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Chapter Text

Kwon Taekjoo stood tall even as his patience crumbled to nothing. Broad-shouldered and solid, he filled out his tailored black suit with the kind of physique that came from years of relentless discipline rather than shallow vanity.

His skin carried a warm, sun-kissed tan that stood out sharply against the pristine white of his dress shirt. Dark brown hair, so deep it bordered on black, had been swept back neatly that morning, though a few rebellious strands always slipped forward no matter how carefully he tried to tame them.

His face was undeniably handsome. Strong jaw. Sharp cheekbones. There was authority in his expression even at rest. And yet, beneath that severity, there was something almost misleading about him. A subtle, bunny-like quality that surfaced in the fullness of his lips and his deep brown eyes. 

Yet today none of that softness remained. The hard line of his clenched jaw transformed those inviting features into something unmistakably sharp, edged with barely contained fury.

He was beyond angry.

The morning had started terribly and then spiraled downward with ruthless precision. He had woken to a barrage of messages and missed calls, the sort that made his stomach plummet before he even unlocked his phone. 

A Russian conglomerate. A multi-billionaire. New ownership. 

The words fused into one stinging blow. The company he had poured years of his life into, the place that had claimed his youth, his health, and his unwavering loyalty, had been sold overnight. Decisions were already being made behind closed doors. Departments restructured. Core values rewritten. Everything he had fought to earn now felt fragile, temporary, disposable.

As if fate had not struck hard enough, the coffee he bought on his way out was disgusting. Burnt, watery, barely drinkable. He took one bitter sip, grimaced, and forced it down anyway because throwing it away felt like yet another small defeat he could not bear today. It only deepened the sourness already churning inside him. The universe clearly had more in store.

Still distracted and seething, he walked straight into someone on the sidewalk. The impact sent the cup tumbling from his fingers. Coffee splattered across the pavement in dark, useless streaks. He looked up, an apology already forming on his tongue that would have sounded more like a challenge, and then he froze.

The man standing before him was tall and deliberately striking. His skin gleamed pale like polished ivory, a stark contrast to the luxurious fur coat draped with careless elegance over his shoulders. Light hair, clearly expensive and perfectly maintained, framed a face dominated by eyes of an unnatural, piercing jade. Those eyes swept over Taekjoo in one cool, assessing glance.

The stranger was gorgeous in an almost offensive way. Worse still, a small, smug smile played at the corner of his mouth, as though the entire collision amused him far more than it inconvenienced him.

No apology came. Only that slow, knowing look and a low, muttered remark laced with pure arrogance before he turned and walked away, dismissing Taekjoo like a minor obstacle on his path.

By the time Taekjoo reached the office, the building thrummed with barely contained chaos. People huddled in small groups, whispering urgently, phones glued to their ears, panic hidden behind strained professional smiles. 

Then word spread that Mr. Kwak had summoned Taekjoo to his office, and the energy shifted. 

Expectant glances followed him. Whispers of envy and premature congratulations floated through the air. 

Taekjoo allowed himself to believe it too. That it was finally happening. He had earned that promotion. Every late night, every lost weekend, every quiet compromise had led here. It was supposed to be his.

But the truth hit like a physical blow.

His promotion had been replaced by a leash.

Yevgeny Bogdanov. The youngest son of the billionaire who now controlled most of the company, was now his new boss. A man Taekjoo was now expected to follow, support, and obey. A decorative figure handed power through blood rather than sweat or merit.

And when the meeting finally approached, Yevgeny Bogdanov arrived two hours late.

Two hours of wasted time. Two hours of Taekjoo grinding his teeth in humiliation and mounting rage. 

When the door at last swung open and the man strolled in without a trace of urgency or regret, Taekjoo recognized him immediately.

The fur coat. The jade eyes. The same smug bastard from the street.

Yevgeny made no effort to pretend he cared. He treated the company like a plaything, his position like a passing amusement, his responsibilities like an irritating chore. Every careless word he spoke wound the tension inside Taekjoo tighter.

The next six months were absolute hell, and Taekjoo was beyond sick of Yevgeny.

The man didn’t give a single fuck about the company. He barely showed up, and when he did, it was late, careless, and loud in all the wrong ways. The majority of the meetings were skipped, deadlines ignored, decisions half-assed and tossed aside like they didn’t matter. And every single time, it was Taekjoo who was left behind to clean up the disaster. 

Apologizing to departments, smoothing over clients, and fixing problems that never should have existed in the first place.

Taekjoo was doing the job in full. Every responsibility, every pressure, every consequence, just without the title, without the authority, and without the pay. Instead, he was treated like a lackey. Running errands for the spoiled prince, fetching documents, chasing approvals that should have been automatic, and standing there while Yevgeny dismissed him with a flick of his wrist or a bored glance.

Yevgeny made it painfully clear he didn’t want to be there. He talked openly about it. He was only here because his father had forced him into it, and he carried that resentment like a badge of honor, taking it out on everyone around him. Especially Taekjoo.

And Taekjoo hated him.

He hated the arrogance, the laziness, the way Yevgeny acted like the company was beneath him, like everyone in it was disposable. He hated the smug looks, the careless tone, the spoiled entitlement dripping from every word.

He hated the self-absorbed, spoiled piece of shit with a fury that sat tight in his chest and refused to cool.

And the worst part was knowing there was nothing he could do about it.

By the time the workday ended, Taekjoo needed three things desperately. A cigarette. A strong drink. And company that wouldn’t demand anything from him except silence or indulgence.

That need carried him toward the courtesan house.

The building rose quietly from the street, elegant rather than ostentatious. Warm golden light poured from tall windows draped in sheer curtains. Polished stone gleamed beneath his shoes, and brass fixtures caught the soft glow with understated luxury. The entrance promised discretion, refinement, and total escape the moment he crossed the threshold.

Taekjoo moved through the hallway with practiced ease, his presence familiar and welcome. The air inside the house was warm and rich, perfumed faintly with polished wood, wine, and something indulgent that lingered just beneath the surface. 

Soft laughter drifted from behind velvet curtains. Low music hummed through the space, slow and elegant, designed to soothe rather than demand attention. Candlelight reflected off gilded frames and glassware, casting everything in a golden glow that blurred the edges of reality.

He nodded to people he knew as he passed. Regulars. Staff. Faces that recognized him not just as a patron, but as a fixture. Acquaintances greeted him with quiet respect, and a few women smiled as he went by, eyes lingering just a second longer than polite. He acknowledged them with a calm confidence, neither rushed nor indulgent, his composure unshaken by the attention.

He climbed the stairs at an unhurried pace, the muted sounds of the lower floor fading behind him. At the top, he turned instinctively toward his usual table, the one tucked just far enough away to feel private without being isolated.

Ms. Louise would be there.

She was French, effortlessly beautiful, with an air of intelligence that made conversation feel as satisfying as anything else she offered. Adventurous without being reckless, sharp-witted, attentive, she knew how to read him. She knew how to keep a discussion alive, how to challenge him when he wanted it, and how to please a man without making it feel transactional.

She was, without question, exactly who he wanted tonight.

Taekjoo had almost reached the familiar corner table when he sensed the change in the air.

Someone else occupied his usual place.

The stranger sat there with the calm certainty of someone who had never once questioned his right to any space he chose to claim. His posture remained relaxed yet carried unmistakable intention, spine straight without stiffness, shoulders open, long fingers resting lightly on the stem of a crystal glass. 

The expensive fur coat draped across those shoulders looked almost casual, not ostentatious but simply inevitable, the kind of garment a man wears because the world has already bent to accommodate his taste rather than the reverse. Soft golden lamplight played across the pale skin of his throat and the sharp line of his collarbone where the coat parted just enough to reveal the crisp edge of a dark silk shirt beneath.

He spoke in a low, measured voice, each word rolling out smooth and unhurried, wrapped in the distinctive velvet weight of a Russian accent that slid under Taekjoo’s skin like cold silk and tightened every muscle along his spine.

Taekjoo’s jaw locked so hard he felt the ache bloom behind his molars.

He stopped dead.

Yevgeny Bogdanov.

The recognition struck like a fist to the diaphragm, stealing his next breath. 

Before Taekjoo could turn on his heel and disappear back into the shadowed corridors of the house, Louise lifted her gaze and saw him. Her entire face illuminated with genuine pleasure, eyes sparkling in the warm glow of the candles that flickered between the heavy velvet drapes.

“Taekjoo,” she exclaimed, voice bright and welcoming. “You’re finally here. Come, come, sit with us.”

Yevgeny’s head turned then, slow and deliberate. Those unnaturally vivid jade eyes rose to meet Taekjoo’s, catching the amber light and holding it hostage for a long, unblinking moment. No wide grin split his face, no mocking smirk twisted his mouth. Instead there came only the faintest upward curve at one corner of his lips, polite on the surface, quietly amused underneath, perfectly controlled in the way of someone who knew exactly how much power resided in stillness.

Louise, blissfully unaware of the electric wire of tension that now stretched taut between the two men, gestured gracefully from one to the other, her bracelets chiming softly against each other.

“This is Yevgeny,” she said with warm enthusiasm. “He has been the most wonderful company tonight. So intelligent, so well-traveled, truly impressive in every way. We’ve been talking about the most fascinating things.”

Taekjoo did not move. He stayed rooted where he stood, tall and rigid in his dark suit, every line of his body radiating the fury he no longer bothered to conceal. The anger lived openly on his face now, in the hard set of his mouth, the narrowed eyes, the slight flare of his nostrils as he drew each controlled breath. 

This felt deliberate. Calculated. As though Yevgeny had slipped into this private sanctuary with the same careless entitlement he displayed everywhere else, sliding into spaces that already carried Taekjoo’s imprint, brushing against what belonged to him without permission or apology, simply because he could.

Louise’s smile faltered only a fraction when she noticed Taekjoo’s stillness, but she recovered quickly, patting the cushioned seat beside her in invitation.

Taekjoo spoke at last. His voice emerged low and clipped, each syllable edged with irritation he could not quite smooth away despite the years he had spent learning to mask it.

“I know Mr. Bogdanov,” he said.

The words dropped into the quiet like stones into still water.

Yevgeny inclined his head in the smallest, most elegant acknowledgment, the gesture so practiced it seemed almost choreographed. That faint smile lingered, composed, unruffled, and utterly maddening in its serenity.

“Yes,” he answered, voice soft and smooth as poured vodka. “We are well acquainted. Quite closely, I would say.”

His gaze held Taekjoo’s for one heartbeat longer than courtesy demanded, steady, unhurried, almost intimate in its assessment. Then, with the same languid grace, he added, “While we are here, you both may call me Zhenya.”

Louise clapped her hands together with bright enthusiasm. The soft sharp sound cut through the warm air of the room like a delighted chime.

“Oh this is simply wonderful,” she said while a soft laugh bubbled from her lips. “I truly had no idea the two of you already knew each other. What a remarkably small world we live in after all.”

Taekjoo hummed half heartedly, and sat down as well.

Louise eased back into the plush velvet chair with graceful contentment. Her fingers rose to toy idly with a loose silken lock of her blonde hair. She glanced back and forth between the two men seated across from each other. Her long lashes fluttered in that practiced charming way she had perfected over years of drawing attention without seeming to try. 

Under ordinary circumstances Taekjoo would have found himself drawn in by the effortless allure. He would have smiled at the way light caught in her eyes or the gentle curve of her mouth.

Tonight the gesture barely registered.

His vision narrowed to the man who sat directly opposite him. “Zhenya” occupied the space with absolute ease. He lounged there as though the chair, the table and the entire private alcove had always existed solely for his pleasure. The fur coat still draped elegantly over his shoulders. The pale skin of his throat gleamed softly in the candlelight. Every line of his body radiated quiet unassailable confidence.

Louise leaned forward slightly. Her voice carried fresh animation as she continued speaking. “Zhenya was just sharing the most fascinating stories about Russia. He described how vastly different everything feels there compared to here. The culture moves at such a different rhythm. The pace is relentless. The expectations seem almost merciless. It all sounds incredibly intense and alive.”

Zhenya turned his head toward her. A slow indulgent smile spread across his face. His eyes lingered on her openly. The gaze traveled with deliberate appreciation over the line of her neck, the swell of her collarbone the soft fabric clinging to her form. He made no attempt to disguise the appraisal. No flicker of shame crossed his features. He looked at her as though she were a rare exquisite thing he had every right to examine at leisure.

“It is very different,” he replied. His voice flowed smooth and rich like aged liquor. “More demanding in many ways. One learns to adapt swiftly there or one is simply left behind in the dust.”

Taekjoo’s expression darkened further. The scowl settled deep into his features. His brows drew together harshly. The muscles along his jaw stood out in stark relief as he fought to keep his temper leashed.

Zhenya shifted his attention back to Taekjoo. He tilted his head just a fraction in that elegantly controlled way of his. “I will confess something,” he continued. His tone remained calm and perfectly conversational as though they were discussing nothing more significant than the weather. 

“Adjusting to life here has not been entirely without its challenges. Yet if it were not for Taekjoo I suspect the transition would have been far more arduous. He truly makes everything so much easier for me.”

Taekjoo went rigid. Every muscle in his body locked tight.

Shock sliced through him first. It arrived sharp and cold. Then irritation surged in its wake, hot and immediate. The praise rang utterly false. Every word felt carefully manufactured. Polished to a high sheen for the sole purpose of being overheard. Spoken not from genuine sentiment but for performance. For an audience of one.

Zhenya released a quiet laugh. The sound emerged low and handsome, warm and entirely effortless. It rolled across the table like velvet. “Truly,” he added. His voice lightened with what sounded like sincere admiration. “The company would find itself in considerable difficulty without his steady hand guiding things.”

As the words left his mouth his hand moved with casual unhurried familiarity. Long fingers settled against the curve of Louise’s waist. They slid slowly along her side tracing the line of her body with possessive ease. The touch looked purposeful and assured. As though the space between them belonged to him by right. 

Louise showed no sign of discomfort. Instead she smiled more brightly. She leaned subtly into the contact. Her body relaxed toward him in clear charmed acceptance.

Taekjoo understood in an instant.

Every gesture carried intention. Every word, every lingering glance, every deliberate brush of fingers against fabric had been chosen with precision. All of it aimed squarely at him.

Louise let out a soft delighted giggle that floated through the candlelit air like delicate music. She leaned even more fully into Zhenya’s side. Her body molded against his with effortless grace as though his arm around her waist had always been the most natural place for her to rest. The movement looked intimate and unselfconscious at once.

“This is so beautiful,” she murmured in a dreamy voice thick with contentment. “I truly love how well the two of you get along. You seem so wonderfully close already.”

Taekjoo felt his molars grind together with such force that a dull ache bloomed deep in his jaw.

She turned toward him then. The motion unfolded slow and deliberate. Her gaze settled on Taekjoo with unmistakable intimacy. Long dark lashes drifted lower over her eyes. Her lips curved into the faintest promising smile that spoke of secrets and invitations. Warm golden light danced across her cheekbones and caught in the soft sheen of her hair.

“You really are quite amazing,” she told him. Her voice wrapped around the words like warm honey. “And so very gorgeous.”

His stomach twisted sharply. A cold knot formed low in his gut and tightened.

Before Taekjoo could find any words to answer her she pivoted back toward Zhenya with the same languid grace. She offered him an identical look. The lowered lashes. The subtle curve of her mouth. The quiet promise. The entire gesture mirrored perfectly as though it formed part of some carefully rehearsed elegant performance designed to envelop them all.

Zhenya did not hesitate for even a heartbeat.

“Yes,” he said. His voice slid out smooth and unruffled. His eyes flicked toward Taekjoo with infuriating calm. “He is gorgeous.”

That single sentence shattered whatever thin restraint Taekjoo had left.

He was fucking furious.

A wave of heat surged upward along his spine. It settled heavy and burning in the center of his chest. Every muscle in his body pulled taut. His hands curled into hard fists at his sides. The way Zhenya spoke those words. The way his fingers continued to drift with lazy possession along the curve of Louise’s waist while he directed the praise toward Taekjoo. The way he offered the compliment as though Taekjoo were nothing more than a beautiful object placed on display for their mutual appreciation. 

It felt emasculating in a manner Taekjoo had never encountered before. Controlled. Polished. Delivered in public with surgical precision.

Something about Zhenya carried an unmistakable edge of calculation. The precision of every word he chose. The careful choreography of every gesture. The measured timing of every glance. It all felt deliberate. Engineered. Designed to humiliate.

He was doing this on purpose.

Every lingering look that passed between them. Every velvet-wrapped compliment. Every casual possessive touch against Louise’s body while he spoke about Taekjoo. All of it aimed to provoke. To strip away layers of composure. To make Taekjoo feel small and exposed. To reduce him to something pathetic in the middle of this golden-lit room.

And Zhenya knew exactly what he was doing.

A server approached their table with the quiet professionalism that defined every aspect of this establishment. She moved without haste, her steps measured and soundless against the thick carpet. 

When she reached the edge of their alcove she leaned in slightly toward Louise. Her voice emerged soft and perfectly pitched, just loud enough to reach the three of them without disturbing the delicate feeling of the room.

“Ms. Louise,” she said with flawless courtesy, “a private room has become available for you and Mr. Bogdanov.”

Louise’s face brightened at once. A warm delighted glow spread across her features. “Oh how wonderful,” she replied in a voice rich with pleasure.

She rose from her seat with the fluid effortless grace of someone entirely at home in her own skin. Her hand glided naturally to Zhenya’s arm. Slender fingers settled there with quiet possession as though the contact were the most instinctive thing in the world. She bent forward just enough to let the soft neckline of her dress reveal the gentle swell of her cleavage. 

“Shall we go upstairs then?” she asked him. Her tone carried a light coaxing lilt.

She paused and glanced back toward the server. “Please arrange some pleasant company for Taekjoo as well,” she added sweetly. “He really shouldn’t have to spend the rest of the evening alone.”

That single sentence sliced through the air.

“It’s fine,” Taekjoo said immediately. He already pushed his chair back with a decisive motion. The legs scraped faintly against the floor. “I was just about to leave anyway.”

He managed only two steps before Zhenya rose.

The movement unfolded smoothly and unhurried yet it blocked Taekjoo’s path as effectively as a closed door. Zhenya extended one hand. He did not touch Taekjoo. His palm simply hovered in the space between them close enough to form an invisible yet unmistakable barrier. Long elegant fingers remained relaxed and open.

“Leaving already?” Zhenya echoed. His voice stayed mild, almost gentle. One brow lifted in what appeared to be genuine surprise though the calm gleam in his beautiful eyes suggested otherwise.

Taekjoo’s jaw clenched until the muscles stood out in hard lines beneath his skin. “I’m perfectly fine,” he answered. The words came out short and clipped. “Enjoy your evening.”

Zhenya tilted his head a fraction to one side. His gaze remained steady, cool and quietly calculating. “There is really no need for you to go,” he said. His voice dropped lower carrying the same polite courtesy that somehow made refusal feel impossible. He glanced briefly toward Louise. “If you would not mind sharing the evening with us of course.”

Louise responded at once. Her smile bloomed bright and immediate. “Of course I don’t mind,” she said with sunny enthusiasm. “I would love it actually.”

Taekjoo exhaled sharply through his nose. “No,” he stated firmly. “I’m not interested.”

Zhenya did not shift an inch.

“Oh come now,” he murmured. A faint knowing smile curved the corner of his mouth once more. The expression looked almost indulgent.

“I said no,” Taekjoo snapped. Irritation finally bled through the careful control he had maintained all evening.

Zhenya’s expression remained perfectly serene. Nothing flickered across his features to betray the slightest discomfort. “It would be rather rude to leave so abruptly,” he observed in that same calm unruffled tone. “We were having such a pleasant evening together.”

Taekjoo felt the pressure settle over him then. It arrived subtle yet relentless. Zhenya’s presence seemed to expand until it filled every inch of the shadowed alcove. His voice stayed velvet smooth, never rising, never sharpening yet it refused to yield even a fraction of ground. Each polite suggestion landed like another gentle insistent push. The words wove themselves around Taekjoo tightening quietly drawing him inward.

He stood there rigid, every instinct screaming at him to turn and walk away. To leave this gilded cage and the man who had turned every moment into a calculated game. Reason told him to go. Pride demanded it.

And yet against every shred of better judgment against the furious pulse hammering in his temples Taekjoo felt himself give way.

Taekjoo exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face as if he could physically wipe the tension away.

“I suppose,” he said at last, voice tight, resigned, “a single night like this won’t hurt.”

The words tasted bitter the moment they left his mouth.

Louise smiled, pleased, already turning away as if the matter were settled. Zhenya merely inclined his head, the faintest approval in his eyes, as though he had expected nothing else. Together, they moved down the corridor, Louise leading the way with effortless confidence.

Taekjoo followed a step behind.

The hallway grew quieter the farther they went, the noise of the house fading into a distant murmur. Plush carpet muted their footsteps. Wall sconces cast a warm, low glow that softened the edges of everything it touched. Louise walked between them, her presence light, almost buoyant, while Zhenya moved with unhurried elegance, never once looking back, certain Taekjoo would follow.

And he did.

Chapter Text

The private room stood in deliberate opposition to the pulsing energy of the spaces beyond its door. Here everything was modern yet restrained, crafted for intimacy. Soft light spilled from concealed fixtures along the walls, warm enough to soften every edge and shadow, yet low enough to draw people closer, to make whispers feel necessary.

The furniture had been chosen with care and held to a minimum—a low, dark table, a single sleek chair, and a wide bed draped in linens so deep in hue they seemed to drink the light rather than give it back. The air itself felt thicker here, slower, as though the room understood what was about to unfold and was already holding its breath.

Louise perched on the edge of the bed with easy grace, legs crossed in a way that invited the eye without ever demanding it. She looked utterly at ease, as though the space belonged to her alone.

Taekjoo lingered nearby, seated in a chair he hadn’t realized he’d chosen for distance until now. Zhenya stood beside the table, unhurried, pouring drinks with the calm focus of someone who knew exactly how long each silence could be stretched. The gentle chime of liquid meeting glass was the only sound for several heartbeats.

He handed the first glass to Louise, fingers brushing hers briefly. Then he turned and offered one to Taekjoo.

For a moment, their eyes met.

Zhenya’s gaze lingered in a way that felt deliberate, slow, almost assessing. Not casual. Not polite. It was the kind of look that made Taekjoo acutely aware of his own body, of the way he sat, of the space between them. Taekjoo’s mouth tightened into a scowl as he took the glass.

Louise watched the silent exchange with a small, knowing smile, clearly savoring the charged air. “Come here,” she said, her voice soft and warm as summer dusk. She patted the smooth expanse of sheet beside her. “Sit with me. I like the way you feel nearby. You give off heat.”

Zhenya tilted his head in quiet agreement, his expression serene while his eyes glinted with something sharper. “It would be rude to leave such a beautiful woman waiting when she asks so sweetly,” he murmured, the words sliding out smooth as silk.

Taekjoo let a low sound of irritation hum in his throat. Yet he rose anyway. Perhaps this was the moment to shift the balance, to prove he could claim space and attention just as easily as Zhenya could command it. He crossed the room in a few measured strides and settled beside Louise, close enough that the warmth of her body brushed against his side, close enough that the invitation became something tangible, undeniable.

Behind them, Zhenya’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smirk.

He moved to the chair Taekjoo had abandoned, dragging it just slightly, positioning himself so he had a clear view of them both. He sat back, relaxed, observant, glass in hand, watching as if this, too, was exactly where he wanted things to go.

Louise rested her palm high on Taekjoo’s thigh. Her fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, the touch warm and teasing through the fabric of his trousers. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur. “You’ve become such a busy man these days. It’s nearly impossible to reach you anymore. I haven’t seen you in far too long, and that disappoints me deeply. You’re so strikingly handsome, so irresistibly sexy, Taekjoo.”

Taekjoo barely registered her words. His gaze remained fixed on Zhenya across from them, watching the way those full lips pressed against the rim of the glass, the subtle flex of his throat as he swallowed. A wave of disgust rolled through him, sharp and familiar, yet tangled with something darker, something hotter that coiled low in his gut. 

He forced his voice out, low and edged. “Yeah. All my time’s been occupied lately, thanks to a certain someone.”

Zhenya let out a soft chuckle. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass with lazy grace, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Taekjoo is a dedicated worker. He pours every ounce of effort and time into his job. Work and nothing else. It consumes his entire life.” The words carried the lightest trace of mockery, smooth as velvet over steel.

Louise smiled, undeterred. Her fingers drifted upward to the buttons of her top. One by one she slipped them free until the fabric parted completely. She shrugged it off her shoulders, revealing a delicate black bra that clung to her curves. 

Zhenya watched without haste, his expression calm and appreciative.

Taekjoo clenched his jaw. “Someone has to do the work. Not everyone can rely on Daddy’s money. Real effort is required to get anywhere.”

Zhenya merely raised one brow, a silent acknowledgment that carried its own subtle challenge.

Louise tilted her head toward Taekjoo, her voice a warm caress. “I adore a strong, dedicated man.” 

Her hands moved behind her back. The clasp of her bra gave way with a soft click. She let the lace fall away, baring her full breasts to the warm air. They rose gently with each breath, pale skin flushed, nipples tightening into dusky peaks under the intimate light.

She reached up and gently turned Taekjoo’s face toward her, forcing his attention away from the other man.

Zhenya’s lips curved into a deeper, more satisfied smirk. He remained perfectly still, utterly amused.

Louise’s fingers found the buttons of Taekjoo’s shirt next. She worked them open with practiced ease until the fabric parted wide. Taekjoo slid one strong arm around her waist and drew her flush against him. His own body came into view—broad shoulders, defined chest, the warm tan of his skin glowing under the low light, every muscle taut with restrained power.

He lifted his gaze to meet Zhenya’s once more. “So watching is your thing?”

Zhenya took a slow sip of his drink, then set the glass aside with care. “Maybe. You’ve intrigued me, Taekjoo. I wouldn’t mind remaining a spectator.”

Taekjoo scoffed, the sound rough in his throat. He turned back to Louise and captured her mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss.

She gasped against his lips, the sound swallowed instantly as she melted into him. Their mouths moved together with hungry urgency. His tongue swept past her parted lips, claiming the warm, sweet space within. 

She met him stroke for stroke, tongues sliding and tangling in a deep, wet dance that spoke of pent-up need. Her fingers dug into his shoulders while his hand tightened at her waist, pulling her impossibly closer as the kiss deepened into something raw and consuming.

Zhenya observed every detail, though his attention lingered most intently on Taekjoo.

Louise wrapped her arms around Taekjoo’s neck the instant he shrugged off his shirt completely, clinging to him with quiet anticipation. He seized her waist with firm hands and pushed her down onto the bed, his movements sharper and more forceful than usual, fueled by the raw anger still simmering beneath his skin.

She tilted her head and pressed soft kisses along the shell of his ear, her fingertips tracing slow, appreciative paths over the broad expanse of his shoulders. Those shoulders felt like sculpted stone beneath her touch, every muscle corded and powerful, woven together in taut perfection. 

Taekjoo inhaled deeply, the sweet floral notes of her perfume drifting into his lungs and stirring something primal within him. He lifted her legs with ease, sliding the skirt down her thighs until it pooled on the floor, leaving her clad only in delicate panties. Then he drew her body flush against his stomach, the heat of her skin searing into his.

With gentle fingers he tucked a few stray waves of her hair behind her ear before leaning in to nip lightly at the smooth curve of her earlobe. A soft, trembling moan escaped Louise’s lips, her body already yielding as though half-melted under his attention.

He buried his mouth against the sensitive heat of her ear and whispered in a low, dangerous tone. “You will regret pulling me into this. I am not going to be gentle tonight.”

“Oh,” Louise gasped, the single syllable laced with thrill and surrender.

He maneuvered her further up the bed until her body folded in half, her knees pressing against her chest. Taekjoo swiftly undid his trousers and shoved them down along with his briefs, his thick, straining erection springing free, heavy and flushed with need. Across the room Zhenya’s lips curved into an impressed, predatory grin as he took in the sight.

Taekjoo hooked his fingers beneath the lace of Louise’s panties and drew them slowly down her legs, letting the fabric drag teasingly along her skin. He parted her thighs with deliberate care, trailing open-mouthed kisses from the inside of one knee upward, pausing to suck gently at the tender flesh where her inner thigh. 

His tongue traced lazy patterns closer and closer to her center, then finally stroked over her in long, languid licks that made her hips jerk and her breath hitch in sharp, needy bursts. 

She arched against his mouth, fingers twisting in the sheets, every glide of his tongue drawing fresh whimpers of pleasure from deep in her throat.

Flames of sensation licked across her skin wherever he touched, building into an exquisite burn that left her trembling. Her pleasure mounted in waves, each one cresting higher as his mouth worked her with focused intensity, her moans growing louder and more desperate.

Zhenya leaned back in his chair, drink cradled loosely in one hand, eyes fixed on the scene with unhurried fascination. He watched every shift of Taekjoo’s shoulders, every hitch of Louise’s breath, the quiet amusement in his expression deepening as he observed the raw hunger unfolding before him.

Zhenya parted his thighs wider, arousal thickening and hardening within his trousers as heat pooled low in his belly. 

Across the bed Taekjoo’s tongue moved with deliberate heat, broad and wet, gliding slowly over Louise’s swollen clit in long, unhurried strokes. She dissolved into a trembling, moaning wreck beneath him, each sound spilling from her lips both genuine and theatrical, a performance directed toward the man watching from the shadows. Taekjoo knew it perfectly well, and the knowledge sharpened his irritation even as he pressed on.

Zhenya savored every detail of the display. Taekjoo worked her with practiced skill, flattening his tongue to cover her entirely one moment, then narrowing it the next until only the pointed tip flicked against her most sensitive point. He devoured her the way one might savor something rare and sweet, lips and tongue moving in intimate, kissing rhythms that drew fresh waves of pleasure from deep within her core. 

When he finally sealed his mouth around her and sucked with steady, insistent pressure, Louise arched off the sheets and cried his name in broken, breathless syllables.

The sound sent a dark thrill through Zhenya. Yet his gaze drifted from her flushed face to the man between her thighs. Taekjoo’s shoulders bunched with power, the wide planes of his back flexed and gleaming with faint sweat, every muscle carved in sharp relief. Lower still, the firm curve of his ass shifted with each careful movement, a sight so arresting that Zhenya could scarcely look away.

In the privacy of his mind he pictured it vividly—seizing Taekjoo by the hips, bending him forward over the same bed, claiming him completely. Desire for this man had burned quietly since the first time Zhenya spotted him on the street, tall and striking, utterly unaware of the hunger he inspired. Zhenya wanted to hear those low, rough moans directed at him, wanted to watch pleasure fracture across that handsome face, wanted Taekjoo pinned beneath him, gasping his name in surrender.

By the time he looked back up, Taekjoo rose at last, sliding upward along her body. He aligned himself, thick and rigid, and dragged the blunt head of his cock along her slick folds in slow, teasing passes. Louise panted beneath him, cheeks rosy, lips parted as she whispered his name again and again like a plea.

Then he surged forward in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside her. She sucked in a sharp, stunned breath at the sudden stretch, her pale body quaking beneath the heavy press of him. 

The wet, rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by the low creak of the bed frame. Zhenya’s mouth curved into a slow, appreciative smile. Taekjoo looked every inch the brute in that moment, raw and unrestrained, and Zhenya found the sight profoundly satisfying.

Taekjoo maintained his relentless rhythm, withdrawing fully before driving back in with unyielding force, heedless of the way Louise’s body responded beneath him. Her moans emerged in ragged bursts, laced with equal measures of sharp pain and overwhelming pleasure. The quicker his thrusts became, the more uneven his own breathing grew, each exhale sharp and labored.

Zhenya regarded the scene with deep appreciation. He longed to trace his tongue along the glistening trails of sweat that mapped Taekjoo’s skin, convinced that every inch of him would taste as intoxicating as it appeared.

Taekjoo bowed his head lower and snapped his hips with renewed power. Louise cried out his name again and again, voice fracturing on every syllable.

Zhenya rose at last, unwilling to remain a mere observer any longer. He circled the bed and knelt beside Louise’s head, granting himself an unobstructed frontal perspective of Taekjoo’s thick length sliding in and out of her with steady, punishing strokes.

Taekjoo lifted his gaze and shot him a fierce glare, yet Zhenya’s attention slid upward to the rhythmic bounce of Louise’s breasts.

Taekjoo despised nearly everything about Zhenya, yet he could not deny the man’s striking beauty, the sharp elegance of his features that drew the eye despite everything.

Zhenya bent down and captured Louise’s mouth in a deep kiss while his fingers worked open the buttons of his own trousers.

They kissed languidly for several moments, tongues entwining as Taekjoo continued thrusting into her without pause. Though he would never voice it aloud, the sight stoked the fire already raging inside him. 

Pleasure surged through Taekjoo in molten waves, every plunge sending sparks up his spine, tightening his core, amplifying the electric heat that built relentlessly at the base of his cock. The added visual of their mouths locked together only heightened the raw ache, pushing him closer to the edge with each forceful drive.

He quickened his pace, slamming harder into Louise, who moaned directly into Zhenya’s kiss.

Zhenya drew back with a low chuckle before trailing his lips down the column of her throat, across her chest, until he reached one breast. He cupped both in his palms, kneading and caressing with firm appreciation, then circled one nipple slowly with the flat of his tongue. 

In his mind, however, it was Taekjoo’s body beneath him, not hers. 

He closed his mouth over the peak and sucked, drawing it deep. Louise whimpered softly, threading her fingers through the pale silk of Zhenya’s hair.

He alternated between languid licks and steady suction, then grazed the sensitive bud lightly with his teeth before shifting to the other breast to lavish it with the same devoted attention.

Zhenya drew back from Louise’s breast and began a slow descent, lips brushing open-mouthed kisses along the gentle curve of her stomach. Each press of his mouth left a faint shimmer of moisture on her skin as he traveled lower, following the soft dip beneath her navel until he reached the place where her body remained joined with Taekjoo’s. There he lingered, exhaling warm breath against the slick, heated point of connection, close enough that Taekjoo could feel the subtle disturbance of air against his own skin.

Taekjoo’s features twisted into an unmistakable grimace of revulsion, yet he uttered no word of protest.

Undeterred, Zhenya shifted his attention upward. He pressed the first tentative kiss to the taut skin just above Taekjoo’s pubic bone, then continued in a steady path along the ridged planes of his abdomen. 

Taekjoo flinched violently and tried to jerk away, muscles tensing in instinctive retreat, but Zhenya refused to yield. He simply followed the movement, lips gliding higher with patient determination, tracing every carved line of muscle until he reached the broad expanse of Taekjoo’s chest.

From there he moved to the sharp ledge of one collarbone. His tongue emerged and dragged slowly along its length, tasting salt and warmth, savoring the firm bone beneath smooth skin. He followed the path with softer kisses, mapping the delicate hollows and ridges.

Taekjoo pulled back once more, but this time Zhenya anticipated the motion. His hand shot out and clamped firmly against Taekjoo’s side, fingers digging in just enough to anchor him in place. Then Zhenya leaned in again, trailing kisses upward along the column of Taekjoo’s throat. He paused at the sensitive skin beneath Taekjoo’s jaw, nuzzling there, inhaling deeply as though committing the scent of sweat and musk to memory.

At last Zhenya eased back, though he remained close—dangerously close. Their faces hovered mere inches apart, noses brushing in the smallest, most intimate contact. Taekjoo glared with unfiltered loathing, eyes burning. Zhenya merely grinned, slow and knowing, utterly unrepentant.

Taekjoo despised this man. He hated him with every fiber of his being, hated the arrogance, the entitlement, the effortless way Zhenya invaded every boundary. Yet beneath the fury something else stirred, something raw and undeniable. Desire coiled tight in his chest, refusing to be silenced.

Their mouths collided in a fierce, hungry crash.

Chapter Text

Zhenya withdrew slowly from the kiss, only to surge forward again, claiming Taekjoo’s mouth with renewed ferocity. Their lips met in a violent clash of heat and need, tongues thrusting, retreating, battling for supremacy in a rhythm as primal as the pounding of their hearts. 

The taste of salt lingered on Taekjoo’s tongue—sweat, arousal, the faint metallic edge of bitten lips—while Zhenya’s mouth carried the sharp bite of whiskey and something darker, something uniquely his. Every scrape of teeth sent sparks skittering down Taekjoo’s spine. Every slide of slick muscle drew a low, involuntary sound from his throat.

Taekjoo refused to yield. He angled his head, deepening the kiss until their noses brushed and breaths mingled in hot, ragged bursts. His hands fisted in Zhenya’s hair, tugging sharply enough to sting, pulling him closer even as he tried to force him back. Zhenya growled against his mouth, the vibration rumbling through both their chests, and answered by biting down on Taekjoo’s lower lip, hard enough to draw a hiss, soft enough to promise more.

With a sudden shove Zhenya broke the kiss and pushed Taekjoo backward. Taekjoo’s calves hit the edge of the mattress. He stumbled, balance lost for a heartbeat. Before he could steady himself Zhenya’s hands clamped around his waist, strong fingers digging into muscle.

In one fluid motion Zhenya spun him and slammed him down onto the bed. The frame creaked loudly. The mattress dipped and shuddered beneath their combined weight. Louise, caught at the edge, bounced once with a sharp, startled yelp that neither man acknowledged.

Zhenya descended immediately, pinning Taekjoo beneath the solid press of his body. Their mouths crashed together again. The kiss tasted of desperation now, wet, messy, bruising. Taekjoo’s fingers plunged into the pale silk of Zhenya’s hair once more. He gripped hard, knuckles whitening, using the strands like reins as he arched upward, demanding more even as he fought for control.

Zhenya pulled back just long enough to strip off the last of his clothing. Trousers and briefs slid down his thighs in one impatient tug and were kicked aside. His erection stood proud, thick, flushed deep crimson at the tip, veins prominent beneath the taut skin, glistening faintly at the slit. The sight hit Taekjoo like a physical blow, sending fresh heat roaring through his veins.

They stared at each other, chests heaving, lungs working for air. A thin, glistening thread of saliva stretched between their swollen lips, trembling in the dim light before it finally snapped. Louise watched from the side, eyes wide, lips parted in stunned silence at the raw, aggressive passion unfolding inches away.

Taekjoo could not process it. This was happening—his body pressed beneath another man’s, skin burning where they touched, the scent of musk and sweat thick in every inhale. His boss. The man he despised. Yet every rational thought dissolved into static. His mind felt scorched, synapses firing uselessly as need overrode everything else.

Zhenya shifted his weight. He spat onto his fingers, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. Two fingers gleamed with saliva. He reached between Taekjoo’s thighs, fingers trailing down until they found the tight, untouched ring of muscle, and circled it slowly—once, twice—spreading slick warmth with maddening patience. The pad of his finger pressed, teasing the sensitive rim until Taekjoo’s breath stuttered.

Then Zhenya pushed inside.

One finger breached him steadily, the stretch unfamiliar and sharp. Taekjoo groaned, the sound torn raw from his chest. The intrusion burned, strange, intimate, edged with pain that blurred at the edges into something hotter, deeper. 

His body clenched instinctively around the invading digit. Every nerve ending flared to life. He had never felt anything like this, never allowed it, and yet the pressure, the slow burn, the sheer audacity of it sent tremors racing through his thighs and up his spine.

Zhenya paused there, allowing the sensation to settle, his gaze fixed on Taekjoo’s face with that unyielding intensity, watching every flicker of expression as if cataloging vulnerabilities for later use. The warmth of his touch spread gradually, coaxing Taekjoo’s form to yield, and soon the finger began a measured rhythm, sliding out only to return with patient insistence, easing him open layer by layer.

Taekjoo bit down on his lower lip, stifling another soft groan that threatened to escape, the sound vibrating deep in his chest like a secret he could not fully contain. Each withdrawal left him aching with emptiness, each advance filled him with a building heat that blurred the line between discomfort and something far more treacherous. 

Zhenya’s expression remained composed, almost detached, yet his eyes held a quiet satisfaction, as though this act were merely an extension of the control he wielded so effortlessly in every other aspect of their tangled lives. With a subtle adjustment, he introduced a second finger, the added fullness stretching Taekjoo further, pulling a deeper, throaty moan from him that echoed faintly against the velvet drapes. His back arched involuntarily, hips lifting just a fraction as waves of sensation rippled through his core, leaving him breathless and exposed.

Then, with a precise curl of those fingers, Zhenya brushed against that hidden spot deep within, igniting a spark that exploded into blinding light behind Taekjoo’s closed eyelids. Pleasure surged through him like a sudden storm, sharp and overwhelming, forcing a gasp from his throat as his hand darted forward to seize Zhenya’s wrist in a desperate hold.

 The grip trembled, fingers digging into pale skin, but Zhenya’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding, laced with that silken Russian accent that always carried an undercurrent of authority.

“Let go.” The words hung in the air, heavy with expectation, and Taekjoo hesitated, his breath coming in uneven bursts, before his hand fell away under the weight of that unwavering stare.

Zhenya resumed without haste, his fingers delving deeper, exploring with a rhythm that bordered on torment. Taekjoo enveloped him in a velvet warmth, tight and yielding, slick with the evidence of his body’s reluctant betrayal—a heat that drew a faint hiss from Zhenya’s lips, though his focus never wavered from the man before him. 

The intimacy of it all coiled tight in Taekjoo’s chest, a mix of fury and unwelcome desire, every stroke amplifying the tension that had simmered between them for months.

Louise remained at the edge of their space, her hand hovering near her mouth in quiet astonishment, eyes wide with a fascination she could not conceal. The tableau unfolded like a forbidden painting come to life, raw and unfiltered, yet laced with an unexpected allure. 

These two men, each commanding in his own right—broad-shouldered, sharp-featured, radiating an aura of untamed strength—entwined in such primal vulnerability stirred something deep within her, a flush creeping across her skin as the air grew thick with their shared intensity.

At last, Zhenya withdrew his fingers with languid care, shifting onto his knees in one fluid motion. He took himself in hand, stroking slowly, the gesture deliberate and unhurried, drawing out the moment as candlelight played across his form. His gaze drifted to Louise then, noting her rapt attention, and a sly smirk curved his mouth, faint but unmistakable. 

“Oh, you’re still here?” he murmured, his tone laced with feigned surprise, smooth as aged wine yet edged with amusement. “Make yourself useful, then. I’m not paying you to sit idle. Get me ready for him—nice and wet.”

Louise blinked, her wide eyes shimmering with a brief flicker of uncertainty, lashes casting delicate shadows across her cheeks. She composed herself swiftly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with graceful poise, and leaned forward. 

Her tongue emerged first, tentative and exploratory, tracing the swollen tip with light, teasing strokes that savored the warmth and subtle saltiness. She drew him into her mouth gradually, lips parting to enclose the head, sucking with gentle pressure as she inched downward, her movements unhurried, almost reverent, allowing the sensation to build in layers.

Impatience stirred in Zhenya, a subtle tension in his posture, and his fingers threaded into her hair, pulling with firm insistence to guide her deeper. The sudden depth overwhelmed her, his impressive length pressing against the back of her throat, eliciting a muffled gag that vibrated through him. Yet she adapted, finding a steady rhythm, her head bobbing with increasing confidence, the wet slide of her mouth enveloping him fully.

Pleasure coursed through Zhenya, warm and insistent, her efforts drawing soft exhales from his lips as the heat built in his veins. The sensation wrapped around him like liquid silk, each pull and release sending sparks along his nerves. 

Still, his thoughts strayed relentlessly, his jade eyes locked on Taekjoo with unwavering focus. The man’s flushed skin, the subtle tremble in his limbs, the conflict etched in his features, every detail consumed him, fueling an anticipation that eclipsed everything else in the room.

Louise’s tongue swirled around Zhenya’s length with increasing fervor, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked harder, the wet slurping sounds echoing lewdly in the room alongside the occasional muffled pop when she pulled back for air. Saliva dribbled down her chin, mixing with the obscene glucking noises from her throat as she took him deeper, her efforts producing a symphony of slick, rhythmic suction that filled the heavy silence. 

Zhenya’s hand stayed firmly tangled in her hair throughout, fingers knotted at the scalp, guiding her with slow, deliberate pulls and occasional sharp tugs that forced her deeper, making her throat constrict around him with wet, choking sounds. Her lips remained stretched taut around his thick shaft, glistening with spit that ran in rivulets down to his base.  

She hollowed her cheeks harder on every upstroke, tongue pressing flat and dragging along the underside, tracing bulging veins while the filthy, sloppy gulps and muffled whimpers grew louder, her saliva pooling and dripping messily onto the sheets below.

Taekjoo watched the scene unfold with a mix of reluctant fascination and simmering resentment, his gaze first fixing on Louise—her flushed cheeks glowing under the dim light, the way her full lips stretched taut around Zhenya’s impressive girth, sliding back and forth with a sheen of saliva, her eyes watering slightly as tears mingled with smudged mascara, strands of her pale hair escaping the tight grip and clinging to her damp, sweat-kissed skin, her small hands braced on Zhenya’s thighs for stability.

As his eyes trailed upward to Zhenya, he took in the man’s taut abdomen rippling with restrained tension, the subtle flex of his powerful thighs, the pale expanse of his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, and finally his face, where a rare, genuine expression of pleasure softened his sharp, aristocratic features. 

His lips parted in a soft, ragged exhale, eyes half-lidded with unfiltered bliss, brows relaxed in a way that humanized him unexpectedly, a faint flush creeping up his neck. It shocked Taekjoo to see even a man like Zhenya—cold, calculating, always in ironclad control—break character under the throes of pleasure, his usual stoic mask cracking to reveal a raw vulnerability that made the moment feel dangerously intimate, almost exposing the humanity beneath the facade of dominance.

Zhenya’s fingers tightened in Louise’s hair, knuckles whitening as he gripped the strands like a leash, yanking her off roughly with a sharp, impatient tug that made her head snap back. 

“That’s enough,” he commanded in a low, rough growl, his Russian accent thickening with arousal and irritation, voice dark and edged like velvet over steel. “You’ve done your part—now watch.”

Louise sputtered and coughed violently, throat raw from the sudden withdrawal, her pretty face scrunching up in a grimace as it flushed a deep, embarrassed red. Thick strings of saliva stretched and snapped between her swollen, glistening lips and his still-hard length, one glistening thread dangling obscenely before breaking and falling to her chin. 

Her lips were red and puffy from the abuse, mascara smudged in dark, tear-streaked rivulets down her cheeks, eyes watering as she gasped for air. She wiped her mouth shakily with the back of her hand, smearing the mess further, then sat back on her heels with a breathless, ragged gasp, chest heaving, breasts rising and falling rapidly as she tried to compose herself.

Zhenya didn’t spare her another glance. His eyes were already locked on Taekjoo, burning with possessive hunger as he shifted forward, moving deliberately between Taekjoo’s spread legs, the mattress dipping under his weight.

Zhenya grabbed Taekjoo’s legs, large hands wrapping firmly around the backs of his knees. He pushed them upward and back inch by inch, folding Taekjoo’s thighs tight against his chest until his knees nearly brushed his shoulders, exposing him completely, vulnerably. The position left Taekjoo open, helpless beneath him, every muscle in his legs straining slightly against the hold. Zhenya settled between them, knees braced wide on the mattress, his thick cock hovering just above Taekjoo’s entrance, flushed and glistening from Louise’s earlier attention.

A slow, predatory smirk curled across Zhenya’s lips as he looked down at him, arrogant, knowing, triumphant. The expression pissed Taekjoo off, made his blood boil with the familiar surge of resentment, yet at the same time it sent a dark, shameful thrill straight to his core, his own cock twitching helplessly against his stomach.

Zhenya leaned forward slightly, one hand braced beside Taekjoo’s head, the other guiding himself. He rubbed the swollen, slick tip against Taekjoo’s entrance in lazy, teasing circles—once, twice, three times—spreading the leftover saliva and pre-cum, letting the blunt head nudge at the tight ring without yet breaching. The friction was maddening, hot and slippery, each pass making Taekjoo’s breath hitch.

Then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, Zhenya began to push inside.

The initial breach was merciless. A sharp, searing burn ripped through Taekjoo as the thick head forced its way past the resistant muscle, stretching him wide in a way that felt impossible, overwhelming. His body tensed instinctively, every nerve screaming at the intrusion, a choked gasp tearing from his throat as the pain bloomed bright and vicious.

Yet even as the ache throbbed, something else began to uncoil beneath it a deep, pulsing pleasure that started low in his gut and spread outward like liquid fire, turning the burn into something addictive, something he hated himself for craving. His toes curled hard against Zhenya’s shoulders, thighs trembling as his body fought and yielded at once.

For Zhenya, the sensation was pure, exquisite torment. The tight, velvet heat gripped him like a fist, slick and resistant and perfect, every millimeter of progress sending waves of raw, electric satisfaction surging up his spine. He let out a low, guttural sound—half groan, half growl—his control fraying at the edges as he savored the way Taekjoo’s body struggled to take him.

He paused when he was only halfway in, buried to the thickest part, letting Taekjoo feel the full, impossible stretch. Their eyes locked, Zhenya’s heavy-lidded, dark with hunger, Taekjoo’s wide and furious and dazed. Then, with torturous patience, Zhenya began to move.

He withdrew almost completely, the slow drag of his length pulling a ragged whimper from Taekjoo’s throat, leaving him achingly empty for one cruel heartbeat. Then he rolled his hips forward again, sinking back in with the same measured, deliberate thrust. It was deep, unhurried, controlled. Each stroke was calculated, letting Taekjoo adjust, letting the burn fade into that building, treacherous heat.

Zhenya watched every flicker across Taekjoo’s face every gasp, every flinch, every unwilling arch of his back with rapt, possessive intensity, drinking in the conflict, the surrender, the way Taekjoo’s body began to soften and open around him despite everything.

He built the rhythm gradually, stroke by slow stroke, hips rolling with powerful restraint, letting the pace climb only when Taekjoo’s breathing turned ragged, when his clenched fists loosened against the sheets, when the pain had fully melted into something hotter, something he could no longer deny.

The bed creaked beneath them in a slow, steady rhythm at first, each deep thrust sending a low, protesting groan through the wooden frame, the sound syncing perfectly with the wet, rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin. Moans spilled into the thick air, Taekjoo’s broken and reluctant, Zhenya’s low and guttural, mingling with the heavy, uneven breathing that filled every corner of the room. 

It was oppressively hot and stuffy, the air heavy and humid, saturated with the raw, unmistakable smell of sex: thick musk, salty sweat, the faint metallic tang of arousal, and the lingering sharpness of whiskey on their skin.

Zhenya fucked Taekjoo with relentless precision, starting slow and deliberate, long, measured strokes that buried him to the hilt each time, pulling almost completely out before sliding back in with controlled, rolling power. The pace was torturous at first, letting Taekjoo feel every thick inch dragging against his inner walls, every ridge and vein catching on the sensitive stretch. 

Then, gradually, the rhythm built, thrusts growing faster, harder, deeper,until the slap of their bodies echoed louder, sharper, wet and obscene in the candlelit haze. Shadows danced wildly across their entangled forms as the flickering flames played over sweat-slicked skin, casting feverish, shifting patterns on the walls like something out of a dark, fevered dream.

Taekjoo’s mind was a storm of chaos. He felt hatred for the man pinning him down, dominating him, using him, clashing violently with the undeniable, overwhelming rush of ecstasy that flooded every nerve.

His thoughts screamed that this was wrong, filthy, humiliating, he should fight, should hate every second, yet his body betrayed him completely, hips lifting to meet each punishing thrust, back arching greedily, chasing more of that devastating pleasure even as shame burned in his chest. The conflict left him dizzy, exposed, utterly stripped bare.

Zhenya’s gaze never once left his face. Those jade eyes bored into him the entire time, intense, possessive, unblinking, gleaming with a dangerous mix of triumph and raw, primal hunger. The look made Taekjoo feel utterly seen, utterly owned, as though Zhenya could read every fractured thought, every unwilling surrender, and reveled in it.

Taekjoo tried to glare back, defiance flaring through the haze, jaw clenched, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed in one last futile attempt to reclaim some shred of control. But Zhenya only smirked, slow and wicked, then leaned down in a fluid motion.

His tongue dragged across Taekjoo’s parted lips in a teasing, wet glide—hot, deliberate, tasting of salt and dominance—before he suddenly slammed in hard, brutally precise, nailing that perfect spot deep inside with devastating force.

Taekjoo’s head snapped back against the pillow, spine bowing off the mattress as a ragged, broken moan tore from his throat, loud, involuntary, completely undone. Pleasure crashed over him like a tidal wave, drowning out everything else, leaving him trembling and gasping beneath the man he despised most in the world.

Zhenya lowered his mouth to the warm tan skin of Taekjoo’s throat, lips brushing softly at first before parting to lick slow deliberate paths along the taut column. He traced the prominent ridge of the Adam’s apple with the flat of his tongue, savoring the subtle heat, then closed his lips around it in gentle suction, drawing the sensitive flesh into his mouth. 

The act felt possessive yet strangely tender as if he wanted to consume every inch of Taekjoo while leaving the taste of him imprinted on his own tongue forever.

Their hearts beat together, close enough that neither could tell where one rhythm ended and the other began. The sound filled the narrow space between their bodies, soft but insistent, a living pulse pressed chest to chest. Every thud felt exposed, like something fragile laid bare, a truth neither of them had ever meant to share. 

They stayed there, breathing each other in, letting the steady rise and fall speak for them. In that quiet closeness, desire softened into trust, and surrender became something gentle, something chosen, unfolding slowly in the warmth they held between them.

Zhenya sank deeper into the sensation of being buried inside Taekjoo, the exquisite tightness wrapping him in molten velvet, every slow pulse of Taekjoo’s body gripping and releasing him in waves of perfect friction that sent shivers of raw ecstasy racing along his spine. 

Pleasure built in thick luxurious layers until it felt almost unbearable, a slow-burning bliss that made his breath catch and his muscles tremble with restraint. 

The dark-haired man shuddered beneath him, small pathetic whimpers slipping past his lips in broken fragments. He had never felt anything like this before, the overwhelming fullness inside him pressing against every hidden nerve, igniting sensations so intense they bordered on unbearable. 

His cock rubbed insistently against the hard ridges of Zhenya’s abdomen with every slow thrust, slick pre-cum smearing across both their stomachs in warm, slippery trails. The constant friction, combined with the deep relentless pressure stretching him open, was slowly unraveling him. 

His orgasm built like a gathering storm, pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his lower belly, spreading outward in hot pulsing waves that made his thighs tremble and his breath come in short desperate gasps. Every muscle in his body tensed as the edge drew closer, pleasure cresting higher until he could no longer hold it back. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, the words ragged and involuntary.

Zhenya released Taekjoo’s leg, allowing it to fall open wider against the sheets. His hand slid upward in a slow possessive glide until it cupped the firm swell of Taekjoo’s pec, fingers splaying wide to grope and squeeze the muscle with deliberate firmness. All the while his lips remained pressed to Taekjoo’s throat, trailing lower in lazy open-mouthed kisses. 

He nuzzled his nose into the sensitive crook where neck met shoulder, inhaling deeply the warm masculine scent of sweat and skin that clung there. His thumb brushed across Taekjoo’s nipple several times, circling the tight peak before rubbing over it in firm strokes. The touch sent a sharp jolt through Taekjoo’s oversensitive body, drawing a sudden gasp from his throat as every point of contact felt electrified and raw.

Zhenya murmured against Taekjoo’s throat, voice low and coaxing, thick with his accent. “It’s alright, zaika. Just give in. Let it take you.”

He released the firm grip on Taekjoo’s chest, fingers trailing downward in a slow possessive slide until his palm wrapped around Taekjoo’s straining member.

 His thumb moved with languid care across the flushed slit at the very tip, gathering the steady welling of precum on the pad before spreading it in slow, glossy circles. The slick warmth coated the sensitive head, making every subtle shift feel amplified and electric. 

Only then did he wrap his fingers more fully around the shaft, beginning to stroke with firm, unhurried pulls that traveled from the base all the way to the crown. Each downward glide tightened his grip just enough to draw a quiet, wet sound from the motion, while each upward stroke lingered briefly at the ridge, thumb brushing over it in a teasing sweep that kept the sensation building without rushing toward release.

Taekjoo cried out sharply, the sound raw and startled as sparks erupted along every nerve, bright and blinding. His vision whited out in a sudden rush of overwhelming light, pleasure surging through him like wildfire.

The orgasm tore through him with ferocious intensity, every muscle locking tight as release pulsed in hot, shuddering waves that left him trembling and breathless. His inner walls clenched hard around Zhenya in rhythmic spasms, gripping him with desperate, velvet strength.

Zhenya groaned deeply at the sudden vise-like pressure, the sound vibrating through both their bodies as it pushed him closer to the edge.

He quickened his pace immediately, thrusts turning sharper and more urgent, hips driving forward with focused determination to chase his own release.

Zhenya slammed into Taekjoo with brutal force, the impact so powerful that the entire bed frame shuddered and groaned in protest beneath them. The sudden deep thrust drove the air from Taekjoo’s lungs in a sharp groan that tore from his throat, raw and involuntary.

His body slid upward along the sweat-dampened sheets with each punishing stroke, shoulders dragging against the mattress before gravity pulled him back down only to be driven upward again by the next relentless drive of Zhenya’s hips. The friction of his back against the fabric burned faintly, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming pressure blooming inside him.

Zhenya felt every exquisite detail of the moment consume him. The tight heat enveloping his cock gripped him like nothing he had ever experienced, slick and pulsing, drawing him deeper with every thrust. Pleasure coiled through his body in thick molten waves, sharper and more consuming than any he remembered.

He did not understand why this felt so different, why the weight of this man beneath him stirred something raw and instinctive, something that went deeper than want. It was not just pleasure. It was recognition. A claiming that settled into his bones the moment their bodies fit together like this, breath tangled, heat shared, nowhere to pull away. The certainty came slowly, heavy and undeniable, sinking into him like a vow he never spoke aloud. This was it. Nothing before had ever reached him this completely.

The thought of letting Taekjoo slip away felt wrong, almost unbearable. After this, after the way Taekjoo lay open to him, warm and responsive and his, there was no room for distance. He wanted him close, always within reach. He wanted to keep him just like this, softened and yielding, aware of who held him and why. And as that desire took root, possessive and darkly tender, he knew he would not loosen his grip. Not now. Not after this.

Zhenya drove into Taekjoo one final time with a deep, shuddering thrust that buried him completely. His release surged forth in thick, pulsing waves, flooding the tight heat surrounding him. Ecstasy claimed his features completely. 

His eyes fluttered half-closed, lips parted on a low, ragged groan, brows drawn together in blissful concentration as pleasure rippled visibly across his face. Every muscle in his body tensed and trembled, a rare unguarded vulnerability softening the sharp lines of his expression while satisfaction bloomed warm and profound in his chest.

He remained buried inside Taekjoo for several long seconds, savoring the lingering aftershocks. His cock twitched faintly with each residual pulse, nestled in the slick, enveloping warmth that still fluttered around him. The sensation felt intimate and possessive, a quiet claim he was reluctant to release.

Slowly, he withdrew. As he pulled out, a thick trickle of his semen followed, glistening white against Taekjoo’s flushed skin before it dripped lazily from the slightly gaping entrance. Zhenya watched the sight with dark fascination, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his lips. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths as he caught his air, gaze lingering possessively on the evidence of what he had just done.

He rose from the bed with languid grace, muscles shifting beneath sweat-slicked skin.

Taekjoo’s mind drifted in a soft, dissolving haze, thoughts unraveling like threads pulled loose from a once-tight weave. The world had narrowed to the slow rise and fall of his own chest, each breath heavy with the residue of surrender. 

His vision blurred at the edges, the candlelit room swimming in warm amber and shadow, as though the air itself had thickened into something tangible, something that pressed gently against his skin. Exhaustion anchored every limb to the mattress, turning his body into a quiet, spent vessel, hollowed by waves that had crashed through him without mercy or warning.

He blinked slowly, eyelids weighted with sweat, the sting behind his eyes a distant, muted protest. Through the gentle fog he watched Zhenya move about the room, gathering scattered clothes with the same calm precision he brought to every act of control. 

Trousers slid over long legs, a shirt draped across broad shoulders, buttons fastened one by one beneath pale, flexing skin that caught the flickering light like marble kissed by flame. Each gesture was ordinary, almost domestic, yet it carried an effortless authority that made the ordinary feel sacred, inevitable.

In the quiet spaces between breaths, Taekjoo’s thoughts turned inward, soft and unresisting. He had always hated Zhenya—the cold certainty, the effortless dominance, the way the man seemed to see straight through every defense he had ever built. That hatred still simmered, a low ember buried beneath ash. 

Yet now it tangled with something new, something quieter and more dangerous. The lingering warmth inside him pulsed faintly with every heartbeat, a tender ache that refused to fade, anchoring him to the memory of being filled, claimed, undone. 

Confusion drifted through the fatigue like mist: how had loathing twisted so seamlessly into hunger? How had his body learned to crave the very hands that had broken him open?

Shame rose briefly, a pale flicker, then dissolved into something softer, more honest. The questions no longer demanded answers. They simply existed, floating in the afterglow like petals on still water. His mind was too weary to fight the warmth that settled deeper with every glance at Zhenya’s retreating form, too tired to deny the slow, inevitable shift taking root within him.

Zhenya shrugged into his long fur coat with the same deliberate grace he applied to every movement, the dark fabric settling over his broad shoulders like a second skin. He paused at the foot of the bed, wallet already open in his hand, and let his gaze drift once more over Taekjoo’s spent form. 

The man lay sprawled across the rumpled sheets, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths, skin flushed and glistening with sweat, limbs heavy and lax in the aftermath. 

Zhenya’s eyes lingered appreciatively on the faint red marks his own hands had left, on the subtle tremble that still lingered in Taekjoo’s thighs, on the way the candlelight caught the sheen of release drying across his stomach. A quiet satisfaction curved his lips before he withdrew several crisp bills, tossed them onto the mattress beside Taekjoo’s hip, and looked at Louise who was on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you for your time and excellent service,” he said, voice smooth and low. “Take good care of Mr. Kwon. He’ll need a few strong drinks to come down from this properly.” A faint, amused chuckle followed the words, dry and knowing, before he pivoted on his heel.

His crocodile shoes clacked sharply against the hardwood floor, each measured step echoing through the quiet room as he crossed toward the door and disappeared beyond it without a backward glance.

Louise lingered at the edge of the bed long after Zhenya had gone, the room still thick with the scent of sweat, musk, and spent desire. The cash lay scattered on the sheets like forgotten confetti, but her eyes were fixed on Taekjoo, who was sprawled, breathless, beautifully wrecked. 

His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves; faint red imprints bloomed across his skin where strong hands had claimed him; a faint sheen of sweat and release glistened under the dying candlelight. He looked vulnerable in a way that made something deep inside her twist, not with pity, but with quiet awe.

She had watched it all unfold inches from her face, the raw collision of two powerful bodies, the way aggression melted into something almost reverent, the sounds they made when control finally shattered. 

At first she had felt like an outsider, paid to serve and then to observe, her role small and peripheral. Yet as the moments stretched, fascination had taken root. The sight of Zhenya—usually so composed, so untouchable—unraveling in the grip of pleasure, his sharp features softening into unguarded bliss, had stirred something unexpected in her. And Taekjoo, fighting every inch only to surrender with such fierce, trembling need, had made her pulse race in ways she had not anticipated.

Carefully, she reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from Taekjoo’s forehead. He did not stir. The room had grown quiet, save for his soft breathing and the faint crackle of candles burning low. 

A small, secret swell of pride warmed her chest, she had been the spark that brought them together, the one who had coaxed Zhenya’s arousal to its peak and guided it toward Taekjoo, watching as years of tension finally ignited into something fierce and inevitable. And God, it had been devastatingly hot.

In the quiet afterward, the space between them still felt alive, as if their closeness had left a warmth that lingered in the dark. Nothing needed to be said. What had begun there was already settling into place, subtle and certain, like the first careful stitch pulled tight. 

It was not an ending for Zhenya and Taekjoo, only the beginning of something that would return again and again, deepening with time, until the want between them felt as natural and unavoidable as breathing.