ur the one who lights me☝️🧡

“excuse me?” he gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like you wounded him. “i was incredible. the crowd loved me.” he wobbles a little as he tries to take off his jacket, nearly tripping over his own feet.

you burst into another fit of giggles and reach out to steady him. the second your hands touch his chest, the mood shifts just a little — still playful, but warmer. sunghoon looks down at you with that dazed, lovestruck smile he only ever gives when he’s drunk and completely in love.

“come here, wife,” he murmurs, voice low but cracking with laughter as he pulls you against him. his hands settle on your waist, thumbs rubbing circles over the fabric of your dress.

you tilt your head up and kiss him, both of you smiling too wide for it to be smooth. your teeth clack together awkwardly and that only makes you laugh harder into each other’s mouths.

“we’re terrible at this right now,” you snort, hiding your face in his neck.

“nooo, we’re perfect,” sunghoon insists, swaying with you in the hallway like you’re slow dancing. “best married couple in the world. very sexy. very coordinated.”

he tries to kiss you again but misses your lips and lands on your cheek instead. the two of you dissolve into another round of giggles, clinging to each other so you don’t fall over.

somehow you make it to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. sunghoon’s shirt is half unbuttoned, your dress is unzipped but still hanging onto your shoulders. he backs you up until your knees hit the bed and you both tumble onto the mattress in a messy heap.

“ow— your elbow,” you complain through laughter.

“sorry, baby,” he chuckles, rolling slightly so he’s hovering over you. his hair falls into his eyes as he looks down at you, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol and arousal. “you’re so pretty. how did i get so lucky?”

you reach up and cup his face, pulling him down into another giggly kiss. this one is deeper, sloppier, tongues brushing lazily as your hands roam over his bare chest. sunghoon groans softly into your mouth when your fingers trace down his abs.

“i want you,” he mumbles against your lips, smiling like an idiot. “so bad. been thinking about you in this dress all night.”

“then take it off,” you whisper, biting your lip to stop another giggle.

he struggles adorably with the zipper, cursing under his breath when it gets stuck. “why is this so hard? i’m usually good at this.”

“because you’re drunk, hoonie,” you tease, helping him tug the dress down your body.

the second it’s off, sunghoon’s eyes light up like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“wow,” he breathes, hands sliding over your waist and up to your breasts. “my wife is so hot. how is she real?”

you laugh and pull him back down, kissing him while your legs wrap around his hips. he grinds against you slowly, still wearing his pants, and the friction makes you both moan softly between giggles.

“off,” you demand, tugging at his belt. “pants off. now.”

sunghoon tries to look serious but fails miserably as he sits up and fumbles with his belt. “yes ma’am. anything for my beautiful, drunk wife.”

once he’s finally naked, he crawls back over you, skin warm and flushed. you’re both giggling again as he tries to kiss your neck but keeps missing because he’s swaying.

“stop laughing at me,” he whines playfully, nipping at your collarbone. “i’m trying to be romantic.”

“you’re doing great,” you reassure him, threading your fingers through his hair. “so sexy. very smooth.”

he grins and finally settles between your legs properly. his hand slides down to touch you, fingers gliding through how wet you already are. his eyes widen comically.

“baby… you’re soaked,” he whispers, awed. then he giggles. “did i do that?”

“yes, you idiot,” you laugh, pulling him closer. “now fuck me before we both pass out.”

sunghoon’s cheeks flush even darker at your bold words. he lines himself up and pushes in slowly, both of you moaning at the feeling. he drops his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard.

“fuck… you feel so good,” he groans, hips starting to move in shallow thrusts. “always so perfect for me.”

the sex is messy, uncoordinated, and full of laughter. every time he thrusts too deep and you both wobble, you crack up. when he tries to change positions and nearly falls off the bed, you have to pull him back by his shoulders, giggling the whole time.

“i love you so much,” he keeps murmuring between thrusts, kissing your face all over — your lips, your nose, your eyelids. “my wife. my best friend. i love fucking you.”

“i love you too,” you moan, legs tightening around him. your hands roam his back, nails lightly scratching as pleasure builds despite all the giggles. “harder, hoon— please.”

he tries, really tries, but ends up laughing again when he loses his rhythm. “i’m sorry— i’m so drunk but i still want you so bad.”

you cup his face and kiss him deeply, hips rolling up to meet his. the mood shifts gradually — still giggly and loving, but the pleasure starts taking over. sunghoon’s thrusts become deeper, more purposeful, even as soft chuckles escape between moans.

“right there,” you whimper, eyes fluttering. “feels so good…”

“yeah?” he pants, pressing his forehead to yours so he can look at you. “gonna make my pretty wife cum?”

you nod frantically, and he reaches between you to rub your clit, a little sloppy, but perfect.

your orgasm hits you first — sudden and sweet, making you moan his name as your body tightens around him.

sunghoon follows right after, burying himself deep with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he fills you up. he collapses on top of you, both of you breathing hard and still laughing breathlessly.

“we’re a mess,” you whisper, running your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“the best kind of mess,” he replies, kissing your jaw lazily. he rolls off you but immediately pulls you into his arms, spooning you from behind. his hand rests possessively on your stomach as he nuzzles into your neck.

“best night ever,” he mumbles, already sounding half-asleep. “i love being drunk with you. i love having giggly sex with you. i love being your husband.”

you smile and intertwine your fingers with his. “and i love you more.”

even as sleep starts pulling you under, soft giggles bubble up again when sunghoon sleepily tries to kiss your shoulder and misses. he eventually succeeds, pressing a warm, lazy kiss to your skin.

“round two in the morning?” he whispers.

“only if you’re not hungover,” you tease.

“deal.”

you fall asleep tangled together, bodies warm, hearts full, and the quiet sound of shared laughter still lingering in the air long after the party ended.

© jongst4r, 2026

The club is packed in a semi-calm way. Not overly rowdy with rainbow lights like other clubs. Your ex used to call it “fancy chaos” but you figured that was a lie since he was so good at those. You're looking around as soon as you get in but try not to make it obvious. The app says he's here. He said he'd wear Gucci and you figured he was a showy asshole—that's why you picked him. 

You don't see him by the bar, or the tables, the dance floor is a mess and—

“Looking for me?” You jump, turn fast with a hand over your chest. 

“Jeez—” there he is. Tall enough, Gucci jacket and matching pants. Perfect for the club, perfect for you.  

“Scared you?” You nod, taking a slower breath. “I meant to.” Oh, he's weird? The secret kind that sneaks up on you… you’ve encountered worse. He holds out his hand and you take it slowly. Very slowly. 

“Lee Minho, but you knew that.” He doesn't smile, isn't condescending, just straight to the point. You can work with that. You tell him your name and he hums like he already had your star chart memorized. 

You get right to it after that. “My ex is over there, I was thinking—” he cuts you off, smooth, laces his fingers with yours

“Follow my lead.” 

“Oh… okay.”

He starts leading you across the dance floor, hand warm and it's now that you get to take him in… this man is thick. Chest and thighs and just wow. 

When you get to the bar your ex is flirting with some girl while her boyfriend right beside her, fitting. Minho leans on the bar facing him and turns your back to him, he guides you closer, close enough to look comfortable. Close enough to look taken. 

“If this is going to work you have to look madly in love with me.” He doesn't smile, he smirks, big difference. There's something dark to it. Something that's five steps ahead. 

He's right though. You snap yourself out of staring and smile at him, a real smile. You lean a touch closer, lay your hand closer to his and laugh at nothing at all. 

Lights, camera, action. 

Minho smiles now, perfect and wide and says the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard. 

"You ever think about how fucked we’d be if horses were carnivores?” you lose it, cause he's right and also wow. That laugh is just what he needed, though it is beautifully distracting. Minho looks down the bar and your ex is looking over like he’s trying to figure something out. Good. Minho goes again. 

"Imagine being the first person to see a cow and deciding to drink whatever came out of it.”

You cover your mouth this time, leaning into him. “Ew.” 

“Exactly.” He hums, eyes lighting up a bit. Gosh, you do have a pretty laugh, he's sure he'd recognize it too. “Imagine that. Warm white stuff from under a cow… let me drink it.”

“I mean, it's not too different from other things.” You say it before you can access the sense to stop. Minho's eyebrows raise, his head tilts a bit, and that damned smirk is back. 

“Oh, we're gonna have some fun.” Then he raises his hand for the bartender. “Buckle up, buttercup.”

Your ex sees him raise his hand and his reluctance tells Minho that he figured out it's you. He sends a co-worker over but Minho keeps looking at your ex. “Mm mm.” He motions towards him, smiling. “We want him, right princess?” Minho's hand finds your waist, sweet and warm and a little dizzying. You play along, nodding sweetly. 

“Yeah, he makes my drink perfectly every time. I think it's called—”

“Denial is a river?” Minho suggests smoothly and you have to bite your lip not to laugh. 

“That one, yeah.” The man behind the bar couldn't care less. He calls over your ex and tells him that he'll switch with him. Minho sees the moment your old flame tried to make himself burn bright enough to miss. 

“What can I get you?” His voice makes something happen in your chest. Not good, not anymore. It's more like anxiety. You don't know how but Minho notices, he squeezes your waist just slightly and you look up at him to find him already looking at you. 

“What do you want, baby?” He looks over at your ex. “Give her a second, yeah? She's the cute thoughtful type.” Minho walks you through some drinks options niceeee and slow and affectionate. At one point you find yourself moving in closer. There's something about him that's magnetic, like he's making space for you to slip right into him. 

“Give me something strong.” You look your ex in the eyes when you say it, borrowing some of Minho's courage to throw in a smile too. “Shaken and make it pretty.”

You can see that he has something he'd like to say, maybe ask why you're here or when you moved on. It's been months and he's been with half this damn club, now it's your turn even if it's fake. Minho coos something sweet when you finally order, hand wandering a bit lower on your hip for show… you think.

“I'll make mine simple.” the smile that he gives your ex belongs to an anime villain.  “I'll have a gin martini. Hendrick's if you have it. Stirred for exactly thirty seconds, not shaken. Extra cold. Lemon twist, no olives. In a chilled Nick and Nora glass if possible. If not, a coupe is fine. And could I get a sidecar of sparkling water with a lemon wedge? No seeds with the lemon, please.”

Your throat burns from trying not to laugh. Your ex looks at him and just stares for a second before asking “are you serious?” Minho's smile drops clean off his face, he stares, then asks, “do I look like I'm kidding?”

You're left alone in an instant. He starts making your drinks while you laugh into Minho's chest. 

“What the hell is that order?”

“My usual.” He teases. His hand smooths up your back now and you stand straighter at the feeling “Hm?”

He looks at you like he's actually trying to memorize something. His fingers tickle down your spine and you squirm a bit. “Sensitive?”

You hum a pathetic sound then try to hide it. Minho presses his fingertips a bit firmer, “Cute.” then his hand is gone. You almost protest the absence, almost grab his wrist, but then your drinks arrive. 

Your's first, then his. Neither of you look at your ex anymore. You still feel the ghost of his fingers tickling your spine and Minho's suddenly very interested to see where else makes a pretty girl squirm. 

“Ya’ll got a bathroom?” Minho asks, still looking at you for a lingering second before tilting his head expectantly at your ex. 

“Yeah.” He doesn't say anything else and Minho scoffs. 

“Finish the job, you look like you're quick. C'mon.” You laugh this time. Hard. So hard that you snort. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth and the corner of Minho's mouth turns up just a touch. He likes that more than he expected. 

Your ex hates this, his face says it all. “They're to the right down the hall.”

“Single stalls? One room?”

“Stalls.” he answers, fed up. 

“Am I bothering you?” Minho asks, voice a little meaner now. “Cause I can take my pretty girl to the bathroom and leave you to your lonesome.”

He glares between you and Minho, then again. “No sex allowed in the bathrooms.”

Minho hums, standing straighter with his hand nearly on your ass. “Who said anything about sex?” You're just impressed by how well he's showing off. This is money well spent. Minho fixes his jacket, flashing the Gucci stripes a bit and enjoying your exes glare. “But don't worry, she'll be quick.” You look up at Minho at that one. You'll be quick? Not him? You don't miss that distinction. 

Minho slaps some bills onto the counter and waves your boyfriend off. Once he’s gone he turns back to you, he doesn’t get to say a thing before you bring it up. “I'll be quick?” You turn into him, standing impossibly close now. Minho looks at you, eyes on yours. 

“If you're as sensitive there as you are on your spine, yeah, you will be.” You're sure your neck is starting to flush, ears too. It's hot, maybe it's your drink that you haven't even tried yet. You just need an excuse. 

“What's your plan here?” You bite your lip and Minho's eyes drop to it. He takes a second, just a quick quiet second before cupping your chin and tilting it up a bit. Just a bit. 

“The plan's to make you come.” Yeah. You're definitely flushed. “If that's what you want. I think I can make it worth your money.”

You finally lay a hand on his chest, messing with the buttons on his jacket. “You think you can?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, hums an amused laugh then looks out to the dance floor for a second, just a second. “Don't challenge me, I'll get carried away. 

Your hand slips inside his jacket, so close to the warm skin beneath his shirt. Teasingly close. “Maybe I want you to.” 

That does it. “We're going. Now.” He doesn't have to tell you twice. You let him take your hand again and lead you towards the hall opposite the bathrooms. You look back, confused.

“Where are we going?” He doesn't slow, just calls back an answer. 

“I'm not fucking you in a bathroom.” Aw, he's considerate. 

Minho leads you towards an empty VIP booth with a half cleared table. There's barely a curtain and it's busy enough that none of the drunk partygoers around you would be able to tell that you're ruining your panties. Minho slides in first, guiding you behind him and shifts you onto his lap. There's more than enough room and you're more than comfortable taking up space like this. 

“Be honest.” Minho looks up at you with eyes that shine unfairly bright. “Does this cost extra?” He scoffs, hands smoothing up your waist. He watches his fingers brush over the curves of your dress. 

“I'm not guacamole.” You laugh again, hard just like before. Minho smiles, actually smiles. “That damn laugh.” Then he's kissing you. His mouth seals over yours in a hot wet kiss that makes you moan into him. His hands slot on your waist and yours on his chest. Your hips move in small rocking motions with every kiss. You can't help it. 

Minho breaks the kiss first, laying his forehead against yours while guiding your rocking into full on riding. “Pretty girl.” He situated you so that you're straddling one thigh, hips rocking over the rough denim. Your panties are growing stickier by the second. The pressure feels like sex itself. “Pretty laugh makes me wanna hear her moan.”

“Wanna hear you too.” Minho smiles, kisses you harder just cause that was so damn cute of you.

“We're gonna take care of you tonight, kitten.” Then his hands start guiding firmer. Your sopping core is dragged forward, back, forward. Your panties roll to the side themselves and Minho presses up for perfect pressure. 

You swallow a sound and he squeezes your hip. “Nuh uh.” he starts bouncing his leg a bit, making himself vibrate against you. “Let me hear it, right in my ear, c'mere.” 

You lean close enough for your lips to brush the shell of his ear, close enough to smell his shampoo and cologne—and you moan. Sweet and a little deep and Minho swears it's perfect. 

“Oh, baby.” He guides you faster, your grinding turns into dry humping and moans turn into whines. There's a wet spot on Minho's jeans from his cock leaking through layers of fabric, then another from your flooding cunt. 

“Minho—” that gets a groan from him. His hands cupping your ass now, kneading and squeezing while you whisper and babble against his neck. “I'm gonna cum.” 

He keeps pace, doesn't change it, something your ex could never seem to do. That alone makes you wet his jeans. It's a gush, not squirting but just as messy. Minho fucking loves it. 

“She's so messy.” You pull back and look at him with dazed eyes and wet lips. “Let's see”

His hand finds wet flesh under your dress, swiping his fingers over your clit, then small circles. Your spine bows, hips bare down, still sensitive from your high. You whimper, he hums. 

“Pretty kitty is sensitive, huh?” The tips of his fingers press inside then back. “Can you take two?” You nod before sense can catch up. 

Minho likes that. “Good girl.” Then he's pressing in. His fingers sink deep into gooey flesh and your mouth parts with no sound. It's sensitive. It's tight and burns so good. 

“Minho, m’ gonna make a mess.” He looks at you like he's waiting to be told when he asked. His fingers move once, pull back and sink. 

“Give me something to clean up.” It's over after that. He moves like he wants to see you split in two. 

You're straddling both his thighs now, spread open by him. The squelch your cunt cries out is obscene, so much so, that someone at a neighboring booth looks up to the ceiling like they heard it. You can't help but chuckle, and Minho stops completely. 

“Do that again.” You tilt your head, mutter a small “huh?” But he's already tickling your spine. You yelp and chuckle, nails digging into his shoulder.

Minho's teeth sink into his bottom lip and his fingers curl inside of you, deeper, perfect. “So tight when she laughs.” You're holding on by a thread. Your foreheads on his again, he's talking you through it with sweet names and praise. 

“That’s it, keep it up, baby.”

“Gonna make me cum, looking so pretty...”

“Gimme another one, kitty, c'mon.”

Your orgasm is creeping up on you, each and every methodical curl of his fingers is bringing you closer and closer, you're close, so close.

“Min—” you hide your face in his neck and let out a wet and long moan. Drooling a bit into the collar of his jacket. Minho's fingers keep going, helping you ride it out, but his rhythm falters. His breath catches and he groans something broken deep in his chest. “Did you just…”

His breathing picks up just a touch uneven. You pull back, look down, and both wet spots are spreading. He came in his jeans. Finished untouched. Unreal. Impressive. 

Minho looks up at you, eyelids fluttering like he's still a bit dazed when he says— “kiss me.” 

You do. You meet him in the middle and kiss him softly. Soft enough to hear his slight hum when your warmth settles. “Perfect.” He murmurs then kisses you again. 

“He's” kiss “an” kiss “idiot” 

That makes you chuckle against him, soft and sweet. Minho pulls back then, looking at you for a moment. You’ve cracked him a bit. He blames that laugh. He loves it a little too much for this to be fake. 

“So.” You murmur, rubbing the tip of your nose over his. “Venmo or Zelle?”

Minho hums, face serious, humorless. “Your number.” You lift your brows at him, smile a bit and he gives you that damn smirk. “I'll take that instead."

a/n: I have been soooooo in my head about this series. I hope that you enjoyed!

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Jisoo pried your fingers off and leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Think about it,” she murmured. “You poke the bear,” your stomach twisted not in fear, but anticipation. “He won’t be gentle after that,” she added, standing. “He’ll make sure you learn your lesson.” She walked away, heels clicking like a countdown. You sat frozen, pulse racing, already wondering what color lingerie would drive him insane.

Red. Obviously. If you were going to do this, you were going to commit. The two-piece stared back at you like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment and honestly, so had you. You’d always been too shy to wear it around him, but alone in your room with Jisoo’s encouragement haunting your conscience? Different story. You snapped pictures in the mirror, angling just right, blocking your face like a criminal protecting her identity. Sultry but mysterious. Confident but casual like this wasn’t absolutely terrifying. You changed poses, laughed at yourself, deleted half of them, then sat down on the floor with your legs up, scrolling through your favorites with a grin that felt dangerous. 

You typed the message fast, before doubt could tackle you to the ground. I can’t wait for you to rip this off me tonight. Your finger hesitated for half a second. Then you hit send like you were jumping off a cliff. The phone went face down. Your body buzzed, excitement crawling up your spine as you lay there wondering how long it would take before he saw it. It took two minutes.

Your phone buzzed, the sound sharp and insistent in the quiet of your bedroom. You snatched it up so fast the screen glowed with his name and a simple, tantalizing opener: Oh, love. You bit down on your lip, a smile already tugging at the corners. The little text bubble pulsed, a mischievous ellipsis of promise. Here it comes, you thought, sinking back into the ground. Did you buy that for me? Your breath hitched. A warm, slick heat instantly pooled low in your belly. Damn him for knowing exactly what that question did to you.

Yes, baby. You typed back, the admission feeling like a secret passed in a crowded room. His reply was almost immediate. Now this is a surprise. You waited, holding the phone, the silence stretching just long enough for you to wonder. Then, another buzz. Touch yourself for me. You blinked. A startled, breathy laugh escaped me. What? Did he just…?

What, You sent back, playing dumb, your heart doing a chaotic salsa against your ribs. The next message didn’t hesitate. You know what I mean. Touch yourself. Before you could even process the command, another text lit up the screen, the words bold and utterly shameless. Go sit in front of the mirror. Spread those pretty legs of yours and play with yourself. And make sure you send me the video.

Heat flooded your cheeks, a delicious contradiction to the throbbing ache between your thighs. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered into the empty room, but you were already sitting in front of the mirror. Ridiculous. And utterly, completely perfect. With a carefree shake of your head and a thrill zipping through your veins. Well, if he wanted a show, who was you to deny your favorite audience? 

The phone was a cold and hard in your fist, the only solid thing in a world tilting on its axis. You braced the heel of your foot against the floor, a lone point of stability, and tapped the red record button. The lens focused on the evidence the dark, damp bloom spreading against scarlet lace. Your finger, when it came, was a traitor. It traced the swollen seam of your slit through the soaked fabric, a slow, torturous drag. A full-body shiver racked you, and a moan, raw and helpless, tore from your throat as your head fell back. The lace was a flimsy barrier, a joke. You hooked a thumb into the side, pulling it away, exposing the slick, needy flesh beneath.

The first slide  of your finger inside was a revelation, a stolen gasp. Then another. your body took over, hips lifting off the ground’s cool surface to meet the thrust of your own fingers. The sound was obscene a wet, rhythmic slap that echoed in the tiled room, pornographic and perfect. You fucked yourself with a frantic, building pace, the coil in your gut winding tighter, tighter. The only words your brain could stitch together were a broken mantra. Fuck. Jaehyun. Fuck.

It shattered you. Pleasure erupted, white-hot and vicious, wringing a choked scream from your lungs. your body convulsed around your fingers, waves of sensation pulling you under. For long moments, there was only the ragged sound of your own breathing, sawing in and out of your chest. Trembling, You hit stop. The video was a raw, graphic confession. You sent it without a second thought.

The response was immediate. A photo flooded your screen. The thick, hard line of him straining against the dark wool of his suit pants, the outline unmistakable, demanding. your mouth watered. Beneath it, the text: I’m on my way home. I want you on your knees when I get there. A fresh, dizzying rush of heat pulsed through you. You typed back, your fingers clumsy. Yes, Jaehyun. His reply was instant. Good girl.

You were on your knees, the plush carpet a faint pressure against your skin, when Jaehyun came through the bedroom door. He didn’t pause. Didn’t speak. Time seemed to bend around his entrance, the air cracking with a sudden, static charge. One second you were kneeling, the next his hand was fisted in your hair, wrenching you up to meet him halfway. His kiss wasn’t a greeting, it was a consumption. The taste of him winter mint and pure, unadulterated want flooded your senses as his mouth moved over yours with the desperation of a man starved.

When he broke away, panting, the look in his eyes was feral. All dark pupil, a hunger so profound it stripped everything else away. “Take my belt off,” he growled against your swollen lips, the words a hot, rough command. Your hands flew to his waist, fingers trembling but efficient. You never broke eye contact, that searing tether holding you captive as you found the cold buckle. The leather slid free with a sharp, definitive hiss. Your gaze remained locked on his as you unzipped his pants, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down.

His cock sprang free, heavy and already fully hard, and the flushed tip landed a deliberate, claiming tap against your parted lips. A soft gasp escaped you, your mouth falling open in instinctive invitation. That was all he needed. His grip in your hair tightened to the point of sweet, sharp pain, anchoring you. There was no gentle preamble, no soft, whispering Jaehyun. That man was gone, vanished behind this primal, demanding force. He fed himself into your mouth, not with a thrust, but with a relentless, conquering push, filling you, stretching you. A choked sound vibrated in your throat, and he swallowed it with a dark groan of his own. Then he began to move.

He fucked your mouth with a hard, rough rhythm, his hips pistoling, setting a pace that was merciless and absolute. Each deep drive brushed the back of your throat, each withdrawal a slick, lewd promise of more. Your eyes watered, tears blurring the viciously beautiful sight of him above you, jaw clenched, watching himself disappear between your lips. The sounds were filthy wet, gasping, the soft slap of skin, his ragged curses raining down on you like blessings.

One of your hands clutched at his thigh, the muscle iron-hard beneath your palm, the only anchor in the storm he was wreaking upon you. The other hand, you slipped between your own legs, finding the desperate, throbbing heat there, already soaked. You moaned around him, the vibration pulling a ragged snarl from his chest. “That’s it,” he gritted out, his pace never faltering. “Feel what you do to me. Take it. All of it.” And you did, drowning in the taste of him, the feel of him, the beautiful, brutal ruin of his control as he used your mouth for his pleasure, turning you into nothing but a willing, desperate vessel for his need. And that’s what you wanted.

You pull back, a slow, slick glide that makes his hips jerk, and wrap your fingers around the base of him. You don’t break eye contact, watching his beautiful face fracture as you stroke him slowly, a rough twist of your wrist at the top that pulls a ragged sound from his chest. “Fuck, baby.” His voice is pure gravel, a broken prayer in the dim light. “Jaehyun.” Your own voice is a desperate whine, soaked in need. “Please fuck me.”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it. You see the last thread of his control snap, his pretty eyes going dark and wild. He folds for you, utterly and completely. In one fluid motion, he pulls you to your feet, his hands burning brands on your hips. His thumb hooks into the waistband of those same red lace panties, the ones that started this whole dizzying spiral. His gaze, heavy-lidded and molten, flicks up to yours. “Can I?” he whispers, the question a formality, a dark, sweet courtesy before the storm.

“Yes, baby.” The permission is barely out of your mouth before he obeys the unspoken violence in both of you. A sharp tear of lace, the sound obscene in the quiet room. Then his hands are under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back.

He doesn’t fumble. He reaches between you, his fingers guiding the thick, hot crown of his cock through your drenched folds, notching himself at your entrance. He holds you there, suspended, just for a heartbeat a torturous, perfect pause where you feel every frantic beat of your own heart against his. Then he sinks in. A slow, relentless, claiming slide that steals the air from your lungs. You cry out, a shattered sound, as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly it borders on pain. The moment he’s fully in, a groan rips from him, deep and visceral.

His arm bands around your back, a steel brace, and the hand under your thigh tightens, shifting you just so. And then he moves. He fucks up into you, hard and deep, each powerful drive of his hips punching a gasping moan from your throat. Your hands fly to his neck, clinging to steady yourself against the brutal, perfect rhythm. You meet him thrust for thrust, rocking down onto him, taking him even deeper, chasing the delicious friction that’s already coiling your insides tight. “That’s it,” he grunts against your ear, his breath scalding. “Take it. Fuck yourself on my cock. Just like that.” It’s filthy. It’s perfect. You’re both a mess of skin and sweat and shattered sounds, and you are so, so fucked in the best way possible.

You’re a whimpering, trembling mess on his cock, each raw, deep thrust scraping a broken sound from your throat. “Keep fucking me, baby,” you beg, the words a whining plea, your eyes glazed and unfocused as you look up at him. A dark, breathless laugh rumbles from his chest. “This is what you wanted, huh, baby?” he grunts, the muscles in his arms corded tight as he holds you, drives into you. “All that pretty teasing. Just to get ruined.” “Yes, fuck,” you gasp, arching to take him deeper, a delirious giggle bubbling up. “I wanted you to fuck me crazy.” His smile is a feral, beautiful thing. “Your wish,” he pants, snapping his hips up with a brutal new intensity, “is my fucking command.”

The world dissolves into pure sensation. “Ahh, shit, fuck!” you cry out, the coil inside you pulled impossibly taut. Desperate, you drag yourself up his body, your mouth finding his in a sloppy, frantic kiss. Your hands tighten around his neck, nails biting into his skin, as his arms become iron bands around you, crushing you to him, owning every inch of space between you. The rhythm turns punishing, primal. You can feel the tell-tale, frantic pulse of him deep inside you, the way his control is shattering. He breaks the kiss, his forehead dropping to yours, his breaths ragged gusts against your lips.

“Where…” he pants, the shyness in the question a stark, sweet contrast to the carnal act. “Where should I cum?” You pull back just enough to see the desperate need in his pretty, darkened eyes. Your answer is a low whisper. “In me.” A guttural, shattered “Fuck” is all he manages. His thrusts become erratic, a frantic, deep pounding. “I’m—I’m cumming, baby…” It’s the trigger that snaps your own restraint. “Fuck, me too, shit—” You clench around him, a vicious, pulsing tightness, and the feeling of him surrendering, spilling hot and deep inside you, drags your own climax screaming from your core. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure whites out your vision, your cries muffled against the sweat-slick skin of his shoulder.