#Rotten Core AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkedtae · 11 months ago

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xi. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

chapter eleven : take the day off ⤑ ❝ “That didn’t seem to get her anywhere.” // “And where are you hoping this gets you?” // On my knees. ❞

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⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 16.5k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, praise kink, corruption kink, dirty talk, dry humping, a bit of orgasm control, oral (m. receiving), slight degradation, humiliation, exhibitionism, multiple orgasm, attempts at deep throating, hair pulling, begging, teasing, some cum play

⌁ playlist

ও as always a hundred thanks to cam ( @sunshinejunghoseokie ) for the pretty, pretty banner!! And special thanks to Jen ( @anobodyslove ) , Alaska ( @bulubulubulublabla ) , and Anya ( @wintertaescape ) for reading over and editing this with it being so long! I really appreciate it !

The sky swirls pink behind sheer clouds. The setting sun peeks through, casting a rose gold gleam into your apartment. Desperate to spread its last little rays of light for the day, it halos around the clouds. If you stare long enough, you can convince yourself that you’re catching a glimpse of heaven.

If Taehyung were here, he’d smile at your words. He’d let his eyes roam over your body before settling back on yours and say something that should sound ridiculously cheesy but still somehow make your heart race. He’d play with your hair, gently tracing the edge of your face with the pad of his fingers. You’d try to look away, but he’d cup your chin and force you to hold his gaze as he tells you something he shouldn’t, something that would excite your core.

You lay back on the couch and pull the throw blanket closer to your chest. It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve properly heard from him. Of course, he texts you but not as often as he used to.

Things have changed since you’ve been back. Taehyung is not as available as he once was. It’s like the moment you crossed the country line back into the city, his phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Notifications popped up on the dash, and soon EDEN had to drive the rest of the way. Whatever they were talking about must have been confidential because Taehyung then put in his airpods and spoke quietly.

“Would you like to watch something?” EDEN had asked after a few minutes of relative silence.

You shook your head before realising that she couldn't register it. “No, thank you,” you whispered before untangling your own headphones and playing some music.

Taehyung excused himself from the call for a moment when you reached your apartment. He muted his phone and apologised. At the time, it made sense since you never saw him pick up his phone that weekend. There must be so much to catch up on.

Perhaps you were just being selfish, but as you walked to your building, you couldn’t help but feel a bit… irked. You were the one in the car with him; why did he deny you his attention? Would it have made a difference if he waited until he dropped you off before engaging with his work? He didn’t hold onto your thigh the rest of the way back. He didn’t play with your hair. He didn’t even give you a little peck before you left.

You flip through the channels now, trying to switch this awkward, betrayed feeling off. It’s been latching onto you every time you check your phone and find it bare of his name.

You’re not even sure you should be feeling this way. You did spend an entire weekend with him. And even though his family was there, he still found ways to be alone with you, even going so far as to sneak into your room when he thought everyone was sleeping. He took you shopping, purchasing anything you touched. He let you play with him for a change— a memory you still dream about. He even sent you four different pairs of Bangtan airpods in all the available colours the following morning with a little note telling you that if you needed anything, all you have to do is ask.

Besides, he’s not your boyfriend. What more do you expect him to do? He’s not obligated to shower you with attention. In fact, he’s paying to make sure you are available to give him attention. Your job is to exclusively offer company.

You curse yourself under your breath, realising how far you’ve let this stupid arrangement go. If you had simply reminded him of your distance policy when he brought up the events, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You were never supposed to meet him. You were never meant to let him touch you, or want to touch him. Of course, you know that he never forced you. You couldn’t resist him. You’re just annoyed with yourself for allowing this to happen.

Remorse coils around your heart, piercing through the thorns of barbed wire. You clench your jaw and grip tightly onto the remote, accidentally pressing mute. Even after knowing everything you do now, you knew you still wouldn’t be able to say no to him. If you had told him back then you weren’t interested, he wouldn’t have tried to convince you. He would have offered the opportunity to someone else. Your stomach aches from the distant thought of someone else accompanying him, let alone being treated with the same delicacy as you were. What if some other girl was on that balcony, horny and frustrated with him? Would he have fingered her too?

You shove that thought away with a toss of the remote to the side. This is insane. You’re going to drive yourself crazy getting lost in the past and with what you think you should have done. It doesn’t matter now. The fact is you don’t want to be alone; you don’t want to lose Taehyung.

You’re not sure if you’re pathetic or simply sentimental. Perhaps you’re both. Perhaps you just miss your friend.

Friend, you mentally repeat to yourself. You’re just friends and you need to be okay with that. You can’t allow yourself to lament over possibilities that have not occurred. All this nonsense is simply a diversion of the truth.

You miss Taehyung. You miss the late night calls, the morning messages, the long conversations about every part of your day. He would want to know if you ate well, if you’ve been staying hydrated and looking after yourself. It left your face hot whenever he asked you if you’ve been drinking enough water, knowing he picked up the habit from you. You like that parts of you have worked their way into his life. It makes you feel like you’re a part of it, like the distance between you two is not as great as you believe it to be. It’s comforting to know that on some level you’re always on his mind.

So, why hasn’t he replied? How busy is Osaka, really? It can’t be busier than Seoul, where the headquarters of his company’s operations reside. He can make time for you here, why can’t he do the same there?

No, no, no. Watching stupid shows was supposed to get your mind off this. If you keep staring at these messages, you’re going to be tempted to text him and then you’d actually do it. You’ll be bothering him, annoying him. You’d hate to seem clingy too. And where the hell will that get you? You won’t just be perceived as lonely, but also desperate.

You pause. Isn’t that what would get his attention though? Knowing you’re lonely and desperate would surely pique his interest, after all, it has in the past. He excused himself from a meeting last time to help you use your vibrator. You can’t ask him the same request, but what if you just told him the truth, that you need and miss him?

You begin typing out a simple message— daddy, i need you, but soon erase it. He usually thinks you’re in trouble when you text that. You don’t want to worry him, quite the opposite actually.

Maybe words aren’t the best way to convey your message. Maybe you need to show him.

You rush to your room and change out of your sweats. Pulling open the bottom drawer of your dresser, you pull out one of the lingerie sets Taehyung bought you. He’s only seen you in the silk one, having dressed you in it himself. You’ve had your eye on the white one for a while now though. It’s a delicate chiffon, with the bra looking more like a crop top with short puffed sleeves. It’s decorated with little pink ribbons and comes with a g-string you’re sure is bound to get lost between your cheeks. You thought he’d ask you to wear it by now but he might be waiting on you to decide to do that yourself. Or at least you’re hoping that’s the case.

After putting it on, you adjust the sleeves so that they fall over your shoulder. You don’t particularly hate looking at yourself in the mirror. But you’re barely dressed, bare faced and hair undone, which leaves you feeling self-conscious. With some makeup and soft curls, you think you might be able to look presentable, perhaps even enticing but what if this doesn’t work? What if you embarrass yourself?

You try not to think about it as you apply your makeup. He’s seen you in so many vulnerable positions and enjoyed every one of them. Even though you were normally the only one actively being stimulated, you always felt the bulge of his excitement in his pants. Sometimes he’d even rub it up against you while getting you off. And if he found this as cringey as your anxiety is trying to convince you he does, he wouldn’t have been so upset when you wore that red bra and panty set someone else bought you. He wouldn’t have torn it up and bought you three others.

You hold onto this rationalisation as you make your way back to the living room to grab your phone. You’re thankful Mrs Chu went out for tea with her friend for the evening and you don’t have to sneak around. You might even be able to make some noise if this plan works out— a fact that makes you hot all over. You don’t know why, but you like letting him know just how good it feels when he plays with you. It’s just like how you knew touching yourself wouldn't be the same as being touched by another.

Upon opening your camera app, you notice that the setting sun naturally contours and illuminates your features. The peachy glow offers an angelic halo around your full face, highlighting your innocence. It even acts as a natural pore blurring filter, allowing your makeup to look smoother than you expected. You know Taehyung doesn’t mind the texture, just like you, but you’d be lying if you say it isn’t what you prefer.

Angling the camera higher, you try to replicate his height and what he would see if he was here now. It’s what he would want , you think to yourself, unable to bite back a smile. It’s a bit cliche — the pose, the angle, the outfit — and yet something about it just seems so right. It feels like this is what he likes to see; he always gets so dominant when you act this fragile and innocent.

As you snap the picture, a tiny voice in your head hopes he doesn’t ignore you. You try to fight off the anxiety around the possible humiliation, but it gnaws at your heart.

If he doesn’t like it, you tell yourself, I can just delete it.

Somehow, that’s even more embarrassing. As you prepare the text with the picture attached, your heart thumps in your throat. Stubborn, it remains even when you attempt to swallow it away, fingers shaking and legs weak. What do you even say with a picture like this? Maybe if you say something intriguing he won’t have the choice of ignoring you.

Missing you… You type out only to erase it seconds later. Plain, basic, predictable and ineffective. He’ll ignore you, your anxiety adds.

What if you just write his name? Is that still ordinary and simple?

Maybe, you think deleting his name from the message, you can just send the image. Maybe the curiosity of knowing that he has a message he cannot read from the notification only will be enough.

You analyse the image again as your thumb hovers over the send button. Is your cleavage showing too much, or not enough? Should you tilt your body more to the left, to show off your ass or is that too desperate?

Letting out a little groan, you impulsively hit the send button and chuck your phone on the couch. You tell yourself to forget it, it’s out there now and you don’t care if he replies or not. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t reply, you try to convince yourself.

“I don’t care,” you mutter, hoping to convince yourself.

You stand in place for a second, then two. After the third, you move to take a step back to your room when you hear the faintest pattern of vibrations from the couch. Heart hammering, you trip over your feet from rushing back so fast. You flip onto the couch, practically diving for your phone as you fumble to rotate it right side up and make sense of the notification.

The moment your eyes catch the red and white logo of the sugar app, you quietly gasp to yourself.

[V] : I thought you didn’t send pictures?

You can hear the teasing tone in the message, biting back a smile.

[angelcake] : i thought you were busy?

[V] : I am.

[angelcake] : well then i must confess… that wasn’t meant for you

You quietly giggle to yourself, adding a little winking emoji before hitting send.

He’d press you up against the wall if he could right now, tower over you and tell you to behave. Your imagination even attempts to convince you that you can feel his warm breath fanning over your lips.

[V] : has sent an image

All together, the thoughts in your head trickle away. Your voice catches, breath hitches as the photo finally comes into focus. It’s angled low, as if taken from under a desk or table. All you can mentally register is his bulge. Thick, the outline of it reflects its heaviness. Your mouth waters, eyes now flitting over the image, looking for a moment to breathe. His top buttons are undone, buff chest slightly exposed. The image cuts off just above his smirking lip, but you know he would be devouring you with his eyes if he could.

Try as you might, your eyes fall back down to his huge bulge. His free hand rests near his inner thigh as if about to hold onto his crotch. The temperature in your body rises, skin aflame and nerves abuzz the longer you stare. Fuck, he’d ruin you— you just know it. He’d leave you writhing and shaking beneath him long after you’ve both finished. He’d destroy you in a couple thrusts and have you in tears, begging for more.

Your thighs press together, ankles locking. A shiver jolts down your spine. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. You don’t know what to say or even how to articulate it. All your words cluster together in the base of your throat, held hostage by your overwhelming excitement. You want to be on your knees so bad, your throat almost burns from the emptiness. Swallowing thickly, you feel as though you should be choking right now, drooling and crying as you struggle to properly suck him off.

More than that, you sigh as your thumbs finally move, you want to feel his bulge snug against your ass. Something about that always makes him groan. Lips pressed to your ear, he can’t stop himself from making a sound when you’re pushing back against him. And, knowing that makes it easy to be hones.

[angel] : i wanna sit on your lap

You confess with a little pink heart.

His chat bubble pops up instantly. You wonder where he is to be able to reply so quickly. If he wasn’t busy, why didn’t he reply to your texts? You shake the thought away before you can spiral out of control. He is not obligated to reply to all your messages. He’s allowed to have a life and you need to be okay with that. You cannot let yourself become possessive over a man, let alone one that is not even yours.

Besides, you think as you tap on the picture again, from the hidden angle it looks like he might be in some sort of meeting. That is unless he purposely wanted to show you his bulge from that angle. Is he trying to get you used to that perspective? You firmly press your thighs together.

[V] : as long as you’re wearing that, you can sit wherever you want

A shiver tickles your spine. Your breath hitches. If you close your eyes, you can almost feel the strength of his big hands. There is a ghostly force over your thighs replicating his firm grip. He doesn’t like it when you squirm, planting you in place as he graces your neck with his lips.

It almost hurts to open your eyes and pull yourself out of the illusion. You had indulged in your imagination to recollect yourself but instead got lost all over again. Refocusing your attention on the chat, you bite your lip and ask—

[angelcake] : do you really like it?

[V] : don’t do that

Your heart falls to your gut. Sitting up, you quickly type out your reply.

[angelcake] : do what?

[V] : don’t pretend you don’t know how fucking hot you are

Hands shaking, you have to tighten your grip on your phone. It’s hard to restrain a moan as your skin itches for his touch. You can almost hear these words pouring from his lips, soft and dulcet. You can always hear the deep timbre of his voice in the base of your spine.

Legs rubbing together, you become increasingly impatient with the lack of active stimulation. You sit up, breathe deep and summon all your courage.

[angelcake] : can i call?

He takes a while to reply. You hold your breath. That typing bubble waves for another minute and you wonder if you should dismiss the whole idea. If he wanted you to call, he would’ve asked you to or simply done so himself. He wouldn’t be waiting—

Your phone buzzes. His name glows on the screen, prompting you to answer. Your doubt is startled away, mind no longer on edge or waiting for the worse.

You hastily answer the call before you can convince yourself that the entire thing was an accident. Voice shaky, you softly greet, “Hey.”

Taehyung sounds so unlike himself. Voice strained, exhaustion seeps into every word, frail and croaked. “Hi, Angel,” he replies but all you hear is pain.

“Are you okay?”

Clearing his throat, he answers, “I’m fine.”

He must’ve heard the panic in your voice. A layer of brightness attempts to mask his exhaustion. It’s too late — you’ve already heard how worn out he is. Your stomach churns with anxiety as you wonder if he’s eaten yet or not. And judging from the sound of his voice, he hasn’t focused on anything else besides his job the last two weeks.

You know you cannot ask him the same question again though. He’d only further pretend that everything’s okay and attempt to redirect the attention onto you.

“Tell me about your day,” you probe instead.

“Not much to tell,” he sighs.

“Well, was it busy?”

“Yes.”

“Did you eat?”

There is a brief pause before he affirms, “Yes.”

Taehyung is good at concealing his emotions. Though his voice may be strained, his tone is always even, unfazed. His expressionless face usually upholds the same standards. Exhaustion is tricky, however; you wish you could see his face. If you could just take a quick look in his eyes, you can find out if he’s telling the truth. It tends to seep into his bones and darken the shadows around his nose, cheeks and eyes. He can tell you all the half-truths he wants, and usually he gets away with it. But when it comes to his health, the truth always reveals itself within those weary shadows.

“What did you have?”

A breathy chuckle carries over the phone. You can just imagine him shaking his head at you right now while regarding you with those condescending eyes. “You worry too much.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “I don’t think you worry enough.”

“I’m fine,” he insists. You hear the squeak of his chair; he has leaned back into it.

You find yourself slouching into the couch too, replying, “You need to eat, Taehyung.”

“I do.”

“Regularly,” you clarify, “and throughout the day. You can’t just rely on only one power bar to last the whole day.”

You hear him sigh on the other side, and picture him rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me about your day, hmm?” he asks instead.

“Tae—” you attempt to argue, but he’s rather persistent as he cuts you off.

“Did you miss me, Angel?”

Your words fall, breath hitches as you feel your nerves come alive. Buzzing beneath your skin. Blood rushes to your face, heating up your cheeks while you sit there, stunned by the jolt of arousal.

His voice drops, deep and provoking, as he probs for an answer. “Have you been thinking about me?”

You bite your lip to keep from moaning. You’ve never been more thankful for the phone and the fact that he didn’t just witness your eyes roll from the sheer timbre of his voice. Swallowing thickly, you take a brief second to control yourself.

“Yes,” you quietly confess. “I really miss talking to—”

“You didn’t send that picture to talk.”

Sinking further into the couch, you chew on your lip. There is an itch under your skin, a yearning embedded in your bones that aches to be touched by more than just the vibrations of his voice. Wrapped in his arms, enveloped in expensive cologne and warmth, you wish it was his body you’re leaning back into instead.

“I guess that depends on what we’re talking about,” you shyly reply.

You’re not sure why you asked to call. Texting was fine, wasn’t it? He was finally replying and you didn’t have to worry about sounding cute or sexy or composed for that matter. You could merely exist as whatever he pictured in that little chatroom where no one else but him can find you and the words you say don’t hold any meaning.

You can almost feel your words coming to life as you say them. The weight of their implications sit heavy on your chest.

You wonder if he feels it too.

“What is it you want to talk about then, Angel?”

Inhaling deeply, you try to recollect yourself. Why did you really want him to call, you wonder. Was it because you missed his voice or the things he says? Or was it because you cannot stand the nag of your clit as it pulsates between your legs and begs for attention? Because, if that’s the case, you need to be okay with his voice only being a tool for your satisfaction, and vice versa. You need to be okay with all of this meaning nothing more than quenching your thirst for release.

“What do you miss?” He repeats, whispering the question like a precious secret only meant for you.

“You ”

Can he even recognise your voice anymore? You sound so unlike yourself, smaller and quieter than usual. The truth of the matter seers a vacancy in your throat. You don't trust yourself to speak any louder. Even a drop of confidence too much will trigger your moans, propelling them with the courage to announce how you truly feel.

“What about me do you miss, babygirl?” His tone drips with conceit, sinking right down to your gut and erupting your stomach with butterflies.

It’s beginning to hurt— being forced to press your legs together. And not even an ounce of your desire is being suppressed by that, your core instead craving for more, for something real . How the hell did you ignore this feeling before? How did you repress that clenching needs to be rubbed, petted, filled?

“Are you really going to make me say it?” You wonder aloud.

“Of course.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he continues to taunt, “You’re a big girl, Angel. You can do it.”

He has no reason to sound so arrogant and yet you cannot hear these words in any other tone. It almost feels right to know he finds pride in rattling you beyond comprehension.

You remind yourself it doesn’t mean anything and summon your courage to finally reply, “Your fingers.”

Your eyes, the way you smirk when you know I’m aching for you, how you hold me when I’m scared or worried or simply feeling out of place — The list carries on in the darkest cervices of your mind, where you continue to shun them away.

Taehyung quietly hums a growl. It resonates deep within your gut. You shift in your seat, legs trembling as they part.

“Where do you miss them?” He whispers. He sounds famished.

You regrettably whimper. He darkly chuckles. Your neediness intensifies, hand cupping your sex as you bite back a moan. “Tell me what to do,” you plead in a whisper. “I need you and I don’t know what to do, Daddy.”

“Fuck,” he moans under his breath. But it sounds so distant, like he removed the phone from his ear and turned his head to utter the profanity. There is another second of silence before you catch the clink of metal followed by some shuffle of fabric.

“Spread your legs, Angel,” he gently orders. “I’m gonna walk you through it one more time.”

You look at your already parted legs then glance down at your shaky hand over your crotch. You’ve watched enough porn, listened intently the last time Taehyung taught you what to do. You aren’t as clueless as the night he first made you cum. It’s not about ignorance this time, but rather the audience. There is something about knowing he can hear you, that he knows who taught you to touch yourself like this and who can coax your moans. You need him on the other side to witness you lose your mind over the techniques he showed you. You need him to know that it’s his hands you imagine replacing your own.

Already rubbing yourself over your panties, you let him remind you what needs to be done.

“Start slow,” he coaches in a whisper. The rasp of his words makes you shiver. “There’s no need to rush.”

“What about you?” You have to hold your breath when you speak to keep from moaning. It barely works.

Taehyung pauses for a second. “Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s more fun when you do it too,” you find yourself replying, the confidence of touching yourself surging through your bloodstream like an adrenaline rush.

“Is it now?” He asks, amused. You can hear a smirk working its way on his lips. “Angel, do you really need help?”

You freeze. Is that how he can always tell, you wonder. Is your voice secretly confessing your motives on your behalf, exposing your every thought?

Swallowing thickly, you settle for a variation of the truth and pray your voice will cooperate. “I really need you .” A moan sneaks though that last word, betraying you.

He laughs, a deep and hearty laugh that unsettles every nerve in your body. You find yourself rubbing your clit faster, toes curling as more of your wetness gushes.

“That is the cutest thing I have ever heard,” he says.

You moan even louder, unable to control yourself. Clutching the phone harder, you try to maintain your stability through all your trembles. Only now do you realise you’ve pushed your panties aside and began circling your middle finger directly over your clit. You can feel your wetness swirl around the little nub, pussy clenching with every second you crawl closer to your high.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Angel,” he orders.

“R-rubbing—” you can’t bring yourself to continue, too embarrassed to utter your actions. It’s like you’ve finally realised what you’ve really been doing. You sent him a naked picture of yourself, pretended you didn’t know how to touch yourself and are now moaning uncontrollably in his ear. How is he still here and entertaining your deranged behaviour? And why the fuck is it making you hornier?

“Are you rubbing your little clit, baby?” He mocks.

You cannot keep yourself from whining a pathetic, “Daddy.”

Then his voice drops, tone sharpens as he whispers, “Are you thinking about me?” When you merely moan, he continues, “You know I would be fingering you right now. Can you put your fingers in your little cunt for me, Angel?”

Tears gather in your eyes with the way your arousal clusters deep in your core. You breathe a loud moan, rubbing yourself faster. You wish you had the guts to slip your fingers in yourself, but you cannot find it. No matter how much your attempt to summon the courage to do so, you cannot let your fingers push between your tight walls. It seems like an act only Taehyung is skilled enough to conduct properly.

And so, you pathetically confess through a moan, “I’m too scared.”

“Aww,” he darkly chuckles. “That’s okay, babygirl. I’ll show you next time.”

Next time . He must know what he’s doing, dangling the opportunity for more in your face like you aren’t starving for it.

You don’t have the chance to be angry with him when you’re seconds away from cumming. And he must hear it in your betraying voice. He must hear the way it raises in pitch only to break into humiliating sobs as your orgasm nears.

“Are you gonna cum, Angel?” He taunts in breathless whispers. “You wanna cum?”

You nod only to remember he can’t see you. Your voice is arrested by rogue moans and whines, unable to articulate real words and merely leaving incoherent sounds. You manage to force out something along the lines of yes but are certain it’s unrecognisable.

Taehyung is thoroughly amused. He laughs over his own moan only to hiss sharply seconds later. “You know what you need to ask,” he reminds you. “I don’t want to be upset with you a-again.”

Shit, did he just stutter? Is he touching himself too? You don’t have time to think about, let alone ask to cum as your orgasm catches you off guard. Knowing he’s getting off was all you needed to reach your high, your toes curling and legs stretching out as they spread even more. You cum, gushing all over his fingers— you imagine as you continue to rub your clit. Your finger is feather-light over the nub, body too overwhelmed by the orgasm to endure anything stronger even though you know Taehyung would be ruthless.

Your eyes roll back with your head, mouth hung open as you squeal into the phone. It soon slips out of your shaking hand and you clutch onto the edge of the couch. Your chest heaves, legs coming together and jamming your fingers between your folds. You pull your hand out from between your thick thighs as your mind numbs from the rush of blood. Opening your eyes, you blink in an attempt to recollect your consciousness but it feels fuzzy. Your vision blurs, ears ring, and you swear you can feel your pussy pulsate to the rapid beat of your heart.

“_____!”

You think you hear Taehyung growl your name on the phone. His voice is so distant but you can feel the rough timbre of his voice in your bones.

“Tae?” you ask once you pick it up again.

His voice is strained from overuse this time, not exhaustion. He heaves, huffing from his nostrils, as he roars, “What did I tell you about cumming without permission?”

You can feel your senses returning to you. The ringing in your ears starts to fade, your vision stabilising.

Swallow thickly, you shyly mutter, “It was hard to speak.”

You hear him sigh in defeat. Too dizzy from your high, you cannot tell if he’s really mad or lost in his dominating role. You find yourself wanting to sink into his chest either way though, keen for some sort of comforting attention. You hug yourself from the sudden cold of the room as if you’re finally realising you’ve been in your underwear on the couch this whole time.

“Are you okay?” He calmly asks. Whatever he heard in your voice has dissolved his anger. You wonder what it is about you that gets him riled up and relaxed within seconds.

“Yeah,” you sigh, further pressing your legs together. “Just cold.”

You swear you hear him smirk as he half-heartedly orders, “Put some clothes on.”

It’s half the reason you find the courage to tease back, “You first.”

He chuckles in a way that makes you feel like he’s really here. If you close your eyes, you can even pretend that he is, sinking back into the comfy folds of the couch. But then the chill of the room hits you again and you snap your eyes open to find yourself alone.

“Don’t make me come over there.”

“Why don’t you?”

The words leave you before you can really register them. You know why he can’t come, but oh how intriguing that thought really is. Mrs Chu is out, you’re already dressed, or rather undressed, for him. It would be so easy to get started, to make as much noise as you would like. He could even stay over if he wanted to. You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Sometimes, to help you fall asleep at night, you let yourself get lost in the fantasy of being his. And that reckless thought was only supposed to be a one night thing. You were meant to hold onto it until you drifted off, but it would creep back every night, plaguing you with delusions you can never pursue.

“I get back tomorrow,” Taehyung sighs, luring you out of your thoughts. “Otherwise, I would have been there the moment you sent that picture.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t really think you were going to get away with that, did you?”

As dangerous as it is, you find yourself wishing you could witness that smug gleam in his eyes. Getting up from the couch, you push the thought aside and slowly walk back to your room.

“I really do miss you, Tae,” you profess as you flick on your lights. “I know you’re busy, but—” you cut yourself off. Is this really a good idea— telling him that you want to talk to him more? Wouldn’t this further blur the lines between business and friendship? Which one will he think you’re referring to when you tell him that you wish he would answer you when you text him?

“But what?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me. It shows trust.”

“I worry when you don’t reply to me,” you confess. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Of course not,” he replies, but you swear you hear something hidden behind his words, concealed in his voice. “I’m just really busy. I’m not doing it on purpose.”

You know he’s being honest. So, why is there a part of you that feels like there’s something missing, something he’s avoiding?

Gut twisting, you feel terrible for thinking the worst. Your instincts must just be off right now because you just came and you miss him so much. There’s nothing more to his silence than what he just told you.

“I understand,” you reply, attempting to sound normal.

Taehyung reads right through you. “I know it’s frustrating,” he sighs. A couple of seconds pass before he suggests, “Why don’t we meet for lunch tomorrow? I really miss you too.”

“You do?”

You don’t mean to sound so surprised but you’ve told him that you miss him three times throughout the call now and he’s only just said it back.

“I do,” he repeats in a whisper, making you clench all over again. “I have to go now, Angel, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile.

“Bye, Angel.”

“Bye.”

You flop back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was odd at times, but oh how you miss conversations with him like this. You aren’t a fan of second guessing. The moment you hear his voice though, it's like you’re lulled out of your doubt and swooned by devoted attention. He has a wonderful knack for making you feel like the most important person in the world to him. And you have the self-destructive knack of believing him.

Your phone dings, bringing you out of your thoughts. You turn over and glance at your screen. Smile falling, you find your banking app has notified you of a new deposit into your account— three thousand dollars.

It’s still a transaction for him.

You need to find a way to be okay with that, you remind yourself. Or else lose yourself in pitiful delusions and desires, inevitably hurting yourself in the end.

You don’t remember falling asleep. You just remember popcorn ceilings staring back at you, changing from black to grey to blue and then bright orange as the sun rose. A rotten taste violates your tongue at the thought of getting out of bed, particularly to go to work. Today it feels like gargling salt water, plaguing your throat with that same foul bitterness until you are overwhelmed with nausea.

It’s only Tuesday, you haven’t even made it to the middle of the week yet and you can feel your bones grow heavier with fatigue. The idea of peeling yourself out of the comfort of a lumpy mattress only to make dimes and nickels working for a boss that cannot stand your presence makes you want to hide under the covers. The chairs suck too, you think to the ceiling, and it smells like stale coffee all the time. Print this, copy that, set up the conference room, clean up the conference room — did you endure four years of mental torment through midterms and finals, research and essays to be a lapdog? Is this an internship or a life sentence?

You think back to that night in the gallery, combing through the cursed conversation that somehow landed you an interview and later a job at the most coveted international insurance company. You know nothing about the industry, about the economy if you’re truly being honest with yourself. What in the world did they say and why did your confused laughter spark that much intrigue? Was it because you accompanied Taehyung? Did he tell them you were looking for a job? Was this his way of trying to help?

The ceiling stares. You wait another moment, willing an answer, but the silence soon proves to be deafening.

5:13.

Your phone is bare of messages. You’re almost relieved for a moment. You aren’t sure you have the energy to pretend everything is okay. But then disappointment sets in. Why hasn’t he sent anything yet? He always does around this time. You try to tell yourself it’s the attention you’re seeking, but you can feel it deep in your gut that the disappointment is rooted in the fact that he ignored you first.

Powerless, you lock your phone and set it face down on your night table. You turn over, pull your comforter up to your chin, and force your eyes shut. No work today, you tell yourself. You don’t even bother letting them know it, the lack of your presence indication enough.

A little voice tries to tell you that Marina will be pissed. You peek an eye up at the ceiling and shrug, Let’s call it silent defiance— overdue retaliation.

The room feels quiet again. You catch echoes of your muted heartbeat and find yourself pretending it belongs to someone else, like the pillow beneath your head is his chest. You can feel the ceiling glaring disapprovingly at you.

You don’t care. How else are you expected to sleep otherwise?

Mrs Chu knocks on your door, what feels like, minutes later. She’s surprised to find you still home on a weekday and asks if you’re feeling okay. You don’t have the guts to tell her that you don’t feel anything, that you’ve denounced emotions all together. So, you simply nod and mutter something about a headache.

“Lavender chamomile,” she suggests with a smile. “I can brew some for us right now.”

You force a little smile and shake your head. “I’m meeting a friend for lunch.”

A smirk plays on her lips. She raises a brow before asking, “Taehyung?”

“ Yes .”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. Forceful, aggressive, you’d think the word was a profanity.

It gives Mrs Chu pause. She lingers around the door frame as you clear your throat. You sit up and open your mouth to chuckle an apology, eager to lighten the heavy air settling between you.

“Did you get into a fight?” She asks instead.

“No,” you quickly reply. “I’m sorry. It’s just been a long night.”

Long pause; her eyes bounce around your features, distant and vague. For a brief moment, you see your mother. You see that same disapproval in her stance, in the way she raises an unconvinced brow. You see the judgemental concern masked behind thin, tight lips. You know you should explain more, perhaps even apologise again. However, for the first time in your life, you don’t have a single train of thought to follow. Words never form, voice shackled in apathy. A part of you almost doesn’t care about the destruction you’re causing while another believes that the only way to minimise damages is to remain silent.

Finally, half a sigh escapes from her nostrils and she allows an eerily calm smile to settle on her lips. “Better hurry then,” she advises. “It’s already eleven.”

The door shuts with a soft click. You’re too scared to look at your phone to confirm. If he texted, you’ll be eager to answer. If he hadn’t…

You rub your eyes, pushing the thought away.

Hair clipped up, cold water drips down your face. You ignore the shivers down your spine and who they remind you of. You meant to keep your makeup light, but you in fact like the sleek, dewy look of well blended layers. It ends up looking light anyway and not as terrible as you expected, perhaps even presentable. You unclip your hair to brush it, only to twist it back up and clip it in place once again.

You debate on wearing granny panties, pulling them right over your stomach and telling yourself you don’t want his hands near you. The thought of those long fingers will forever be your fatal flaw, inevitably leading you to your cute cotton panties and bralettes that offer little to no support but look pretty.

Does he really think you’re pretty?

You shake the ridiculous question away as you pull on sheer black tights. You know it’s too cold for a skirt, but you cannot deny (try as you might) that you adore the way he looks at you when you wear one. After securing your tight, black mini, you try to compensate for the thinness of your tights with a pair of knee-high black socks. They roll down, however, thighs too thick to keep them up. You fold them just under your knee instead and hope for the best.

After buttoning up your white, long-sleeved butterfly blouse, you finally find the courage to pick up your phone. It’s a pathetic effort to avoid your reflection as you gather your things and toss them in your purse.

Your heart leaps at the sight of more than one text. You pretend you don’t care as you eagerly click on the notification and swipe open your phone.

[V] : Good morning Angel

A black heart follows your nickname. You hate how much it makes you smile.

A couple of hours later he sends:

[V] : I might be a bit late. Just wait in my office, okay?

[V] : And keep your hands to yourself.

You can almost hear the playful order, the light seriousness in his tone as a smirk plays on his lips. You can almost see it widening when you round your eyes up at him, letting your own smile play on your lips.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Yes, daddy, you want to teasingly reply. It’s what immediately came to mind. It’s what you would have blurted had he been here now, playfully glaring.

But then you remember how powerless you felt this morning. You check the timestamp of his first message— 5:15. Two minutes too late.

You lock your phone and toss it in your purse. Grab your jacket, pull on your boots— You turn to Mrs Chu but find her all too absorbed in her soap opera.

“I’m leaving,” you say anyway, keen on keeping your voice light and cheerful.

She raises a hand to wave you out. Her eyes are glued to the screen.

You don’t take it personally, though you know you should. You make a mental note to pick up some of her favourite cranberry muffins on your way back home. Nothing says sorry like freshly baked goods— oh, and some lavender chamomile tea. You’ll brew her some and apologise properly, sincerely.

Guilt churns your guts as you shut the door behind you. You push it away with every step. One mistake at a time, you tell yourself, exiting the building.

Breathing deep, you inhale the frosty chill of a late November. When you used to attend university, you’d grab a blueberry muffin and matcha latte, and hide away in the courtyard for the afternoon. It’s cold enough to appreciate the breeze under the autumn sun, but never too chilly to abandon your studies altogether. As you make your way to the Bangtan Building, you can almost smell the same crisp, cold air of a fleeting fall as you did last year.

It makes you nauseous. You flag down a cab, murmur your destination then stare out the window. You catch a glimpse of a flash, blinking the shock away. When your vision finally stabilises, you find that you’ve already driven past whatever it was. It was probably the sun bouncing off a mirror or shop window.

You arrive much earlier than you expected in the middle of the lunch traffic downtown. So, you take your time paying the driver, walking into the building, greeting doormen, looking through your purse for your stupid, cute pink pass, scan the stupid, cute pink pass, pretending you don’t care about the stupid, cute pink pas—

The others on the elevator shuffle away from you. Pausing, you wonder if you’ve been muttering to yourself again. During midterms and finals, you found yourself thinking aloud about your upcoming deadlines in hushed tones. Everyone was a little spacey around that time of year so no one really thought much of it. You must look like a lunatic now, whispering under your breath about an all access pass your something of a friend gifted you just because.

When the elevator dings, doors pulling open, you find the office relatively quiet, perhaps even empty. Only one receptionist sits at the front desk, typing away on her computer. She looks up with the ding and offers you a smile.

You return it, close-lipped and somewhat forced. Any other day, you would have entertained the common practise of small talk. Today, you did not have the patience. You keep walking.

The receptionist jolts out of her seat and pointedly asks, “Can I help you, miss?”

“No,” you reply, not even bothering to look over your shoulder.

Okay, you’ll admit it— you’re being a bit of a bitch. The poor woman has done nothing to deserve this attitude. There is just this anger swarming in your gut, invading that little place in your heart you regrettably find Taehyung residing. And it’s hard to silence it. It’s hard to pretend it doesn’t exist, and doesn’t hurt. In fact, it aches . It makes every beat painful, every breath torturous.

“Stop,” she calls after you.

You keep walking, ignoring the looks of confusion from the employees that haven’t gone to lunch yet.

“I’m calling security,” she informs.

You resist the urge to scoff, You do that .

Pulling out your card, you scan it against the door and watch the keypad glow a vibrant pink. EDEN greets you as you enter. You can hear a chorus of shouts from down the hall but shut the door behind you before you can really make any of it out.

“Can you make sure no one but Taehyung can enter the office?” You ask as heavy footsteps grow louder.

EDEN frosts the glass walls to shield you from the rest of the office’s view, replying, “ Yes, Angel. ”

The footsteps draw near. You can make out the silhouettes of their large bodies as you shrug off your coat and hang it up by the door with your purse. You hear them curse as they try to scan their cards and are not given the access they expected.

“What the hell is going on?” One of them asks, attempting to scan his card again.

“It’s probably that stupid AI,” the other replies.

A sense of renewed anger draws your brows together. You scowl at the two men as they continue to fumble. You wish there was something that could be done besides simply standing idly by as they picked on EDEN. An urge to defend the loyal system forces your hands into fists. You bite the inside of your cheeks and turn away towards the desk instead, knowing nothing good can come out of mouthing off to two men that could kick down the door if they really wanted to.

Taehyung’s office smells of red ginseng tea and strawberry smoke. Though sweet, you can taste the bitterness on the tip of your tongue. He doesn’t usually smoke fruity flavours. Well— he doesn’t anymore. You’re certain you used to smell strawberry mint on his breath when you first met. The last time you were here, however, you remember his vape being filled with tobacco instead. Have his tastes changed?

You circle his desk. It’s as clean as it always is, save for the empty cup of tea. There is a reddish ring under the glass mug. Some loose leaves stick to the side where his lips have been. You wonder how many he’s had since this morning.

You plop down on his chair and lean back. It’s warm, practically looming over you the way Taehyung does. Something about that feels comforting. If you close your eyes, you can pretend it’s like you’re being hugged by h— No .

Jolting up and out of the chair, you snap yourself out of your delusions. You allow yourself to indulge then stay up all night wondering why you’re tormented with endless thoughts of him. If you want to maintain some level of decorum within your friendship, you need to stop fantasising about meaning more, being more than just friends.

With that in mind, you take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk—like a friend would. Hands folded in your lap, back straight, shoulders back, you tell yourself you need to emulate the attitude of a simple friendship at most. The very least you can do is maintain a level of professionalism—which is what this arrangement really comes down to.

“On your best behaviour,” Taehyung says.

You snap your attention to the door. Too consumed by your own thoughts, you haven’t heard him come in. His eyes travel over your rigid frame, gaze linger on the hem of your skirt. You find yourself clutching onto it, tugging it to cover the way your crossed legs flex as they press together. The way he hesitates to continue at the sight of it all has your pride blossoming in your chest. All you feel is vindication, validation, and you cannot stop yourself from sipping on every drop of that toxicity.

It’s dangerous , a little voice reminds you.

You cannot help thinking that if it was so damn dangerous, why did you come in the first place? If it was so dangerous, so toxic, why didn’t you cancel and watch reruns of House with Mrs Chu?

Taehyung uncuffs his sleeves as he makes his way towards his desk. He leans back against the edge in front of you, eyes still roaming your body. “Should I be nervous?” He teases, a glint of amusement in his easy gaze.

A smile plays on your lips. You try to fight it, innocently looking up at him. “Are you admitting that I make you nervous?”

He rolls up his sleeves, smirking. “Only when you cause a scene in my office.”

“Your receptionist is incredibly dramatic,” you sigh, leaning back in your seat. It’s unsurprisingly the most comfortable armchair you’ve ever sat in. You could fall asleep in this chair and wake up refreshed and sore-less.

Taehyung shrugs. “She’s doing her job,” he says, “Following orders.”

Your jaw sets. You can feel your gaze hardening, body stiffening. An odious wave of jealousy crashes over your heart. You can’t stop your fists from clenching, brows from raising, but you do manage to keep your voice levelled and composed. You focus your strength on your tone and words, desperate to sound nonchalant even if your body gives you away—even if he already knows.

“That didn’t seem to get her anywhere.”

“And where are you hoping this gets you?”

On my knees.

“A restaurant,” you reply. “I was promised lunch.”

Taehyung can’t deny that boyish grin of his any longer. He lets it settle onto his lips, overtake his features with ease and amusement. He sighs while pushing his hair back, holding your gaze as he flexes. You ignore his forearms, the way his shirt tightens around his biceps, the tension in his broad shoulders, the sharpness of his jaw. You catch it all in the corner of your eye but refuse to look. You hold his gaze with a dangerous degree of determination.

He is unfazed—even more amused than before. He’s not taking you seriously, you realise as he tilts his head pitifully at you.

“You hungry, princess?”

You shiver. It’s painfully visible, body shuddering from the pet name. Any harbouring anger melts right off your face, features softening. You feel your heart submitting, shoulders falling, eyes wide and round as you peer up at him through your lashes.

Taehyung bites his lip to hold back a laugh. It’s oh so humorous to him how quickly you’ve succumbed to his charms with a single word. His cocky demeanour makes your toes curl. You press your legs together and pretend you don’t feel your pussy clench as your arousal soaks your panties.

“Hmm?” he asks again and you suddenly remember he’s waiting for an answer.

Your voice is tied up in lust, weak and frayed. Using it would have him throwing his head back and laughing, only further dampening the apex of your thighs. You refuse to use it, to allow yourself to fall to such a despicable level of humiliation.

You simply nod, slow and gentle so as to not trigger his ego too much.

It’s no use. Taehyung grins devilishly, looking down at you from the tip of his nose, eyes half lidded as he orders, “Use that pretty mouth, Angel.”

“ Yes, ” you immediately whisper, voice as fragile as you expected. Bombarded by lust, your humiliation resides in your chest, festering furiously at the way his gaze gleams with satisfaction. You feel like your seconds away from tears, from begging him to touch you and rub this tormenting desire away.

Taehyung rests his chin in his hand before rubbing his bottom lip, as if in thought. As you patiently wait for him to say something, you realise he’s expecting the same of you. He raises a brow and nods as if to tell you to carry on.

You’re not sure what has come over you. Maybe it was residual anger from the night before, or annoyance from the way he’s turned you into an embarrassing puddle, but you find yourself mirroring his expression. With a raise of your brow, you spit, almost venomously, “Use that pretty mouth, Da-”

Taehyung is not angry. He is furious . Lunging towards you, he pushes himself right off the desk and cups your chin with his large hand. His fingers dig into your full cheeks, puckering your lips like a fish—like he’s about to kiss you—cutting you off.

His voice is low, deep and dark. He speaks slowly, his warm breath fanning over your already burning face. “Is that something you should have said?”

There is a slight quiver in his voice and it makes you cold. He is not being vulnerable, not trembling under nerves or anxiety. Rather, he’s holding back. He’s struggling to contain his rage, his fingers strong but shaky. He wants to do more than just hold you into place.

You pout, flash him your most innocent stare, but it only seems to spur on his dominance.

“You need discipline.”

The deep timbre of his voice makes your eyes water. You’re not upset, yet the tears gather from your excitement. Those words have unlocked something you hadn’t realised existed within you. Yet, you feel it deeply— an all consuming desire to serve him. Your gut twists with urgency down to your core and you can’t help but squirm.

Spank me already , you want to cry but somehow you feel as though that wouldn’t be sufficient for a man like him. No, he can’t just simply spank you or he would have already said that.

He needs to discipline you. And that seems to beckon its own conditions.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you mumble between his harsh grip, desperate to appease him. “I’m really sorry.”

His gaze only softens but he’s not satisfied. You keep your features submissive, angelic—just the way he likes it. You catch him staring at your lips, mesmerised by the shine of your lip gloss. Shifting in your seat, you let out the tiniest moan, perhaps more of a meek squeal, of discomfort and hope it's enough to loosen his grip.

His attention snaps back up to your gaze, to the way your brows furrow. His demeanour shifts with a sigh. He lets go of you and stands up straight. You watch him stare down at you, his gaze vaguely condescending. You fidget, tugging on the hem of your skirt and tightening the cross of your legs.

Taehyung shoves his hands in his pockets. You catch them ball into fists but then a hint of a smile plays on his lips.

He nods towards his desk as he circles it to his chair. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

A little voice tells you to stay in your seat. You think you might listen to it until you notice his cologne lingering behind him. Expensive, spiced oak decorates his natural musk, lulling you out of your thoughts and onto your feet. You follow after him as he takes a seat.

He reaches out for you. His arms are long enough that he barely needs to lean forward to grab a hold of your hand. His thumb brushes over your knuckles as he draws you closer. You allow him to guide you in front of his desk. The moment he stations his hands onto your waist, you have to fight off a smile. But when he lifts you up and onto the glass desktop, you cannot ignore the heat in your cheeks, and that smile inevitably settles onto your lips.

“Why didn’t you go to work today?” He asks, gaze flickering down to your chest for a moment.

With a tilt of your head, you wonder, “How did you—”

“You don’t wear white to work,” he replies, a ghost of a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

You really didn’t think anyone noticed.

“They also asked me about you.”

They?

Her , the little voice in your head clarifies. Marina would do anything to get closer to Taehyung. What has he said to her to get her to latch on so fervently? Did he whisper filthy nothings in her ear, play with her hair, hold her close to his chest as he ruined her?

Whatever giddiness once softened your features has tickled away. You cross your arms, about to cross your legs when Taehyung places his hands on your knees. You glare at them from the tip of your nose, single brow raised.

“Why do they have your number?”

“They don’t.”

“You just said they asked you about me.”

Taehyung sits back in his seat. Your knees instantly feel cold where his hands once were. You stare down at them for a moment before meeting his gaze again. He is staring, fixating his attention on your hardened features.

“They called my office and said you had an emergency. When I picked up to see what was wrong, they asked me why you didn’t come to work. They went on and on about how unprofessional it was to not call.”

Something about everyone, especially his exes, knowing that you’re such good friends, makes your heart flutter. They can’t find one of you without the other. They know that the only way to draw his attention is by mentioning you.

A smile plays on your lips. You hate how quickly you’ve crumbled, swallowing thickly to try to compose yourself. But, the damage has already been done. He’s caught the way you’ve squirmed in your seat, the hint of a grin due to flaming cheeks.

“What did you say?”

“That she should be telling you this.”

You knew she’d be pissed but some stupid part of you thought she’d get over it. It’s a harmless mistake, usually not fireable. It’s your own fault for underestimating her scorned wrath, however. She’s had it out for you the moment she saw you by Taehyung’s side. This was just the petty reason she was looking for to get you fired.

You look up at Taehyung. He’s still staring, silent and patient as you sort through your thoughts. A little smile plays on his lips. He leans forward with a quiet sigh, rolling his chair closer to you. Your knees are less than a centimetre away from his chest.

“Don’t worry, Angel,” he reassures, leaning down to kiss your knees, “I’ll take care of it.”

He must’ve seen you attempting to summon the courage to ask when you looked back at him. You’ve never been more thankful of his watchful gazes, and that tell of yours that always gives away your hidden desires.

“Just this once,” you promise, voice weak, “It won’t happen again.”

Taehyung stands with a quiet hum. His voice is low, resonating deep in your core. Your toes curl, hands fist against the desk’s edge. He rests his hands on your thighs, trailing up to your hips. Swallowing thickly, you bite your lip. Your legs slowly spread and, the wider they pull apart, the bigger his grin gets.

He stations himself between your legs. His fingers dig into your skin as your skirt rides up. Looming over you, you’re plagued with the silly idea that he might just kiss you. He pulls you closer to him, ass squeaking against the glass. You can feel his bulge, the warmth of his breath over your face, even the heavy lub, dub of his heart beating just over yours.

His hands glide up your body, making your back arch, and cup your breasts. He holds each one just under the curve. You rest your hands behind you, leaning back and pushing your chest further in his hands. He smirks then dives his head down towards your nipple.

You had felt them harden in the cold outside but didn’t think much of it. In a thin bralette, however, under a thin blouse, they perk up. Only when Taehyung engulfs his mouth around the taut nub under your tight blouse do you realise, they’ve been exposed this entire time.

A breathless moan echoes in the room as you throw your head back. You feel his eyes flutter shut. He massages your tits as he nibbles on your nipple, sucking through the shirt. You scratch at the desk, nails shrieking against glass as you clench your fists. In a desperate attempt to hold onto something, you tangle your right hand in his hair. You hold his face against your chest, scratching at his scalp.

Taehyung switches breasts, showering the other just with as much attention. You glance down to where his mouth once was, gasping at the large wet mark around your nipple. He’s practically branded you and for some vile reason, it makes you moan just a bit louder, panties just a bit wetter.

Your breathing staggers, like it does when he touches you in more intimate places. You don’t really have the strength for more than a meek whine, the way you do before you’re about to cum. You think you might just do so, pussy clenching and unclenching sporadically. You even think you feel a bundle of excitement knot and twist in the base of your stomach, inching towards your entrance.

“ Daddy!”

Your voice barely carries over the smack of his lips, saturated in lust and desperation. Taehyung recognises the pitch instantly, pulling away from your chest to sneak a look at your face. Even with his mouth off your nipples, you still find yourself about to ruin your panties from the way his hands continue to grope your breasts.

And he knows this. You know he does from the way his pupils dilate, eyes darkening as he watches you on the brink of ruin. He takes that final step closer, pressing himself against your soaked through panties and tights. You feel the buckle of his belt against it, the hard bulge in his pants ever so slightly rolling against your hips. You cannot stop yourself from meeting him halfway. Hips lifting, you mewl delicately under his watchful gaze and rub yourself against him.

“Did you miss me?” He suddenly asks. He sounds so genuine, voice dosed in vulnerability as if you didn’t already confess this multiple times the night before.

“Every day,” you whisper. There is a whiney wobble to your voice that makes him breath half a chuckle.

His humour disappears as quickly as it came, however, face hardens in sentimentality all over again as he tightens his grip on your tits and practically pleads, “Say it.”

You’d think you were confessing something else, as though another word besides ‘miss’ should be used.

You moan from the way he harshly handles you, and nod eagerly as you declare, “I missed you, Daddy.” You gasp when he squeezes your breast, repeating, “I missed you so m-much.”

You’re not sure if he’s satisfied or frustrated. One second, he’s roughly massaging your breasts and the next his hands are between your legs, tearing your tights apart with a raspy growl. A loud moan echoes with the tear while you throw your head back. You tremble, goosebumps prickling all over your skin as his fingers graze the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Taehyung pulls you further to the edge of the desk by the death grip on your ass. Had it not been for his body against yours, you would’ve fallen off. His fingers sink into the fat, guiding your hips up against the rigid buckle of his pants.

“Not too loud,” he warns in a whisper. “You caused enough of a scene today.”

It’s not until you feel his warmth breath fanning over your face do you realise that your lips are inches apart–maybe even less. He makes it a point to keep them directed at your chin, though. You feel them brush against it with every thrust. What would happen if you just sat up a bit straighter and collided your lips? Would he stop everything or allow you to get caught up in the moment?

The thought thrusts out of you with the jolt of his hips against yours. Gripping onto his strong biceps, you bite your lip. He’s smirking, exhaling chuckles at the way your face scrunches up in pleasure.

You’re about to defend yourself again, to tell him that it was his receptionist’s fault for calling security. She wasn’t even thinking. How else could you have gotten this far without a pass, let alone into his office? But there is something about the way he roughly pushes himself against you and smiles that simply rattles you to your core. You cannot find your voice, let alone the words to tell him how good he’s fucking you. All you’re able to manage is tiny whines that only just escape despite your wasteful efforts to keep them at bay.

They all know he’s fucking you. You know they can hear you, even with your voice so low. You wonder if they can see your joined silhouettes in the frosted glass, or if they’ve fallen silent to listen to the squeaks of the desk, or how you completely lose yourself in each other.

Your hips move faster at the thought. Eyes watering, your vision blurs, but you still catch the way his smirk widens. It settles into a full smile, and he tilts his head to peck your cheek.

“You’re cumming, aren’t you?” He asks lowly. There is a gruff rasp in his tone that makes your toes curl.

The cold buckle of his belt rubs your pussy through the damp cotton in just the right place. Your eyes roll, jaw drops. Taehyung’s hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the high-pitched moan that tears through your throat as your body quakes against his. You can’t breathe, cannot even catch your breath as your arousal gushes.

Salty tears sting your eyes, and you try to soothe them by screwing them shut. It’s no use. You dryly sob into his palm, righting your head to face him again. Brows furrowed, eyes tearful, you catch him biting his lip. He’s still rubbing himself against you, using the hand on your ass to pull you closer.

You wrap your legs around his waist. His force ever so slightly wavers the moment your ankles lock. Gasping, you peer up at him curiously, eyes wide, wet, and innocent. Taehyung sighs pleasantly–almost out of relief. He tucks his face in the crook of your neck, removing his hands from your face and ass to firmly hug your waist. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your mouth against it too to muffle your sobbing moans. His thrusts have become forceful, pointed. Each one carries a renewed purpose, jutting out against you until his hips stutter.

“ Angel ,” you think you hear him moan as he holds you tighter. His voice is barely above a whisper, but you swear you recognise the syllables of your pet name.

He grinds against you, grumbling breathless moans that practically harmonise with your whines. One of his hands lets go of your waist to rub your thigh. You melt into his touch. As your senses return to you, breath finally full enough to think straight, you realise what just happened.

Taehyung, enamoured by the way you move, the way you sound, the way you cum— enamoured by you , came. If your panties weren’t so wet with your own orgasm, you might even be able to feel the wetness of his pants still pressed against your crotch.

You slowly pull away from each other, just enough to be face to face once more. He leans his forehead against yours. Noses brush. Hearts hammer. Breaths heavy and synced. He leans a millimetre closer. Stiff, you try to hold his gaze. He’s focused on your lips.

Breath hitched, you let your eyes flutter shut. His nose brushes against yours as he goes to move closer. You feel his breath over your lips, warm and sweet.

Strawberries.

Lips parted, you want to taste his tongue.

“ Arthur Geraldson has arrived for his one o’clock appointment, ” EDEN suddenly announces.

You jump. Your lips almost brush. The appointment reminder tears Taehyung out of whatever trace drew him this close to you. Your hands glide down his chest as he pulls himself away until they fall to your lap.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. Fixing his hair, he meets your gaze for a fleeting moment to add, “I completely forgot about that. I’m sorry, Angel.”

Swallowing thickly, you ignore the devastated disappointment plunging your heart. You remove your legs from his waist and try to push yourself off the desk as you quietly reply, “It’s okay. We can have lunch another time.”

Taehyung holds onto your hips. You think he’s just guiding you off his desk, but then he presses himself against you, whispering, “Absolutely not,” a little smile plays on his lips, “We’re having lunch today. Together. This shouldn’t take more than five minutes, okay?”

Fixing your skirt, you fidget from the sincerity of his voice. You’re not sure which one is the afterthought, you or Mr Geraldson, but the way he looks at you makes you feel whole. Your cheeks heat up the longer he stares.

A knock sounds at the door. You turn to face it but cannot make out your boss’s frame. Though it did get you off, you’re relieved to find that Taehyung’s employees didn’t witness the way he dry humped you into oblivion.

“I’ll wait outside.”

“No,” Taehyung whispers, tightening his grip on your waist when you attempt to turn away. “It’s too late for that now. I told her you were sick.”

A coy smile tugs on the corner of your lip at the way he refuses to say Marina’s name. Deep in your chest, a wicked sense of pride blooms.

“I thought you told her to talk to me?”

“She wouldn’t stop calling.”

The knock pointedly returns.

Taehyung pecks your cheek, smirking at how hot it feels. “Get under the desk,” he orders.

You raise a brow. “He’ll still see me.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

The knock grows louder, urgent.

Taehyung ignores it, holding your gaze.

You find yourself on your knees, looking up at him as he smirks down at you. As you tuck yourself under the glass desktop, you wonder how Taehyung plans to hide you. The bottom of his desk is a rich oak, concealing you from immediate view. But the moment Mr Geraldson enters the room and goes to take his seat, he’ll spot you through the glass tabletop. Taehyung will need to cover it with files, papers, anything flat and wide enough to block you from view. Unless he talks to Geraldson on the other side of the office.

The knocks continue. Taehyung takes his time unrolling his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs. He brushes his hair back and fixes his tie. He pulls up his pants a bit and you finally spot the large wet mark around his zipper. You glance up at him to find him already staring at you, that devilish grin still plastered on his handsome face.

Then he takes a seat. He rolls himself closer to the desk. With his legs spread wide to accommodate his huge cock, you find yourself staring at his crotch. The faint smell of your arousal on him makes you shiver.

You look back up at him, helpless in the position you’ve found yourself in. Taehyung cannot stop smiling down at you through the glass. You playfully glare when the desktop frosts over, just like the walls of his office. A relieved sigh escapes you.

“Let him in,” Taehyung orders. His voice is stern, cold.

You hear the office door chirp then unlatch.

“Mr Kim,” Geraldson greets, peeved. “I was beginning to think you forgot about our appointment.”

“I was just wrapping up a call. Please, take a seat.”

You hear the chair scratch against the floor. After a couple of shuffles, he finally sits. He opens with small talk, something about Taehyung’s flight, the weather, traffic, then dives into a discussion about stocks.

You cannot help the roll of your eyes. You’ve been to enough events to know that the moment men discuss money, they don’t know when to stop. Your legs are starting to grow numb from the way you’re sitting on them, neck aching from the way you’re crouched.

Your attention falls back on Taehyung’s lap. He just came but his pants are still somewhat tented around his crotch. As Geraldson spews on, you slowly scoot closer until your face is merely a couple of inches away.

Taehyung ever so slightly shifts forward. You snap your gaze up at him, your head only just peeking out from the edge of the desk. He glances down at you momentarily. It’s a fleeting look but you recognise it right away–the hard, pointed glare of a warning.

Well, this is no fun , you think as you rest your cheek against his inner thigh. The scent of your arousal is thick, only a reach away. It would be so easy to shove your face against it, smear his black pants with your makeup too and really claim his cock as yours. You’d have him shackled to his desk, too embarrassed to get up and expose the mess you’ve caused.

You can’t really imagine Taehyung embarrassed. When you squirted all over his pants the other time, a one-time thing you’ve noticed, he sat in it. You remember Lucas and Jackson bickering about the weird smell coming from him, knowing full well that it was you .

His fingers brush over your hair. You glance up as he pets your head, hoping to find him looking down at you, flashing you a look that gives you the permission you need to have your fun.

He doesn’t look down at you right away, but when he finally does, you give him a little pout and innocently blink. A ghost of a smirk hovers over the corner of his lip. Realising he needs a bit more convincing, you rub his other thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. He can’t maintain eye contact for very long, sneaking looks here and there as your boss drones on.

When he looks back down, you take it a step further and mouth, ‘ Please .’

Taehyung licks his lips. Clearing his throat, he looks out to the window. “Is that really a risk you want to take?” He casually questions, cutting Geraldson off.

He must’ve followed Taehyung’s eyeline, because not even a second later, Taehyung is unbuckling his belt for you.

Holding back a gasp, you sit up on your knees. You chew on your lip as he returns to his conversation with one had cupping your cheek. He really does spoil you, you realise as you slowly unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper. Taehyung clears his throat to mask the sound.

His black boxer briefs are wet, heavy with the scent of his orgasm. Your mouth waters; you swallow thickly. Tucking your fingers in his waistband, you pull it down enough to–

Hard and sticky, his cock smacks your face. Eyes wide, jaw dropping, you have to hold your breath to keep an excited squeal from sounding. You catch Taehyung shifting above you and peek up to find him hiding his smile with a hand on his chin, his finger spread over his lips. He wants to laugh and realising that almost makes you do the same. You curl in your lips just in time to hold it back, though. You’re not sure another clearing of his throat will really cover it up.

Inhaling deeply, you wrap a hand around his cock. Your body tingles with shivers from the wetness. He came quite a bit, part of his briefs soiled with clumps of thick white.

You tighten your grip a bit, and still find that your fingers don’t meet. You’ve done this before but have yet to get used to his length and thickness. Besides, being face-to-face with his crotch is much different than sitting beside him. From this angle, you can see every protruding vein, and feel the heat of his desire heavy against your face.

Taehyung pets your head, as if silently encouraging you to begin. You sneak a glance up at him to find that he avoids your gaze, focusing his attention on your boss. Had it not been for the intense throb of his cock in your hand, you would have never guessed he was this aroused. A part of you wonders if he doesn’t like being teased as much as you do.

Drawing in a breath, you slowly run your hand up and down his shaft. The sound of his cum squelching in your fist heats your cheeks. You worry Mr Geraldson might hear it but refuse to let it deter you.

As your hand comes back up to his tip, you brush your thumb over it and watch his thigh tense. You repeat the action, letting your hand move down his length, up again, and thumb his needy, pre-cum dripping tip.

Taehyung grips onto your hair. You bite your lip to hold back a moan.

“If you’re going to do it,” Taehyung begins. His voice is steady but thick with impatience. You sneak a glance up at him to find him maintaining eye contact with Mr Geraldson. “Then you better do it right.”

“It’s not that easy…” Mr Geraldson starts, his voice fading from your attention.

His covert order makes you hot all over. Your nerves tingle under your skin, beckoning goosebumps. There is something about Taehyung’s dominance that locks in your attention like a dog does with a whistle. Not only do you focus on him, but you’re overwhelmed with the urge to please, to serve him. So when he tells you to do it right, you don’t even think twice about your mouth instantly opening, tongue laying flat and head sinking down on his cock. You don’t hesitate when when his tip jabs the back of your throat and you have to stifle a gag. You work through it, moving your head in time with your fist. You even twist your wrist a bit, desperate to fulfil his every desire.

“Are you listening?” Mr Geraldson asks.

“Go on,” Taehyung replies, voice a bit breathless.

His hips slightly jerk up against your face just as you hallow your cheeks and lean down to suck him harder. He jabs the back of your throat as his cock slides a bit further down. You can’t help panicking, a loud gag escaping you and cutting Mr Geraldson off.

The room falls silent. You pull him out of your mouth, fighting against your lungs to keep from breathing so heavily. Peeking up at Taehyung, you find his expression unchanged, face stoic and eyes locked on your boss. His hand, however, remains on the back of your head with a tight grip on your hair. He gently guides your head back towards his cock.

You should find his behaviour ridiculous. You got caught and he doesn’t care. He wants you to finish what you started, tugging on your hair when you don’t open your mouth to accommodate him immediately. His silent demand should insult you.

Yet, you welcome him into your mouth again. Twirling your tongue around his tip, hallowing your checks as you take more of him in, your chest blossoming with pride, you find yourself picking up the pace.

Mr Geraldson clears his throat.“If you were…” he pauses as his chair scratches against the floor, “ indisposed,” you hear him gather his papers off Taehyung’s desk, “then perhaps you should have rescheduled.”

There is some twisted part of you that almost hopes Mr Geraldson circles around the desk and catch a glimpse of you on your knees with your mouth full of Taehyung. It makes you suck even harder, not worried about making noises now that your secret is out. Your other hand even joins in your efforts to do it right. You just need someone to witness this moment with you, to solidify that you are indeed watching Taehyung lean back in his seat and get sucked off.

“You never seem to offer me that same courtesy.”

Mr Geraldson’s briefcase clicks shut. “You promised not to mention—.”

“And you’re not going to mention this,” Taehyung orders, cutting him off.

The depth of his voice makes you shiver. You continue to jerk him off with both hands, mouth exclusively latched over his tip. Your tongue swirls around it as you suck harshly, drawing back with an all to audible pop in the quiet room.

You nervously look at Taehyung to find him smirking down at you. You mouth a quick apology before kissing his tip. He swallows thickly as Mr Geraldson scoffs.

“I will have my assistant email the proposal,” he says as you hear him walk towards the door. “The least you can do after wasting my time is look over it.”

The moment the door shuts, Taehyung rolls his chair back a bit to give you some more room and unclips your hair. He holds it all back in a fist, wiping any stray tears from your eyes that you didn’t even realise you had.

“Keep going, Angel,” he smiles, gently rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

A part of you knows you should ask about what happened, apologise again for ruining the meeting but you can’t find it in you to be filled with shame right now. His cock is needier than ever, pulsating in your fists and practically begging for your attention. Besides, Taehyung doesn’t seem fazed by the interaction at all. In fact, he looks rather cocky as he guides your head back down on his cock.

“Remove your hands,” he instructs, nodding as you obey. “Open your mouth— Good girl .” He smiles down at you as you stick your tongue out.

Those two words make you tremble, sore thighs pressing tightly together. Taehyung quietly chuckles at your reaction before drawing your head down on his crotch. He lets you pick your own limits, not pushing you further than your comfortable going.

“You look so pretty when you behave,” he moans, jaw clenched. “So pretty with Daddy’s cock in your mouth.”

You can’t help your own moan, peering up at him. Let’s do this every day, you want to tell him. You’ll excuse yourself from work, find your way here, and get on your knees until he unloads all over your face. You’ll stay no matter how long it takes. You’ll do it twice if he told you to. You’ll do it slow, you’ll do it fast, you’ll do it naked, clothed, tired, cold. You’ll give him every part of you just so long as you get to be here, between his legs, gripping on his thighs as he tugs on your hair and murmurs praises.

His throaty groans resonate in your spine. Your eyes roll back and you challenge yourself to take him a bit deeper. Your gag reflex gets triggered almost immediately, and usually Taehyung would be forgiving, offering you a chance to rest. This time it spurs him on. It’s almost like he wants to hear it again, pushing himself deeper with a hissing sigh.

You whine before gagging again and he laughs . He grips harder on your hair, gazing into your watering eyes and laughs at you. It’s like your gags, your meek ambition to try to keep up with him are amusing. And it makes you moan even louder.

“You can take it,” he condescendingly encourages. “Aren’t you my good girl?”

You nod eagerly through your tears.

“You always tell me you’re ready,” he sighs, voice raspy. “You always whine and beg to suck me off— fuck! ” Taehyung throws his head back, hissing under his breath.

You whimper at his words, at the sight of him so broken.

His jaw clenches as he looks back down at you. “ Then take it, ” he growls, thrusting his hips up into your mouth

Your eyes widen as he attempts to push over half his cock in. You gag violently, digging your nails into his thighs, before he lets you come up for air. Heaving, you keep your mouth open and tongue sticking out. Taehyung grabs one of your hands off his thigh and wraps it around his cock, guiding you through quick and short strokes. As you blink your tears away, you find him throwing his head back again, chest heaving.

“Please cum in my mouth,” you pathetically beg, voice hoarse from the invasion of his cock. “Please, please daddy?”

You watch as Taehyung trembles from your voice. Your skin feels hot, hand moving faster as you rest your tongue under his tip.

He looks down at you, brows furrowed, lips in a scowl, neck protruding veins as his jaw flexes. He opens his mouth to say something but groans instead as his cum shoots into your mouth.

You moan the moment it lands on your tongue, eyes rolling back. Latching around his cock again, you suck and swallow, desperate for every last sticky drop of him. He grumbles low moans, lazily watching you with a soft smile. His fingers scratch at your scalp, laced between your strands.

Had this been anyone else, had it been under different circumstances, you might think you’re in a committed relationship. You might think that this is a daily occurrence with your boyfriend, that you meet for lunch everyday and you dine on more than just food. You might think that you belong to each other and everyone knows that what you have is deeper than friendship and cannot be hidden as such.

“Don’t overwork yourself, Angel,” Taehyung gently warns, actively guiding you away.

You sit back on your feet, heaving as he wipes your chin with his thumb. You hold his gaze as he pushes his thumb into your mouth. Tongue swirling, you moan at the taste of him.

Your brows furrow when he removes his thumb and begins to tuck his half hard cock back into his pants. Isn’t this the part where he gets upset? He usually avoids eye contact and grows cold when you make him cum. As he guides you back on your feet and onto his lap, he looks rather pleased .

“Everything okay?” You find yourself asking.

Taehyung moves stray strands of hair from your face as he rubs your back. His calm expression falters and you catch a glimpse of hesitance in his eyes. “Should it not be okay?”

You roll your eyes at his lack of an answer.

Taehyung stands, practically knocking you off his lap. He holds you up by a rough grip on your hair and towers over you. “Roll your eyes at me like that again,” he starts, his hot breath fanning over your face. “And you’ll find my generosity has limits.”

A whimper escapes as you nod in understanding. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice wobbly.

He smiles and presses a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, then another on your forehead. “Good girl.”

You bite your lip, core aching from the praise. While you knew Taehyung was dominant, you didn’t realise he embodied dominance. He’s usually rather forgiving, even when annoyed, and tends to be playful. You think you might have pushed his patience enough. And while you do enjoy getting away with things, you can’t help revelling in his command, eager to satisfy him.

He lets go of your hair, fixing it back into place, and helps you back on his desk.

“Why would things not be okay?”

“You’re not usually this talkative when you cum,” you shrug. Looking down at your fingers, you ask, “was it better this time or did I—”

“You’re amazing every time,” he reassures, cutting you off. Then he takes your hands in his, meets your gaze and adds, “If we are going to do this, you need rules and you need to follow them.”

“What about your rules?”

His jaw tenses. He takes a deep breath. “The fact that you think you can talk to me like that is a problem.”

You raise a brow. “And what exactly are we doing?”

Taehyung lets go of your hands to trace your curves around your waist then down your ass and finally on your thighs. He gently rubs them as they involuntarily spread further. You resist the urge to moan, making it a point to keep your hips from rolling against his.

“Helping each other,” he finally replies.

“Does this mean you’ll finally fuck me?”

He smiles. “Your ambition is adorable.”

Face hot, you fight back a smile. This is not fair. This is not how this was supposed to go. You were meant to make it a point not to get sexual. So how the fuck did you find yourself tucked under his desk? How could you let yourself worship his cock? How could you beg for it?

“I need to go.”

Now and fast, you want to add as you slide off the desk. You’ve indulged in him enough. Some distance might help you find the courage to tell him that while you enjoy this all too much, you can’t continue to do it with him.

“What?” Taehyung asks, hands around your waist to pull you back against him.

With a soft push, you brush them off and move to grab your coat. “Mrs Chu is waiting for me.”

“We haven’t eaten yet, and I ordered the sushi you like.”

You try to avoid his gaze but Taehyung won’t have it. He turns you to face him in a single motion, searching your eyes for something.

He stares for a while, making you squirm, before asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he scolds. “You know I don’t like to repeat myself.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “So much is wrong, that it genuinely feels like nothing will be right.” When his brows furrow in confusion, you continue. “I have a terrible job where my boss is the ex of someone I sometimes get sexual with and never lets me forget that. I haven’t been able to make friends since some huge falling out I had back in college. And my parents, the people that should have welcomed me back home when I finished school and had nowhere to go, won’t even call during the holidays. I snapped at Mrs Chu this morning and I don’t know if I can fix it, and all I wanted to do this last week was talk to you about it. I needed you and you weren’t here. And I know you’re busy. I know you work and everyone needs your attention. I know you’re overwhelmed with new projects and your own family and I might sound selfish but I can’t remember a time when I felt okay and I was not with you. I can’t even remember a time when I was passionate about something. Everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

You don’t notice your tears or even the shakiness of your voice until Taehyung wipes your cheeks. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a tight hug, resting his chin on your head. You don’t have it in you to fight him, regrettably finding solace in his arms. His heartbeat soothes your erratic one. As his warmth engulfs you, you forget for a moment that things are so messy, that you cannot stand the life you’ve created for yourself.

Then, all at once, he pulls away and takes that illusion with him. Hands on your shoulders, Taehyung makes it a point to meet your gaze and say,“I want you to let me know when you’re feeling with way so I can make some time to help you.”

“No, Tae. That shouldn’t be your job—“

“It’s not a job. I like helping you. I want you to tell me when you need me, okay?”

You nod, knowing arguing won’t take you far.

“Alright, good,” he smiles, “Next, you’re going to quit your job.”

Face scrunched in confusion, you part your lips to question him when he cuts you off, continuing, “It’s not worth working there if you don’t feel passionate about it. You’ll find other jobs. You don’t need to feel miserable.”

“And what if I don’t? I like working, Tae. I have bills and loans and debt and I need my degree to mean something.”

“I’m going to help you with that too.”

“I don’t want you to pay me for sex,” you say before you can even process your own words.

Taehyung furrows his brows. “This is not about sex. I don’t pay you for sex.”

“You did last night.”

“Sex was not the only thing we talked about last night. Besides, I hadn't talked to you for a while. It was an ‘I miss you’ payment.” He explains.

You divert your gaze to the floor. His explanation should make you feel better, but you just don’t. He’s been distant nonetheless and you don’t like how much it hurts you when he acts that way. You don’t like how you have to see his exes everywhere. You don’t like how he won’t kiss you.

“You’re so much better than this job,” he sighs. “I know what you like and can find out who is hiring for you. I promise not to mention anything or speak for you. I’ll just share the job posting and let you handle everything yourself.”

You sigh, wiping rouge tears from your face. “I need to think about it,” you mumble.

“Take all the time you need,” Taehyung assures as he rubs your biceps. “Come eat with me,” he gently says. “You can sit in my lap again.”

You smile to yourself at the thought. The memory of sitting between his legs at that Korean restaurant as he sucked on your nipples and held you close rushes to you in short flashes. Things were still rocky but somehow seemed simpler then.

Taehyung tucks his finger under your chin and tilts your head up to meet his gaze. He’s waiting for an answer.

“I just wanna go back to bed,” you force yourself to say, knowing staying will only lead to more orgasms and confusion.

“I’ll have one of my drivers take you home then.”

He summons EDEN before you can protest. Then he helps you put on your jacket, he clips your hair back up and helps fix your makeup from the tears, saliva and his cum. He tells you that you’re beautiful, pulling you into another long hug that feels so safe, you could fall asleep.

That morning in Daegu appears before you. The croaks of a distance crow, the soft chill of the morning, the reaching peach rays of the rising sun. Taehyung, shirtless and warm, pressed against you, peppering kisses on your head.

Taehyung pulls away, snatching the memory with him.

You blink and suddenly find yourself sitting in the back seat of a black SUV, cold, tired, and absolutely in love with Kim Taehyung.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

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