The bedroom light was low—just the bedside lamp left on, casting warm shadows over skin and sheets. The air between them buzzed, heavy with want, but deeper than just need.
Joon-ho leaned over her, shirt already discarded. His hands cupped the sides of her face like she was something precious, something to be held with reverence, not just hunger.
They kissed again.
Deeper now.
Slower.
Their tongues met in soft rhythm, their breaths mingled. Harin's hands slid down the slope of his chest, fingers grazing each line of muscle, every warm dip of skin. When she reached the hem of his briefs, she didn't hesitate.
She slipped her hand in and wrapped her fingers around him.
Joon-ho groaned softly against her mouth.
"Still so calm," she whispered, smiling, slowly stroking his hardening length. "You feel everything and still act like you're in control."
He kissed her jaw. Then her neck.
"I'm not in control," he murmured. "You are."
