Chapter 79

Beth lost herself in the rhythm of preparation.

After wrapping up her last work email and bribing Midnight away from the garment bag with a fistful of treats, she finally let herself shift into date-night mode. Not casual movie night Beth. Not crisis-handling, email-burying Golden Stag Beth. Not even soft, hoodie-clad Beth who woke up with a cat on her chest and coffee gone cold.

Tonight, she was choosing something else. Something glittering and intentional. Something that made her feel like her skin belonged to her again.

She dimmed the lights in the apartment just enough to let the golden hour spill in fully, casting everything in a wash of honey and amber. Jazz had given way to an R&B playlist now—the kind that hummed low and slow beneath her ribs, every beat winding through her like a promise.

In the bathroom, she tugged the towel from her damp hair and shook it out, reaching for her wide-barrel curler. Her reflection was sharp and warm all at once, skin flushed from the shower, lips still pink from biting them when she re-read Changbin's last message. She twisted her hair into loose waves, running her fingers through the curls until they looked effortless and soft.

Not Instagram-perfect, just real. Real enough that she knew he'd look at her and go quiet.

The vanity filled with the slow clutter of warpaint—brow pencil, tinted moisturizer, just enough shimmer to catch the light, and the one deep rose lipstick she only ever wore on nights she wanted to feel dangerous. The mirror fogged slightly at the edges, but she didn't wipe it clean. She liked the softness of it. The blur.

By the time she stepped into the bedroom, the sun had dipped just below the skyline, leaving streaks of lilac and gold across the apartment. Midnight remained a shadow curled in her armchair, tail flicking occasionally in approval or disdain—it was always hard to tell.

The dress waited for her like a dare.

It was strappy and dark, cut from some whisper of fabric that shimmered when it moved. The hem grazed mid-thigh on one side, dipping lower on the other in an asymmetrical sweep of temptation. But the real sin was the back—because it didn't have one. Just two slender crisscrossing straps and a hint of spine. She hadn't worn it since buying it on impulse months ago, tagging it in her mind as maybe someday.

Apparently, someday had come.

Beth stepped into it carefully, the silky material cold against her thighs. She pulled it up, smoothing the fabric over her hips as she twisted to adjust the straps across her shoulders. One strap slipped, then another, and she was just reaching back to hook them when—

The door opened.

Not loudly, not urgently. Just the soft click of a key in the lock, followed by the creak of the hinge and the unmistakable shuffle of sneakers crossing the threshold.

"Babe?" Changbin's voice was low, warm, and just the tiniest bit breathless. "I'm—"

His voice caught.

Beth froze in front of the mirror, halfway through tugging the final strap into place, her dress hanging off one shoulder. The glow from the hallway spilled across her spine like a spotlight.

She met his gaze in the mirror.

He was standing just inside the door, keys still in one hand, his mouth slightly open. He hadn't even taken off his shoes.

Beth's lips curved slowly, deliberately. "You're on time."

Changbin blinked once. Then again. "I—yeah. I didn't want to rush you but—Jesus."

He stepped further inside, kicking the door shut behind him, eyes locked on the bare curve of her back. "That's the dress?"

"This is the dress."

Beth turned slightly, just enough for the fabric to slip fully into place. The neckline curved across her collarbones, sharp and elegant, while the back dipped again into sin. She smoothed it down, then raised one brow.

"Well?" she asked. "Do you approve?"

Changbin set the keys down slowly, like he wasn't quite sure he trusted himself not to drop them. "I don't even remember my name right now."

Beth laughed, soft and a little breathless herself, as she crossed the room to meet him. "That good?"

He didn't answer right away—just reached out, hands hovering as if he was scared to wrinkle the fabric. Eventually, he cupped her waist gently, his fingers dragging lightly down her hips.

"I'm gonna need a minute," he muttered.

Beth grinned, reaching up to straighten his collar.

But then she paused.

Something about the way his eyes darkened—how he was holding back, jaw tight, breath shallow—made her want to press, just a little. To tilt the power balance. To remind him that she didn't just wear the dress. She commanded in it.

"Sit," she said softly, but with enough weight to leave no question.

Changbin blinked. "What?"

She didn't repeat herself.

Beth reached over to the chair by her vanity and picked up the black stilettos resting neatly against the leg. Patent leather. Gold buckle. Seven-inch heel. They gleamed like sin in the dying light.

She turned, one brow arched, and held them out. "Floor. Now."

He obeyed like he couldn't stop himself, breath leaving in a slow exhale as he lowered himself to the rug. His vest pulled slightly open at the chest, and his tie hung loose from earlier, still tugged halfway undone. It made him look wrecked before anything had even happened.

Beth stepped toward him, lifting one bare foot to rest gently—deliberately—against his chest.

The heat of her skin. The curve of her arch. The pressure behind it.

His hands flew instinctively to her ankle, steadying her as he looked up at her with something between awe and surrender.

"Help me," she murmured, holding out the first shoe like an offering.

Changbin took it carefully, reverently. His fingers traced the arch of the strap before guiding it over her toes, then down—slow, precise, like he was savoring every second of skin he got to touch.

When the heel clicked into place, he looked up again.

Beth let her heeled foot fall gently to the floor, the click of it against the hardwood sharp and elegant, like punctuation.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she raised her other foot and placed it on his thigh. Not his chest this time. Lower. More dangerous.

The soft fabric of his trousers gave under her touch. He tensed.

Her calf curved along his lap as she extended the second shoe, her fingers curled delicately around the arch like it was a gift. Or a test.

"Finish the job," she said, her voice silk-wrapped steel.

Changbin looked up at her, eyes glazed with something unspoken, mouth slightly parted like he was trying to remember how to breathe.

His hands moved slower this time—not clumsy, just reverent. Worshipful.

He slid the second shoe into place with the kind of precision that made her wonder how many fantasies he'd filed away for a moment just like this. His knuckles brushed the inside of her ankle, thumb skimming over the delicate strap before buckling it, notching the gold fastener into place with a finality that sent a ripple down her spine.

Her heel hovered against his thigh for a beat longer than necessary, the air thick with tension, the room cloaked in amber and shadow.

And then she shifted.

Her weight fell back into both feet as she stepped away, turning her back to him with a faint swish of fabric. The dress caught the light again—dark, soft, clinging. Dangerous.

Beth didn't look back.

Not at first.

She walked slowly toward the window, hips swaying with a deliberate grace, the fabric of her dress clinging to her thighs like tendrils of smoke. The skyline beyond the glass blazed in shades of dusky lavender, a horizon drenched in the hues of twilight. Somewhere behind her, the faintest whisper of movement disturbed the stillness, a subtle creak of weight shifting on the plush rug.

There was a pause, a brief suspension of time. Then the sound came again, softer, more measured, as he lowered himself further.

Onto his hands. Onto his knees.

Her lips parted slightly, a silent acknowledgment of the moment. She turned slowly, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. And there he was.

Changbin, crawling with an elegance that defied urgency. Not hurried. Not desperate. Each movement was deliberate, each inch forward a study in focus and intent. His tie trailed languidly along the floor, a silken ribbon that marked his path, while his eyes, intense and unwavering, locked onto hers. His breath came in shallow, ragged whispers as his palms pressed flat against the cool hardwood, inching ever closer as if gravity itself had surrendered to the inevitability of their connection.

Beth's heel tapped lightly against the floor, a sound that resonated like a gentle chime. A warning. An invitation. When he reached her, he did not rise, nor did he speak. Instead, he knelt with a slow, reverent grace, his head bowing for a moment as though he were gathering his thoughts—like a devout man before an altar. And she was his sacred worship.

His hands, strong and calloused, slid up her calves with a tender yet firm touch, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of her knees, coaxing them gently apart. Just enough. The hem of her dress rose with the motion, the high slit parting further to reveal the soft, bare skin beneath, a glimpse of vulnerability and allure.

Changbin leaned in, his breath a warm caress on her skin. His mouth found the curve of her knee, lips grazing it with the delicacy of a whispered secret. Then higher, his lips tracing a path along the inside of her thigh, lingering in a kiss just above the garter where the softness of skin met the shimmering silk. Beth inhaled sharply, her breath catching in her throat, one hand curling around the edge of the curtain for balance, the other descending to rest in his hair.

Not to guide him. Just to feel.

Because, oh God, he was savoring her with every fiber of his being.

His lips traced reverent lines along her thighs, tongue flicking against the most sensitive points—soft and then firm, open-mouthed, teeth grazing just enough to make her hips twitch.

She could feel the heat of his breath through the thin fabric between her legs, and when he exhaled slowly—purposefully—right over the damp spot growing there, she whimpered.

"Bin," she breathed.

That was all it took.

He growled. Low. Raw. A sound that started in his chest and rippled through her bones.

His fingers traced the hem of her dress, inching it upward with a tantalizing slowness that made her heart pound. The rough pads of his fingertips grazed the backs of her thighs, sending shivers up her spine. He leaned in, his breath hot and urgent, and buried his face between her trembling legs like a man possessed. His tongue found her first through the delicate barrier of lace—slow, deliberate strokes that traced the damp fabric, savoring her shape and heat. She quivered, her knees threatening to buckle, but he steadied her, one hand spreading possessively across her ass, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

"Fuck—" she gasped, her voice a ragged whisper carried away by the breeze.

With excruciating care, he hooked a finger into the waistband of her panties, peeling them away from her body as if unwrapping a precious gift. The lace whispered down her legs, and she stepped out of them, her eyes locked onto his, drawn into the storm of desire raging within them.

He held her gaze as he lowered his head once more, and this time, there was no barrier, no hesitation. His mouth closed over her—bare, wet, and aching—and she nearly crumpled, her body overcome with sensation. He licked her with a hunger that left her reeling, his tongue broad and flat one moment, then pointed and precise the next, circling her clit with an intensity that left her gasping. His hands, strong and sure, gripped her thighs, keeping her steady as she rocked forward, instinct and surrender warring within her.

A low moan resonated through him, vibrating against her most sensitive flesh, and she shuddered, her nails scraping his scalp as she clung to him. He devoured her, building her pleasure with a control that left her teetering on the edge, his tongue and lips coaxing her closer and closer to the brink.

Then—he sucked. Hard.

Her knees gave way, her body convulsing as her orgasm tore through her like a wildfire. He caught her, holding her up with both arms, his mouth still working her, tongue wringing every last wave of pleasure from her trembling body. She whimpered, her skin slick with sweat, eyes glazed with ecstasy.

Only when her thighs began to tremble too violently to hold her up did he finally pull back. His chin glistened with her desire, his lips red and swollen, his eyes dark and utterly undone. Beth stared down at him, her chest heaving, skin flushed, breath coming in ragged gasps. Strands of hair clung to her neck, damp with sweat, as she fought to regain her composure, her world still spinning from the intensity of her release.

"Holy shit," she gasped. "We're not going to the club, are we?"

Changbin grinned—wrecked and filthy and proud.

"We are." he murmured, voice like gravel soaked in honey. "But we are going to be late. I have something I wanted you to wear tonight."

Beth was still catching her breath, spine pressed to the cold windowpane, when Changbin finally stood.

Not all the way at first—he braced one hand on her thigh as he rose, mouth brushing her hipbone in a final kiss before pushing upright, slow and unhurried. The way he looked at her made her feel feral and feminine all at once. A goddamn feast in high heels.

He didn't speak.

Just turned.

Just walked.

Beth watched him go, dazed and trembling, her panties a forgotten scrap on the floor and her body still clenching around the echo of his tongue. He crossed to the nightstand with purposeful ease, like this had always been the plan.

The drawer opened with a soft slide.

He reached inside.

And when he turned back, he wasn't smiling anymore.

He was holding two small, sleek devices. Vibrating eggs—one black, one dark rose gold—tucked between his fingers like secrets.

Beth's mouth went dry.

Changbin stepped toward her again, calm and collected now, a man wholly in control of himself and her. He placed the eggs gently on the vanity, then rolled his sleeves to the elbows—slowly, as if savoring the anticipation blooming across her flushed skin.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dark, and reverent.

"Put your hands on the dresser," he said. "Back to me."

Beth hesitated for exactly one heartbeat. Then she obeyed.

Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she crossed to the vanity, bending forward slightly, palms flat against the cool marble. Her dress hiked up with the motion, baring her thighs, her hips, the vulnerable swell of her ass.

She watched him in the mirror as he just watched her for a moment, drinking in the view of her bent over the dresser.

"You're going to wear these for me tonight," he murmured, the warmth of his hands sliding up her inner thighs. "And you're going to dance like nothing's happening."

Beth whimpered.

"Think you can handle that?"

"I don't know," she breathed. "You're not playing fair."

"Baby," he whispered, brushing a kiss along her lower back. "Fair's never been the goal."

He didn't touch her just yet.

Not with his hands.

Instead, Changbin picked up the first egg—the black one—and held it between his fingers, letting the soft curve of it brush against her inner thigh. Just a tease. Just enough to make her shift her weight with a gasp.

Then, to her astonishment, he brought it to his mouth.

Beth watched—spellbound, breath caught—as Changbin slowly ran his tongue over the toy. Not quick. Not teasing. Like he meant it. Like he was tasting her in advance. His lips closed around the egg as if it were something decadent, and the sight of it—of him—sent a ripple of heat so deep through her that her knees nearly buckled.

She gripped the vanity tighter, watching through the haze of the mirror as his eyes met hers.

And then he smirked.

Dark. Delicious. Dangerous.

He pulled the egg from his mouth with an audible pop, the toy now slick with his spit. A claim, a promise. He let it roll between his fingers before dropping to one knee behind her again, his hand steady on the curve of her ass as he leaned in.

Beth shivered.

The first egg slid into her easily—warm from his mouth, slick and unforgiving. She gasped, her back arching slightly, the sensation electric. And still, he didn't speak.

The second followed—this one cooler, contrasting. He pressed it inside her gently but firmly, one hand gripping her hip as he nestled it deep beside the first. The stretch wasn't overwhelming, but it was enough. Enough to make her squirm. Enough to make her feel possessed.

His hand lingered there for a moment—cradling her, grounding her.

Then she felt the brush of his lips at the small of her back.

And then—

Buzz.

Beth cried out—sharp, breathless.

One egg. Then the other. Low pulses that vibrated deep inside her, steady and subtle, but impossible to ignore. Her thighs trembled.

"Fuck—Changbin."

He stood slowly, his mouth ghosting her ear.

"Keep them in. No complaints. No shifting. If one falls out," he whispered, "I'll bend you over the DJ booth and replace it with my cock. Understood?"

Beth nodded, her breath shaking, her fingers tightening on the edge of the vanity.

"No," he murmured, nipping her ear. "I want to hear you say it."

"Yes," she gasped. "Understood."

He stepped back.

His reflection moved behind her in the mirror—composed again, rolling his sleeves back down with calm precision. Like this was normal. Like her legs weren't shaking. Like she wasn't already half-ruined before the night had even begun.

Beth straightened slowly, adjusting the hem of her dress, the toys buried deep and still humming low. The weight of them shifted with every step, every movement—reminding her.

And he just watched her, with hunger in his eyes.

"Go grab your purse," Changbin said softly. "We have a club to get to."