48| Late (I.N)

The first thing Jieun becomes aware of is the weight wrapped around her waist.

Even before she opens her eyes, she feels the arm slung low across her hips, the slow, deliberate press of a chest against her back, the steady rhythm of breath at her neck.

I.N.

A smile can't help but appear on her lips as memories of the previous night flood her mind.

She blinks the sleep from her eyes, exhaling a quiet sigh as she lightly stretches. Her hand reaches toward the nightstand, fumbling for her phone.

7:42 a.m.

Shit.

"Innie," she whispers, her voice still gravelly from sleep. "I need to get up."

His only response is a low hum. His arm tightens around her.

"I'm serious," she murmurs, trying to shift—but the moment she moves, he pulls her closer, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder.

"You don't," he mumbles, voice rough with sleep but laced with something deeper—something that feels like desperation. "Not yet."

Jieun lets out a quiet laugh. "I really do. I'm going to be late."

"So be late."

She tries to roll, but his arm won't budge. Instead, he presses a lazy kiss to her bare shoulder, then another—slower this time, lips dragging across her skin like he wants to make her feel every second of it.

"Jeongin..." Her voice falters as his mouth reaches the nape of her neck, a spot he knows makes her breath catch.

He doesn't say anything. Just breathes her in, his fingertips brushing gently over her stomach like he doesn't quite know whether to be gentle or selfish.

"You're clingy this morning," she mutters, but the softness in her voice betrays her amusement.

I.N lifts his head slightly, and when she glances back at him, the sight makes her pulse skip.

His hair is a mess, sticking out in uneven tufts. His eyes are still dark with sleep—and something else. Something heavier.

"You tied me up," he says, almost accusingly, his voice low and slow. "You made me beg. You made me cry... and then you just went to sleep."

Jieun bites her lip, eyes widening just slightly.

Oh.

He's still not over it.

"You seemed satisfied," she says casually, sitting up. The sheets slip down her bare back, revealing the curve of her spine as she finally frees herself from his embrace. "I didn't hear any complaints."

"That's because I was too busy losing my mind," I.N mutters, dragging himself upright to sit behind her.

His gaze rakes over her exposed skin, jaw clenching when she stands and begins moving around the room. Calmly getting ready for work. Putting on lotion. Makeup. Doing her hair.

So calm. So focused. So maddeningly in control.

And all he can do is sit there, watching her with fire still licking beneath his skin, his whole body aching for hers.

It's torture.

"Jieun." His voice comes out tighter now, rougher.

She doesn't look up. "Hmm?"

He shifts toward the edge of the bed, the sheets falling low on his hips. "You're really just going to walk out that door like last night didn't happen?"

She pauses briefly to stick another bobby pin in her bun, barely sparing him a glance over her shoulder. "Last night was great. But this morning, I have meetings."

I.N stands now, bare feet hitting the floor. There is heat behind his gaze, yes—but also something more needy, almost vulnerable.

"You know I didn't get to touch you, right?" he says, taking a step closer. "Not once."

She turns, eyebrow lifting in challenge. "That was the point."

His lips part for a second—like he wants to say something sharp, something teasing—but what comes out is softer. Raw.

"I missed you."

Jieun blinks. "You were literally beneath me for over an hour."

"I missed you," he says again, slower this time. "Like this." His hands reach for her waist, brushing lightly against her still exposed skin. "Like us."

She hesitates. Just for a second.

And that is all he needs.

Jieun takes a breath and tries to slide out of his reach, but I.N's fingers tighten just slightly around her waist—not enough to hold her back, but enough to remind her he's still there, still wanting.

"Jeongin," she warns, brushing his hand off gently. "Not now."

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, voice low and far too knowing. "Because I think you want to stay just as much as I want to keep you here."

She turns toward the mirror on her dresser, spritzes her perfume, and smoothes her hands over her hair. Her eyes stay on her reflection—calm, composed—but she catches the shift in his posture behind her in the glass.

He steps closer.

Bare chest. Tousled hair. Lips still pink from her kisses the night before.

Damn him.

"You're imagining things," she says coolly, reaching for her earrings.

I.N's breath touches the side of her neck before his lips do—just the hint of contact, barely there, yet enough to make her fingers still against her earlobe.

"Am I?" he whispers, lips brushing her skin, his voice nothing more than smoke. "Because your pulse just jumped."

Jieun closes her eyes for half a second. Damn him twice.

"I have to leave," she says, more to herself than to him. "I can't be late."

"You say that," he hums, nuzzling just behind her ear, "but you haven't even put clothes on yet, you're just provoking me by walking around in this barely there underwear."

She hates how true that is.

"Again. You're imagining things. I just don't want to stain my clothes with makeup."

"You tied me to the bed last night and left me with nothing but your visuals," he says, fingers brushing along her hips. "You really think you can get away with that?"

Jieun swallows. Her breath catches just a little when his hand grazes her lower stomach, dangerously close to the hem of her underwear.

He is good. Too good. And worse—he knows it.

But what makes it worse than worse is the sincerity that bleeds into his voice when he whispers, "I just want to touch you. That's all. Just for a little bit."

She finally turns to face him.

Big mistake.

The moment her eyes meet his—dark, soft, burning—her carefully built wall wavers.

She can feel it. That pull. That crack in her armor.

His hands don't grab. They ask.But his eyes?They beg.

And she hates how easily convinced she is.

So she sighs, as if irritated, even though the flush rising on her skin says otherwise.

"Fine," she mutters, resting her hands over his shoulders, "but only for a second."

The words barely leave her lips before his hands slide around her waist, pulling her into him like he's been aching for this exact moment all morning.

Their bodies collide, bare chest to bare chest, thin underwear the only thing between them.

The kiss he gives her isn't careful. It's hungry.

Lips crashing into hers, tongues brushing instantly, hands roaming over the curve of her back like he can't touch enough fast enough.

Jieun gasps against his mouth but doesn't stop him. Her fingers thread through his messy hair, tugging gently as their mouths work feverishly together, breath growing shallow and uneven between every kiss.

I.N presses her back toward the dresser, lips still on hers, hands splaying against her hips as he grinds against her. She's soft and warm and responsive, her skin buzzing beneath his fingertips—and he's drinking in every second of it.

She lets out a low sound in her throat, one she hadn't meant to let slip, and she feels him smile against her lips.

Cocky little brat.

His palms slide down to her thighs, gripping and lifting slightly—like he wants to pick her up and place her on the dresser. She feels the exact moment things start to tip—the air growing heavier, his kisses dipping deeper, more desperate.

One more second and she'll be completely under his spell, legs wrapped around his waist, just ready to be taken wherever he wants.

So she breaks the kiss with a sharp breath, pressing her hand firmly against his chest.

"That's enough."

I.N blinks at her, breathless and already flushed. "Wait, wha—"

"You said you just wanted to touch," she says coolly, straightening her spine, fighting the dizziness in her head. "You touched."

He stares at her like she has just walked away from the edge of something beautiful and reckless.

She pats his cheek gently—mockingly sweet. "Now I have a whole department to run."

He watches, stunned and visibly unsatisfied, as she turns away, her bare back retreating toward the closet.

She grabs a hanger, lifts a sleek black dress from the rack, and glances at it critically, without another glance in his direction.

I.N stands there, half-hard and blinking, chest still heaving slightly from the kiss, his boxers doing a poor job of hiding how wrecked he already is.

He exhales a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "You're such a fucking tease."

"I'm efficient," she corrects, removing the dress from the hanger without flinching. "And you'll live."

He mutters something under his breath that she doesn't catch—but the smile tugging at her lips gives her away. She loves this. Loves the push, the pull, the tension that never quite breaks—until it does.

Jieun stands by the closet, her back partially turned to him as she calmly steps into her dress—black, structured, professional. Sharp lines. Clean silhouette. Very put-together.

She doesn't say a word. Just slips it up her legs, lifts the straps over her shoulders, and reaches behind her for the zipper, tugging it up with methodical, practiced fingers.

I.N stays where he was—watching her, still just in his boxers, still a mess from their earlier make-out.

His eyes follow her every move.

The way her muscles flex slightly when she lifts her arms.The way her slick hair reflects the bright morning light.The way she very deliberately doesn't look at him.

She's pretending he doesn't affect her. Like he hadn't just left her gasping into his mouth seconds ago. Like she hadn't melted in his hands.

But he knows better.

He sees the tension in her shoulders.The tightness in her jaw.The subtle flare of her nostrils as she exhales just a little too sharply.

She's pretending.

She's trying so hard not to let him have the satisfaction.

He tilts his head and lets out a quiet breath—almost a laugh. Just loud enough to carry.

"Cute."

Jieun pauses, fingers still on the zipper. "What?"

I.N blinks slowly. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did." She turns slightly, catching his expression from the corner of her eye. "Say it again."

He meets her gaze and smiles, slow and smug. "I said it's cute. Watching you try so hard to pretend I don't tempt you."

She scoffs. "You think very highly of yourself."

"I don't have to. You do it for me."

Her jaw twitches.

She turns back to the mirror, yanking harder on the zipper. It catches halfway up her back. She tugs again. Stuck.

I.N says nothing. Just watches.

She reaches up with both hands, shoulders contorting awkwardly as she tries to get the angle right. The zipper moves maybe a centimeter. Then stops again.

He can practically see the steam rising off her.

"You know," he says casually, "if I had a dollar for every time you pretended I don't affect you, I'd be a millionaire by now."

She doesn't respond.

Another sharp tug at the zipper. Nothing.

He hums, slowly walking a few paces closer—but not touching her yet. Just close enough to loom. Close enough that she can feel him there.

"I'm just saying," he continues, voice low and maddeningly patient, "you can keep playing like you're unbothered. Keep dressing up like you're actually going to leave. But I see you, Jieun. And I know I already made a mess between your thighs."

Her hands falter. For half a second. Almost invisible.

But he catches it.

He always does.

She huffs and tries again, teeth gritting.

And he smiles. Because he knows—she's unraveling. Not all at once. But in tiny, satisfying pieces.

And he hasn't even touched her.

Not yet.

Jieun lets out an exasperated sigh as she struggles with the back of her dress. "Ugh—could you just shut up and help me with this zipper?"

Without missing a beat, I.N smirks and steps up behind her, hands already reaching for the fabric. "Of course."

But instead of zipping up, he slowly drags the zipper down, knuckles grazing the warm skin of her back.

"Up," she corrects immediately, sensing the direction this is heading.

"But I like it more down," he murmurs, voice low and playful, fingers dipping just a little lower.

She groans under her breath, grabbing a tube of gloss and swiping it quickly over her lips as she faces the mirror. "Innie, I don't have time. I'm seriously going to be late."

He leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the side of her neck. "You're the boss," he whispers, lips brushing against her skin. "Being late won't be an issue."

"I'm not the boss," she says, trying to fight the smile tugging at her lips. "I'm the manager."

"Same thing," he mumbles, hands gliding to her waist.

"No, it's—"

He kisses her again, this time right below her ear, and she loses her train of thought as a small shiver runs down her spine.

"I'm serious," she tries again, breath catching when he nibbles her earlobe. "I can't be late for work."

"Just a little bit," he murmurs, his voice now thicker, darker. One hand slips beneath the strap of her dress and begins sliding it off her shoulder, the silky fabric gliding easily over her skin.

"Jeong—"

Before she can finish, he brings two fingers to her mouth, pressing them gently against her lips.

"Shh," he breathes. "You can stop pretending now."

He rolls his hips forward just enough for her to feel the heat and pressure of his arousal pressing against her backside.

The sensation sends another pulse of need through her, and her lips part instinctively, allowing his fingers to slip inside. He strokes her tongue slowly, watching her through the mirror, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and dazed eyes.

She lets out a quiet moan, her expression wavering as her body begins to betray her resolve.

Smirking, I.N leans down to kiss her neck again, trailing his lips down to her shoulder. His other hand moves deliberately now, pushing her dress the rest of the way off until it pools in a soft ring of fabric around her feet.

He palms her breast over the thin lace of her bra, squeezing gently as his hips grind into her, teasing her in a maddeningly slow rhythm.

Her breathing grows shallow. She finds herself pushing back into him, her body moving instinctively even as her mind scrambles to stay focused.

But it's the fingers in her mouth that do it.

The way he moves them—confident, slow, coaxing. Stroking her tongue in lazy, reverent passes like he has all the time in the world.

He watches her face the entire time, studying the way her eyelids flutter, the soft parting of her lips, the way her moan turns to a gasp when he grazes a particularly sensitive spot.

"See?" he murmurs, voice a velvet ribbon in her ear. "It's so much easier when you stop fighting it."

She should snap at him. Should twist away, grab her dress, pull herself together.

Instead, she whimpers when he pulls his fingers halfway out, then pushes them back in deeper—slow and possessive, the pads brushing along the inside of her cheek.

"You love this," he said, barely more than a breath. "My hands... my fingers in your mouth. The way I touch you like I own you."

Her knees nearly buckle.

I.N's hand slides down her side, following the curve of her waist, then lower—fingers trailing just over the band of her underwear.

"You walk around like no one can touch you. Like you're above it all. But I know the truth."

His fingers slip beneath the lace.

"You're soaking for me, baby."

She moans around his fingers—helpless, humiliated, aching—her body jerking back into his touch without her permission.

Her hips grind back against him, her breath stuttering, and she knows—knew she can't fake indifference anymore.

Not with his hand buried between her thighs.Not with his fingers in her mouth, stroking her like a promise.Not when her reflection in the mirror is already ruined—cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy with need.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers. "Say the word, and I'll walk away."

She stares at herself, at the red blooming on her skin, the sheer hunger in her expression. Her lips tremble around his fingers, but no words come.

Because there aren't any.

Because she doesn't want him to stop.

Because she's done pretending.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he smirks.

I.N breaks away just long enough to grab a condom from the nightstand. He tears it open with practiced ease, lowers his boxers just enough to free himself, and rolls it on.

Jieun turns to face him, eyes narrowed with need, but before she can say anything, he catches her wrist and spins her around again.

"Not so fast," he whispers, guiding her toward the dresser mirror.

She blinks in confusion as he bends her forward, her hands finding the cool glass for balance.

"Wait—wha-"

She gasps sharply as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulls them down just enough. One hand grips her hip while the other guides himself to her entrance.

With a slow, deliberate push, he begins to ease into her, his breath shuddering against her ear.

Jieun's hands brace harder against the mirror, her body arching under the pressure. Her eyes flick up, catching a glimpse of her flushed reflection—but she looks away quickly, overwhelmed.

"Ah-ah," I.N murmurs, reaching for her chin and turning her face forward again.

"Look," he says softly, but with unmistakable heat. "I want you to see your face when I'm inside you."

She tries to resist, but his voice—God, his voice—sends a tremor through her. Her eyes flutter open again, cheeks burning as she stares at her own reflection.

I.N watches her with hungry eyes, his lips curling into a smile as he slowly begins to move.

"God, you're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, sliding deeper. "Flushed and falling apart... and still trying to act like you're in control."

His fingers return to her mouth, slipping inside again, and she welcomes them with a soft moan, her lips closing around them as her eyes flutter half-shut.

"Open your eyes, babe," he whispers, voice rough and ragged now, his thrusts growing more purposeful. "You don't want to miss the show."

Jieun's breath fogs against the mirror, her hands trembling slightly where they press to the glass. Her body rocks in time with his slow, deliberate thrusts—every movement calculated, every grind designed to keep her just on the edge of giving in completely.

But it isn't just the rhythm that makes her head spin.

It's the mirror.

The way I.N stays so close behind her, his body warm and firm and unrelenting, while his eyes stay fixed on her reflection.

The way he looks at her.

Like he's starving for the sight of her.

He slides deeper again, his hips rolling against her in a pace that is maddeningly slow. She lets out a soft, choked moan—but when she tries to drop her gaze, he's already there.

His fingers—those damn fingers—leave her mouth just long enough to tilt her chin forward again, forcing her eyes back on the mirror.

"No looking away," he whispers, voice all gravel and heat. "I want you to see how pretty you look when I'm fucking you."

Her lips part, breath catching at the raw, reverent tone of his voice. And then—his fingers slip back into her mouth, pushing past her lips, stroking her tongue in that slow, deliberate rhythm that makes her knees nearly buckle.

Jieun moans around them, her eyes fluttering closed on instinct—

"Eyes, babe," I.N murmurs. "Keep them on me."

She forces them open, her reflection blurry with heat and embarrassment and pleasure, cheeks flushed, lips slick, hair becoming a mess around her face.

But he looks entranced.

His gaze is fixed on her like she's something holy. His fingers in her mouth, his body moving slowly, deeply, like this isn't just about release—it's about claiming space in her head.

"You don't even realize," he murmurs, curling his fingers slightly between her lips, brushing her inner cheek as he speaks. "How crazy you make me. How fucking sexy you are when you try to act unaffected."

His other hand leaves her hip to reach up, slipping under her bra to roll one nipple between his fingers.

She whimpers, body arching instinctively into his touch. Her mouth sucks lightly around the fingers still inside, her body tightening as he pushes deeper into her with a low groan.

"God, the way your mouth feels..." he hisses, hips stuttering. "I swear, I could cum from this alone."

Jieun lets out a needy sound around his fingers—half moan, half gasp—and I.N grins behind her.

He leans in, pressing a kiss just behind her ear. "Your mouth is dangerous, you know that?" he whispers. "And you always act like my hands are the problem."

He withdraws them slowly, dragging his fingers across her lips and chin, smearing a bit of her spit in the process. Then he slides them down—between her breasts, over her stomach, and finally between her thighs—stroking her just above where their bodies meet.

Jieun chokes on a sound, her hips rocking back against him harder.

"There she is," he breathes, smiling into her skin as she melts under his touch. "So responsive. You get so needy when I do this, don't you?"

She can't answer—can't even think. The stimulation, the image in the mirror, the weight of his body, the relentless teasing—he's completely unraveling her.

Her hands claw at the mirror, her eyes squeeze shut again—

But once more, he catches her chin and forces her to look.

"Eyes on me, baby."

His voice is softer now, but no less commanding. "I want you to see what I do to you. I want you to watch yourself fall apart for me."

And she does.

Because even if she wants to look away—she can't.

Not with his hand between her legs.Not with his voice in her ear.Not with his cock driving slow, deep, mind-splitting thrusts into her body.

And especially not when he's touching her like this is where she belongs.

Jieun's breathing grows ragged, her hands brace hard against the mirror, palms beginning to slide with the faint sheen of sweat building across her skin. Every inch of her feels too much—too aware, too on edge. I.N keeps her right there, just shy of falling apart, and he knows exactly what he's doing.

She tries again to move, to take back a little control—but his arm wraps around her middle, holding her still.

"Don't," he murmurs, lips brushing her ear. "You don't get to run. Not after last night."

His hand slides lower between her legs again, fingers stroking where she's soaked and sensitive, his thrusts still slow, deliberate—each one designed to make her squirm.

"I want you like this," he whispers. "Pressed against this mirror. So when you're at work today, trying to act put together, you'll remember what I did to you. What I'm still doing to you."

Jieun whimpers.

He grins. "You'll sit at your desk and think about how I touched you here." His fingers draw slow circles on her clit, soft and steady. "And how I fucked you like this."

His hips roll forward in a deeper, firmer thrust that makes her gasp. "And when that idiot Yang comes over and says something dumb to you again, you'll think about me. And put him in his place."

"I already did," Jieun manages to say, voice cracking slightly from the intensity. "You think I'd let him talk to me like that again after what you did to me in my office?"

I.N falters—just a little—his rhythm stuttering as his grip on her hip tightens.

"You did?" he asks, though it sounds more like hope than a question.

Jieun smiles wickedly in the mirror, catching his eyes through the haze of fog and sweat. "I told him to shut up. Told him he needed to learn what respect sounded like. Put him in his place. Just like you said."

That breaks him.

I.N growls softly behind her, pushing deeper, harder, his body now fully flush against hers. "Fuck, baby," he breathes, voice wrecked with pride and arousal. "That's my girl."

Her moan is immediate, deep in her throat.

He reaches for her chin again, holding her face so she can see herself—see him, the way his body moves with hers, the flushed skin, the desperation barely restrained.

"You belong to me," he whispers. "You know that, right?"

She nods, eyes glossy, lips parted. "Y-Yeah."

"I want you to feel me all day," he murmurs, breath hot against her ear. "I want you to get flustered every time someone says my name—even if they don't mean me."

"You already do that to me," she admits, voice low and shaking. "Every time I see him, all I can think about is you."

That smile curves back on his lips—dark and hungry.

"Good," he says. "Because I think about you all the time too. Even when I'm on stage, even when I'm smiling for cameras. You're the only thing on my mind."

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of her jaw. "And I want you ruined for anyone else. Only me. Only this."

Her thighs tremble. Her moans turn breathless and high-pitched, and I.N knows she's close. But he doesn't speed up. He doesn't let her fall.

Not yet.

Jieun's body burns, coiled so tight it's nearly unbearable, but I.N gives her nothing—no release, no mercy, just his relentless rhythm and maddening restraint.

His hand at her chin holds her still while the other teases her mercilessly between thrusts—circling, stroking, retreating the second she gets too close.

Every time she gasps, pushes her hips back, tries to chase that high, he pulls her just enough away from it to make her whimper.

"You don't get to finish yet," he says lowly, voice calm but firm. "Not until I say so."

She lets out a frustrated sound, half-moan, half-growl. "Innie—"

He grins, watching her in the mirror. Her reflection is flushed, her lips parted, her eyes barely able to stay open. He loves it. Loves seeing her like this—undone and desperate, all that polished control slipping through her fingers.

"You're used to calling the shots, huh?" he murmurs, dragging his lips along the back of her neck. "Telling people when to sit, when to speak, when they're allowed to breathe around you."

Jieun bites her lip, trying not to cry out when he angles his hips differently and hits a spot that makes her thighs quake.

"But look at you now," he says, dragging two fingers slowly over her bottom lip. "Bent over. Breathless. Trying not to beg."

"I don't beg," she snaps—but her voice is thin, strained, betraying the truth.

I.N chuckles darkly, pushing deeper again, slow and devastating. "No? Are you sure about that, baby?"

Her answer dies in her throat.

He applies more pressure to his hand down between her legs, fingers stroking again—this time slower, gentler—threatening her with the edge of relief.

"You like it when I take the power from you," he whispers. "Don't you?"

Jieun groans, her head wanting to drop forward as her body betrays her—hips pushing back, mouth open in a soundless plea.

"You like not having to decide anything. Not having to think. Just... feeling."

She doesn't answer. She can't. Her teeth sink into her lip, her hands fisting against the mirror.

"You walk into boardrooms like you own them," I.N murmurs, his fingers tightening on her jaw. "But when you're with me..."

He leans in, his voice velvet and smoke at her ear. "You're mine to control."

A moan slips past her lips before she can stop it.

"There it is," he breathes. "That sound."

He kisses her shoulder—once, then again. "You're so strong out there. So composed. But you give it up for me every time. You love giving it up."

Jieun's nails scratch softly against the mirror. "Jeongin, please..."

"Oh?" he teases. "Please what?"

"Don't make me say it," she chokes out.

His thrusts slow again, just enough to make her whimper. "I want you to say it," he says. "I want to hear you ask."

Jieun's breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps now. Her body strains against his grip, hips twitching with every maddeningly slow thrust, every teasing stroke of his fingers. She's right on the edge—she has been for what feels like forever—and he's keeping her there with precision.

Her eyes flutter as she meets her reflection.

She barely recognizes herself.

Her cheeks are flushed deep red, her lips kiss-swollen and parted, strands of hair clinging to her damp skin. She looks desperate. Hungry. Owned.

And I.N is watching her like he knows it.

"Still holding on?" he asks quietly, the words low and intimate in her ear. His hips move just enough to make her moan—then stop again, denying her the friction she so desperately needs. "I'm impressed. You're stronger than I thought."

She clenches her jaw, trying to swallow the whine that wants to escape.

"Most people would've begged by now," he continues, his voice too calm for how wrecked she feels. "But not you. You're the boss, right? You don't break."

His hand grazes her soaked folds before pausing again, not quite giving her what she needs. His other hand keeps a strong hold on her jaw and presses his fingers lightly against her lips.

"But I know your weakness," he murmurs.

She parts her lips without thinking, letting him push his fingers back inside.

"That's right," he coos. "Just like that."

Her body trembles as he thrusts slow and deep behind her, his fingers curling gently against her tongue, keeping her tasting him, feeling him, wrapped in him.

"You're going to be thinking about this all day," he whispers. "You'll sit in your fancy office and remember how you looked for me. How your body shook when I touched you. And no one else will know."

She moans around his fingers, her hips jerking back again—desperation building in every fiber of her.

Still, she says nothing.

Still, she refuses to beg.

I.N's smile curves dark and slow as he continues to pump his fingers in her mouth, dragging them over her tongue in the same rhythm he's thrusting inside her.

"Come on, baby," he says gently. "Say it. Say what you want."

Jieun lets out a shaky breath, her knees buckling slightly. She barely manages to stay upright, her forehead almost pressing against the mirror now, her voice raw with restraint.

"Jeongin..."

He slows his movements again, almost stopping, the lack of friction suddenly devastating.

"I'm not letting you cum until you ask me for it."

Her fists clench. Her pride strained.

And then—her body twitches, her lips tremble, and her voice breaks.

"Please."

He stills. Removes the fingers from her mouth so he can hear her clearly.

She squeezes her eyes shut, swallowing her shame, her dignity, her last shred of control.

"...Please, Innie. I can't—just please, let me cum. I need it. I need you."

A breath hitches in his chest, and then—his lips curl into a low, pleased sound, so soft and dark it sends chills through her spine.

"There it is."

And just like that—he gives it to her.

I.N doesn't waste a second.

The moment those words leave her lips—raw, unguarded, his—he moves.

His pace changes completely, no longer teasing or withholding, but full and focused, intentional. He grips her hips with both hands, pulling her back onto him with a force that makes the mirror rattle slightly under her palms.

The room fills with the sound of skin meeting skin, her soft gasps dissolving into helpless cries as he drives into her over and over, deeper with every thrust, with every low, growled breath of her name.

He's relentless. Not cruel—but possessive, hungry, as if giving her what she begged for is its own kind of reward.

"You sound so pretty when you break," he whispers through gritted teeth, sweat dripping down the line of his jaw. "You should hear yourself."

Jieun can barely think, let alone speak. Her fingers claw uselessly at the mirror, eyes half-lidded as pleasure tears through her with every deep stroke, every touch.

And then his hand is between her thighs again—this time not to tease, but to finish her.

His fingers rub tight, deliberate circles against her clit, syncing perfectly with his rhythm.

"Cum for me," he growls. "I want to see you fall apart."

Her body reacts faster than her mind. Her breath catches, and she shatters with a sharp, high cry, her walls pulsing around him as her vision goes white.

It's devastating.

Her orgasm rips through her with brutal force, her knees buckling as her body spasms around him, her cries echoing against the walls. Her body clings to him, pulls him deeper, her hips twitching as waves of release roll through her, refusing to stop.

She maybe screams his name—she isn't sure—but she feels him respond.

With a ragged moan, I.N surges forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face into her shoulder.

"Fuck—Jieun—"

He follows her over the edge, hips stuttering as he cums with a guttural sound, deep inside her, his entire body shaking with the force of it. His grip on her tightens, grounding himself in her as he pours every ounce of his control into those last few thrusts—like she's the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

They collapse against the mirror, both of them slick with sweat, breathless and trembling.

For a long moment, there's only silence—heavy and intimate. Their bodies still locked together, pulses racing in sync, skin buzzing.

I.N presses a soft kiss to her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

"...You're mine."

And Jieun—still trying to catch her breath, her pride, her sanity—can't bring herself to disagree.

Because she knows she is.

Completely.

Their bodies remain pressed together, warm and trembling, caught in the quiet stillness that follows something earth-shaking.

I.N doesn't have plans to move. Neither does Jieun.

He stays wrapped around her, his chest against her back, his arms tight and unwilling to let go. Their breathing slows together, her spine rising and falling with every inhale he presses against.

The only sound is the faint patter of their heartbeats calming in sync, and the quiet hum of something unspoken settling between them.

You're mine, he had said.

Jieun feels those words still vibrating in her chest, in the places he'd touched, and in the ones he hadn't. It wasn't a threat. It wasn't a question. It's just... true.

She has never wanted to belong to anyone. Too proud to do so.But him?It doesn't feel like giving up power. It feels like choosing peace.

She reaches up slowly, her fingers finding his where they rest at her waist. Interlacing them gently. Holding him in return.

I.N kisses the top of her shoulder, then her neck, then her cheek—slow, reverent kisses like he's thanking her without words.

She leans her head back into him, her throat dry, her body still humming from the intensity of it all. "I hate how much you get to me," she whispers, her voice fragile.

"I love how much I get to you," he murmurs into her skin, smiling against her shoulder.

She huffs a quiet laugh, closing her eyes. "We're so—"

"Dangerous?" he teases.

Jieun tilts her head slightly, enough to look at him. "Yeah. That."

He grins and kisses her again, soft and slow. "Then let's keep being dangerous. Together."

They stay like that—wrapped in each other's warmth, surrounded by the soft buzz of shared breath and knowing touches—until something cuts through the stillness like a blade.

A sudden glimpse at the clock.

Jieun's eyes widen.

"Oh my God." She jolts upright, pushing him away from her. "It's nearly nine-thirty. Nine. Thirty."

I.N blinks, stretching himself casually, hair a glorious mess, still smiling like a man who has no regrets. "Huh. You are so late."

"You—You made me late!" she snaps, already reaching down for her dress with frantic hands. "I have three meetings this morning! I had calls to make! I was supposed to—"

"You begged me," he says calmly, teasingly. "I just responded to a request from management."

"Jeongin!" she growls, annoyed beyond belief.

He just laughs. Low and delighted, not even trying to hide how proud of himself he is.

"You're insufferable," she mutters, jamming her zipper up while he leans back on the bed, hands tucked behind his head like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"Maybe," he shrugs, watching her with far too much admiration. "But I'm fully yours to deal with now."

She pauses for a half-second—just long enough for him to see the flicker of affection she tries to bury.

She turns to the mirror, reapplying her gloss with quick, practiced strokes. Trying to gather herself. Trying to summon the version of her that runs things. The one who tells men twice her age to sit down and listen.

But her lips won't quite straighten.

Because behind her in the mirror, I.N is still watching her with that warm, cheeky, disarmingly in love look in his eyes.

And she loves it.

Loves him.

She fights back a smile, giving him one last sharp look as she grabs her bag. "You owe me lunch for this."

"I'll bring you dinner too," he offers with a grin. "As an apology."

Jieun rolls her eyes, but the blush rising on her cheeks betrays her. "Just... stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

"No promises." He winks. "You'll be thinking about me all day anyway."

She opens the door, but right before she steps out, she turns to glance at him—rumpled sheets, tousled hair, that stupid, beautiful smile.

And she thinks, Yeah. Mine.

Even if she'll never say it out loud.

"Wait." I.N finally climbs out of bed and follows after her—barefoot, half-naked, and still radiating smug satisfaction.

"I should head home too," he says, reaching for his clothes on the floor. "Before anyone starts wondering where I disappeared to."

"I can't give you a ride since you made me so late," she teases, tossing him a side glance. "Find your own way home."

He grins, completely unrepentant. "Worth it."

The cool morning air hits them as they step out into the driveway, the sun casting soft gold across the quiet neighborhood. Jieun walks toward her uncle's car, phone already in hand, likely firing off texts to her secretary.

But I.N isn't done.

"Jieun."

She turns just as he reaches for her wrist and pulls her in—fast, firm, his mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that's far too hot for public. It's needy and heavy, nothing like the soft goodbye it should've been. His hands slide down her waist, gripping her like he isn't quite ready to let go.

She kisses him back for a few seconds, a soft noise caught in her throat—then abruptly pulls away, palms flat against his chest.

"Yang Jeongin," she hisses breathlessly, lips swollen and voice edged with a warning. "Don't. I'll seriously make you regret it if you keep messing up my makeup."

He sighs, pressing one last kiss to her cheek. "Fine. But only because you're scarily vengeful."

"I'll take that as a compliment." She smoothes her lip gloss with her thumb, then opens the driver-side door. "Now go. Before I decide I don't care and tie you up to my bed again."

"Don't tempt me," he smirks, but takes a few steps back as she slides into the seat, still watching her like she might vanish if he blinks. The car engine purrs to life, and she shoots him one final look—a smirk hidden behind a veil of professionalism.

Then she's gone.

Her car pulls out of the driveway and down the street, sunlight catching the sheen of her hair and the corner of her mouth still pink and swollen from his kiss.

I.N stands there for a moment, smiling like an idiot, his hands in the pockets of his sweats, her gloss faintly smudged across the corner of his mouth.

And then—

click.

A quiet, unmistakable sound.

A camera shutter.

The smile falls from his face instantly, his whole body freezing in place. The air turns sharp and cold in his lungs.

He whips his head around, scanning the street.

Silence. No movement. Not a single other person in sight.

He steps forward, peering past the hedges. Nothing. No one. Just the breeze brushing against the trees and the slow hum of a neighborhood waking up.

Did I imagine that?

But the chill in his spine tells him he hadn't.

⊹˚₊‧─────≽ ^ • ⩊ • ^ ≼─────‧₊˚⊹

Honestly, this is kind of a mess, sorry.