He doesn’t respond with words. His answer is a harsh, guttural sound from the back of his throat—a curse that’s more breath than word—as he grinds deeper, finding that spot that makes my vision splinter white—a muscle memory ofpleasure he’s known how to trigger since we were twenty.
“It feels so good to be inside you,” he sighs as he slips two fingers between my lips, silencing the next cry before it can even form. “Too good…”
At the same time, his free hand moves in perfect sync with his hips, circling my mound and driving me right to the edge.
I can feel myself getting closer, the familiar sensation of impending climax building inside me. My body finally tightens around him, pleasure exploding through me, sharp and shattering. He follows seconds later, groaning against my skin, his own release a shuddering wave.
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, a lazy, triumphant smirk on his face, his chest still heaving.
“Always a fucking firework with you,” he gasps, his voice wrecked. “The way you fall apart… so beautiful.”
I squirm beneath him, a needy little tremor chasing the aftershocks. He just watches me, a silent, knowing victory in his eyes. That glint in his eye isn’t dismissal; it’s a challenge. It’s the look of aman who knows exactly what he just did to me and is enjoying every second of it.
“Don’t get greedy,” he says, his voice a low, amused growl that still doesn’t hide the bone-deep exhaustion. “Sleep. I have another shoot tomorrow.”
As if I weigh nothing, he scoops me up and carries me to his bedroom. We take turns cleaning up.
“Umm… Suho? I start, hesitating.
“Yeah?” he replies sleepily, already flopping into bed, one eye closed.
“Can I borrow your… underwear? I didn’t bring a change.” My voice comes out as a mortified squeak.
This is it, I think.A new milestone in our chaotic situationship. Borrowing his underwear before we’ve ever been on an actual date.
For the record, I have rules about this sort of thing:
Only in a dire, wardrobe-related emergency (check)
Only if we have a ridiculously long, shared history (double-check)
His laugh fills the room, so loud and genuine it makes him wipe a tear from his eye. “Why would you need any underwear?” he challenges, but I just pout in response.
Finally, his smirk settles. “Here,” he says, tossing me a pair of black boxers. “My absolute best pair. Treat them with care.”
I put them on. They’re ridiculously huge, the waistband halfway down my thighs.
“Although…” his voice dips lower, that familiar husky growl returning, “I’d enjoy taking those off you even more.”
He flops back onto the bed, patting the space beside him. I curl in, and his arm drapes protectively over my waist as we fall into an exhausted sleep.
***
The next morning, I finally face the music. I turn on my phone.
The screen explodes with a mountain of notifications. At the top of the pile, two messages cut through the noise, a one-two punch to the gut.
From the CEO of my agency:The official police summons has arrived. You need to come in.
From Shin:Call me.
