[touch-craved.]

"I've been thinking about this pussy all night," he murmurs, voice low, fingers tracing lazy circles up your inner thighs. The rough calluses from his dance practice scrape lightly against your skin, sending sparks straight to your core.

You arch your back, letting his button-down fall open, panties already soaked through. He doesn't rush. Instead, he hooks his fingers into the lace waistband and drags them down slowly, the fabric peeling away slowly from your arousal. Cool air hits your exposed folds, making your clit throb in anticipation.

He spreads your thighs wider with his palms, thumbs parting your outer lips to expose your swollen clit and your glistening entrance beneath.

"Look at that," he groans, saliva pooling in his mouth. Without warning, his tongue flattens and laps upward in one long, deliberate stroke from your entrance to your clit. The wet heat of it makes your hips buck, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. He chuckles against you, the vibration humming through your nerves. "Sensitive already? We're just getting started."

Yunho dives in like a man starved. His lips seal around your clit, sucking with firm, pulsing pressure while his tongue flicks your clit in rapid circles. You thread your fingers into his soft hair, tugging as pleasure coils tight in your belly.

He moans into you, the sound muffled but filthy, sending vibrations deep inside. One hand slides up your body to pinch your nipple through your thin bra, rolling the hard peak between his fingers. Your pussy weeps onto his chin, the obscene slurping noises filling the room as he drinks you down.

Your first orgasm builds fast, too fast.

"Yunho, oh god, I'm—"

Words cut off into a whine as he doubles down, tongue spearing into your hole while his nose grinds against your clit. Your walls flutter, then clamp, release crashing over you in waves as he laps it up greedily, humming his approval.

"That's it, baby. Give me your first one. Tastes so fucking good."

But he doesn't stop. You twitch, oversensitive, trying to close your legs, but his strong hands pin your thighs open.

"No, no. Stay still. I want more." His voice is wrecked, lips shiny with your juices. He alternates now, slow, teasing licks along your inner folds, tracing every ridge and valley, then sudden suction on your clit that makes your back arch off the bed. Your breaths come in pants, clit pulsing under the assault. The wet squelch of his tongue licking deep intensifies.

Sweat beads on your skin, sheets tangling under your writhing body. "Yunho, it's too much! Fuck, I can't."

A lie. You can. He knows it.

"Don't be silly, baby. I know you can take more," he smirks form between your legs.

His free hand slips two long fingers inside you, curling right against that spongy spot on your front wall. He crooks them rhythmically, stroking while his mouth works your clit like it's his favourite toy. The stretch burns so good, your pussy sucking him in, dripping down his knuckles.

Your second orgasm hits harder, ripping a scream from your throat. Your thighs quake around his head, heels digging into his back. "Please, Yunho!"

Your juices squirt lightly onto his face, and he groans like it's the best thing he's ever tasted, swallowing every drop. He pulls back just enough to admire his work—your pussy puffy, red, gaping slightly around his withdrawing fingers—before diving back in.

"One more. I need you shaking."

Overstimulation sets in like fire. Every lick feels electric, your clit a raw bundle of nerves. You sob, hips grinding up despite yourself, chasing the pain-pleasure edge. His tongue is relentless: flat laps, pointed flicks, lips nibbling your hood. Fingers return—three this time—stretching you wide, knuckles bumping your ass as he finger fucks you deep.

"Gonna cum again," you whine.

He growls his approval, free hand gripping your ass to spread you wider, tongue lashing faster. Your vision whites out. The third climax shatters you, body convulsing, pussy spasming wildly around his fingers. He drinks your nectar, chin dripping, until you're limp, twitching with aftershocks that make you whimper.

Finally, he lifts his head, lips swollen and glistening, eyes feral. "Fuck, you're perfect. My favorite meal."

He crawls up, shedding his shirt to reveal his cock straining against his jeans. But he's not done yet—his mouth hovers over yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you filthy and deep.

"Now it's my turn, baby," Yunho groans.

You nod weakly, spread wide and ready.

Yunho's grin turns predatory as he straightens up between your quivering thighs, his chest heaving. Your pussy throbs visibly, lips flushed deep pink and swollen thick, the inner folds peeking out slick and puffy from his relentless tongue. Every pulse sends a fresh ache through your core, the kind that borders on pain but twists into desperate need. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing your cum across his knuckles, eyes never leaving your wrecked hole.

"Look at this mess," he rasps, voice thick with lust. "All puffy and begging for my cock. You want it, don't you? Even though it'll hurt so good."

You whimper, nodding, your body a live wire. The hotel sheets cling to your sweat-damp skin, the air heavy. Your clit hood feels raw, peeking out and hypersensitive, and just the brush of cool air makes you clench, another dribble of slick leaking onto the mattress. He stands briefly, towering over you, and shucks his jeans in one fluid motion. His cock springs free—heavy, thick, the shaft veined and flushed dark red, curving slightly upward toward a fat, mushroom head already weeping precum in fat beads.

He pumps himself once, twice, fist gliding over the slick skin with a wet schlick, smearing his precum down the length. A low groan rumbles from his chest as he kneels back down, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"Gonna split this swollen little pussy open," he promises, tapping the blunt head against your clit. The contact is lightning—sharp, electric sting blooming from the overstimulated nub. You cry out, hips jerking, but he pins you with one hand splayed across your lower belly, thumb pressing just above your mound to feel your muscles flutter. "Shh, take it. Feel how hard you make me? This cock's been leaking for you all night."

He drags the tip through your folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in your mess. The friction on your puffy lips drags a burn, but it slicks his cock, easing his path. Up and down, he rubs, bumping your clit on every pass until tears prick your eyes, pleasure-pain coiling so tight you can't breathe. Your walls flutter emptily, craving the stretch despite the sensitivity.

"Yunho—please, fuck me," you beg, voice cracking, fingers clawing at his forearms. The veins there bulge under your nails, his skin hot.

"Since you ask so pretty." He notches the head at your entrance, the pressure immediate and immense.

Your pussy resists at first, but he pushes forward with a firm roll of his hips. The crown pops past your entrance with a obscene pop, stretching your walls inch by burning inch. It's too much, the fullness amplified tenfold by your post-orgasm rawness; every ridge of his cock scrapes hypersensitive nerves, sending jolts straight to your spine. You gasp, thighs trembling, heels skidding on the sheets as he sinks deeper.

Halfway in, he pauses, and grinds in shallow circles. "Fuck, so tight. Like a vice. Hear that?"

The wet squelch echoes as he shifts, your arousal forced out around his girth, dripping down to soak his sack. He leans down, broad chest caging you, and captures a nipple between his teeth, biting just hard enough to make you arch. That movement seats him fully, cock bottoming out against your cervix with a dull thud. You're impaled, stuffed to bursting, the pressure on that gummy spot immediate.

He doesn't give you time to adjust. Yunho pulls back slow, the drag of his veined shaft dragging whimpers from your throat. The thrust punches the breath from your lungs, hips snapping forward with dancer's precision. Skin slaps skin, wet and rhythmic, your slick frothing at the base of his cock into a creamy ring.

"Take it. Fuck, yes," he growls, breath hot against your ear. "This pussy was made for my cock. Swallowing me whole even when it's wrecked."

Your mind fractures under the onslaught; thoughts splinter as he sets a brutal pace, long strokes that pull almost out before ramming deep, head battering your deepest walls. Your clit grinds against his pubic bone on every hilt, the friction like fire on raw flesh. Tears spill hot down your temples, mixing with sweat.

"Yunho—it's too much, hurts," you whine, but your hips buck up to meet him, traitorous body chasing the edge.

"Liar," he pants, one hand hooking under your knee to fold you in half, opening you wider. The new angle lets him grind deeper, cockhead kissing your cervix on every plunge. "You're creaming all over me. Love how it hurts, don't you? Cry for me, baby. Show me how good it feels."

His free hand snakes between you, thumb circling your clit in rough swirls. The touch rips a sob from you; it's pure torment, nerves screaming, but your pussy clamps down harder, walls rippling in warning.

The orgasm sneaks up on you like a thief, shattering you from the overload. You wail, back bowing off the bed, nails raking red trails down his back. Fluids gush around him, hot and messy, but he doesn't slow.

"That's it. Making this pussy sob for me," he growls out.

He flips you suddenly, strong arms manhandling you onto your stomach, ass up. The position presses his cock even deeper as he mounts you from behind, one hand fisting your hair to arch your neck.

"Look at this ass," he grunts, palm cracking against one cheek—sharp sting blooming heat. Then he's pounding, hips snapping with piston force, cock spearing your g-spot on every brutal drive. Your swollen lips cling to him visibly when he pulls back, puffy and red, stretched obscenely around his girth. The bedframe creaks, headboard thumping the wall.

Sweat drips from his brow onto your spine, and he slams into you one last time. Yunho stills, his cock twitching as he shoots thick ropes of cum into your oversensitive pussy, filling you full.

You collapse, wrecked and weeping, pussy a throbbing, cum-stuffed ruin—puffy lips gaping around his softening cock, his seed leaking out in creamy rivulets.

The kind of house with imported marble floors, bulletproof windows, and a chandelier so big it had to be lifted through the ceiling by a crane.

A house that’s always too cold, no matter how high the heat is cranked.

One that smells like new money, old power, and perfume that never quite covers up the scent of gun oil.

You’ve had boyfriends. Pretty ones. Popular ones.

Boys who moaned your name against your collarbone and left in the morning with fresh cash in their wallets.

You’ve had parties that roared through the night like war — glitter-stained floors, champagne towers, laughter echoing through halls your parents never walked.

You’ve been touched by a lot of hands.

But never once have you felt truly seen.

Because no one knows the truth. Not your friends, not the girls who call you spoiled, not the men who fall for your curves and your money and your perfectly painted mouth.

They don’t know that your father is a monster in a suit.

That his empire isn’t built on stocks or oil or tech — but blood.

And they don’t know what he did to you when you were twelve.

They don’t know about the night he locked you in the wine cellar for crying in front of his men.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It was cold. You remember that.

You were barefoot, still in your recital dress, sparkly tights torn at the knee from when he shoved you too hard.

He’d grabbed your wrist so hard, there were faint marks blooming beneath the skin — ugly little ghosts of the moment he lost control.

“You embarrassed me,” he’d spat.

His voice was calm. Too calm. The way it always got when something awful was about to happen.

“I said I didn’t want to sing that song—”

“So you disobeyed me. In front of everyone.”

“I’m sorry!”

“You’ll fucking learn.”

Then the door slammed shut, and you screamed.

Your voice echoed down shelves of old liquor and forgotten secrets. He turned the light off before leaving.

You cried until your throat gave out.

You learned something important that night — that you can only scream for so long before you start to go quiet.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’ve never told anyone. Not even your mother.

Especially not your mother.

She was upstairs the whole time, drunk and humming, drowning in a cocktail dress and denial.

Since then, the rules have been simple.

Your father doesn’t care what you do as long as you’re at the top of your class.

Your mother doesn’t ask questions as long as your photos on social media look expensive.

And you? You party. You flirt. You fuck boys when you’re bored.

But you never sleep. Not really.

Not peacefully.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It changes the night your house gets raided.

It’s chaos — shouting, footsteps, glass breaking, your mother screaming.

You hide in the upstairs bathroom with a knife in your shaking hands, teeth chattering even though it’s summer.

It lasts maybe fifteen minutes.

Your father’s men fend them off, but it doesn’t matter.

It was enough to terrify you. It was enough to remind you.

The next day, your father upgrades security.

Three new bodyguards. One for the house. One for transport. And one for you.

You meet them in the living room, seated with perfect posture while your father talks like a man offering thrones.

All three men are tall, intimidating, dressed in black.

But your eyes lock on one.

“Yunho.”

He’s taller than the others. Broader.

A scar along his jaw. Cold eyes. He doesn’t smile when he shakes your hand.

He doesn’t bow, but your father doesn’t expect him to. Not with the amount he’s paying him.

Yunho is quiet. Calculated. Efficient.

And you hate that he makes your stomach twist when he brushes past you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’re assigned to him full-time.

He walks you to class. He drives you to functions.

He waits outside your nail appointments.

At first you ignore him, act like he’s beneath you.

But he’s not like the others.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t leer. He just watches. Learns.

He reads your schedule. Memorizes your routine.

And he knows when you’re lying.

“You didn’t eat today,” he says once, as you collapse onto the couch after class.

“I did.”

“Don’t lie to me. You get all mean and bratty when you’re hungry.”

You don’t respond. Your heart’s beating too loud.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Weeks pass. Then months.

Yunho teaches you things your father insists you know.

How to fight. How to shoot.

How to calculate profit margins in dirty business deals.

He’s the one who holds your wrists too tightly during training — and triggers something ugly in your chest.

“Please don’t touch me like that.”

He blinks, surprised. “I barely even touched you.”

“I said don’t—”

But you’re already crying. Panicking.

Shaking like you’re twelve years old again and the lights just went out in the cellar.

He doesn’t speak. Just stares at you, jaw tight.

And for the first time since you met him, Yunho looks confused.

You lie in bed that night, unable to sleep. His voice echoes.

“I barely even touched you.”

You believe him.

You know he didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it doesn’t matter — it felt the same.

That’s what trauma does.

It tricks your body into flinching even when there’s no real danger.

You should be angry.

But all you can think about is the way his voice softened when he realized.

The way his hands stayed at his sides.

The way he didn’t run.

So, after that day, you start watching him .. differently.

How he moves.

How he never lets anyone stand behind him.

How he always glances toward the exits.

How he carries a knife inside his jacket and a burden behind his eyes.

He starts watching you too.

You feel it in the mornings, when your robe slips off your shoulder.

At parties, when you laugh too hard.

In the car, when your skirt rides up and you pretend not to notice.

He never touches you.

But you wonder what he’d feel like if he did.

You’ve had sex before. More than once. More than a few times.

But no one’s ever made you ache like this.

No one’s ever looked at you like you’re the danger.

And deep down, you know what’s happening.

Yunho isn’t just your bodyguard anymore.

He’s your weakness.

And if you’re not careful — he’s going to become your favorite sin.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You’re not listening.

You’re pretending — nodding your head, pen twirling between your fingers, eyes narrowed like you're focused — but the truth is, you’ve heard nothing in the last five minutes.

Yunho is sitting next to you, broad shoulders leaning over your desk, fingers moving smoothly across the paper as he works through the equation.

There’s a slight crease between his brows, that little furrow he gets when he’s explaining something complex.

You’ve noticed it before.

You’ve noticed a lot of things.

Like the way his lashes fan out against his cheek when he blinks.

The way his voice drops a little when he says your name.

How his shirt stretches across his biceps when he leans forward.

And God, the way he smells — like clean soap, gunmetal, and whatever cologne he thinks you can’t recognize.

You’re so wet. You hate how easily it happens around him now.

Hate that just existing near Yunho does something to your body you can’t explain.

You shift in your seat and bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying to focus.

He glances at you.

“Are you listening?”

You blink. Swallow. Sit up straighter.

“Yeah,” you say, too quickly. “You said to isolate the variable before you cross-multiply.”

He pauses. Nods slowly. His voice stays flat.

“Good.”

He doesn’t compliment you.

He never does. Not with words.

But the slight dip of his head, the way his eyes flicker to yours for a split second — it’s enough to make you warm.

You press your thighs together.

He moves to the next problem.

Keeps talking. But you’ve completely lost the thread.

Your eyes are on his hands now — the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers grip the pen, the tension in his jaw.

You don’t know why it’s happening like this today. But it’s unbearable.

You want him.

Not just the way you’ve wanted others before.

You want to see him break. You want to see him give in.

You want to ruin him like he’s been ruining you for months now — slowly, carefully, without ever touching you—

“You’re not focused.”

His voice snaps you out of it. You look up, eyes wide. Innocent.

“I am.”

He sets the pen down. Looks at you. Really looks at you.

“Y/N.”

Fuck.

He says your name like a warning.

A low, controlled rumble that hits somewhere deep in your spine.

Your stomach flips. You can’t help it — you smile. Just a little.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer.

He reaches across the desk, fingers curling around your wrist.

His grip is firm — not painful, but firm — and then he presses two fingers just beneath your palm. Against your pulse.

Your breath hitches.

“Your pulse is racing. You’re lying,” he says softly.

You stare at him. His eyes haven’t left yours. He’s still holding your wrist.

He can feel it, the way your heart is racing.

You try to pull away, but he tightens just slightly, trying to get you to answer.

It’s too much.

It’s too fast.

And suddenly the panic rises in your throat like it always does — thick, hot, choking.

“Stop. Stop—stop—”

You yank your hand away, voice sharp.

You flinch. Back away.

You don’t even realize how much until the chair scrapes.

Yunho’s eyes widen just slightly. His mouth opens — no sound comes out at first. Then:

“Why do you do that?”

He’s not angry. He’s confused. Frustrated.

You can tell he’s trying to keep his voice calm.

“I wasn’t even gripping your wrist that hard.”

You look away. You can’t answer.

You don’t know how to explain that it wasn’t about his grip — it was the moment.

The power.

The cold calculation in his eyes that wasn’t really cold at all, just misunderstood.

He looks like he wants to say more. Ask more.

You panic again — but this time, in a softer way.

A different kind of defense.

You press the intercom button beside your bed.

“Can someone bring me some fruit?” you say, loud enough to cover the silence in the room. “Strawberries. Pineapple. Mango if it’s ripe.”

Yunho says nothing. His jaw is tight. His gaze lingers, still trying to solve you like you’re some equation he can’t balance.

A few minutes later, the maid knocks gently and delivers a silver tray with glass bowls of perfectly cut fruit.

You thank her and pick up a piece of pineapple. Slowly. Casually.

You take a bite.

The juice hits your tongue — bright, sharp, cold.

You close your lips around the rest of it.

Suck a little harder than you need to.

Yunho doesn’t move. But you see it.

The way his eyes flicker.

The way his hand curls slightly on the desk.

Like he’s forcing himself not to react.

You smile. You’re good at this. Too good.

You eat another piece. Then another.

“Are we done with math?” you ask, like nothing happened.

He exhales through his nose.

Picks up the pen again. Opens his mouth.

Begins to explain another problem, voice tight.

You lean in.

Slowly. Casually. Your knees brush under the desk.

Your arm slides across the wood, your hand almost touching his.

He pauses for a second. Then continues.

You shift closer. Until your lips are barely a breath away from his cheek.

You don’t warn him.

You just kiss him.

It’s soft. Barely there. Just enough to taste him.

Just enough to feel the heat of his skin.

And he—

He doesn’t kiss you back.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t shove you away. Just… stillness.

And then?

He turns back to the paper.

“You missed a step in problem six,” he says flatly. “Try again.”

You blink. Stare at him.

He keeps going. As if you didn’t just kiss him.

As if nothing happened at all.

You start giggling. You can’t help it.

It bubbles up in your throat like champagne — soft, dangerous, mocking.

“Seriously?” you say. “That’s all I get?”

Yunho glances up at you, barely.

“You’re not ready for what you think you want.”

Then he keeps going.

Like he didn’t just set your body on fire and walk away from the flame.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Every time you sit down with Yunho for homework, it starts the same way — a notebook, a sharp pencil, a half-done assignment.

You pretend to care. You chew your lip.

You lean in just a little too close when he starts explaining anything with numbers.

You watch him more than you listen. The slope of his neck.

The flick of his pen. The way his lips part slightly when he's thinking.

Sometimes you reach for your water just to give your mouth something to do.

Sometimes you don't even try to hide it — you just stare.

You kiss him now. Every time.

Like clockwork.

Soft. Deliberate. A single brush of lips to cheek.

To his jaw. To the corner of his mouth. Never long. Never messy.

And he never stops you.

But he never kisses you back, either.

He just… allows it.

Like it’s something he’s decided not to fight.

Something he can’t justify punishing. Something that wouldn’t even be worth the argument.

You don’t know what to make of it.

Every other guy you’ve known wanted to own you within ten minutes.

They complimented you like they were afraid you’d vanish.

Reached for your waist. Called you princess.

Fawned. Worshipped. Fell.

But Yunho?

Yunho just lets you.

And the worst part? It makes you want him even more.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Tonight, you’re sprawled on your stomach across your bed, chin propped in one hand, eyes fixed on the way Yunho’s legs are planted wide in the chair beside you.

He’s explaining an economics worksheet — something about interest, probably — and you haven’t heard a single word.

You watch his fingers. His hands.

The vein in his forearm.

You imagine them around your throat. Not rough. Just… firm. Controlled.

Like the way he held your wrist that day.

“Y/N,” he says suddenly, glancing up. “What did I just say?”

You blink. Innocent smile.

“Something about compound debt.”

“Compound interest. Jesus.”

You giggle. Flip onto your side.

Your skirt rides up a little. His jaw ticks.

He looks away. Of course he does.

“You’re distracted again,” he mutters.

“You’re distracting.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

You sit up on your elbows, tilt your head.

“You know I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Don’t.”

“But you’ll let me anyway.”

He exhales through his nose. Doesn’t argue.

So you lean forward. Again. Soft, slow.

You kiss the edge of his jaw, just beneath his cheekbone.

You linger there a moment longer than usual. You feel him tense.

He doesn’t move.

You lean back. Watch him carefully.

He says nothing.

Just circles something on your paper and keeps explaining the formula like you didn’t just kiss him.

Like it didn’t make his pulse jump.

You smile. You smirk, even.

Lean back on your arms, heart pounding. You feel drunk and you haven’t had a drop.

"You're the only guy that I’ve met who like … doesn’t want me.”

“Not true,” he says instantly.

You freeze.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t look at you, but his jaw tightens.

He flips to the next page like he didn’t just crack his own armor.

“Then why don’t you kiss me back?” you whisper.

The silence is thick. Heavy. His pen stops moving.

“Because I can’t afford to want you. Focus, Y/N.”

There it is.

You stare at him. You blink.

You want to scream. Cry. Crawl into his lap.

Make him take it back. Make him want you out loud.

But you don’t.

You just whisper:

“Then stop letting me kiss you.”

He looks at you, finally.

Eyes dark. Hungry. But still unreadable.

“You’re the one who keeps doing it.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t touch you.

He just sits there, still steady as stone, pretending like he hasn’t imagined dragging you onto his lap and bending you over the fucking desk.

You press your thighs together, hard.

“Fine,” you lie. “I won’t kiss you anymore.”

He just nods. Goes back to the worksheet.

Like he believes you.

Like he’s not begging you to prove yourself wrong.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

For the past two weeks, you’ve barely looked at him.

He still shows up like always — same time, same chair, same notebook.

But you don’t flirt. You don’t touch. You don’t kiss him.

You pretend he doesn’t exist.

And it hurts.

But not as much as watching him pretend you mean nothing.

And now he’s here again, explaining something about supply curves, his voice low and steady like he doesn’t feel the shift in the air.

Like he doesn’t notice the way you’re gripping your pencil like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the room.

But you do.

You feel everything.

And tonight, it breaks.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me back?”

The words spill out of you like blood.

Yunho doesn’t answer.

His eyes flick up from the paper — unreadable, cool, so calm it makes your stomach twist.

“Seriously,” you say. “Why do you let me do it if you don’t want it? Do you like messing with me? Is that it?”

He blinks once. His jaw tightens.

You stand. Move toward him.

“Say something.”

“Stop Y/N. Sit down.”

“No. I’m not fucking stopping anymore.”

And before he can stop you — before you can even think — you grab his face and kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Like your life depends on it.

He doesn’t kiss you back.

He just sits there.

Still. Frozen. A statue beneath your lips.

You rip away from him, throat burning.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper, voice shaking. “Why are you doing this to me? Why do you do this to me?”

He doesn’t look at you. He looks… up.

Into the corner of the room.

“What?”

Your voice is quieter now.

You follow his gaze.

You hadn’t seen it before.

But it’s there.

A camera.

Small. Black. Discreet.

Pointing directly at the desk.

At you.

And at Yunho.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, stepping back. “Oh my god.”

Your heart is pounding so hard it echoes in your ears.

“Listen, no one checks the feed unless there’s a trigger,” Yunho says quickly. “Motion sensors. Alarms. Noise thresholds. We’re fine.”

You’re not fine. You feel like you’re gonna be sick.

“He’s gonna kill me. My father’s going to kill me—”

“Shhh,” Yunho says, grabbing your wrist.

“There’s a blind spot. Over there. Near your bed. Come on.”

You don’t know why you listen. Maybe it’s fear.

Maybe it’s him.

But you let him pull you — away from the desk, away from the camera — until you’re standing near your headboard, half-panicked, half-breathless.

“He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you—”

“Alright then let’s make it worth it.”

Yunho’s voice is low. Controlled. Deadly calm.

And then he’s pulling off his jacket.

Then his shirt.

And you— you stop breathing.

Because you’ve imagined it, of course you have.

You’ve dreamed about it.

Touched yourself to the idea of it.

But nothing prepared you for the reality of how he looks shirtless — lean and hard, all abs and muscle and quiet danger.

Veins in his forearms. That scar near his ribs. Jesus.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“What?” he says flatly, tossing his shirt on your floor. “Don’t you wanna fuck me before I get fired?”

“You’re not getting fired—”

“Yes I am.”

“No— no, I won’t let him—”

He laughs at you.

Like you’re a child. Like you’re stupid. Like you just said the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“God,” he mutters, stepping closer. “You really are a dumb little thing, aren’t you?”

The breath knocks out of your lungs.

“What, you think you run this house? You think you can protect me?”

“You think you’re special just ‘cause I let you kiss me? You’re not.”

His voice is low. Cruel. Each word sharper than the last.

You open your mouth to respond— but he grabs your jaw, tilts your face up, and—

He kisses you.

Your back hits the wall behind your bed and he’s on you — pressing into your body, dragging your mouth open, tasting every inch like he’s starving.

You gasp into it.

He grabs your hips. Lifts you. Carries you effortlessly to the bed and drops you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing.

“This what you wanted?” he growls, crawling on top of you. “This what you’ve been begging for?”

You nod. Breathless. Dizzy.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yes—”

“Louder.”

“Yes. Fuck, Yunho— I wanted this, I want you—”

He kisses you again. Rougher. Dirtier. His hand sliding beneath your skirt, gripping your thigh like he owns it.

Your head spins. Your heart races. You’ve never felt so scared and so wanted in your life.

“So what now?” he says. “You wanna keep pretending this is just homework?”

“Fuck no.”

His lips twist into a smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he grabs you.

You gasp as he yanks you forward by your waist, mouth crushing against yours. It’s bruising—needy—nothing like the delicate kisses you’ve been sneaking past his defenses.

His hands are all over you, under your top, squeezing your tits through your bra, palming your ass like it’s his.

And you let him. You want him.

“Fucking finally,” you moan against his lips.

He pulls away, hand wrapping around your throat, not tight—yet.

“You like this?” he growls.

“Fuck yes.”

“You want me to ruin you, princess?”

“Yes, yes—fuck, please—”

He tightens his grip, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your legs shake.

He drags your panties down in one rough motion and doesn’t even bother taking your shirt off — just pushes it up so your tits bounce out, then drops to his knees between your legs.

You’re soaked.

He doesn’t even tease—just spits on your pussy and slides two thick fingers in, curling them until you cry out.

“Damn,” he mutters, watching you writhe. “You this wet just from a kiss?”

“For you,” you whimper. “Only for you.”

He curses and stands, unbuckling his belt, eyes never leaving yours.

His cock’s thick, already hard, and your stomach clenches at the sight of it.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he says. “You sure?”

You nod frantically. “Yunho, please.”

The first thrust knocks the air out of you.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust—just starts pounding into you, fast and brutal, one hand on your hip, the other back on your throat.

You moan loud, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” he pants, hips snapping harder. “Waving your pussy around like a prize. You don’t even know what to do with it.”

“Teach me,” you beg.

He growls something filthy and leans down, fucking you even deeper now, forehead pressed to yours.

His breath is hot.

Your orgasm creeps up fast—dangerously fast—and when he chokes you harder, your mouth falls open.

“Cum,” he commands.

And you do, with a sob, cunt tightening so hard he groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself fast until he comes across your belly in messy, hot streaks.

There’s silence.

Your chest heaves.

He tucks himself back in without a word.

You blink up at him, dazed. “...Will you be back tomorrow?”

Yunho pauses at the door.

“Maybe,” he says flatly, but then catches your eyes—wet, vulnerable, confused—and his expression softens. Just a little.

He walks back to the bed, brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, and kisses it gently. “Don’t cry,” he says with a teasing smirk. “You’ll mess up your pretty face.”

Then he’s gone.

Like nothing happened.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You wake up sticky and sore.

Your thighs ache. Your neck too. You don’t even know what time it is, only that the sun is harsh and the silk sheets feel colder without him in them.

You blink a few times at the ceiling, dazed—still breathless from last night.

Like you’re floating in it, replaying every second.

The way he touched you. Fucked you. The way he left.

And maybe… maybe he’ll come back.

You’re still clinging to that hope when the yelling starts.

Deep. Male. Explosive.

It’s not just yelling — its screaming, something crashing downstairs.

You can hear a maid sobbing and pleading.

Your bedroom door swings open without knocking this time.

The maid is pale, mascara running, eyes darting behind her like she’s being followed.

“Out,” you snap, pulling the blanket to your chest. “I’m not—”

“Your father needs you,” she blurts out, eyes wide and glossy. “Now.”

Everything inside you goes still.

You move fast—toss on whatever’s near, a hoodie and shorts, no time for anything else—and follow the sound.

Dread wraps around your spine with every step.

The doors to his office are cracked open.

You walk into your father’s office and it’s dark—no light except the eerie red glow of the security monitors in the corner.

Yunho is there. Standing by the desk.

Hands behind his back and head down like he’s being .. disciplined.

Then your father appears.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at you for an uncomfortably long time. Then—

SLAM.

He walks toward you, slowly, like a predator, like he’s enjoying this too much.

You open your mouth, but he’s too fast—his hand wraps around your neck and slams you up against the nearest wall.

“You disgusting little slut,” he growls, his mouth inches from your face.

You’re choking, panicked, trying to claw at his wrist, trying to scream, but nothing comes out.

“Think I wouldn’t find out? You think I don’t know what goes on in my own fucking house?”

Then, suddenly, he drops you. You fall to your knees coughing, vision blurry. You look up—

And Yunho is still. Still as stone. No protest. No fear. No guilt.

“He told me everything.” your father sneers.

Your gaze darts to Yunho instinctively — something in you searching, desperate, anything—but he’s still looking at the floor.

Still silent.

And then — God — you see it.

The way his lip twitches. The way his cheek lifts.

He’s laughing?

Your heart stutters.

“He said you’ve been throwing yourself at him. Touching him. Moaning in front of him like a fucking dog in heat. He said he pushed you away — again and again. That you wouldn’t stop.”

You try to stand, voice cracking.

“He’s lying — he’s lying, it wasn’t like that, We just—”

Your father cuts you off with a harsh backhand across the face. You reel.

“Dont fucking lie to me,” he hisses.

Your chest caves. “It wasn’t —”

“You think I didn’t see? The way you acted like a cheap little whore every time he walked into your room? You think I don’t watch the fucking cameras?”

You’re frozen. Trembling. “We didn’t even do anything like that. I just—I kissed him. That’s all. That’s all, dad..”

He laughs. Loud. Sharp. Mocking.

“Oh, so now it’s just a kiss? You think I’m gonna let my men look at you like that? Disrespect you in my house? You don’t get to decide what’s harmless. You don’t get to make choices. You’re my daughter.”

You recoil. “Then why’d you leave me alone with him?”

He stops. His eyes go cold. Something shifts.

He grabs the desk and slams it—papers scatter, a heavy object topples—and you jump like he shot a gun.

“He doesn’t give a shit about you!! You’re entertainment. You’re a job.”

You try to speak but your throat closes. Your mouth is dry.

His hand twitches toward his belt.

“Apologize.” His voice drops into something poisonous. “To him.”

Your heart pounds. “For what?”

He shoves a lamp off the table. It shatters.

“Just fucking do it!”

Your throat goes dry. You turn to Yunho, hating him. Hating this.

Your voice cracks.

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Your father’s voice slices through the silence. “I can’t fucking hear you.”

You clench your fists. Your eyes sting.

“…I’m sorry,” you say louder. “Yunho. I’m sorry.”

You swear his eyes flick toward you for a second — just a second. Blank. Like you’re nothing.

And then your father breathes deep, nods once, and speaks.

“Effective immediately,” he says, “he’s no longer assigned to you.”

The floor drops.

You feel it in your knees, in your ribs. “What…?”

“No more Yunho,” he says, too casual. “You’ll get someone else. One of the older men.”

“No—” Your voice shakes. “No, you can’t—”

“Don’t talk back.”

Tears burn your eyes now. You can’t stop them.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you choke. “You don’t even know what he said to me—what he did—”

“Oh, now you’re gonna cry?” He throws a look of disgust your way. “You like to play the victim, huh?”

“I’m not—”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. He lifts a hand and starts counting on his fingers –

– “no parties. No phone. No cards. You’ll stay in this fucking house for one week. Maybe more, depending on how much more shit I find on those tapes. One week.”

You stare. “One week?”

He turns on you again, finger pointed. “Say one more word and it’s two.”

Your mouth shuts. The tears spill. You hate that he can see them. Hate that Yunho can too.

Your father waves you off like you’re an insect.

“Get the fuck out.”

You don’t hesitate. You storm out.

The hallway feels colder than usual.

You wipe your cheeks, breathing fast, heart broken and mind racing.

Yunho fucking lied.

And you don’t even know why.

But you’re gonna find out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You haven’t left the house in days.

Not because you couldn’t — but because it felt… off. Everyone looked at you different now.

Yunho hasn’t spoken to you once.

You see him sometimes in the halls, his shoulders squared, eyes straight ahead like he’s guarding something important — just not you anymore.

His posture’s rigid, formal. Like nothing ever happened.

Like your mouth had never touched his. Like he hadn’t laughed while you were being choked against a wall.

He doesn’t even glance your way.

Which wouldn’t bother you, not really — not if everyone else didn’t start looking too long.

The older guards, the ones who used to nod politely and say Miss, now smile too slow.

Let their eyes drag down your legs.

One even said something under his breath when you passed.

“Daddy’s favorite little slut.”

You stopped walking. Whipped around.

But he just laughed and walked away.

No one says anything directly. But you can feel it.

The weight of their assumptions. Their judgment.

Their approval, even. Like your shame had made you one of them.

You’ve stopped wearing anything tight. No makeup. Hair tied back.

You stay in your room unless you have to eat, and even then, you don't go to the dining room anymore — just the kitchen, early, before anyone’s up.

The maids avoid eye contact.

Everything feels sticky. Too quiet. Like the house is watching you.

You lie on your back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

There's a camera in the corner — you know now. You know exactly where it is.

You wonder if it’s blinking. You wonder if it’s recording right now. You wonder if Yunho’s watching.

Your stomach twists.

Why did he lie?

Why did he let him say those things?

Why hasn’t he even looked at you?

And worse: why do you still want to see him?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You keep remembering it in flashes.

His mouth on yours.

The way he never pushed you. Never pulled you closer either.

The tiny twitch in his jaw like he wanted to.

Or didn’t.

You don’t know anymore.

You thought maybe he didn’t kiss you back because he was good.

Respectful. Loyal. Different.

But maybe he wasn’t because he fucked you.

Maybe he liked that your father found out. Maybe he liked watching you squirm under your father’s rage.

Maybe he wanted to hurt you.

And now?

Now the guards still joke when you walk by. One of them winked at you today.

You don’t even know their names.

You don’t want to eat. You don’t want to sleep.

And yet when you do, your dreams are of Yunho again.

Standing at the end of your bed. Silent. Smirking.

And then gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You sneak down in a hoodie and socks, hoping no one’s around.

But one of the older guards — Dominic, maybe? — is already there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like he belongs there.

He looks at you, long and slow.

“Didn’t expect to see you down here. Still on house arrest, right?”

You grab a glass, don’t answer.

“No need to be shy now,” he says, voice low.

“We’ve all seen what you’re into.”

You freeze. Glass halfway full. Your throat closes. You can’t even look at him.

He chuckles.

“Bet he liked it, too. That one’s quiet, but he’s not stupid.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, backing up.

“Or what? You’ll whine about it?”

He steps forward. “You’re not special anymore. You made yourself real clear.”

Your blood runs cold.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

And just like that—he does. He shrugs, raises his hands, still grinning.

“Relax. Just teasing.”

You run back upstairs without your glass. Slam your door. Lock it.

You sit at your vanity. Eyes hollow. Lips dry. You haven’t cried yet. You don’t know why.

You keep watching the hallway through the crack in your door.

You keep waiting for Yunho.

Not to save you.

But to explain.

To say anything.

But he doesn’t come.

And you’re starting to wonder if he ever will.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The week has passed. The house feels different. Cold. Quieter. No one talks to you unless necessary. The maids walk around you like you're a live wire. The older guards you used to ignore?

Their eyes still trail your legs when you leave a room. And you hate it.

They think you're a whore.

Yunho’s nowhere. Not on patrol. Not in the halls. Not outside your door. And no one dares tell you where he’s been reassigned. You’re furious. You’re humiliated. You’re obsessed.

Not with what happened—but with how he left you.

Did he lie to your father? Did he do it to protect himself? Or was it to hurt you? You can’t figure it out. You go over it in your head like a ritual. The way he looked at you. The way he kissed you. Rough. Like he needed it.

And then he just… left.

When the maid knocks and says your father wants to see you, your stomach doesn’t even twist anymore.

You just get up. Wordless. Numb.

You’ve been like that all week — quiet, obedient, blank.

You walk down the long hallway barefoot, still in sleep shorts and one of your oversized sweaters.

No makeup. No jewelry. The cameras blink when you pass.

You knock.

“Come in.”

His voice is calm.

You step in and it’s exactly like it always is: dim, stuffy, suffocating.

He’s behind the desk, a drink already in hand, phone face-down beside him. He doesn’t look angry.

He looks... pleased.

“Sit.”

You do.

He eyes you carefully — the bags under your eyes, the limpness in your posture.

“So,” he says slowly, swirling the drink. “Have we learned our lesson?”

You don’t answer.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” you say softly.

“Good girl.”

His smile grows, sharp and thin. “I knew you weren’t stupid.”

He leans back in his chair, relaxed.

“I’ve decided your privileges can come back. Credit cards, shopping, parties, all of it. Your friends miss you, I’m sure. Or maybe you’ve finally figured out which ones actually do.”

You stare at the floor.

He gets up, comes around the desk, and sits on the edge in front of you. Fingers reach out and lift your chin gently.

“You’re still my daughter. You’re still the future of this family.”

“I’m hard on you because I love you. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly. It’s not even worth pretending to argue. You just want this to be over.

He kisses your forehead like everything is fine.

“Make good choices this time, sweetheart. You’ve made enough of a mess already. Here’s your phone.”

You say thank you. Like you’re supposed to.

“You can go.”

You get up. Your legs feel hollow. But there’s a strange flicker inside you — something curling awake again. You shut the door behind you and finally exhale.

The silence in the house feels different now. Less like a prison. More like a stage.

You glance at your phone. Messages piling up from friends who noticed you dropped off the earth. Invitations. Selfies. Gossip.

A girl named Rina saying she’s bored and someone just got a new rooftop suite.

You toss your phone onto the bed and pace.

A week. A whole week of silence, shame, paranoia.

And he thinks he broke you?

No.

You're not staying quiet anymore. You’ve been locked in this house like a ghost and it’s time to remind them all who you are.

So you’re going to throw a party. Not just any party — the party. Loud. Indulgent. Shameless.

Let them talk.

Let them watch.

Let them wonder.

You dig out your old group chat. Post a single message:

🎉 back. friday night. mansion. theme: don’t tell daddy. bring your vices.

Within five minutes, replies are flooding in. Excitement. Curiosity. Jealousy.

You text a caterer. A DJ. A guy who owes you a favor for bailing him out last year.

You text your favorite designer. Something short. Something reckless. Something that makes you feel untouchable again.

You pour a glass of wine and lean on the balcony, looking down at the backyard.

The moon is out. The pool is quiet. But not for long.

Your reputation might be dirty now.

Fine.

You’ll make it dirtier.

You’ll drown in it.

And maybe — just maybe — he’ll look at you again.

Because Yunho hasn’t said a word.

And you want him to suffer, too.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your house is glowing. Music spills out of the windows. Glasses clink. Guests laugh. Hands touch.

And you?

You’re stunning. Makeup perfect. Dress tight. Every step calculated.

You sip wine like it’s vengeance. You haven’t seen Yunho all night but you feel him.

And finally—there he is.

Leaning against the far wall. Black shirt. Cold stare.

Watching you dance. Watching other men flirt with you. Watching your fingers graze arms and chests and shoulders.

Unreadable.

And then—his jaw tightens. His gaze darkens. He pushes off the wall.

He cuts across the room like a shadow and doesn’t say a word. Just grabs your arm gently, firmly—

—and leads you through the crowd. Past the laughter. Past the lights. Onto the balcony. Into the quiet night air.

The music muffles. The sky stretches dark above.

You’re drunk. Swaying a little.

“Let go,” you slur, tugging at his hand. “What, you miss me now?”

He says nothing.

“You don’t get to act like this,” you say, poking his chest. “You kissed me. You lied about me. Then — then fucked me and disappeared. And now—now you’re dragging me out here like—like—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You freeze.

Yunho’s eyes lock on yours, hard and low.

“I told him what I had to. Because if I hadn’t, he would’ve pulled a gun on me. Or you. Or both. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it.”

You blink.

“I didn’t lie about you. I lied for you.”

You stare at him. Mouth dry. He steps closer.

You square your shoulders, defiant. "You’re a coward."

He huffs a dark laugh. "Right. And you’re just some innocent little princess? You’re a fucking idiot."

Your breath catches.

"You think I’m here because I want to be?" He steps in closer. “You’re just some spoiled little brat who thinks sex means something.”

"Then why the fuck are you still here?" you snap, eyes glassy. "You’re the one who brought me out here like some jealous asshole—"

“I brought you out here,” he growls, “because watching you grind on every low-life in that room made me want to break something.”

"You don’t get to be mad. You’re the one who lied—”

“I protected you, you fucking slut.”

Your mouth falls open. His words hit like a slap.

“You let me fuck you and now you think you’re special? You’re just bored. Horny. Desperate for attention. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

You glare at him, fury in your throat, “Fuck you.”

You lunge at him, fists curled, but he grabs your wrist mid-swing and slams you back against the wall.

You gasp.

His hand wraps around your jaw, tight. “Say it again.”

You glare at him, fury in your throat. "I'll fucking — I’ll tell my father you touched me.”

A silence. Long. Heavy.

Then: “Then tell him.”

He leans in. “Tell him how you moaned under me. Tell him how you begged for more. Tell him you cummed so hard you cried.”

You’re breathing hard now. Your whole body shaking.

"Tell him how his perfect little daughter opened her legs for a nobody guard she barely fucking knows.”

And then he kisses you. Violent. Possessive.

His mouth crashing into yours like punishment.

You push at his chest, but it only makes him growl deeper, push in harder, pin you tighter.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen. Your eyes wet.

You glare up at him. "I fucking hate you."

He smirks. “No, baby. You want me. That’s worse.”

And he kisses you again.

“Miss—?”

The balcony door creaks open.

You freeze.

Yunho stiffens, lips still brushing yours, breath hot against your mouth.

His hand releases you slowly—too slowly—as you both turn toward the voice.

It’s Rosa. The maid. One of the newer ones, barely a year into her contract.

And she’s standing in the open doorway, staring.

Mouth parted. Eyes wide.

She’s seen everything—your smeared lipstick, Yunho’s hands still at your waist, the panic flaring behind your eyes.

Her voice wavers. “Someone’s—someone’s asking for you inside. I—I didn’t know you were—”

“Don’t.” You step forward, shaky, eyes begging. “Please, Rosa, don’t say anything.”

She blinks at you. Then at Yunho. Her gaze hardens slightly.

“Please,” you whisper again. “He—he can’t know. No one can know.”

Yunho stays silent. He doesn’t try to explain.

Doesn’t even look remorseful. Just stands there behind you like he owns your body and doesn’t care who sees it.

Rosa’s hands are trembling. “It’s—” her voice drops. “It’s Mr. Navarro.”

Your stomach drops.

Your father’s rival. A man you weren’t even aware had been invited to the party.

Yunho’s voice is low behind you. “You shouldn’t talk to him.”

You don’t even turn around. “I have to.”

“No,” he says. Firm. Final.

Rosa still hasn’t moved.

She’s frozen in place, watching like she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t—again.

You grab her hand. “Please. If you tell anyone about this…”

Rosa’s eyes flick to Yunho, then back to you. And something in her expression softens. She nods. Once. Tight.

“I’ll say you were in the bathroom.”

And then she’s gone. The door clicks shut behind her.

Silence again.

Your hands go to your face, shaky. “Oh my god…”

Yunho finally speaks. “Get rid of him.”

You turn on him, raw. “Who?”

“Navarro.”

“I can’t just get rid of him—”

“You’re not hearing me.” Yunho steps in again. “You don’t talk to him. You don’t look at him. You stay the fuck away from him.”

You blink at him. “.. I can't .. he’s .. I’m supposed to marry him to end the rivalry."

His eyes cut into you. Dark. Sharp.

“Men like him don’t want your last name,” Yunho says. “They just want your blood.”

You don’t respond.

You just walk out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The party’s pulse is different now.

You feel it the second you walk back inside — like the air’s gone heavier, like every laugh and clink of glass is covering something that doesn’t want to be seen.

And then you see him.

Navarro.

Leaning against the bar like he owns the place. Black suit, salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, a gold ring glinting on his finger as he swirls his drink.

He’s talking to one of your father’s men, but his eyes cut toward you the moment you step in.

He’s been waiting for you.

You steel yourself.

You’re good at this — at performing.

So you fix your hair, adjust your dress, and cross the room slowly, every step rehearsed in your mind.

But when you get close, that smile of his curls in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“Ah,” Navarro says, lifting his glass slightly. “The princess finally emerges.”

You keep your voice smooth. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He watches you closely. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I forget many things,” you reply sweetly. “Not people.”

Navarro chuckles, deep and amused. “Is that so?”

He motions to the seat beside him.

You hesitate.

Somewhere behind you, you feel Yunho watching.

Like a heat against your back. But when you glance over your shoulder—he isn’t there.

Not yet.

So you sit.

Navarro doesn’t waste time.

“I heard you’ve been… restless lately.”

Your eyes flick to him, wary. “From who?”

He shrugs. “Does it matter? Word travels.”

You swallow. “What kind of word?”

He leans in, just slightly. “That the golden daughter of—” he says your father’s name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, — has been reckless — little whispers about your behavior. Late nights. Missing clothes. Boys getting reassigned.”

Your stomach flips.

You don’t answer.

He studies your face. “Your father says it’s under control.”

You lift your chin. “It is.”

His stare flickers downward—slow—then back up again. “Hm. I’m not so sure.”

You shift in your seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Navarro tilts his head. “Throwing a party a week after being locked in the house for ‘disciplinary reasons’? That’s a bold move.”

You clench your jaw.

He leans closer still. “I’m impressed.”

You don’t respond.

“But you should be careful,” he continues, voice low now, like a secret being slid across a table. “Some men in your father’s position might take a disobedient daughter and clip her wings. Others… might offer her new ones.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t look at him. Not directly.

“Are you offering me something?”

“Me?” Navarro smirks. “I’m just drinking your liquor and admiring the view.”

You stand.

But he catches your wrist—lightly, not enough to cause alarm, but enough.

You flinch.

His voice turns cruelly amused. “Do you know how many people saw?”

“Saw what?”

“You know what.”

You can’t speak.

“You’re a ticking bomb,” he murmurs. “And I’m very, very curious to see who you take out when you go off.”

You swallow hard.

Behind you, you sense movement. You glance subtly—

Yunho.

He’s moved closer. His posture rigid, his jaw tight. Watching Navarro now with something lethal behind his eyes.

Navarro notices, too.

He smiles wider.

And then turns to you again, amused. “He follows you like a fucking dog, doesn’t he?”

Your heart pounds.

“I’d have broken him of that already,” Navarro says. “If you were mine.”

“Be careful, princesa,” he says, gaze sharp now. “The wolves in this room don’t just bite. They mark.”

You yank your wrist back, heart hammering. “Enjoy the party,” you say.

And you walk off—fast, heels clicking against marble, not daring to look behind you because your skin still burns where he touched you, and your mind is spinning, and—

Yunho’s waiting for you at the end of the hall.

Silent. Hands in his pockets. Watching you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You storm up to him, breath catching, mascara smudged from how hard you wiped your eyes.

“You told him,” you hiss.

Yunho doesn’t blink. “Told who what?”

“Navarro,” you snap. “He knows. About us.”

His jaw flexes. “There is no us.”

It feels like a slap. Your throat tightens so fast it burns. “Don’t do that—don’t fucking do that, Yunho, not now.”

He shrugs, infuriatingly calm. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to stop acting like I made it all up!” you cry. “You kissed me. You touched me. You looked at me like—like I mattered.”

Yunho stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You think that meant something?”

You stumble a step back, chest rising fast.

“You—” your voice catches. “You’re lying.”

He scoffs.

He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “You’ve been acting reckless. Of course people are gonna start talking.”

“Don’t fucking do that,” you hiss, chest heaving. “Don’t twist this around on me.”

“You’re just bored. Lonely. Daddy doesn’t love you enough so now you want me to pretend I do.”

Your stomach lurches.

“You think this is some epic love story?” he scoffs. “It’s pathetic.”

You flinch.

“I like you,” you whisper, like maybe if you say it soft enough, it won’t sound so small. “Yunho, I like you. I’ve liked you for so long, I—”

“No,” he cuts in. “You like being wanted. That’s not the same thing. You’re playing with me.”

“I’m not playing with you,” you plead, stumbling closer. “We’ve known each other for almost a year—please, Yunho, I’ve never felt this way before, I swear I haven’t—”

“Stop.”

“I can’t,” you breathe, eyes glassy. “I can’t. I think about you all the time, I can’t stop, I—I want you, I need you to say you want me too, please, just say it, just say it—”

Your body is shaking. Completely wrecked.

Yunho’s expression doesn’t change.

“Please,” you whisper. “Say it.”

He stares down at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. Like you’ve turned into something disgusting in front of him.

“Just — Stop..”

“Not until you say it.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he replies, voice clipped. “I don’t want you. I never did.”

You blink hard, tears spilling hot and fast.

“You’re lying,” you whisper.

Yunho steps back. Like the sight of you makes him sick. “You’re an assignment, a job. Nothing more.”

You just stay there. On your knees. Numb. Humiliated.

“You’re not special,” he says coldly. “You’re just good at pretending you are.”

You shake your head. “Yunho —”

But he’s already turning.

Already walking away.

And you can’t breathe.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

That morning, the sun rises without you.

You don’t move.

Your face is swollen, your throat feels like sandpaper, and your eyes sting every time you blink.

The room still smells faintly of last night’s perfume, champagne, cigarette smoke clinging to your skin like a bruise.

You’d crawled back into bed after the party and haven’t moved since.

The silk sheets are damp where you cried yourself to sleep.

And then kept crying long after you woke up again.

A soft knock pulls you halfway out of it.

“Miss?”

You flinch.

It’s the maid. The same one from the hallway.

You curl tighter into the blankets. Hide your face in the pillow.

She steps inside carefully, voice gentler now. “I… I brought fresh water. And toast. You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

You can’t speak.

You try.

But your voice catches in your throat, a broken rasp of nothing.

You suck in a breath and swallow it back down.

She hesitates. “Your father’s asking for you.”

You still can’t talk. Can’t even turn your face toward her.

Your lip trembles. You manage to whisper, barely:

“Tell him I don’t feel well.”

She pauses. Then: “Okay.”

Quiet footsteps.

Then she’s gone.

And you cry again.

Hours pass.

You don’t eat the toast. You don’t touch the water. You don’t get up to pee.

Until—

The door slams open.

Light floods in.

“Get the fuck up.”

Your father.

He storms in like a goddamn earthquake.

Pulls open the curtains with one sharp jerk, sunlight stabbing through the blackout drapes.

“What is this?” he snaps. “Some kind of performance art?”

You don’t move.

“Don’t play dead. I said, get up.”

When you don’t, he storms across the room and rips the blankets off you.

Then stops.

Because he sees your face.

Your red, puffy, hollow-eyed, ruined face.

You flinch at the sudden chill, arms curling around yourself like armor.

He stares at you for a long second.

Then: “…What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t answer.

“I said, what the fuck is—”

“Nothing,” you whisper hoarsely.

He exhales sharply. “No. No, fuck that. Tell me.”

Silence.

Then he narrows his eyes.

“This isn’t about Yunho, is it?”

Your breath catches.

But you don’t answer.

Not even a twitch.

He swears under his breath. Runs a hand through his hair. Paces for a beat like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Then, surprisingly, his voice lowers.

Still sharp. Still rough. But not… angry.

Not this time.

“You let people get under your skin too easy,” he mutters. “You wanna survive in this world, you better toughen the fuck up.”

You swallow hard. Tears well again. Your face crumples.

“Don’t cry,” he sighs. “Jesus Christ—stop that. Stop it, c’mon…”

You bury your face in the pillow, sobbing harder.

Ugly, shaking sobs that rip straight out of your chest.

He groans. “Fuck’s sake…”

Then his voice softens again. Just slightly.

“…You want something? Huh? Come on. I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

You sniff.

Lift your head an inch.

“…Anything I want?”

“Yes,” he says, exasperated, “anything.”

You blink at him.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“…Even if it’s stupid?”

He sighs again. “Everything you want is stupid. Doesn’t mean you can’t have it.”

Your lip trembles.

And somehow, that’s worse.

That he means it.

That his version of love is giving you the world while still making you feel like you never deserved it.

He grabs his phone. “You want a bag? A car? A vacation? Tell me.”

But all you want is Yunho.

And you’ll probably never admit it.

"I wanna spend time with you," you mumble, voice hoarse.

He blinks. “What?”

You look down, eyes burning again, whispering, “I.. wanna go with you. Spend time. Like we used to…”

A silence drags.

You chance a glance up.

He’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

Then—he scoffs, shakes his head like he’s disgusted, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the sneer.

“You wanna go shopping. With me,” he repeats, like the idea alone is offensive. “Jesus Christ. You’ve really lost it.”

You wipe your eyes again, starting to regret saying anything. You turn your face away.

But then he mutters, “Fine.”

You look at him. He avoids your eyes.

“You wanna come? Then come. You’ve got fifteen minutes to clean yourself up. I’m not walking into Dior with a daughter who looks like she got hit by a truck full of feelings.”

You almost laugh—almost—but it turns into a sob as you nod quickly, scrambling off the bed, heart thudding.

“And don’t make me wait,” he says over his shoulder. “You want my time? Earn it.”

But he waits in the hallway.

You move on autopilot at first—bathroom light harsh, your reflection worse.

Puffy eyes, red nose, lips chewed raw from nerves. But you force yourself through it.

You brush your teeth, rinse with cold water, press a towel to your face until the heat of crying fades.

Your fingers tremble while you fix your hair—taming it into something soft, something passable.

You pick out a cute outfit, something flattering but not too loud. Something he won’t comment on. Something safe.

Then mascara. Lip gloss. A spritz of perfume at your wrists. You check the mirror again—still a bit hollow, but alive.

Presentable. The kind of daughter he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with. Maybe.

You slip on sandals, grab your phone, and head to the door before you can second guess yourself.

He's still there. Standing in the hallway with his phone in one hand, sunglasses in the other, suit sharp, jaw tense.

His eyes flick to you. Up. Down.

A pause.

Then: “Better.”

And he turns and starts walking.

You follow.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Masterlist Part 2

Oh, how beautiful you looked, lying there, so graceful even while in deep slumber. The winter snow outside caused a light that made your skin glow beautifully. Your chest slowly rose and fell, your bare skin warm under the soft duvet.

Seonghwa let his hands roam your neck, tracing over the purple marks from a couple of nights before. He looked over to Yunho, who lay next to you, arm draped over your stomach, still snoring quietly. Seonghwa smirked slightly, an idea popping into his mind.

Seonghwa’s hand found Yunho’s shoulder, rubbing slow circles into them. He knew Yunho awoke easily, so he didn’t have to wait for long until said man’s eyes fluttered open to meet his.

Before Yunho could utter a word, or even let out a groan, Seonghwa hushed him quietly, putting a finger to his lips.

Truly, they both knew you were a deep sleeper, but Seonghwa didn’t want to risk losing the opportunity he saw in front of him.

Yunho gave a confused face, but soon caught on when Seonghwa’s soft lips met your neck in slow, careful kisses. He watched as Seonghwa traced his mouth to your collarbone, smirking as his kisses almost turned into sucks.

Yunho understood what the older wanted of him, and started slowly kissing your breasts, tongue teasing your nipple, which turned erect when he pulled the warm duvet to the side.

You let out a small moan in your sleep when Yunho’s mouth surrounded the hard bud, squirming ever so slightly at the pleasure as goosebumps coated your skin.

Seonghwa’s mouth had moved even further down. It was getting hard for him to contain his excitement. All he wanted in this moment was to hungrily eat you out until you came undone.

But no. No, he had to stay calm, he had to keep himself contained for you. While Yunho kept working his mouth on your tits and neck, Seonghwa finally positioned himself between your thighs. Right where he wanted to be.

He slowly lifted your legs to position them over his shoulders, before his mouth kissed your thighs.

“Yunho, she’s getting cold,” Seonghwa whispered. Without another word being spoken, Yunho pulled the duvet over you once again.

Your body couldn’t help but react when Seonghwa’s long tongue finally found your cunt, slowly licking up and down. “She’s wet for us,” Seonghwa whispered, just so Yunho could hear it. Yunho let out a small chuckle at Seonghwa’s words, his tongue teasingly circling your nipple.

Yunho could feel his cock twitch when your eyebrows furrowed as you moaned in pleasure, Seonghwa’s tongue circling your clit.

As his tongue’s movements quickened, your moans got louder and louder. “Darling, you’re going to—“

“Wake her? I know,” Seonghwa said lowly. Yunho lust laughed at his boyfriend, before sucking on your nipple more harshly, no longer following Seonghwa’s unsaid advice on being gentle.

Seonghwa pushing a finger inside of your cunt seemed to be the one thing pulling you out from your dreams. When you finally stirred awake, Yunho was quick to sense your confusion, not only by your facial expression, but also by the quick whimpers leaving your slightly opened mouth.

“Shh shhh baby, relax,” Yunho whispered. Oh how you loved his morning voice. His mouth soon met yours in a slow and affectionate kiss. You moaned lowly into his mouth when Seonghwa’s long finger slowly curled inside of you.

You lifted the duvet only to meet Seonghwa’s hungry eyes. You could see the smile on his face, even as he eagerly let his tongue work wonders.

Yunho uncovered your body, the duvet being thrown to the floor. “Just lay back,” he said, helping you lay back down on your back. “Let us take care of you.”

In the state you were in, still hazy from having just woken up, you just nodded, whining at the sensation of Yunho’s lips returning to one of your sensitive nipples.

At this point, Seonghwa’s fingers were deep inside of you, his tongue massaging your clit.

You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge as your boyfriends continued pleasuring you. Yunho almost growled when your fingers gripped his hair in desperation at the overwhelming sensations.

“That’s it baby,” Yunho almost moaned. “Let go for us.”

And with those words, you finally came, your free hand gripping the bedsheets as your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

Your moans got drowned out by Yunho kissing you again, his tongue entering your mouth. He only kissed you like this when he was really desperate, which he probably was, judging by his hard length pressing against your leg.

You breathed heavily when Yunho’s mouth left yours, Seonghwa’s fingers still slowly pumping inside of you. His tongue lapped up your juices, making you sensitive from the slight overstimulation.

Yunho whined suddenly, his long fingers finding Seonghwa’s dark locks, pulling slightly. “My turn,” he said. Seonghwa laughed into your skin, before abducting his skillful mouth from you.

Before you knew it, the two had switched places, Seonghwa’s dark eyes meeting your half-opened ones.

“Hi baby,” he purred, fingers running through your scalp. “Hey,” you answered, voice still raspy from having just woken up. Seonghwa smirked slightly before you let out a loud moan when Yunho got to work between your legs.

Seonghwa just giggled when your legs started shaking from the feeling of another tongue on your still sensitive heat. “Yunho—“ you breathed out, but he didn’t waste any time to answer you in any way. He kept hungrily licking you, not being nearly as precise as Seonghwa had been, but equally as pleasurable.

“Hey, look at me,” Seonghwa said, your gaze finding his. He smiled at your expression, your eyes dripping with lust. “Like being woken up like this, hm?” he asked rhetorically. “Like having your boyfriend’s mouths on you first thing in the morning?”

You sighed in pleasure as Yunho’s tongue focused on your sensitive clit. His strong arms pushed your legs back, making you feel even more exposed in the open air. “You’re such a dirty girl, aren’t you?” Seonghwa whispered. “So aroused by us, even in your sleep~”

You could feel a second orgasm building inside of you, your eyes closing as you basked in the pleasure of Yunho’s hot tongue. “Baby,” Seonghwa sang warningly, making you look at him immediately. “Yes, keep your eyes on me.”

You felt more and more exposed for every second that passed, no longer having any covers over your naked form, your legs folded against your body as you were forced to keep eye contact with Seonghwa.

“That’s it. Give us one more,” Seonghwa said before his lips met your neck, sucking on it, making you moan even louder, as you were pulled to the edge for a second time.

But right when you felt the pleasure of an orgasm approaching, Yunho suddenly pulled away from your cunt, letting your legs fall to the bed.

“No, please Yunho—“

“Shh,” Seonghwa whispered into your ear, you saw the smirk on Yunho’s lips, and it didn’t help with your frustration. You tried to buck your hips upward in a desperate attempt to get some friction, still chasing that orgasm, but Yunho held your legs down with determination. “Looks like our puppy’s a little bit naughty today, Y/n” Seonghwa hummed, looking at Yunho.

You huffed, but your eyes widened again when you felt Yunho’s soft tip rub against your wetness, making you shudder every time it met your clit.

“C-can I?” Yunho asked, and you eagerly nodded, but soon realized the question wasn’t only meant for you. Seonghwa stayed quiet for a moment before chuckling to himself. “Make her come,” he finally said, and at that, Yunho eagerly positioned himself at your entrance.

His breathing was quick, and you hadn’t seen him this turned on for a long time. “Ready baby?” he asked. You laughed at his cute expression. “Yes, slowly,” you answered.

He lifted your hips to easily enter you, and it was clear to you that he worked really hard to do it slowly. You knew all he wanted was to ravage into you right away, but he could never do so without getting the go-ahead.

“This okay?” Yunho asked when he was almost fully inside of you. You nodded, feeling his large cock fill you up almost completely already. Seonghwa’s soothing touches on your shoulders and neck definitely helped you relax.

“Think you can take another cock too, baby?” Seonghwa asked into your ear. You eagerly nodded as Yunho pushed the last inch of himself into you. You felt so full right now, but couldn’t bask in the feeling for long, until Seonghwa positioned his hard cock by your mouth.

“Can I move?” Yunho moaned. He had already subconsciously started rocking his hips slightly, but you nodded eagerly, desperate for the orgasm that had been taken away from you.

You opened your mouth, looking up at Seonghwa with pleading eyes, and when he finally entered your mouth, you let your tongue work on his tip, circling it as you bobbed your head back and forth.

Your ears were pleasantly filled with the sounds of your boyfriend’s beautiful moans, as their rhythms picked up for every second that passes.

“Good girl, there you go,” Seonghwa moaned. You could tell the two were close to coming not long after you had started, and when Yunho’s fingers met your clit as he fucked into you, you could feel another orgasm building for you too.

Yunho couldn’t contain himself when you tightened around him, so he soon burst inside of you, letting his warm cum fill you up. Right when you felt him finish, you did the same, finally getting that orgasm you had been craving.

Seonghwa kept fucking into your mouth, his deep moans quickening as you moaned around his cock. “That’s it baby,” he praised, before finally exploding into your mouth. You eagerly swallowed every drop of his juices, seeing the blissful look in his eyes as you let the liquids run down your throat.

You let your tongue lick up the length of Seonghwa’s cock as he pulled out of your mouth. “Such a good girl,” Seonghwa breathed heavily in sync with both you and Yunho.

Basking in the afterglow, you failed to notice how Seonghwa and Yunho quickly moved around to change their position, and before you knew it, Seonghwa was between your limp legs once again.

“Hwa, I—“ you started, but was interrupted by a high-pitched moan when his tongue entered your hole, slurping up Yunho’s cum, not letting a drop go to waste.

Yunho lifted you to position you in front of him, his arms holding you close to his chest. “Sensitive baby?” he teased into your ear, sensing shivers down your spine. Seonghwa slowly cleaned you up while Yunho kept whispering sweet nothings into your ears, occasionally giving your neck a little bite or suck.

You met Seonghwa’s eyes when he pulled away from you, finally letting you relax completely.

“You like having your boyfriends fuck you first thing in the morning?” Seonghwa hummed, making you hide your face in embarrassment. “Oh no baby, don’t be shy~” Yunho purred from behind you. “We love it too.”

Seonghwa seemed to be able to sense the feeling of the chilly morning air against your skin, as he threw the duvet over your form again. “Thank you,” you hummed as Yunho and Seonghwa lay down on either side of you.

“You took us so well baby,” Yunho smiled into your neck, still nuzzling into your warmth. Seonghwa had gotten a few wipes from the bedside table, using them to wipe you carefully.

“Aw, still a little wet baby?” Seonghwa cooed, wiping your thighs. You whined in shame as you met Seonghwa’s teasing gaze. “Don’t worry,” he set the wipes on the bedside table again. “We have all day to make you feel good.”

Giving you one last kiss on your slightly swollen lips, Seonghwa lay down beside you, letting his hand rest on your hip. You were too tired to fight his teasing remarks, and you definitely weren’t going to argue about the “we have all day”-deal.

You let yourself fall into a deep slimber once again when Yunho ran his long fingers through your slightly messy hair, the warmth building back up under the soft sheets.

”Love you,” you let out quietly, almost inaudibly. “We love you too baby,” Yunho answered, before the three of you fell asleep once again, knowing the only thing on the agenda today being time spent with each other.

He works his employees to the bone, forcing long, gruelling hours and unnecessary overtime. He finds it amusing how easily anyone bends over backwards to please him. He loves knowing how many people hate him but can't afford to lose their jobs, so they never formally complain. You've been dealing with this for months, just trying to get through your internship without pulling your hair out, yet Mr. Jeong always finds a way to add more to your plate and make you redo reports.

Everyone has a breaking point, so when your recent report gets flagged, again, you can only purse your lips and turn to your computer to redo it—until you get called into his office. You swear you could feel your eye twitch, your nails digging into your palms as you clench your fists in an attempt not to break everything on your desk.

You march to his office, throwing open the door without knocking or waiting for approval. "Do you find joy in making your employee's lives miserable?" His door hadn't even been closed when you started in on him. Mr. Jeong quirks a brow, a scoff leaving his lips as he pushes reports aside on his desk. With a clenched jaw, you stalked over to his desk, wrapping his tie around his hand and yanking him forward.

His eyes widened as a staggered gasp left his mouth at your incredulous action. “Do you think… this is a laughing matter, Mr. Jeong?” Your voice is hauntingly smooth as you tug on his tie again. “I can terminate your contract for this stunt.” He internally groaned at how shaky his breath was as he talked. You chuckled dryly. “You won’t, though.” You stare into his eyes, glazed over with bottled emotions. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you know I do this job better than any employee here,” You tightened your grip on his tie. “And you’d be damned to lose me.” His office suddenly feels a lot hotter, his throat dry as he tries to focus on the fury in your eyes and not your soft lips that are pulled taut.

Mr. Jeong's lips press together, his eyes locked onto yours, trying to reclaim the authority that has suddenly slipped from his grasp. You can see the conflict brewing in his gaze—indignation fighting with undeniable acknowledgment. He knows you're right. You’ve always known. That’s why he pushes you the hardest, testing how far you'll go, seeing if you'll break. 

For a moment, he’s speechless, his bravado slipping as he struggles to find a response. “This—” he starts, his voice wavering slightly. “This is unacceptable behaviour.” But you don’t let go. Instead, you lean closer, and you can feel his breath hitch. He’s always been untouchable, but right now, he’s caught—like prey staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

You feel something snap inside you—a dam breaking. All the pent-up frustration, all the swallowed rage. “You know what’s unacceptable?” you say, your voice low and laced with contempt. “Being treated like a machine. Expecting loyalty without respect. You think your power gives you the right to treat us like we’re beneath you. But not me. Not anymore.”

His face flushes, and for the first time since you started here, he looks unsure. Vulnerable. It's as if you've shattered the carefully crafted mask he wears every day. You can see him wavering, his confidence fraying like a thread about to snap. You’ve never seen him this way—off-balance, unguarded. There's a strange thrill in watching him come undone, knowing that you've managed to pierce the armour he hides behind.

“Let me be clear,” you say, loosening your grip just enough to let him breathe but not enough for him to pull away. “I will finish this report, and I will do it perfectly like I always do. But from now on, you're going to treat me with the respect I deserve—or I walk. And believe me, you will feel it when I’m gone.” 

He’s silent, the room thick with tension. Slowly, you release his tie, smoothing it back down against his chest. His breathing is uneven, his eyes wide, but he doesn’t stop you. He watches you like he’s never really seen you before, and maybe he hasn’t. Maybe you've been just another employee to him until now, another cog in the machine.

“Get back to work,” he says, but the command lacks its usual edge. You turn to leave, not bothering to wait for a dismissal this time. As you step through the doorway, you don’t slam the door shut. You leave it slightly ajar, knowing he’s still staring after you, something in the atmosphere between you changed forever.

Back at your desk, you start the report again, your hands steady, your mind clear. There's a new feeling thrumming in your chest—an unfamiliar, heady sense of power. For the first time, you think he might be the one who’s afraid to lose you. 

And that realization? It makes you smile.

-

Yunho sat in his office, staring at the office door you walked out of. His breathing came out hot and heavy, his heart racing in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t, but your fire is eating him alive. He can feel it crawl into every crevice of his being, lighting him up from the inside out. He leans back in his chair, trying to will his mind to be anywhere other than his pretty little intern.

Wait.

His pretty little intern…

His pretty little intern…

His pretty little intern…

His mouth fell agape, wondering where the audacity of his own thoughts was coming from. His attempt to think of anything but you was futile; no matter what he did, his thoughts found their way back to you. He ran a hand over his face, a dull throb in his head as he paced around his office. He shook his head with a huff, striding over to his door.

His eyes are scanning the cubicles and desks, watching as all employees avoid eye contact. He walks with a purpose, making his way to your desk. You nonchalantly sip on your coffee, holding a hand out to stop him before he can speak, opting to finish typing out the email before hitting send. He stared at you with disdain, his tongue poking his cheek as he sighed out his frustration. You turned in your chair, cocking your head. “My office. Now.”

“For what reason?” Yunho quirked a brow, taking notice as other workers stopped their work to witness the scene upon them. “Oh? Already forgot the stunt you pulled in my office?” Yunho leaned his hands on your desk, lowering his head to yours. “The only one pulling stunts is you, Mr. Jeong ‘never leaves his office for anything or anyone’ Yunho.” The other workers whispered among themselves, silently applauding you in your stance against your big, bad boss.

Yunho pulled out a folded paper from his jacket, straightening up before throwing it in front of you. “Alright then, here’s your final assignment. Appear in my office in two minutes or face termination.” A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips as he put his hands in his pockets, making his way back to his office. You eyed the folded paper, scoffing at his absurdity. He actually handed you a termination letter.

You clutched the paper tightly as you got out of your seat. You threw it into your desk trashcan, grumbling as you made your way into his office. He sat against his desk, his hands still in his pockets yet his coat was off this time. He briefly took a hand out of his pocket, beckoning you over with a finger. As you stood in front of him, you could smell the cologne waving off him; a mix of earthy tones and sweetness.

Yunho waited for the click of his door, ensuring that it was closed before he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into him. His lips found yours with ease. His kiss was rushed, fueled by the emotions from earlier. “You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice is hushed as he whispers against your lips. His hands stay busy on your waist, tugging your hips closer. You smile into the kiss, letting Yunho’s hands explore your body like he’s done many times before. You slide your hands lower, palming over the obvious bulge in his slacks.

“Fuck, I need you now.” Yunho turns you around, moving you to bend over his desk. He unceremoniously tugs your pants down your thighs, groaning as he eyes the lace trimming of your panties. Yunho shoved your panties to the side, letting his leaking cock bump against your clit. You jolt against his desk, clawing at the wood. Yunho leans against your back, taking your hands in his. The ring on his finger catches against your matching one.