really do not look very similar, but that is not unusual for half-siblings. "She looks nice," you say lightly, accepting the plate he offers. "Breakfast looks delicious, by the way. You really didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he replies, stepping between your knees and stealing a quick peck. "After last night, it feels right to take care of you this morning… and maybe every other morning too."

You smile shyly. "Speaking of last night… it was incredible. You made everything feel so good, so right. I keep replaying every part of it in my head."

He reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. "You were perfect, baby. I loved every second of it." He leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth. "You’re so beautiful when you let go for me."

"You’re going to make it really hard for me to focus in class today." You take a bite of the toast, savoring it. "Oh, by the way, I’m going out with some new friends from college tonight. They invited me to a party, it’s a chance to get to know each other better outside of class."

Jay nods, resting a hand on your thigh and stroking it lightly. "Sounds fun. Just be careful, okay? Text me when you get there and when you’re heading back."

"I will," you say, stealing another quick kiss from him. "I won’t stay out too late anyway. I have an early class tomorrow."

He picks up a piece of fruit from the plate and brings it to your mouth, brushing his fingers teasingly against your lips. "You deserve to have fun… I’ll be here if you need anything when you get back."

You stumble out of your friend’s car a little after 1 a.m., waving goodbye as you sway on your feet. You make your way toward the building entrance and suddenly remember that you promised to text Jay — which you didn’t. So you call him to let him know you arrived and are heading up. In response, he says he is waiting for you.

When you reach the third floor, Jay’s door is already open and he is waiting for you. "Heyyy," you say cheerfully, immediately wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. "I’m back. Just like I promised."

Laughing Jay’s arms wrap around you automatically as he looks at you more closely. "You’re pretty drunk, princess. How was the party?"

"So much fun," you ramble, clinging to him tighter as he guides you inside and closes the door. "We danced, there was a shot game, and my new friends are so funny. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt." You tilt your head up, puckering your lips. "Kiss?"

Instead of a proper kiss, he gives you a quick one on your forehead. "You smell like a distillery and your shirt is soaked, what happened?"

You look down at the sticky stain on your shirt and pout. "Someone spilled on me. It’s gross. But I still want kisses, real kisses." You try to pull his face down, standing on your tiptoes. "I missed you all night. I kept thinking about you during the party… about how nice you were last night. We should do that again right now."

Jay gently holds your wrists to stop you. "Not tonight, princess. You’re drunk."

"But I want you," you beg, pressing closer, but he doesn’t give in at all. "You’re so hot, so gentle, and… big. Please?"

He shakes his head and guides you toward the bathroom. "No. Only when you’re sober and can remember everything clearly. Right now, I’m just taking care of you, okay?"

"Let’s get you cleaned up," he says gently once you reach the bathroom. Reaching for the hem of your wet shirt he carefully pulls it off, followed by the rest of your clothes.

"You’re always so gentle with me," you murmur, watching him adjust the shower temperature. "No one has ever been this gentle. I really, really like you, Jay."

He smiles softly and helps you into the shower, joining you still fully dressed so he can take care of you. Jay keeps one hand on your waist to steady you while the other runs soapy over your shoulders and arms.

The alcohol in your system makes your emotions spill out easily before you can stop them. "I think… I think I’m falling for you," you confess, your tongue loose, making your cheeks flush. "Is that crazy? It feels too fast. I know I’m younger and still figuring everything out, but being with you just feels right. You make me feel safe, wanted, and special."

Jay pauses for half a second, processing what he just heard, but then continues washing you carefully — lathering the floral-scented body wash over your skin. "This smells like… girl stuff," you say, a little curious. "Is it yours?"

He looks away for a moment before answering. "It’s my mom’s. She left some things here the last time she came to visit."

"Ah," You rest your forehead against his chest as the water runs over both of you. "I meant it, though. About falling for you. Even if it’s too soon… I can’t help it."

Jay wraps his arms fully around you under the spray of water, holding you close — voice is full of affection when he finally replies. "Hey… look at me, princess." He gently lifts your chin. "What you’re feeling… I feel it too." Softly, he kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "We don’t need to rush or label anything right now. Just know that I’m here and I care about you a lot."

Even in your alcohol-fueled haze, his words calm the part of you that was worried you were moving too fast. "Really? You feel it too?"

"I do." He continues washing you carefully — your arms, your back, your sides — just taking care of you. "Being with you is easy. Natural. So let’s just enjoy it, okay? One day at a time."

Jay finishes rinsing you off and helps you out of the shower. Wrapping you in a towel he dries you gently before dressing you in one of his shirts. By the time he guides you to bed, you are already sleepy. He helps you lie down and you snuggle into the sheets, murmuring one last "I really like you" before falling asleep.

────────

The following days feel almost too good to be real.

You wake up in Jay’s bed, wrapped in his arms and wearing one of his shirts. He always wakes up before you to make breakfast and greet you with a good morning kiss and that smile that still makes your heart flutter. But on some mornings, you pull him back into bed to cuddle before classes and work, and without any argument, he makes time to make you feel loved.

When you get home from class, tired, Jay is already there to greet you cheerfully despite his own exhaustion. He texts you during the day, asking how your classes are going and reminding you to eat. When you are together, he pulls you in for slow, affectionate kisses — the kind that make your legs weak. Some nights you cook together as he tries to teach you how to make proper meals. Other nights he orders takeout and you eat on the couch while you tell him every detail of your day. He still doesn’t share much about himself, always dodging the subject, but you do not push — you don’t want to be invasive.

The sex is frequent — sometimes slow and worshipful, his mouth and hands adoring every inch of you until you are trembling and coming apart. Other times it is faster and more urgent — against the kitchen counter, in the shower, on the couch, in his home office. One night you try baking cookies together, ending up covered in flour and laughing as he kisses the mess off your cheek. Another night you start watching a movie cuddled together, but the movie is forgotten halfway through when clothes come off and he fucks you right there on the couch.

Suddenly everything feels so domestic — he now keeps an extra toothbrush for you, your notebooks are on his coffee table, and some of your clothes are scattered around his apartment. It is undeniable that you are falling deeper and deeper in love.

On a Sunday afternoon, you are studying on his couch while Jay is in his home office, working on a complicated case that demands his full attention. After hours buried in books and notes, concentrating is almost impossible. At this point, your mind keeps wandering to him without permission. When your brain finally gives up, you close the book with a dramatic sigh.

You walk down the hallway and peek into his office. Jay is sitting at his desk with his sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly attractive as he concentrates on reviewing some papers. "Jay?" you call, walking in without waiting for an answer.

He looks up, and the moment his eyes meet yours, the tension in his shoulders softens. "Hey, princess. How are the studies going?"

Boring." You take a few steps closer and don’t ask for permission — you simply climb into his lap, settling on his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. You leave a trail of kisses along his jaw, then his cheek and lips. "I missed you. Pay attention to me? Just for a little while?"

One of his hands rests on your waist while the other continues organizing the documents. "I’d love to, baby, but this case is a nightmare. There are documents everywhere. I’m going crazy with these."

You nuzzle into the curve of his neck and kiss him there. "You’ve been in here for hours… you deserve a break." Your hips move subtly against him, restless, the friction sending a spark through both of you. You feel him twitch beneath you, already starting to respond to your movements.

Jay’s grip on your waist tightens. "Princess…" There is a warning tone in his voice, bordering on frustration. But as you grind against him, you can feel him beginning to harden, and that gives you hope — you think he might give in.

"You’re really testing me today." He pulls you into a kiss, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. When he pulls away, it is with a frustrated sigh.

"That's the point," you whisper, smiling proudly against his lips as you continue grinding, slower this time, feeling him get even harder.

Jay curses under his breath, gripping your hips more firmly. No matter how hard he tries to hold back, he can’t, the desire is uncontrollable. He reaches between you and unzips his pants. "Fine, but you’re going to behave." He frees his hard, throbbing cock and pulls your panties and shorts to the side. This time there is nothing between you — no latex barrier, just him.

You sink down onto him slowly, and the new sensation hits you immediately — it’s different, hotter, more intimate. Every ridge and vein is raw against your walls, the skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver through your entire body and makes you moan as you settle fully onto him. The stretch feels deeper and more overwhelming than ever.

For a moment, it feels perfect — connected, raw.

But then his hands close firmly on your hips, holding you completely still. "Don’t move," he commands, his voice noticeably deeper and rougher. "Stay just like this. No grinding, no whimpering. I’m serious."

His cock pulses hot and heavy inside you, and you can barely focus on what he said. "Jay… oh my God, you feel—"

"I said don’t move," he interrupts, repeating it more harshly this time. His free hand returns to the stack of papers while the other arm stays wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place.

At first, you try to obey — resting your head on his shoulder and breathing deeply every time his cock twitches inside you, but the longer you sit there, the harder it becomes. You let out a soft moan as your hips twitch involuntarily. "Jay… please, just let me move a little bit."

"I told you not to move. Jesus, you’re really pushing it today." The irritation is clear in every word now, and his grip on your waist tightens even more. "I have a deadline. I can’t afford to get distracted like this."

Again, you try to stay still — you really do, until frustrated tears prick at your eyes — but your body betrays you with small, involuntary movements of your hips. "I’m sorry… I can’t help it. This is driving me crazy. I need you to move, please."

Jay’s jaw is tense and his breathing comes in heavy bursts — clearly fighting the urge to thrust up into you. "You think I don’t want to? You’re so tight and wet around me right now, but I can’t. I have work to do and you’re not letting me focus." His tone grows even harsher. "Stop squirming. Be a good girl for me and just sit there.”

But you do not listen — you roll your hips again, letting out a moan as he rubs against that sensitive spot inside you. "Jesus Christ. I told you I have work and this is fucking important."

"But I missed you and this is torture. Please, please just fu-"

He cuts you off sharply. "You always miss me, always need something. Kisses, hugs, my cock, my fucking attention. You practically live here now, your things are all over my apartment, you sleep in my bed like it’s yours. Isn’t that enough attention? You know what? I need you to get off so I can actually finish this case."

The words hurt, making your chest tighten — tears of frustration turn into something heavier and spill down your cheeks. "I didn’t mean to be annoying… I just wanted to be close to you."

"Yeah, well, wanting to be close to me doesn’t magically make my deadline disappear. I’m already behind because of distractions like this." His hand on your hip tightens even more, holding you completely still, the pressure bordering on uncomfortable. "You have your own apartment right next door. Just give me a few hours alone, for once."

You stare at him in disbelief at what you just heard. Suddenly the intimate position feels humiliating — the way you are still stretched around him while he looks at you like you are nothing but am annoyance. "You want me to leave? Like this… right now"

"I’m telling you to give me some space." With no patience left, he lifts you off him, leaving you empty and trembling. "Go to your place, take a nap, study, whatever. Just let me work."

You stand there with shaky legs, wiping away your tears, feeling small, vulnerable, and unwanted. With a quiet, trembling breath, you whisper, "…Okay."

It's past 9 PM when Jay finally steps out of his office, having finished dealing with that pile of papers. The silence hangs heavy now, normally you would be humming, curled up on the couch waiting for him, or laughing at something silly on your phone. Without you, the space feels too empty. He had been rude — way too rude — and he sees that now. He owes you an apology, so he walks over to your door, but just as he is about to knock, he notices the door is not fully closed — it’s slightly ajar, allowing him to hear low murmurs of voices.

Frowning, he pushes the door open a little more and steps inside, finding a guy standing right at the entrance to your living room, putting on a jacket. The guy turns at the sound of the door, his expression quickly shifting to surprise. "Ah, hi. You must be Jay. She talks about you a lot."

He looks over the other guy’s shoulder toward the couch where you are sitting with your knees pulled up. The guy cleans his throat, sensing the tension between the two of you. "I was just leaving… It was really nice talking to you." He gives you a small wave. "Text me if you need anything else, okay?"

You smile and wave back. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe."

As Jake heads for the door, Jay blocks his path. "Wait. What exactly were you doing here?"

Jake blinks, surprised by the sudden question. "She seemed pretty down when we texted, so I decided to stop by and check if she was okay. Anyway, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you, man."

He steps aside, letting Jake pass. The door closes behind him, leaving just the two of you in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.

You stand up, hugging yourself. "Jay… what are you doing here?"

The regret he felt for being so harsh with you is quickly replaced by jealousy and irritation. "I came because my place was too quiet without you. I started thinking maybe I was too hard on you earlier, but clearly you didn’t waste any time finding company."

You frown, confused by what he means. "He’s just a friend. I told you about him before, we met during my first week on campus when I accidentally walked into the wrong lecture hall. I was upset after you basically kicked me out, so I texted him. We weren’t doing anything, just talking."

Jay lets out a short, bitter laugh and steps closer. "Talking late at night like it’s a casual visit. You mentioned him before, of course, but I didn’t know you two were close enough for house calls."

The hurt from earlier mixes with frustration now. "You were so rude, Jay. You made me feel like I was an annoying pest who can’t function without your attention. I understand you’re stressed with work, but you didn’t have to push me away and kick me out like that. I felt embarrassed."

He closes even more of the distance between you, standing close enough that you can feel the jealousy radiating off him. "You’re the one who can’t sit still for five minutes without demanding something, climbing into my lap while I’m trying to meet a deadline, whimpering and squirming like a spoiled brat because you ‘missed me’."

You take a step back, but the couch hits the back of your legs. "I just wanted to be close to you."

"But the world doesn’t revolve around your need for attention. I love having you around, but today? You made it impossible for me to concentrate, and the second I ask for a few hours to actually get things done, you run straight to this Jake guy?" Jay doesn’t care that nothing happened — the image of another guy in your space, late at night, while you were upset, makes his blood boil.

"I didn’t run to him! I was crying when he got here and he just listened. Unlike you, who basically told me to leave because I’m too much."

Jay’s laugh is harsh this time, completely humorless. "Too much. Yeah, that’s one way of saying you’re a spoiled brat who demands attention every second, and the moment things get difficult, you replace me with whoever is most convenient."

Neither of you speaks for a long moment. You look away, Jay’s jaw clenches, and soon his gaze drifts from your face to the way you are hugging yourself, then lower, lingering on your bare legs. The jealousy is still burning in his chest, mixed with the memory of you sitting on his cock earlier, demanding attention, all needy.

"Come here," he says, nodding toward the couch.

You hesitate, biting your lip, which makes Jay exhale sharply and close the distance. His hand wraps around your wrist, guiding you toward the couch. "We’re not done talking about this."

He sits on the couch and pulls you closer until you are lying across his lap, your stomach pressed against his thighs. Your shirt has ridden up naturally, but he is not satisfied. "This is in the way." His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down and tossing them aside — leaving your ass completely bare for him.

Jay’s palm rests on one of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh possessively. "You’ve been pushing all day… needing attention, teasing me, and then Jake shows up at your place, and I’m supposed to just swallow that?" His fingers dig harder into the flesh. "You’re mine, and it’s time you learn what happens when you piss me off this much."

His hand makes slow circles over your skin, almost soothing. "How many spanks do you think you deserve for acting like this?"

Your heart races as you try to process his words — head turning slightly to look at him. "What? Are you serious?"

He meets your eyes with a firm, dark expression — one you have never seen from him before. "Very serious. You’ve been spoiled all day, teasing me on purpose. So tell me, how many do you think you deserve?"

You swallow hard, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I don’t know… Five? Maybe?"

Jay lets out a mocking laugh. "Five? That’s way too low, baby. You’re going to take twenty, and you’re going to count each one out loud. If you lose count or mess up, we start over. Understood?"

You hesitate but eventually whisper, "Yes… okay."

"Good girl." His hand lifts and the first spank comes without warning — firm and sharp, the sound echoing through the silence. You jolt, a surprised moan escaping you — heat spreads instantly across your bare skin, the sting stronger than you expected.

"One," you gasp.

He immediately rubs the spot in slow, soothing circles, calming the hot skin where he struck.

"Two," you say after the next spank lands on the other cheek.

Jay keeps a steady rhythm — delivering hard spanks followed by almost tender caresses. Then his fingers slide lower, tracing your wet folds, spreading them teasingly, brushing against your entrance, lightly circling your clit before pulling away.

"What a spoiled little brat," he murmurs during one of the pauses, rubbing your reddened cheeks while two fingers tease your slit again. "You’re already getting so wet… You like this, don’t you?"

You moan instead of answering, which earns you another sharp spank. "Five."

He continues, the spanks leaving marks and building heat across your ass. Now his fingers are dip inside you, moving with slow, shallow thrusts, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot and make you clench around him desperately. But he always pulls back before you can get close to the edge.

"Six… seven… ah!"

By ten, tears prick your eyes, your thighs trembling as the sting turns into a pulsing heat.

Jay pauses longer this time, massaging your sore ass and spreading your cheeks so he can tease your entrance again. "You’re mine. When you need attention that badly, you come to me, even if I’m stressed, even if I tell you to leave." A finger pushes deep inside you, staying there while his thumb brushes your clit.

You lose track amid the overwhelming sensations and he makes you start over, just as he warned. "Back to one." During the restart, two more fingers slide inside you, moving in a torturous rhythm. "You feel how wet you are? This is what happens when you forget who you belong to."

"You’re mine. Your time, your attention, this body. I don’t share it." Spank. Soothe. Tease. "Say it."

"I’m yours," you moan.

"Louder." Another spank.

"I’m yours, Jay!"

When he finally reaches twenty, you are a trembling mess with tears streaming down your face. Jay finally pulls you up and turns you so you are sitting in his lap. His hands stay on your ass, carefully massaging the sore flesh and you press yourself against the hard bulge in his pants, burying your face in his shoulder. "You did so well, my good girl."

Jay lifts your chin, meeting your eyes. For a moment, he just looks at you — really looks at you — taking in your flushed cheeks and tear-streaked face. Then he leans in and kisses you. One hand remains on your sore ass, squeezing gently, while the other slides into your hair. He kisses you like he needs to claim every part of you — hungry, insistent, his tongue tracing your lower lip before sliding inside. You melt into him, moaning against his mouth as you start slowly grinding your hips.

He pulls back just enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot below your ear. "Still so needy… even after all that." Then he kisses you again, deeper and hungrier, tongues sliding together with fervor. The hand on your ass slips between your bodies to tease your wet folds with light circles and shallow dips — keeping you right on the edge.

When he pulls away, a thin string of saliva connects you for a second before breaking. "On your knees, princess."

Obediently, you slide off his lap and kneel between his spread thighs. Jay looks down at you, one hand lazily stroking your hair as he frees himself from his pants — his cock springs out, thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.

"Open. Tongue out," he says, tapping your lower lip with two fingers. You open your mouth and obediently stick your tongue out. He leans forward and spits directly into your mouth. The warm, viscous saliva lands on your tongue, degrading in a way that makes you shiver. "Swallow that first," he instructs. You swallow while keeping your eyes locked on his. He nods with a satisfied hum. "Now show me how sorry you are for pushing me today."

You start with kisses along his length before dragging your tongue from base to tip. Jay groans, his fingers tightening in your hair, but he doesn't force you — not yet. His thickness stretches your lips as you finally take him into your mouth. He is big enough that you can only take about half before he hits the back of your throat. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking what does not fit in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck… that’s it," he murmurs, tilting his head back for a moment before his gaze returns to you. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this. "Look at me while you suck it."

You do, looking up at him with teary eyes, and the sight makes his cock twitch in your mouth. When you pull back to catch your breath, he slaps his cock against your tongue a few times, leaving strings of saliva connecting you, before guiding you back down. "Yeah, just like that… good girl."

Between bobs, when you pull back to breathe, you say breathlessly, "I’m sorry for distracting you and for Jake being here." Then he guides you down again.

Jay’s hips start moving, pushing a little deeper and testing your limits. Tears continue to prick your eyes from the stretch, but you keep going, hollowing your cheeks and moaning around him.

When he finally gets close, Jay’s grip tightens, his thighs tense, and his breathing becomes ragged. "I’m going to come. Don’t waste it, swallow everything." You nod around him, doubling your efforts and with a deep groan, he comes down your throat — thick, hot pulses that you swallow eagerly, not letting a single drop escape.

He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to the tip before it breaks. "Open your mouth. Show me."

You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to prove you swallowed everything. “That’s my good girl.”

He helps you up, pulls you back into his lap, and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hips start moving on their own, pressing against the growing hardness beneath you that makes Jay groan into your mouth, one hand sliding down to grab your bare ass and guide your movements.

"Still not satisfied? Such a greedy little thing." Even though he just came, his cock is already stirring again, hardening beneath you as your wet pussy slides along his length.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. "Jay… I need you so bad."

He answers by kissing you again, but soon pulls back to meet your eyes. "Then take what you want."

You don’t hesitate, not even for a second. Rising on shaky knees, you reach down and align the thick head of his cock against your entrance, and slowly you sink down, gasping at the stretch and every inch that fills you. The lack of a barrier makes him feel impossibly thicker than the last time in his office — hotter, more intimate. The spanked skin of your ass burns as you settle fully against his thighs.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, his head falling back against the couch for a moment as his hands grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you fully impaled on him. "So wet… so fucking tight like this."

You start moving, rolling your hips in a slow, deep rhythm, the angle letting you feel every ridge and vein raw inside you, pulling broken moans from your throat. One of his hands slips under your shirt to caress one tit while the other stays on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh in time with your movements. The mix of pleasure and stinging burn makes everything more intense.

"That’s right," he growls, thrusting up to meet you. "This is what you wanted all day, isn’t it? My attention. My cock." You lean forward, kissing him messily while you bounce, moving your hips faster.

With a low curse, he wraps his arms around you and suddenly flips you, laying you down on the couch cushions, driving him even deeper which pulls a sharp cry from you.

Now he is on top, pinning you beneath him — one of your legs hooked over his shoulder as he starts thrusting into you with deep, powerful strokes — hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt each time and the lack of a condom lets you feel every raw inch.

Clinging to his back, your nails dig in as the pleasure borders on overwhelming. Jay’s face hovers above yours, his hair damp with sweat falling into his eyes. Rhythm falters for a second as he looks at you, something darker flashing across his face, the jealousy from earlier — the image of Jake leaving your apartment — has not disappeared. "Are you on the pill?"

You shake your head, breathless, barely able to form words between moans. "No, I’m not."

He thrusts harder, hitting deep against your cervix as if to emphasize the point. "Good," he growls, eyes locked on yours. "Actually, fucking perfect. Maybe I’ll knock you up tonight, put a baby in you so you won’t even think about another guy like Jake. You’ll stay right here with me, we’ll have a beautiful family, me, you, and our kids. No more distractions."

The words should have shocked you, but in the heat of the moment — with him fucking you raw, his body claiming yours completely — they only send a fresh wave of arousal through you. Moaning loudly, your legs tightening around his waist. "Jay… fuck—"

He groans at your reaction, his hips moving harder. "You like that idea, don’t you? My cum deep inside you, getting you pregnant so everyone knows you’re claimed." One of his hands slides down to press lightly against your stomach, as if he can already imagine it.

The couch creaks beneath you both, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the wet noises of him fucking you filling the room. Jay’s earlier irritation fuels every deep thrust, but so does possessiveness — the need to claim you completely after the stressful day. He presses you deeper into the cushions, his hips moving in a way that grinds against your clit with every stroke.

When you finally come, it is intense — your walls contracting tightly around his cock as you scream his name. Jay follows right after, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot pulses of his cum filling you, thick and warm.

For long minutes, Jay simply holds you — kissing your neck, your jaw, your swollen lips — his cock softening slowly inside you, but as the minutes stretch on, you feel him coming back to life, pulsing against your sensitive walls. "Already?" There is a playful tone in your voice.

"I can’t help it." He moves, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out. You moan at the loss, feeling his cum start to leak out of you, but his hand quickly reaches down to push it back inside you with two fingers. "Don’t waste it."

He leans back on the couch, stroking himself until he is fully hard again. "Turn around. Hands on the backrest."

You obey, your body trembling as you shift position, kneeling on the cushions, gripping the top of the backrest and arching your back slightly while Jay moves behind you, his gaze fixed on the evidence of the earlier spanking — your cheeks still red with visible handprints — as one of his palms smooths reverently over the heated skin before squeezing firmly.

"Fuck, look at this… Still so red from your lesson." His cock brushes against your entrance before he thrusts deep inside you in one powerful stroke, the new position letting him sink even deeper as the head of his cock presses against spots that make your toes curl drawing a loud moan from you while you grip the backrest tighter as he bottoms out.

Jay starts fucking you with firm, powerful thrusts — deep and deliberate, the couch creaking beneath you both — as every thrust makes your sore ass bounce and the red marks darken even more with the impact, his eyes unable to leave them while his thumbs press into the soft flesh, pulling you back onto his cock repeatedly.

"These marks… they look so good on you." Without warning, he lands a hard, stinging spank on your right cheek, the already sensitive skin making you cry out and clench hard around his cock as Jay groans at the sensation, his hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his deep rhythm.

He gives your left cheek another spank, making you writhe and moan again as you push back against him desperately despite the burn — or maybe because of it — the mix of pain and pleasure making you even wetter, the previous creampie turning everything obscenely wet and messy.

"That’s it," he praises, smoothing his hands over the fresh marks he just added. "Squirm for me. I love how sensitive you are right here." He gives you one more spank, lighter this time but still enough to make you shudder, and immediately soothes the area with his hands, massaging the sore flesh while he continues thrusting deep and hard from behind.

Jay leans over you, bracing one hand on the back of the couch beside yours while the other reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit. His chest presses against your back, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks between thrusts. "You’re going to take every drop again, princess. I’m going to give you my babies, keep you so full you won’t even think about anyone else."

When you come again — hard, your vision blurring from the overwhelming sensations — Jay follows right behind, burying himself deep with a groan and flooding you with another load of hot cum. He stays inside you for a long time afterward, thrusting slowly through the aftershocks.

Finally, he pulls out carefully and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back in slow, gentle movements. "You’re a mess, princess. Come on, let me take care of you."

He stands up with you in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns on the shower, adjusts the temperature, and removes the rest of both your clothes before guiding you under the hot spray with him where the water cascades over you both. Jay takes his body wash, lathers it between his hands, and runs them over your skin — being extra careful around your sensitive ass, massaging the foam in light circles that ease some of the sting.

"Maybe I was a little too rough tonight," he says, his hands moving along your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of the many rounds. "Work stress got to me, and then seeing Jake… I took it out on you more than I should have. You handled it really well, but I’m sorry if it was too much."

You lean back against his chest, letting the water rinse off the soap as you tilt your head to look at him. "It hurt… but it also felt good. In a weird way. I just hated feeling like I was bothering you earlier. I didn’t want to annoy you while you were working. I just… missed you a lot."

After rinsing you, he turns off the shower, wraps you in a towel first, then himself and dries you carefully, paying extra attention to your ass and rubbing some soothing lotion he finds in the cabinet. "There. Better?"

"Much better," you admit, reaching up to touch his face. "Thank you for taking care of me like this."

He leans down and kisses your forehead. "You make it easy to want to take care of you." Pulling you closer, his voice shifting to something even calmer and more sincere. "I don’t know what I’d do without you around. I can’t imagine coming home and not having you here like this. You just… fit. Right here with me."

You hug him tightly, burying your face in his chest. "I feel the same. I always want to be close to you because you make everything feel better."

Smiling against your hair, Jay guides you to the bed and pulls the covers back, lying down beside you to pull you close against his chest. One arm wraps around you securely, his hand rests gently on your ass — not squeezing, just warm and protective over the sensitive skin.

You snuggle even closer, your leg draped over his as exhaustion finally takes over completely. "Stay the night?" you ask sleepily.

"Wouldn’t dream of leaving," His fingers trace lazy circles on your back until your breathing evens out and you fall asleep.

Next morning you stir slowly, feeling the pleasant ache in your muscles and Jay’s heavy arm draped over your waist, his body curled protectively against your back. He feels you waking up and trails lazy kisses along your shoulder before moving up the side of your neck. "Good morning, baby," he murmurs, his voice still rough with sleep as his hand slides to your stomach. "Sleep well?"

You turn in his arms, smiling despite the slight soreness when you move, and reach up to brush the messy hair from his forehead. "Yes… thanks to you."

He leans in and kisses you properly — slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes you melt. At this point, he couldn't care less that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet. "You were incredible last night. Let me make it up to you a little more with breakfast."

Jay borrows a pair of your sweatpants that look comically tight on his incredibly nice ass, making you laugh as he models them. In the kitchen, you work side by side like so many mornings before — he cracks eggs for scrambled eggs while you toast bread and slice fruit. Small touches are stolen throughout: a hand on your lower back as he reaches past you, a quick kiss on your temple when you hand him the salt shaker, a playful bump of his hip against yours.

"You’re in a good mood today," you tease, leaning against the counter while he plates the food.

"I can’t help it when I wake up next to you." He sets the plates on the table and pulls you in for another kiss before you both sit down.

After eating, you start getting ready for college and he for the office. Jay kisses you one more time before heading back to his apartment next door to get ready for work. You take a long shower and, once dressed in jeans and a comfortable blouse, you step out into the hallway at the same time he does, looking impeccable in his work clothes.

He quickly pulls you in for a proper goodbye, hands gently cradling your face as he kiss your forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Have a good day at class. Text me when you’re done." With one last soft kiss on your lips, he pulls away with a smile. "See you later, princess."

College passes in a whirlwind of classes and notes, but your mind keeps drifting back to Jay — the way he holds you, the sweet words, the kisses. He has not sent many messages during the day, which is a little unusual, but you figure he must be busy at work.

When you finally get home in the early evening, you step into the elevator and press the button for the third floor. Just before the doors close, a woman you have never seen in the building before enters, but something about her face seems vaguely familiar.

The woman smiles politely as the elevator starts moving. Curiosity gets the better of you and before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Hi… do you live here? I’ve been in the building for about two months and I don’t think I’ve seen you around."

She nods, laughing lightly. "Yes, I do, but I’ve been away on a work trip. I’m a lawyer and a complicated case kept me out of town longer than expected. I actually got back this morning."

"Wow. That sounds intense… By the way, my name is y/n. Nice to meet you."

The woman’s smile widens. "Nice to meet you too. Jay has already told me about you. He’s mentioned his sweet neighbor a few times."

Your heart flutters with joy — Jay talked about you to the neighbors. It feels special, like proof that you are really becoming a bigger part of his life. "He did? That’s nice to hear."

The elevator dings on the third floor and you both step out together. A small flicker of confusion crosses your mind — she is going the same way — but you don’t think much of it. Maybe she lives farther down the hall.

Then you see Jay standing there and your face lights up immediately. He hadn't texted you all day, and seeing him now makes excitement bubble up inside you. You walk toward him with a radiant smile.

At the same moment, the woman also walks straight up to him. When she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him — a deep, familiar, affectionate kiss. Jay’s hands settle on her waist automatically as he eagerly kisses her back.

The world stops.

Your feet freeze mid-step and everything inside you turns cold and numb. It takes a moment for your brain to process what you are seeing, but then the pieces fall into place with painful clarity. That was Jay’s wife. The woman in the Polaroid photo he casually said was his "sister." The late-night calls he claimed were from the office. The feminine body wash he said belonged to his mom. The distant restaurant he took you to on your first date, probably so no one nearby would recognize him. The way the doorman sometimes looked at you with that judgmental expression, like he knew something — he did. All the small inconsistencies you had ignored because you were so blinded by how gentle and attentive he seemed.

Every sweet word, every touch, every promise of "you’re mine" had been built on lies. He was married. His heart already belonged to someone else, and you had been nothing but a convenient distraction from the apartment next door — blind, eager, and so in love with the version of him he showed you that you never saw the truth.

Jay’s eyes meet yours over his wife’s shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, something like panic or guilt flashes across his face. The shock turns into pure pain, making you practically run to your door as you fumble for your keys while hot tears blur your vision.

You lean against the door, sliding down to the floor as sobs begin to escape you. Your chest hurts as if someone had ripped a hole in it. All the cute moments — the kisses, the touches, the date, the bouquet — turn ugly and humiliating in your memory.

You cry hard, knees pulled up to your chest, as disappointment turns into shame for having fallen so completely for the man who made you feel special, desired, and loved… and it was all a lie.

The thin walls allow you to hear muffled voices — his wife asking about his day, the normalcy of their conversation only making everything worse. You press your hands over your ears, trying to block out the sound, but the damage is already done. Your heart is shattered.

The man you had grown so attached to — the one who held you so tenderly after sex, who made you breakfast and promised more comfortable days like that — was someone else’s husband, and you had been the other woman without even knowing it.

​— A lua está linda hoje, né? — Jake disse, olhando para a lua cheia e brilhante no céu. Na varanda, o vento batia e deixava o piso ainda mais gelado onde vocês dois estavam.

Você e Jake tinham uma relacao um tanto quanto engraçada. Sempre foram grudados, do tipo que fazia tudo junto e não se separava por nada — eram literalmente unha e carne. Quando alguém perguntava o que vocês eram, a resposta era sempre a mesma: "Apenas amigos".

​Mas os dois sabiam que isso era uma grande mentira. Nem vocês mesmos acreditavam. Afinal, amigos não fazem o que vocês estão fazendo agora, certo?

A noite estava morna, mas o piso da varanda era frio como lâmina contra sua pele nua. Jake estava atrás de você, seus dedos — longos, grossos, implacáveis — mergulhavam na sua bucetinha carente com uma fome que não conhecia piedade. Cada entrada e saída era um pequeno assassinato: rápido, molhado, obsceno. O som molhado ecoava no silêncio da noite, misturando-se ao vento que bagunçava os cabelos loiros dele.

Você estava de quatro, os joelhos arranhando o chão gelado, as mãos abertas como se pudesse agarrar alguma salvação. Mas não havia. Só ele. Só os dedos dele — dois, três, não importava — que te abriam como se fosse dono daquele corpo. Seu grelinho, duro e pulsante, era esfregado sem dó pelo polegar dele, que desenhava círculos cruéis no ponto mais sensível.

— Não vai me responder, princesa? — a voz dele era um sussurro rouco, mas carregada de veneno doce.

A mão livre dele saiu do seu clitóris e desceu como um raio na sua coxa esquerda. Tapa. A pele ardeu, a marca dos dedos dele florescendo vermelha na carne branca. Você se contorceu, um gemido preso na garganta, o corpo pedindo trégua enquanto a buceta pedia mais.

Era sempre assim. Quando a lua estava cheia e a casa vazia, Jake te chamava. "Vem ver o céu comigo, a lua está maravilhosa", ele dizia. Mas o céu era a última coisa que vocês olhavam. A única coisa que ele admirava era a sua boceta molhada, aberta, brilhando sob a luz prateada.

— J-Jake! — o nome dele escapou como um soluço, sua voz já falhando.

Ele sorriu, um sorriso de predador. A mão dele não parava. Os dedos iam e vinham, um ritmo implacável que te levava à beira do abismo a cada segundo. Sua boceta estava vermelha, inchada, tão sensível que cada toque era uma faca de prazer. Dez minutos. Dez minutos de dedada implacável, e você já era uma bagunça de lágrimas, saliva e tesão.

— C-calma! Espera! — você implorou, apertando o pulso dele com os dedos trêmulos. Uma tentativa ridícula de conter a avalanche.

Jake parou. Mas não por piedade.

— Que porra de esperar, vadia? — a mão dele saiu do seu grelinho e agarrou seus cabelos, puxando sua cabeça para trás com força. Seu pescoço esticou, os olhos encontrando os dele — escuros, famintos, divertidos. — Eu te fiz uma pergunta. Não vai me responder, caralho?

A outra mão dele encontrou seu peito, beliscando o mamilo duro com força suficiente para fazer sua visão embaçar.

— N-não... quero dizer, s-sim, está! — a voz saiu fina, quebrada. A primeira lágrima rolou pelo seu rosto quente.

Jake era maldade pura. Ele amava te ver assim: destruída, burra de tesão, o rostinho sujo de lágrimas e a boceta escorrendo. Ele era grande em tudo — altura, força, e naquela pica grossa que você já sentia pulsar contra a sua coxa. Ele tentava ser cuidadoso, ele jurava que tentava. Mas ver você judiada, com a carinha de quem acabou de ser comida viva? Não tinha preço.

E você? Você reclamava, pedia calma, pedia devagar. Mas seu lado sujo e sádico, aquele que só ele conhecia, amava cada segundo de humilhação.

— É mesmo, linda? Tá bonita a lua? — outro tapa na mesma coxa, no mesmo lugar. A ardência era gostosa. — Sabe o que é mais bonito?

A mão esquerda deslizou pelo seu quadril, levantando sua bunda em direção ao corpo dele. Os dedos da direita aceleraram dentro de você, um pistão molhado que fazia sua boceta cantar.

— Essa sua bucetinha molhada... e esse seu rostinho todo judiado pra mim.

— JAKE! — o grito rasgou a noite quando seu corpo se arquivou. A boca se abriu num "O" perfeito, os olhos reviraram, e a boceta esguichou — um jorro quente que molhou o braço dele, o chão, até o rosto dele. Você se agarrou em nada, as unhas arranhando o piso enquanto soluçava de tesão.

— Caralho, princesa... você tá parecendo uma vadia assim. Esguichando pra todo canto que nem uma putinha.

Ele admirava a cena: você se contorcendo, a bucetinha jorrando, o corpinho todo tremendo. Quando os espasmos finalmente cederam, ele retirou os dedos e soltou seu quadril. Você caiu no chão, um trapo de carne e prazer. O cabelo, antes arrumado, agora colava no rosto suado. Lágrimas e saliva se misturavam. Você soluçava baixinho.

Jake amava isso.

— Caralho, amor... cê fica tão fofinha assim... — ele afastou os fios de cabelo do seu rosto, os olhos percorrendo cada detalhe da sua destruição. — Parece uma puta.

Ele se contrariou, dando dois tapinhas na sua cara — leves, quase carinhosos. Depois agarrou suas bochechas, trazendo seu rosto para perto.

— Abre a boca.

Você obedeceu. A língua para fora, os olhos ainda marejados. Ele cuspiu dentro da sua boca, um fio grosso de saliva que escorreu pela sua língua. O polegar dele empurrou sua língua para baixo, forçando você a engolir.

— Cachorra gostosa.

Ele sorriu, mordendo os lábios carnudos. Depois te puxou para um beijo rápido, molhado, que mais mordeu do que beijou.

— Ikeu... — você gemeu, a manha já voltando à sua voz.

Jake sentiu o pau endurecer ainda mais dentro da calça. Ele queria acabar com você na pica.

— Me chama assim não, princesinha — ele agarrou suas bochechas de novo, mordendo-as de leve, fazendo você rir. — Cê sabe que eu morro de vontade de acabar você na pica quando me chama assim.

— Ikeu? — você inclinou o rostinho judiado, os olhos inocentes como os de um gatinho curioso.

Jake riu, uma risada meiga que contrastava com tudo que ele tinha feito. Ele te cobriu de beijinhos no rosto, na testa, no nariz.

— Deixa eu comer seu cuzinho, deixa? — a voz dele desceu até seu ouvido, a língua lambendo sua orelha, te fazendo arrepiar.

— Ah, não, Jake... dói... — a manha era pura, mas sua mão já descia pelo corpo sarado dele, sentindo os gominhos do abdômen, até chegar na pica dura presa na calça. Você apertou de leve, e ele suspirou.

— Só hoje, amor. Prometo ir com carinho. — ele olhou para seu rosto, o vento frio batendo em vocês. A varanda estava gelada, mas Jake nem ligava. Ele era um tarado ao ar livre.

— Vai arder só um pouquinho... — a mão dele desceu pelo seu corpo, até a bunda gelatinosa, fria do contato com o piso. — Você nem vai sentir.

O indicador dele tocou seu cuzinho enrugado, acariciando a entrada. Era mentira. Você iria sentir sim. Jake tinha vinte centímetros de piroca grossa, um monstro que prometia destruir qualquer buraco.

— Mentiroso... — você se rendeu, não fazendo questão de afastar a mão dele.

Ele enfiou um dedo devagar, sentindo a resistência da sua entradinha apertado. — Vira essa bundinha, vai.

Você obedeceu, virando-se e se apoiando no chão gelado e molhado — molhado do trabalho que sua buceta tinha feito. Se empinou bem, a bunda no ar, oferecendo o cu como um presente. Jake enfiou o dedo de novo, agora com mais força e agilidade. Você gemeu, manhosa.

— Caralho, que bundinha apertada, gatinha.

Ele retirou o dedo, cuspiu no local, e voltou com dois dedos. A lubrificação improvisada fez o movimento deslizar melhor, mas a pressão ainda era intensa.

— Ai, Jake... isso! — você fechou os olhos, se derretendo nas mãos dele.

— Tá gostando? — a voz dele era sarcástica enquanto estapeava sua bunda gorda. O som ecoou na varanda silenciosa. — É claro que tá. Você não passa de uma cadela carente...

Ele se inclinou sobre você, o corpo grande cobrindo o seu, a boca perto do seu ouvido.

— ...não me chama assim! — você protestou, manhosa, mas no fundo amava.

Jake estapeou sua bunda de novo. — Se faz de coitadinha não, cachorra. — Mais um tapa. — Sei bem do que esse corpinho sujo gosta.

Ele retirou os dedos, e você gemeu com o vazio. Mas não durou. A ponta da pica grossa dele pincelou sua entradinha, quente, pulsante.

— Vou comer essa bundinha bem gostosinho...

Sem aviso, ele agarrou seu quadril com força e enfiou a pica gorda e comprida com tudo dentro do seu cuzinho apertado. Você gritou.

— JAKE!!

— Caralho, que cuzinho gostoso... — ele gemeu, passando a mão nos fios loiros que caíam no rosto.

O quadril dele começou a meter sem dó, indo e vindo com força bruta. As bolas dele batiam na sua boceta, um som molhado e estralado que preenchia a varanda. As mãos dele apertavam seu quadril com tanta força que as marcas dos dedos ficariam roxas no dia seguinte.

Você gemia alto, sem vergonha. Suas mãos arranhavam o chão, procurando algo para se segurar. Sua cabeça não raciocinava mais — só existia o quadril de Jake, a piroca dele abrindo seu cuzinho, o prazer que queimava como fogo.

— Jake! Meu Deus! — você exclamou, ofegante, se contorcendo. Negava, se fazia de inocente, mas no fundo amava ter o cuzinho arrombado por ele.

— Tá gostoso, amor? Hm? — ele perguntou, a pica gorda te estrangulando por dentro. A mão dele encheu e meteu outro tapa na sua bunda vermelha. Você gritou, as lágrimas escorrendo novamente, os soluços se misturando aos gemidos.

— T-tão bom! Assim, i-isso! — a voz saiu por um fio, os olhos já nem abriam mais, a visão embaçada pelas lágrimas.

Jake levou uma das mãos do seu quadril até sua boceta sensível. Você tremeu em espasmos quando ele esfregou seu grelinho com força, enquanto a pica continuava te abrindo atrás.

— Jake, é m-muito! — você choramingou, já uma bagunça completa. Em menos de dez minutos, ele te levava ao limite.

— É muito, mas você aguenta, vadia! — a voz dele era rouca, animal. Ele soltou sua boceta e te puxou pela barriga, colando suas costas no peitoral dele. Agora ele podia ver seu rostinho destruído.

— Vira esse rostinho para mim.

Ele agarrou seu rosto, forçando você a olhar para ele. Porra. Você estava um caos: a boca aberta, gemendo e balbuciando palavras aleatórias, os olhos e o nariz vermelhos de tanto chorar, os cabelos grudando no rosto suado. Jake sentiu o pau pulsar dentro de você só de olhar para aquela cara.

— Cê tá acabada, porra... — ele deu um tapa leve no seu rosto, depois levou a mão ao seu couro cabeludo, puxando seus cabelos e inclinando sua cabeça para trás. As bocas se encontraram num beijo bagunçado, molhado, cheio de saliva. Você mal aguentava manter o beijo, babando ele todinho.

Ele separou os lábios e afastou os fios teimosos da sua testa.

— Linda. — sussurrou no seu ouvido, enquanto os braços grandes te abraçavam, segurando seu corpo pequeno. Ele meteu mais rápido, mais forte.

— J-Jake... — você tentou avisar que estava perto, mas a boca mal funcionava.

Sem aviso, você arqueou a coluna, agarrando o ombro e o braço dele, enquanto gemia alto. Gozou pela segunda vez na noite, o cu apertando a rola gorda dele como um torno.

— Caralho, princesa! — ele praguejou quando sentiu o aperto, quase quebrando o pau. — Vou gozar, porra!

O loiro meteu feroz, agarrando seu quadril com força, mordendo os próprios lábios. O orgasmo veio como uma onda.

— Porra, tô gozando, caralho! — ele gemeu, xingando, jogando a cabeça para trás. A gala quentinha encheu você por dentro, jorros grossos que escorreram pelo seu cuzinho arrombado. Seu corpo teve uma série de espasmos enquanto ele te preenchia.

Quando o corpo dele se acalmou, ele tirou o pau mole da sua entradinha. Você caiu no chão, um trapo. Ele abriu sua bundinha com os dedos, admirando o cu todo arrebentado, a porra grossa escorrendo. Ele amava aquela visão.

— Porra, seu cuzinho me apertou tanto que parecia que ia me quebrar. — ele zombou, dando um tapinha na sua bunda.

— Você acabou comigo, Jakey... — você disse, ofegante, a voz marrenta e emburrada. Mal sentia as pernas.

Ele riu, puxando seu corpo mole para os braços fortes. Te abraçou, aquecendo você, deixando um beijinho no topo da sua cabeça.

— Linda. — ele elogiou, e você sorriu, boba.

— Ainda vou colocar um anel no seu dedo, boneca.

Ele disse sem pensar, pelo calor do momento. Mas vocês dois estavam tão desnorteados que deixaram a frase pairar no ar, sem dar importância.

Afinal, vocês eram apenas amigos, certo?

MASTERLIST

Gente... ai, que vergonha. 🕊️💔

Não sou taaaão boa escrevendo histórias com esse tipo de temática, mas resolvi tentar mesmo assim. No fim, gostei bastante do resultado. Ent engulam o Jake loirinho. ☝️

Se vocês gostaram, me deem uma forcinha!

O vento gelado cortava a pele nua dos seus joelhos contra o piso áspero da sacada, mas você não sentia nada além do calor que irradiava do corpo dele. Ajoelhada ali, com as mãos firmes nas coxas musculosas de Nishimura Riki, você sentia o cheiro do tabaco queimando no cigarro esquecido entre os dedos dele, o cheiro da noite, o cheiro dele — suor, almíscar, e alguma coisa adocicada que era só sua.

O cabelo loiro dele se movia com o vento, bagunçado e macio, caindo sobre os olhos escuros que estavam fixos no horizonte, perdidos em algum pensamento distante. Ele parecia calmo, relaxado.

A mão dele deslizou devagar pela sua nuca, os dedos frios roçando a pele quente, antes de se enterrar no seu cabelo, os dedos se espalhando, acariciando. Um toque lento, preguiçoso, cheio de uma ternura que ele nunca colocava nas palavras.

Você inclinou a cabeça e abriu a boca.

O pau dele já estava duro, descansando pesado contra a coxa, e você passou a língua devagar pela lateral, da base até a ponta, sentindo o gosto salgado da pele, o cheiro forte de tabaco e suor que impregnava cada centímetro. Ele não disse nada. Apenas levou o cigarro aos lábios, tragou fundo, e soltou a fumaça devagar, os olhos ainda perdidos no céu escuro.

Você envolveu a glande com os lábios, sugando de leve, a língua brincando no freio, provocando. O pau dele endureceu mais na sua boca, engrossando, crescendo, e você sentiu o peso dele na língua, a veia grossa pulsando contra o céu da boca. Você passou a língua ao redor da cabeça, lambendo a ponta, sentindo o gosto da pré-ejaculação que já começava a vazar — salgada, levemente amarga, quente.

Ele soltou um suspiro baixo, quase perdido no vento, e a mão no seu cabelo apertou de leve, puxando você mais perto.

Você começou a bombear devagar, a cabeça subindo e descendo, os lábios selados apertados ao redor da haste grossa. Sua mão acompanhava o movimento, massageando a base, apertando as bolhas pesadas que descansavam na palma da sua mão, sentindo o peso delas, o calor. O som era obsceno — molhado, rítmico, abafado pelos seus gemidos — mas ele não parecia se importar. Apenas observava, a fumaça escapando lenta pelos lábios entreabertos, os olhos meio cerrados.

— Mais fundo, princesa. — ele murmurou, a voz baixa, quase um sussurro.

Você obedeceu, abrindo a garganta, relaxando os músculos enquanto empurrava a cabeça para frente, sentindo a glande bater no fundo da garganta. O reflexo de ânsia veio imediato, mas você engoliu em seco, forçando, sentindo as lágrimas brotarem nos cantos dos olhos. O pau dele preenchia tudo, esticando sua garganta, e você sentia cada centímetro, cada pulsação, cada veia deslizando contra sua língua.

A mão dele apertou seu cabelo, os dedos se espalhando, acariciando sua nuca com um toque que era quase paternal.

— Boa garota.

Ele tragou de novo, a brasa iluminando o rosto angular por um segundo, e a ponta dos dedos livres deslizou pela sua bochecha, sentindo a umidade, a baba que já escorria pelo seu queixo em fios grossos e brilhantes. Ele passou o polegar devagar, espalhando a saliva, lambendo a ponta do dedo em seguida, provando você.

Você acelerou o ritmo, a boca deslizando rápida, o nariz enterrado nos pelos loiros da base, sentindo o cheiro forte e quente dele. O pau dele preenchia sua boca inteira, esticando seus lábios, e você amava aquilo — amava o gosto, o peso, a forma como ele ocupava cada espaço. Você passou a língua ao redor da haste enquanto subia, lambendo a veia grossa que pulsava, e sugou a glande com força quando chegou ao topo, fazendo um barulho molhado e obsceno.

Ele gemeu baixinho, um som rouco que vibrou no peito dele, e a mão no seu cabelo apertou, puxando você mais fundo de novo.

Ele começou a mover o quadril, estocadas curtas e preguiçosas que acompanhavam o ritmo da sua boca. Nada violento. Apenas o suficiente para mostrar quem estava no controle, para guiar você, para enfiar cada centímetro mais fundo na sua garganta. Você sentiu a glande bater no fundo de novo, e de novo, e de novo, as lágrimas escorrendo, a baba formando uma poça no piso da sacada.

— Tô perto, mô. — ele avisou, a voz baixa, mas com uma ponta de aspereza.

A mão no seu cabelo apertou, puxando você mais fundo, e ele começou a foder sua boca com mais intenção, os quadris empurrando, a glande batendo no fundo da sua garganta a cada estocada. Você engasgou, as lágrimas escorrendo quentes pelo rosto, a baba escorrendo pelo queixo, mas não parou. Não ousou. Você abriu a garganta, relaxou os músculos, e aceitou cada centímetro, sentindo a piroca dele pulsar contra sua língua, sentindo o gosto da pré-ejaculação ficar mais forte, mais salgado.

— Aguenta — ele murmurou, a voz falhando pela primeira vez. — Aguenta, vai.

Ele gozou com um gemido baixo, o corpo tenso, a mão apertando seu cabelo com força enquanto jorrava quente na sua garganta. Você sentiu cada jato — quente, espesso, amargo — descendo pela sua garganta, e você engoliu, engoliu, engoliu, sentindo o gosto se espalhar, sentindo cada pulsação, cada gota. Ele continuou empurrando, esvaziando tudo, até que finalmente parou, o corpo relaxando contra o parapeito.

Ele ficou parado por um momento, a respiração pesada, os olhos fechados. A mão no seu cabelo ainda estava ali, acariciando devagar, os dedos deslizando pelos fios, limpando a baba do seu rosto com um toque suave.

Depois, puxou você para cima, os dedos enganchando no seu queixo, erguendo seu rosto sujo de lágrimas e baba para encontrar os olhos dele.

Ele estava sorrindo. Um sorrisinho safado, de canto, que transformava o rosto calmo em algo brincalhão.

Levou o cigarro aos lábios, tragou fundo, e segurou a fumaça. Depois, aproximou o rosto do seu, os lábios quase roçando os seus, e soprou devagar na sua boca. Você tragou, a fumaça quente preenchendo seus pulmões, e quando soltou, ele estava ainda mais perto.

— Te amo, mô.— ele murmurou, a voz baixa, rouca, quase perdida no vento.

Ele colocou o cigarro entre seus lábios, os dedos roçando sua boca, e então se inclinou para frente, os lábios encontrando os seus num beijo lento, profundo, que sabia a tabaco e a porra e a ele. A língua dele deslizou contra a sua, provando, misturando os sabores, e a mão dele encontrou a sua, os dedos entrelaçando, apertando de leve.

Quando se afastou, o sorriso ainda estava lá, pequeno e safado, enquanto ele pegava o cigarro de volta e tragava mais uma vez, os olhos escuros fixos nos seus.

Ficaram ali, em silêncio, dividindo a fumaça e o calor, enquanto a noite gelada rodopiava ao redor.

Gostou? Da uma forcinha ai ;))

Uma curtida ou uma comentário ja ajuda muito 🫶

The lace of your underwear, chosen specifically because Jungwon's fingers caught on the fabric when he peeled them off your hips, is wound twice around your wrists and knotted tight between them, your palms pressed together in front of you like you're praying. The fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, the delicate scalloped edge digging faintly into the underside of your left wrist every time you shift.

Jungwon is kneeling on the stone floor in front of the slab, and two of his fingers are inside you — moving so slowly you could scream. They push in, curl, drag out. In, curl, drag. The rhythm is agonizing, each stroke precise enough to press right against the spot that makes your thighs tense and your stomach clench, but never fast enough, never hard enough, never enough. His thumb works your clit in tight circles that keep you right at the edge of something without ever letting you fall into it. His other hand grips your thigh, holding you open, thumb pressing into the soft inside of your knee.

"Jungwon, I swear to—ugh, shut the fuck up and do more fucking," you whine, and your voice comes out thin, swallowed almost entirely by the steam and the sound of the water.

He tilts his head. His wet hair falls across his forehead in dark, uneven pieces, and his eyes, sharp and impossibly pleased, lift to meet yours. His fingers don't change pace. They don't even stutter.

"Mm, use that mouth for me, pretty girl. What were you talking to me about last night? The new boutique by the Italian restaurant we always head to?" he coos, voice silky and warm, and the bastard is smiling. A genuine, easy smile, like he's asking you about brunch plans while his fingers are buried inside you.

You open your mouth and every syllable you attempt to form collapses into a moan halfway out because his fingers curl again, pressing against the spot that has your whole body bow forward and your tied hands fall against his shoulder for balance. The lace drags wet against his skin. A sound rips out of you that isn't a word, isn't a name, isn't anything but want, and Jungwon watches it happen with the kind of attention that has your thighs squeezing against his hand.

He beams up at you. "Oh, yes! Wonderful, baby. Very interesting, I'll take you there soon."

You splay your tied hands in protest, shoving weakly at his shoulder, but his fingers continue to go in and out of you with that same unbearable, glacial patience. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit on every downstroke now and your legs are shaking, the warm water running down your thighs mixing with everything else, slicking the stone beneath you. "Fuck, just shut up and eat my pussy."

Jungwon's smile changes. His eyes go dark and warm at the same time, and his tongue drags slow across his bottom lip like he's been waiting for you to say exactly that. He pulls his fingers out of you so slowly you feel every inch of the withdrawal. The loss of them makes you clench around nothing, a whine building in your throat before you can stop it.

"Since you asked so nicely," he murmurs, his voice stripped of that playful lilt. Then his mouth is on you.

His tongue is hot and immediately relentless. He licks a broad, flat stripe from your entrance to your clit, gathering every drop of you. His lips close around your clit and he sucks, gentle at first, then harder, and the noise that leaves your mouth is mortifying and you can’t even bring yourself to care. The water from the rainfall showerhead runs down your stomach and over his jaw, pooling where his mouth meets you, warm rivulets mixing with your wetness and dripping from his chin onto the stone slab beneath you, and the added heat makes every stroke of his tongue feel amplified, filthy, too much.

"Oh—fuck, Jungwon—" Your tied hands drop to his head, fingers tangling into his wet hair and pulling, and he groans against you. The vibration rockets straight through your clit and down into your thighs and you grind forward into his mouth without meaning to, chasing the pressure, and he lets you. He lets you ride his face, his tongue flattening so you can drag yourself against it, and the friction is blinding.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing you, breath hot against your soaked skin. "Yeah, pull my hair. Show me how bad you want it." His tongue drags across his bottom lip, tasting you, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and black. "You're so wet, baby. All over my face. Fuck." He says it like he's savoring it. Then he dives back in, and this time his tongue is pointed and precise, flicking rapidly against your clit before he sucks it into his mouth again, and the rhythm he builds is punishing. His hands grip both your thighs now and he forces them wider, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, forearms flexing, the muscle in his shoulders shifting visibly beneath his wet skin. The strength of him is casual and devastating, like he could keep you spread like this for hours and never tire.

Your head falls back against the wet stone wall. The water hits your chest and throat, runs in hot streams between your breasts, and your hips move on their own, grinding against his mouth, chasing the rhythm his tongue is setting, and every time you get close, every time the heat coils tight and rising in your stomach, every time your thighs start to tense and your breathing goes shallow — he slows down. Eases the pressure. Licks you soft and open-mouthed until the edge recedes and you're left shaking and dripping, the orgasm retreating just out of reach, your body burning with the denial of it.

"Jungwon, I'm going to kill you," you gasp, and your voice cracks, your hands tugging at his hair in frustration.

He laughs against you. The vibration of it hums through your clit, your thighs clench hard around his head and he doesn't even flinch — he just keeps you pinned open with those hands, keeps his mouth exactly where it is, keeps laughing while you writhe. "You're not gonna kill me. You're gonna come on my face. I just want it to feel good when you do. I want you to feel it everywhere."

"It would feel better if you didn't keep stopping—"

His tongue flattens against your clit and he drags it up, slow and firm. Your sentence dissolves into a broken, high sound that echoes off the stone walls. He does it again. Each stroke heavy, his mouth so wet with you. Lewd sounds filling the small glass-walled space wet and rhythmic beneath the drum of the water. Then he pulls back again, just his mouth, just enough, and his fingers find you again, two of them sliding back inside so easily it makes your face burn, your body still so wet and open from his mouth that there's no resistance at all.

"You're so wet, baby. So fucking wet for me." His voice is rough now, the teasing lilt frayed at the edges. He fucks you slowly with his fingers while his thumb rubs your clit in tight, maddening circles, and he watches your face with that dark, hungry focus. "You taste so good. I could do this all night."

"Don't you dare."

"Mm, where’d you get all this attitude from? What's the magic word?"

"Jungwon."

"That's my name, not the magic word." He curls his fingers. Presses up. Your back arches off the stone wall and a sound punches out of you that you've never heard yourself make before, loud enough to cut through the drum of the shower. "There it is. That's what I wanted."

He lowers his mouth again. This time he doesn't stop. His tongue works your clit in tight, wet circles while his fingers fuck into you steadily, angled perfectly, pressing that spot on every stroke until your vision blurs. The edge comes back fast, coiling tight and hot in your stomach, spreading down through your thighs, your toes curling against the wet stone, and this time when you arch toward him he doesn't pull away. He moans against you, low and genuine, like he's the one being touched, like eating you out is getting him off — and maybe it is, you realize, because when you glance down past your tied hands you can see his cock, hard and heavy between his thighs, twitching against nothing every time you clench around his fingers.

"Yeah, fuck—come on my face, you dirty girl," he mutters into you. The words vibrate through your clit, and his fingers thrust deep and curl, and his tongue sucks, and the coil snaps.

Your orgasm hits you so hard your vision whites out for a second. Your thighs clamp around his head, your hands grip his hair so tight your knuckles ache. Your hips jerk against his mouth in uneven, desperate thrusts while the pleasure rolls through you in waves. His tongue works you through it, gentle now, lapping at you while you shake and clench around his fingers, and when you finally still, he presses one last slow, open-mouthed kiss to your clit before pulling back.

He looks wrecked. His lips are glistening, his chin wet with you and the shower water, his hair a mess from your hands, and his chest is heaving, each breath shuddering out of him like it costs him something. His eyes are black. His cock is hard, achingly hard, flushed dark and heavy between his thighs, the tip flushed and leaking, and the sight of him kneeling there, desperate and still holding your thighs open with steady hands, makes something raw and hungry twist in your stomach. He got like this from eating you out. That thought alone makes you throb.

"Get up here," you breathe, and you reach for him with your tied hands, the soaked lace stretching between your wrists. "Come here. Come here."

He rises from the stone floor in one fluid motion, water streaming down his chest and stomach, and you grab his shoulder and pull him in. Your mouth finds his and you kiss him hard, open-mouthed, tasting yourself on his tongue, and he groans into it, his hands bracing on the stone wall on either side of your head. You can feel his cock against your thigh, hot and slick. The fact that he's this hard, this desperate, because he spent the last twenty minutes with his mouth between your legs makes you dizzy.

Your tied hands slide down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, his abs jumping beneath your touch, and you wrap your fingers around him. Both palms press together around his cock, the lace binding tight between your wrists. He's slick with precum and shower water, hot and rigid in your hands. He throbs against your palms when you squeeze gently.

"Oh fuck—" His voice cracks. His forehead drops against yours, his eyes squeezing shut. "Baby, fuck—"

"Feel good?" you murmur against his lips, and you stroke him slowly, both hands working him together, the soaked lace dragging against the sensitive underside of his cock with every movement. His hips thrust into your grip involuntarily, chasing the sensation, and his breathing goes ragged and uneven.

"So good, fuck, you feel so good—" He's whining. His voice pitching up on every exhale, his hands fisting against the stone wall, his abs clenching tight with every stroke of your palms. His cock is throbbing in your hands, and you can feel him getting closer — the way he twitches, the way his thrusts lose rhythm, the way his moans fracture into desperate little gasps.

"Such a good cock, baby," you breathe against his jaw, pressing kisses along his throat where his pulse is hammering. "So thick. You're so hot, Jungwon, you're so fucking hot—got yourself all worked up eating me out, didn't you? Loved it, didn't you? You absolutely loved making me come on your face."

A moan rips out of him, his hips jerk forward hard, fucking into your hands, his cock sliding through your grip slick and fast. "Yes—fuck, yes, I loved it, you taste so good, I love it here, I love—"

You can feel it. He's literally right there. His thighs are trembling, his breathing is gone, his cock is twitching constantly in your hands, and his whole body is coiled tight, seconds from snapping.

You pull your hands away. His hips thrust into empty air and a broken, devastated sound leaves his mouth. Before he can protest, you guide him forward, position him at your entrance — you're so wet, so open from his fingers and his mouth, and the blunt heat of him pressing against you makes your breath catch. You hook your tied hands behind his back and pull him in closer, pull him into you, and he sinks inside in one long, deep thrust that steals the air from both of you.

"Fuck—" Jungwon's voice breaks. His arms give out. His chest hits yours, warm and pressed flat against you, and his face buries into your neck and he shudders so hard you feel it in your teeth. "Oh my—shit, baby, you feel—fuck, you're so—"

He doesn't finish the sentence. His hips pull back and snap forward and the sound that comes out of him is broken and beautiful, his length dragging slow and deep out of you before thrusting back in. He’s thick enough that you feel every inch of the stretch, thick enough that your walls clench around him involuntarily and he groans like he's dying.

"Good boy," you gasp into his ear, and his hips stutter and slam forward harder. "Fuck, you feel so good inside me. Such a good fucking cock, baby. So thick. You're doing so good."

He whines into your neck, thrusting into you deep and hard. The water runs down his back and over your joined bodies and every thrust sends it splattering against the stone floor. His hands find your thighs and he grips them, forces them wider apart, opens you up with that casual strength so he can sink deeper and the new angle makes you cry out, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every thrust now, relentless and deliberate.

"Good boy," you gasp into his ear, and his whole body shudders, his hips slamming forward harder. "Fuck, you feel so good inside me. Such a good fucking cock, baby. So thick. You're doing amazing."

"Jungwon—there, right there, fuck, don't stop—" Your hands drag down his back, the lace catching on his wet skin, your nails scraping red lines into his shoulders. He's pounding into you now, the teasing control from before completely gone, replaced by something raw and hungry.

"I won't stop—I've got you, baby, I've got you—" He pulls back enough to look at you, and his face is devastating. Wet, lips swollen, eyes glassy and dark. His forehead presses to yours and his breath comes in ragged pants against your mouth, his hips never slowing. "Am I doing good? Tell me I'm doing good. I need to hear it."

"Such a good boy," you breathe, and you watch his face crumble with it, watch his eyes squeeze shut and his hips lose their rhythm entirely, thrusting into you deep and uneven. "You feel so fucking good, baby. So good. You're so hot, you're so perfect, you're—fuck—right there, don't stop, harder—"

He fucks into you harder, deeper, his hands gripping your thighs so tight you know there'll be bruises tomorrow, his cock throbbing inside you, and you can feel yourself building again, the edge coming back fast, coiling tight with every thrust, every drag of him against that spot, every desperate whine spilling from his mouth.

"Come inside me," you gasp, and his whole body seizes. "Come on, baby, give it to me, you've been so good—"

"I'm—fuck—I'm gonna—" His voice pitches high and breaks. His hips slam forward one last time, deep, burying himself fully inside you, and he comes with a sound that's barely human. The heat of him filling you pushes you right over the edge and your orgasm crashes through you for the second time, your walls clenching around him, your tied hands gripping his back, your body arching against his.

He keeps thrusting through it, riding out every wave for both of you, his breath hot against your throat. The water drums on. The steam fills the glass-walled space. His hands loosen on your thighs and slide up to cradle your hips, gentle now, and he stays inside you while the aftershocks roll through you both in diminishing tremors.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are soft and hazy and his lips curve into that same easy smile from before. "So," he murmurs, voice hoarse and wrecked. "About that boutique."

You stare at him. Then you laugh and shove his shoulder with your tied hands. "We can talk about that after this."

He presses a slow, soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. He reaches down and tugs at the lace knotted between your wrists, working the wet fabric loose with careful fingers until your hands are free, the skin beneath pink and faintly marked from the pressure. He brings your wrists to his mouth and kisses the inside of each one, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Let me wash your hair," he says quietly, already reaching for the shampoo on the stone ledge, and you lean back against the warm wall and let him, the water cascading over you both, the steam soft and close and safe around you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 : @grdientlips @yejisair777 @kristynaaah @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll @malibluess @stwryun @hooniluhv @rikisn @hazeheart12 @exclipszz @melancholatte @bluepains @gojopolo @jasmineeeee1009 @ming1luvr @ni-k1ttie @enzsstuff01 @sserafimbaby @emvss @simjaeyunslut @luvlyjaemin @kikizzz0 @ilovhoonie @prettygirlthings-world @jaesim @luv4dani @perristar @bkatarina @fialtorelle @slutforaz @adoreade @la-choiblog @hoonieslove @hearts4chosoo @ddcyvn @livonianmaia | send an ask if you’d like to be added ˙𐃷˙

🎹 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ഒ try me by the weeknd

✷ NOTE : thank you all so, so much for reading ! i hope you enjoyed this little world for a while ♡ all of this is purely a work of fiction & doesn’t reflect reality at all . . likes, reblogs, and feedback are deeply cherished and very, very appreciated on here !

RUDE by @ptolemaeiia. I don’t really enjoy social media aus but this one 🤭 contains smut

DIAMONS ON YOUR BACK by @elsietopia 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 contains smut i love this sm

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THE WAY I LOVED YOU @yourtmie angst exes i love this

SUNGHOON

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KISSING STRANGERS by @ptolemaeiia bsf to lovers | you and your best friend sunghoon spend months preparing to move in together as roomates— from furniture shopping to pinterest moodboards, you’ve got it all planned. But when— two weeks before moving in, he starts dating someone— the appartment suddenly feels like a very bad idea… contains smut

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CUCKHOLD JAKE AND HOON by me @cicadarequiem 🤭 smut

STAY INSIDE by @cicadarequiem self indulgent again beware piss kink!

DESPERATE JAKE by me @cicadarequiem desperate jake who misses you sm that he humps on sunghoon’s thigh taboo smut

I WANT BOTH by @ptolemaeiia jungwon x jake x reader threessome

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HEESEUNG

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY by @bxbybluelove-x crying during sex with hee contains smut.

RIDING EVAN by @rihyul contains smut

THE WAY YOU TASTE by @ptolemaeiia Lee Heeseung’s solo debut has allowed him to explore a more mature and intimate artistic direction, leading to a provocative collaboration with you. What begins as manufactured desire slowly turns into something far more dangerous: real intimacy neither of you is willing to name. contains smut

THE MORNING by @wonvelvet in which you, jake’s younger sister, accidentally fall in love with his best friend—lee heeseung contains smut

LACTATION KINK HEADCANONS by @cicadarequiem

OUR LITTLE WEAKNESS by @sangbubble brothers dom!hee & dom!hoon x bestfriend fem!reader contains smut

BONUS SMUT AUDIO 🤭 by @hoonirries He never really liked sex in the car because he found it cramped and stuffy, but one day he was so horny and his dick was almost jumping out while he was driving, he stopped in a secluded place and fucked you hard.

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SOAKED by @wonxee smut + big dick hee

MESSY by @piercedjake im pregnant now

ORAL FIXATION by @liliwolfstar discovering you have an oral fixation

SHY TUTOR HEE by @bambi-hee sub hee 🤭

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JUNGWON

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BABY THATS MINE by @404sheepnotfound Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. contains smut

You stand at the stove. The sizzle of vegetables in the pan fills the air, mingling with the savory aroma of garlic and spices. It’s late, the apartment pleasantly peaceful. You’ve been stirring absentmindedly, lost in the task of cooking after a long day.

The sound of the bathroom door opening reaches your ears, followed by soft footsteps padding across the floor. You’re about to turn when Jungwon’s arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you gently back against his chest. His skin is still warm and slightly damp from the shower, the clean scent of his body wash enveloping you. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply as if he’s been waiting all day for this moment.

“Mmm, what’s for dinner?” he murmurs, his voice low and husky against your ear, lips brushing lightly along your temple. You smile, leaning into his embrace just a little, your free hand resting over one of his on your stomach. “You,” you joke lightly, the word slipping out with a teasing laugh as you tilt your head back toward him.

The effect is immediate.

Jungwon’s breath catches, his body tensing against yours. You feel it ; the subtle shift in his hips, the obvious hardness pressing against the curve of your ass through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. He’s always been like this with you, so responsive to even the smallest touch or the slightest suggestion. A simple joke, your body fitting so perfectly against his, and he’s already half-hard, growing firmer by the second.

“Fuck,” he whispers, a mix of embarrassment and desire thickening his voice. His arms tighten around you, one hand splaying across your abdomen as he rocks forward instinctively, seeking more contact. “You can’t just say that while I’m holding you like this.” His nose burrows deeper into your hair, and you feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the heat radiating from him.

You set the spatula down, turning your head enough to catch his flushed expression from the corner of your eye. His cheeks are tinged pink, eyes half-lidded, that known vulnerability mixed with want making your own pulse quicken. Without letting go, his fingers trace clumsy patterns on your waist, dipping just under the hem of your shirt, as if fighting the urge to go further right there against the counter.

“Dinner can wait,” he adds breathlessly, his erection now fully evident, throbbing gently with each subtle movement. “Unless you really meant that part about me…”

You feel his breath hitch against your neck, his body pressed flush to yours. One of his hands slides up from your waist, cupping your breast firmly through your shirt, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens under his touch. The other hand dips lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties without a second thought. His digits find your folds, stroking gently at first before pressing in, circling your clit and then sliding one finger inside you. He works you patiently, curling his finger just right while his palm grinds against your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second finger joins the first, pumping steadily as your breaths grow sharper. “That’s it,” he murmurs hotly into your hair, squeezing your breast in time with his thrusts. Soon you’re slick and dripping around his fingers, your hips rocking back against him involuntarily.

He spreads your wetness all over your core, coating his fingers thoroughly before pulling them free. The cool air hits your heated skin while he tugs your panties down just enough. You hear the soft rustle of fabric as he frees his cock, already rock-hard and throbbing from earlier. He taps the swollen head against your entrance teasingly ; once, twice ; rubbing it up and down your slit, making you ache with impatience. Then he slips his length along your pussy, gliding through your folds to coat himself in your slickness. The wet, obscene sounds fill the kitchen as he drags his cock back and forth, teasing your clit with every pass. Finally, with a low groan, he lines himself up and thrusts deep into you in a single smooth motion, burying himself to the hilt.

A filthy, wet squelch echoes from where your bodies meet, your arousal making the slide effortless and loud. Jungwon curses under his breath, his grip tightening on your breast as he holds still for a moment, savoring the way you clench around him. “So fucking wet for me,” he whispers, starting to move ; slow, deep thrusts that make that slick sound with every push and pull, his hips snapping forward against your ass while the dinner forgotten on the stove.

You grip the edge of the counter as Jungwon’s thrusts push you forward, your upper body bending over until your chest and arms rest against the cool kitchen surface. The position arches your back perfectly for him, offering deeper access. His hand slides up to press firmly on your lower back, holding you still as he adjusts his stance behind you. With a deep groan, he buries himself as far as possible inside you, his hips flush against your ass. After that, he starts to wiggle them in small circles, grinding deep without pulling out. The motion creates a loud wet noise ; lewd squelching that are filling the silence of the room. Your slickness coats him completely, making the sounds even wetter and lustier.

He chuckles breathlessly, the sound low and teasing against your ear as he leans over you slightly. “Hear that?” he murmurs, amusement coloring his voice even as he keeps wiggling, stirring inside you. “So fucking messy…Does it embarrass you, baby? Or does it turn you on more?”

His hand stays anchored on your lower back, keeping you pinned gently but securely against the counter while he continues those teasing, grinding movements. The wet noises don’t stop ; each wiggle draws out another slick, embarrassing squelch that makes your face heat up. He’s rock-hard and throbbing deep inside, clearly enjoying how your body reacts to him.

You stay bent over the kitchen counter, upper body pressed against the cool surface, ass presented to him. Jungwon’s hand leaves your lower back for a moment, then comes down with a sharp slap on your ass, the sound cracking through the kitchen as your skin stings and flushes under his palm. He groans in satisfaction and starts thrusting again ; deep and slow, dragging his thick length almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt with force. Each thrust makes your body jolt forward against the counter, the squelching sounds returning louder than before. “Fuck, look at you,” he says condescendingly as he keeps that torturously slow pace. “Bent over like a slut, taking me so well. You’re so wet it’s pathetic. I wish you could see how needy you look right now.”

He slaps your ass again, lighter this time, and rubs the spot soothingly as he grinds deep. “Can’t even talk, huh? Just moaning and clenching around me like you’ve never been fucked before.” His tone turns mockingly sweet. “Poor thing’s brain all empty. So cute when you’re this fucked out.”

You try to respond, but only a broken whimper escapes your lips, your fingers gripping the counter edge tighter as another deep thrust knocks the breath out of you. Jungwon chuckles darkly, leaning over you, his chest against your back. He grabs your hip with one hand while the other stays on your lower back, holding you in place. “Use your words, baby,” he coos, slowing his thrusts even more, making sure you feel every inch. “Tell me how it feels. Come on…don’t make me ask twice.”

He punctuates the demand with another firm slap on your ass, waiting with a smug smirk as he stays buried deep inside you. When he pushes himself even deeper, pressing his hips flush against your ass until you feel him bottom out completely. He stays there, buried to the hilt, and starts stirring his hips again in circles, grinding his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. The motion makes your toes curl and pulls another broken moan from your throat. He knows exactly what he’s doing, he loves to stir your slickness with his length.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, voice low and mocking. His hand smooths over the reddened skin of your ass where he slapped you earlier. “I can feel you fluttering around me… greedy little pussy trying to pull me in even deeper.”

He keeps up the stirring, rolling his hips in lazy figure-eights that press right against that perfect spot, making your legs tremble. Then his tone shifts, still condescending but now edged with warning. “Better start using your words, baby,” he says, slowing his movements until he’s barely moving, just keeping himself buried deep and grinding teasingly. “If you don’t say something right now…I’m not letting you cum at all. I’ll keep you right on this edge, stirring your cunt until you’re crying for it, and then I’ll pull out and leave you empty. Understand?”

His fingers dig into your hip as he waits, still buried inside you, the threat hanging in the air while your body clenches desperately around him. “Go on,” he coos, slapping your ass lightly again. “Tell me how my cock feels. Use your words like a big girl.”

You’re trembling against the counter, overwhelmed by the deep grinding and the threat in his voice, when the tears finally spill over. They slip down your cheeks as soft, overwhelmed sobs escape you, your body clenching hard around his cock from the intensity of it all.

Jungwon’s breath catches. You feel his cock twitch and swell even harder inside you, thickening noticeably as your crying seems to turn him on more. “Oh? Now you’re crying?” he mocks, voice echoing in fake sympathy. His hand presses firmer on your lower back, keeping you pinned down as he suddenly starts thrusting harder ; deeper, sharper strokes that make your hips jolt against the counter with every wet slap of skin on skin.

“Big girls don’t cry, baby,” he coos viciously, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. “You’re stronger than that.” He laughs softly as he picks up the pace, fucking you with hard strokes. “Crying only makes me harder, you know that?” He leans over you, lips brushing your ear while his hips snap forward. “Poor thing can’t even handle being stuffed full. But you’re still clenching so tight…you love it, don’t you?”

Another hard thrust rocks through you as fresh tears slide down your face. Jungwon groans in pleasure, clearly enjoying every second of your overwhelmed state. “Go on, keep crying for me. Big girls don’t cry…but it looks like my needy girl does.”