KARMA

You can feel his breath fanning against your neck, mirroring yours, deep and ragged with every ounce of self-control quickly draining away. When his nose brushes against your skin, just to inhale more of you— “Chan…” you whimper, your hands moving to push against his chest to create a little more distance, yet he doesn't budge. Not when your arms do not push hard enough to get him away from you, and you realize that he's right. You can run. You could push him away and curse him out and leave this cramped janitor's room and call it a day, and yet… you couldn't. 

You didn't want to.

But the moment your eyes catch the glint from your engagement ring that rests on your finger as your hand stays on his chest, you're suddenly reminded that you're playing a very dangerous game.

You wouldn’t even be here in the first place if you would've just ignored it all—ignored him and the way he quite literally tumbled into the conference room on his first day, fashionably late and interrupting the meeting, all the while sporting a sheepish smile and muttered apologies, disheveled hair, with his tie haphazardly tied around his collar with zero finesse. You could have ignored the way he sat beside you, being the only spot unoccupied, fumbling to fix said tie in a way that made you realize that he has absolutely no idea what he's doing; you just had to butt in and offer to help. And you could have, and most definitely should have, ignored the way your cheeks heated up when your eyes met with his when he thanked you with a dimpled smile, or the way the smell of his perfume still lingered in the air the moment he got up to leave the conference room once the meeting was done. 

But you didn't. 

Instead, you decided to play along, to gamble even though you were sure to lose, just because you thought that everything between the two of you was innocent—or at least, that was what you tried to convince yourself. 

Coy smiles, stolen glances, innocent touches that linger way too long, and jokes that start to blur the lines between humor and flirting—temptation really has a way of luring you into its trap, like a snake that would coil around you, wrapping around you so tightly as it sizes you up before devouring you completely. 

Venom drips from Chan’s fingertips as he tilts your chin up so your eyes look up at him again, tearing your gaze away from the diamond that sits heavily on your finger. 

“I know you want this,” he breathes out. “I know you want me.” Goosebumps break out on your skin when his thumb grazes your lower lip, the gloss sticky under the pad of his finger. “So stop resisting it. Give in.” 

"I… I can’t,” you whisper out. “I’m getting married soon and—” You shake your head as you pull away from his grip, shutting your eyes tightly as the shame and guilt creep up on you. “If Minwon finds out, who knows what will—" 

“If he finds out,” Chan’s words were laced with venom, dripping and intoxicating, the light above the two of you casting a dangerous glint in his eyes. “But you wouldn’t let that happen, won’t you?” He coils a piece of your hair around his finger, the strands gliding against his skin. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin this little piece of paradise between us.” 

Paradise. 

You swore before that there was no harm done, that you were only being friendly to the new guy at work, and the coffee Chan leaves on your desk every Monday and Wednesday morning meant nothing. Or that the lingering touches that he leaves at the small of your back every time he has to squeeze past you in between cubicles during working hours were just a figment of your imagination. You didn’t pay any mind to how, every time you had to work overtime, Chan was always there, more focused on helping you finish your reports instead of focusing on his own tasks, his body towering over yours as he clicked away at your work computer, his cologne filling your senses as he fixed the charts you were stressing over. You tried not to eavesdrop on your coworkers’ conversations in the break room, talking about how Chan was such a good lay and how he was able to draw out orgasm after orgasm just by using his hands and his lips—god, how much of an amazing kisser he is. 

You tried not to think about it while on the train home, especially when you’re in the same space as Chan, offering to ride home with you after work just because he gets off a stop before you. You tried not to think about his hands and how their veins popped out as he gripped the pole beside you, shielding you from the other passengers as the cab got cramped, swallowing the desire brought by curiosity as you remembered your coworker’s conversation. When you got home that night, with your fiancé fast asleep beside you, you tried to forget about Chan’s warmth and how broad he felt behind you, and tried to sleep away the thoughts about what it might be like being under him and how skilled his hands might be and how his lips would feel against yours.  

“You know, I really don’t mind waiting,” he says, tucking the hair behind your ear, fingers grazing your cheeks. His touch scorching your skin. “You can go home with your lover and play house while the fun lasts.” Chan finally cups your cheek, turning your head to face him. “But when you’re with me, we both know that you’re mine.” His lips nearly graze yours, almost touching. “You’ve been mine since the day I laid eyes on you.”

As Chan’s hand travels down to your neck, his fingertips brushing against the thin chain of your necklace, the snake tightens its coil around you, trapping you, his gaze locking you in place. “Say it,” he says, voice controlled but demanding. “Say you’re mine and I'll give you heaven.” Your heart thrums against your chest, desire pooling in your core; the human desire you kept locked up pulls against its restraints. And when he pulls you even closer to him by your necklace, gold twisted in his fingers, the shackles break and set your selfish desires free as he promises, “I might even take you there.” 

Your lips finally crash into his, a raw, desperate moan ripping from your throat as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him in even closer. Chan’s hands greedily roam all over your body, strong hands squeezing your breast and your ass, hiking up your leg to wrap around his hips just so he could press himself against you. Buttons fly in all directions as you claw at his dress shirt, just so you can run your hands across the broad expanse of his chest. And when you pull away, just so you can mark his neck, nipping at his Adam’s apple, your phone rings at your desk. 

Minwon sits alone at a fancy dinner table, wondering if you can still make it to your 8pm dinner reservation.