#trembling

Seungkwan continues his spluttering of ‘100 things Mr. Kim secretly likes’ —which he had facts to prove all of them. “Anyway, I totally think he enjoys a chas-,”

“Miss Y/n, to my office please,” Mr. Kim’s voice rang through the intercom and to your demise of course it was for you. He knew the game he was playing interrupting you during your lunch break, but alas the boss is the boss.

Seungkwan snickered as you packed your lunch into your lunch bag and began heading for Mr. Kim’s massive office. “Well see you later y/n, daddy’s calling!” he said in a shushed voice but loud enough for you to hear it, which was his intention. You shook your head in disbelief at his naughty remark, but didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

As you were walking down the hall towards Mr. Kim’s office it felt like an eternity, the halls were undoubtedly empty—which was odd because the halls were always busy. Was there a meeting going on that you were unaware of?

You arrived at the boss’s door.

The polished brass knob feels cool under your fingertips. You hesitate to just barge in so you take a lighter route instead. You knock, a sharp, insistent tap, tap, tap. The silence that follows stretches on, punctuated only by the hum of the air conditioning. The seconds crawl by, each one a tiny eternity. Finally, the door creaks open just enough to reveal a sliver of Mr. Kim's office.

He's standing there, his white button-down slightly unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest and the glint of a gold pendant nestled against his skin. He smiles, a slow, enigmatic curve of his lips, and says, “Come in.”

You step inside, closing the door behind you. The scent of expensive cologne and leather greets you. Mr. Kim is already moving towards his desk, a massive expanse of dark, polished mahogany. It's flanked by a towering bookshelf, crammed with volumes and trinkets, and a window overlooking the bustling city. He gestures towards the chair opposite his own, the one that faces his marbled desk. You take a seat, smoothing down your skirt as you do.

Mr. Kim leans back in his chair, a sigh escaping him. He stretches his long legs, his tailored trousers clinging to his lean frame. His gaze sweeps over you, holding your eyes for a moment before landing on the notepad nestled in your lap. His eyebrow hikes up, a subtle questioning gesture.

“Upset?”he asks, his voice low and smooth.

You scoff, a small, amused sound. “Never, Mr. Kim. Just a bit concerned as to why you called me up in my lunch break.”

His lips quirk upwards, a playful smirk replacing the previous casualness. “Ah, yes, your lunch break,” he says, leaning forward, his gaze intense. “It’s nice to see you concerned and alerted about me calling you up. It’s flattering to see how important I am to you.”

The air crackles with a potent mix of intrigue and apprehension. The unexpected interruption to your lunch break, Mr. Kim's enigmatic demeanor, and the subtle eroticism clinging to his presence – it's all creating a dizzying cocktail of emotions that you can't quite decipher.

“Maybe sir,” you reply, your voice cool, “but clarity would be even more flattering.”

He nods, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He reaches for a sleek black folder on his desk, flipping it open with a precise snap.

You sit awkwardly on the chair in front of your boss's desk. You can feel your lips becoming dry and you bite down on them nervously. Mr. Kim, a man of considerable power and influence, looks at you intently.

“You know what I like about you?” he asks, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. You raise an eyebrow, curious and a little anxious about where this conversation is going. “What, sir?” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that seems to fill the room. “You respect me, and you trust me,” he says, his gaze never leaving yours. You feel a warmth spread through your body, a sense of pride and accomplishment. You have always strived to be honest and sincere in your work, and it feels good to know that your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

But then, something questionable happens. Mr. Kim gets up slowly from his chair and walks around to your side of the desk. You feel a flutter of fear in your stomach as he bends down slightly and leans in towards you. You can feel his breath on your neck, a warm, comforting sensation that chills you.

“You know, you kind of smell like cherry blossoms,” he says, his voice soft and low. “That's my favorite scent.” He inhales slightly, taking in the aroma, and you can't help but feel a little self-conscious. You wonder what he's thinking, what he's feeling. You have never been this close to him before, and it's both thrilling and terrifying.

He starts rambling about the innocence of the cherry blossom, how it's a symbol of renewal and hope. You listen politely, but you can't help but feel a little annoyed. You didn't come here for a history lesson, you came here for work. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of how to respond.

“What is this about, sir?” you finally ask, your voice steady and firm. You don't want to come across as disrespectful, but you need to know what's going on. Your boss chuckles, a look of amusement on his face.

“Nothing,” he says, straightening up and taking a step back. “ I just missed your company, that's all. You're dismissed. See you at work tomorrow, y/n.”

You let out a sigh of relief, your heart rate slowly returning to normal. You get up from your chair, straightening your skirt and smoothing down your hair. You walk out of the room.

Later that evening you invited Seungkwan over for a drink

You sink deeper into the cushions, letting the soft embrace of the couch swallow you whole. Your legs are sprawled out in front of you, a picture of defeated misery. The air hangs heavy, thick with the residue of your embarrassing encounter. You can't escape the memory of Mr. Kim's amused eyes, his lingering gaze, and the unnerving scent of his cologne that still lingers on your skin. It's like a lingering touch, a reminder of the absurdity of the whole situation.

From the kitchen, you hear the familiar, boisterous laugh of your best friend, Seungkwan. "He really sniffed you?" he says, his voice laced with amusement, as he pulls out a bottle of wine from the fridge.

You groan, burying your face in the plush armrest. "He. Did. Didn't even have anything important to talk about! Just teasing me, basically."

Seungkwan scoffs, his laughter echoing through the apartment. "I told you, he really is into some kinky shit.'

The picture of Mr. Kim, his face inches from yours, his nose practically grazing your neck, flashes before your eyes. You can't help but feel a hintt on embarrassment show on your face.

Seungkwan joins you on the couch, handing you a glass of wine. "I told you, y/n, he's all over you. I don't know why you just won't believe me."

You sigh, closing your eyes, trying to ignore the playful smirk dancing on Seungkwan's lips. He knows you too well, knows how easily you blush, how easily you fall prey to his teasing. But in this case, he's not entirely wrong. There's something undeniably captivating about Mr. Kim, something that makes you feel... seen. You hate to think about it, it's a business relationship after all. You've known Mr. Kim for far too long to fold now. All the girls in the office has fallen to his dangerous looks and you don't want to be one of them, but God. He is...captivating. 

"I bet you he'll have you do all types of pointless errands for him tomorrow just so he can see you overwork," Seungkwan says, raising his glass in a playful toast. "If he doesn't, I'll buy you a meal. Vice versa too."

You crack a slight smirk, a sliver of light breaking through the storm clouds of your sulking. "Deal."

You take a sip of the wine, the bittersweet taste a welcome distraction from the frustrating, yet undeniably intriguing, puzzle that is Mr. Kim. Maybe, just maybe, Seungkwan's right. Maybe Mr. Kim is playing a game, a game he's not entirely sure he wants to win.

You never made such a stupid bet before.

For 1095 days, you have diligently fulfilled your duties as an executive assistant to Mr. Kim, your enigmatic and demanding boss. However, this past week has pushed your patience to its limits.

On Monday, Mr. Kim requested that you fetch him coffee from a quaint shop 13 miles away. Undeterred, you endured the long drive, only to discover that he had changed his mind about the flavor he desired.

Tuesday brought an equally bizarre task. Mr. Kim instructed you to assist him in selecting ties from a renowned department store. As you presented him with carefully curated options, he scoffed at each one, claiming they were 'too conservative' or 'too flamboyant.'

Wednesday's lunch break was anything but restful. Mr. Kim insisted that you join him for lunch at a sprawling golf course restaurant. Despite your protestations that you had already eaten, he refused to take no for an answer.

Thursday's request was the most peculiar yet. Mr. Kim handed you a vial of cherry blossom scent and demanded that you wear it daily. As if he hadn't already known you wear the scent daily already.

By Friday, your patience had snapped. Determined to confront Mr. Kim, you marched into his office with a complaint prepared. However, as you approached his opened door, you noticed something unusual.

He didn't wear his usual suit and tie.

Mr. Kim, the epitome of formality, now stands before you in a remarkable black satin button-up that clings to his muscular frame. The sheen of the fabric accentuates his chiseled features and invites your admiring scrutiny.

A moment of silence hangs in the air as you absorb his unexpected attire. 'Miss?' he inquires, his voice devoid of its usual sharpness, his eyes still gazing out the window at the vibrant cityscape.

Closing the door behind you, you find your voice softening as the words "Mingyu" slip from your lips. A scoff escapes his parted lips. "Are we on a first-name basis now, y/n?" he retorts, his tone laced with a hint of amusement.

Undeterred, you press on, "Sir, I'm tired. I've been making a fool out of myself for a week now. I need to know why."

The window in front of your boss, a man who could only be described as breathtakingly beautiful, frames an idyllic landscape of rolling hills and a cerulean sky. He’s been staring at it for a while now, his face devoid of any emotion, but it's strangely captivating, almost hypnotic. He pulls his gaze away, and your heart skips a beat as those piercing dark eyes land on you.

"Are you saying you can't handle it?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

"Anybody wouldn't be able to handle it," you sputter, feeling your cheeks flush with indignant heat. "It's impossible!"

He cuts you off, his voice now a silken thread of amusement, "But you're not anybody, y/n. You're my assistant."

Your breath hitches. He’s never called you by your name this seriously, not in this tone. He rises from his desk, a tall, imposing figure, and starts to walk towards you. You take a step back, then another, until your back is flush against the cold, unforgiving wall. He’s only a few inches away now, his presence a tangible thing, a magnetic force pulling you in.

"Can I touch you?" he asks, his gaze intense, searching.

You're speechless, your mind struggling to process the situation. "Yes," you manage to squeak out, your voice a mere whisper.

His hands rest on your hips, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist. He closes his eyes, and for a moment, he’s vulnerable, his features softened by a strange sadness.

"It is so hard, so very hard," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "To be around you. It feels like I'm suffocating every time you're in a room. You don't notice it, but you have so much more power than you think."

He releases you, his touch lingering like a phantom sensation. You don't say anything, just stare at him, your mind reeling. You've never seen him like this, so unguarded, so raw. His words, though confusing and unsettling, resonate with a strange truth that lingers in the air between you.

He turns back to his desk, his face composed once again, the vulnerability gone. He sits down, his eyes never meeting yours. "You may leave, miss."

The words hang in the air, a stark contrast to the intimate moment that just transpired. You stand there, frozen, unable to move. You feel like you’ve been caught in the crossfire of an invisible, unyielding force, and you’re left reeling, adrift in the wake of his unspoken words. And as you finally leave the room, the image of his closed eyes, the vulnerability in his tone, it stays with you, a haunting echo in the quiet of your own thoughts.

The clock ticks down to five o'clock, a symphony of relief playing in your ears. Another day of minimal interaction with Mr. Kim. It's been an odd week. He barely acknowledged your presence, his gaze glued to the screen whenever you were around, his fingers flying across the keyboard, an air of stoicism hanging heavy around him. You spent your days meticulously organizing his schedule, fielding calls, and preparing reports, all while feeling like you were working for a ghost.

There were no bizarre requests, no cryptic instructions, no demanding calls. Just a quiet, focused energy that felt strangely unsettling. His usual charisma, the one that made him an intimidating yet magnetic presence, was absent. It was almost as if Mr. Kim had become a stranger in his own suit.

But tonight is different. Tonight is the team dinner, the event you've been dreading for weeks. You always dreaded them, the fake act you have to put on like you actually enjoy 'company culture' and boring talks about office gossip. But it also means spending the evening with Mr. Kim, and the idea of navigating his current quiet gloominess fills you with a sense of unease.

You finally reach home, the apartment buzzing with a familiar quiet. You rush to the bathroom, your mind already formulating your outfit. A sharp pencil skirt paired with a flattering blouse, a splash of red lipstick and a touch of eyeliner. You want to look professional, but also subtly alluring, in case this dinner turns out to be more than just a team gathering.

You dial Seungkwan's number, your best friend and confidante, the only one who truly understands the strange dynamics of your office life.

"You won't believe this week," you say, your voice laced with amusement. "Mr. Kim has been, well, completely…off."

"Off?" Seungkwan asks, his voice tinged with curiosity. "Like, off in a good way or off in a bad way?"

"Bad," you reply. "He's been practically invisible. He barely looked at me, and I had to decipher his every word like it was a secret code."

"Maybe he's heartbroken?" Seungkwan suggests, a mischievous lilt in his voice. "Didn't want you to see him like that."

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "He has an odd way of expressing his feelings, that's for sure."

Seungkwan bursts into laughter. "Just be cautious tonight, okay? I'm so sorry I can't accompany you. The team dinner would be so boring without my jokes."

"Don't worry," you chuckle, slipping on the skirt. "I'll make sure to hold my own."

"And don't think I forgot about that meal you owe me," Seungkwan chimes in, a playful reminder of the deal you made weeks ago.

"I'll never forget," you reply, your laughter echoing through the room. "See you next week, Seungkwan."

You finished up your last small touches to your outfit and leave for the door. The drive was quite and only a little long.

The valet, his eyes bright and eager, takes your keys with a practiced flourish. You watch him drive your car away, its taillights disappearing into the night, and feel a slight pang of anxiety. You're not used to this kind of luxury, even if it's just for tonight. This place, with its ornate facade and gleaming entrance, feels like it belongs in a movie.

The inside is even more impressive. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and something else, a mixture of rich desserts and the salty tang of expertly prepared food. A symphony of clinking glasses, hushed conversations, and the bustling of waiters and waitresses in crisp white uniforms creates a whirlwind of activity. You take a deep breath, the scent of the restaurant clinging to you like a second skin.

Your eyes scan the room, landing on a table tucked into a corner. You recognize Mr. Kim, your boss, sitting with the rest of the team. He's a figure of stoicism, his face emotionless, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as you approach. You raise a hand in a small wave, and he nods back, his expression unchanged.

As you reach the table, your coworkers erupt in a flurry of greetings. "There she is!' exclaims a female coworker, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling. "Finally! We were starting to think you'd forgotten about us."

The air around the table is thick with the aroma of wine and the unspoken energy of a relaxed work gathering. You can tell they've already loosened up, but you find yourself holding back, still feeling the invisible pressure of Mr. Kim's presence.

"Sorry I'm late," you say, your voice a little quieter than usual.

"Don't worry, we just got here ourselves," another coworker says, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile. 'Just in time for the second round." He winks, gesturing towards the half-empty wine glasses in front of everyone.

You take a seat, the plush leather of the chair sinking under your weight. The air around you thrumming with the energy of the evening, the lingering scent of the opulent restaurant tickling your nostrils. You're suddenly aware of your own nervousness, but you try to relax, to let yourself become part of the scene. Tonight is about letting loose, about enjoying the moment. After all, this is a night for celebrating.

~

The laughter and chatter of your coworkers buzzed around you, blending with the clinking of glasses and the cheerful chatter of the restaurant. The glow of the candlelight on the table made everything seem a little more magical, a little more fun. You took another swig of your wine, the sweet, fruity notes warming your throat as you let out a satisfied sigh.

But somewhere between that sigh and the next sip, a dull ache began to throb behind your eyes. Slowly, it blossomed into a throbbing headache, an unwelcome guest in your buzzed head. You placed a hand on your forehead, a desperate attempt to cool the building pressure.

Across the table, Mr. Kim had been observing you, a silent, observant entity throughout the evening. He saw you press your hand against your forehead and chuckled lightly, the sound echoing in the bustling restaurant.

"Mr. Kim, did you not drink?" you slurred, your voice surprisingly clear despite the fog in your mind.

He chuckled again, a deep, warm sound that sent a tremor through your already unsteady senses. "I did, darling" he said, his tone laced with a drug it seems. "I just handle my drinks a whole lot better than you."

The word 'darling' hung in the air, a strange, unfamiliar word that hung in your ears like a foreign song. You gasped, a small, startled sound that drew the attention of your coworkers. Were you hearing things? Or was it the wine finally taking hold?

Mr. Kim, in a swift, elegant motion, stood up, his jacket swinging over his shoulders as he smiled at the table. "Thank you for tonight, everyone," he said. "Enjoy your weekend off. I'll be seeing Miss Y/n home."

'He is?' you thought, a flash of surprise jolting you back to reality. You were no longer sure if you'd actually spoken those words out loud, but Mr. Kim ignored your internal monologue, his gaze fixed solely on you.

He reached across the table, his fingers lightly, yet firmly, wrapping around yours. It was a dominant gesture, a subtle command, and you found yourself rising from your chair without protest. He guided you out of the restaurant, the cool night air a welcome relief from the thick scent of alcohol and boisterous laughter.

'Sorry,' he said, the air thick with a strange tension that you couldn't quite place. "But is it okay if you go home with me tonight, Y/n?"

You couldn't deny the kindness in his gesture, especially after a week of his cold, guarded demeanor. You chuckled, the sound surprisingly steady despite your head spinning. "Lead the way, sir," you said, the 'sir' dripping with a condescending tone that even you couldn't ignore. But you were drunk, and you were tired, and right now, the prospect of escaping the restaurant and the growing headache was more appealing than anything else.

If you ever imagined what Mr. Kim's house looked like, which you did imagine before, it surpassed all your expectations.

You never took him as a man who appreciated the palettes of green and brown- which is what his house was draped in. Plants on the floors and pretty little shelves.

As the world sways gently around you, you find yourself stumbling through Mr. Kim's luxurious house. His warm hand guides you towards the plush bed, its soft sheets beckoning you to surrender to their embrace.

With a flick of your hand, your shoes tumble into a corner before you gracefully sink onto the mattress. A low, raspy voice murmurs beside you, "Now that we're in my home, drop the title Mr. Kim—I'm just Mingyu here."

A playful smile curls your lips. "Sure, Mingyu," you tease, your voice laced with a hint of flirtation. His lips form a mischievous smirk as he senses the compliment hidden within your words. He urges you to lie down while he disappears into the shadows of another room.

Alone in his lair, you gaze around in awe. The spacious living chamber exudes elegance and sophistication. Paintings adorn the walls, paying homage to his artistic sensibilities. Lush plants bring a touch of nature's vibrancy to the space, creating a serene ambiance. In the corner, a vintage record player spins, filling the air with soulful jazz.

Mingyu's return brings with him two exquisite china teacups, each filled with his 'famous hangover tea'—a quick fix to alleviate the throbbing in your head. As you sit up, he hands you a cup, and you sip the warm liquid, a gentle hum escaping your lips.

"Good, right?" he inquires, his eyes twinkling with amusement. You hesitate, not wanting to give him too much credit. "It's...digestible," you reply, your voice slightly slurred.

A hearty laugh erupts from Mingyu, breaking the tension. "You tease me, Y/N," he says, his voice husky and filled with a hint of affection.

His sheets. It's warm under your thighs, a stark contrast to the cool ceramic of the teacup in your hands. Mingyu's tea, a delicate blend of chamomile and lavender, is sweet and comforting. You take a sip, savoring the floral notes as you watch him. He's moving around his room like a restless spirit, his long limbs a blur of movement as he tends to the plants tucked onto the shelves. Each shelf is a miniature oasis, overflowing with vibrant greenery and delicate blooms.

He's humming a soft melody under his breath, a habit you've noticed he does when he's trying to keep his emotions in check. The gentle hum only accentuates the silence that has hung heavy between you this week. The unspoken tension between you has a physical weight, a suffocating blanket you've been struggling to breathe under.

Taking another sip of your tea, you finally muster the courage to speak. "Mingyu," you say softly, your voice breaking the silence like a fragile twig snapping in the forest. "Can you tell me why you've been so cold towards me this week?"

He turns, the hum dying on his lips. He takes a long, slow sip from his own cup, then continues to fuss with a delicate pink orchid, a tiny smile playing on his lips. "I was scared,” he says, his voice low and barely audible.

The word hangs in the air, heavy and unexpected. You press, "Scared of what?"

He sighs, a deep, melancholic sound that echoes in the silence. "Rejection."

The confession hits you like a physical blow. Rejection? It’s so out of character, so unlike the confident Mingyu you know. Your eyes widen, as if he wasn't already full of surprises.

"I don't understand—" you begin, but he cuts you off. "Then let me make you understand, love."

'Love'. You aren't sure if he's calling you 'love' or expressing his own love for you. Either way, the air suddenly feels charged, thick with unspoken emotions. The room is hot now, a feverish heat that rises from the pit of your stomach.

You rise from the bed, placing the teacup on the dresser. He turns his body towards you, his gaze unwavering. His puppy dog eyes gleam with a vulnerability you've seen once before, on that day. "Y/n, you are the most magnetic person ever, it's so annoying. It threatens my character." He leans closer, his voice a soft murmur. "It's unprofessional. But if being drunk in your presence is unprofessional, consider me unethical."

Your mind races, trying to catch up with his whirlwind of emotions. There are no words to express the jumble of feelings swirling inside you. You can feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes scan your face, lingering on your lips.

"Kiss me," you say, your voice startling him.

"What?" he asks, his eyebrow raised in disbelief.

You repeat, your voice gaining confidence. "I said kiss me, Mingyu."

He doesn't hesitate. Large hands cup your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek as he leans closer. His lips are soft, warm, and possessive, a delicious invasion of your senses. He gently pushes you back against the dresser, allowing you to sit on it, but not letting you break the kiss. He rests himself between your parted legs, the pressure of his body against yours sending a shiver down your spine.

His kiss moves from your lips, to your cheeks, to your jaw, finally settling on your neck. A silent symphony of unspoken emotions, played out on your skin. You're lost, completely lost in the moment, in the heat of your lips against his, in the intoxicating warmth of his touch. You haven't felt this alive, this fully present, in a long time.

As you stand before the full-length mirror, your heart races with anticipation. Mingyu stands behind you, his warm breath tickling your neck as his lips graze your sensitive skin. His hands rest gently on your hips, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

You feel his lips curve into a smile against your neck as he whispers, "Can I undress you, gorgeous?"

The words send a thrill through you, and you find yourself responding with a soft, "Please."

Mingyu's laugh vibrates against your skin, and you feel his fingers working quickly to undo the buttons of your blouse. His movements are swift and confident, and before you know it, your blouse is lying crumpled on the floor somewhere in the room.

He slips your skirt off next, his fingers skimming your legs as he tosses it aside. You stand before him, wearing only your lacy underwear, feeling vulnerable and exposed but also incredibly desired.

Mingyu's eyes rake over your body, taking in every curve and line. He unbuttons his own shirt, his movements slow and deliberate. The look in his eyes is intense, and you can tell he's thinking about what he wants to do to you next.

Once his shirt is off, he gets down on his knees, looking up at you sitting on the dresser endearingly. You can't help but feel a little self-conscious, but the look in his eyes tells you that he finds you beautiful.

He waits for a small nod from you before he moves closer, his face meeting with your clothed vagina. You feel his lips brush against the lace, and the sensation sends a tickle through you.

Following the kiss comes a rubbing of his tongue against the lace, and you can't help but arch into the feeling. One of his large hands finds yours, and he intertwines his fingers with yours in a beautiful way.

His other hand doesn't discard your underwear but simply pushes them to the side, revealing your wet private area. You feel a little exposed, but the look in Mingyu's eyes tells you that he approves of what he sees.

He murmurs something against your skin, but you cannot make out the words. You only know that it sounds like a prayer, a praise, a worship of your body.

"You're so fucking-" he starts to say, but stops himself. Looking down at him, your eyes filled with questions. You cup his face in your free hand, forcing him to look at you.

"Im yours, Mr. Kim," you whisper, your voice husky with lust. His eyes widen at your words, his mouth slowly going agape at the remark. But soon, he regains his composure, his lips curling into a smirk.

He leans in again, you gasp as he reaches your most intimate place, his tongue gently licking the substance that coats your skin. A groan escapes his body, a small 'fuck' that you would not be able to hear if you were not concentrating.

He continues to lick and suck, his movements slow and deliberate. 

Before he let it go on for too long, he stopped. He started to kiss up your thigh and pull the hand of yours he was holding to rest against his cheeks. His eyes fluttered closed and he gently said "The night is still young, do you know the things we could do?"

Your eyebrow perks up at his question, "I'm sure I do."

"Then what do you want, love," he looked up at you, eyes full of dreams and hopes--but dirty hopes it seems.

You’ve had enough of the chit-chat, it’s time to take matters into your own hands.

“Too many questions, just get up and kiss me,” you declare, your voice steady and confident. Mingyu’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate to comply. He gets off of his knees, but not before placing himself in between your legs. His hands find their way to your hair, gripping tightly and tugging playfully. You let out a gasp as his tongue invades your mouth, sweeping against your own with a practiced ease. You can’t help but submit to the sensations coursing through your body, your hands roaming over his bare chest, observing every ab and crease.

The kiss continues for what feels like an eternity, but is really only a minute or two. Mingyu abruptly breaks away, his breath hot against your skin. Before you can even react, he scoops you up effortlessly, your legs reflexively wrapping around his waist. You don’t have to travel far, as Mingyu presses your back against the wall, his lips finding your neck with unmatched precision. He peppers kisses along your jawline, biting here and there, leaving behind a trail of fire.

You let out a breathy sigh as his lips find that sweet spot on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. You can’t help but arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him. Mingyu pauses for a moment, his lips hovering inches from your skin.

“How’s this position?” he asks, his voice low and husky. You can’t help but smile, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

“Perfect, Mr. Kim,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You could get used to this, having Mingyu worship your body like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

Mingyu's muscular arms hold you in place. His piercing gaze never leaves yours as he fiddles with his belt buckle, the sound of his expensive dress pants unzipping filling the room. With a swift kick, his pants are sent flying somewhere in the room, followed by his boxers.

Your heart races as you take in the sight of him, fully exposed and ready for you. You spit into one of your hands, watching as it lands on his dick. You waste no time, starting to stroke him, feeling him curse with pleasure. He thrusts into your hand, his movements becoming more urgent with each pass. You can see the frustration in his eyes, the desire to be inside of you becoming almost unbearable. "Can I go in?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You answer by giving him a little peck on the lips, whispering a soft 'yes' in his ear. His face lights up, a child-like smile spreading across his face. But the smile quickly fades, replaced by a dark and dangerous look. Without warning, he slides himself into you, filling you up completely. You can feel every vein in his dick, the curve he has, and almost every inch of him. He connects his forehead with yours, the two of you letting your breath mix in as the rhythmic thrusts become a pattern.