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dandelions-143 · 16 days ago

Text

Obsession 3

Part 1 & Part 2

Minho Masterlist

All Member Masterlist

Word Count: 6863k

Warnings: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, sexual content, violence, and emotional manipulation. depictions of physical abuse, emotional trauma, and unhealthy relationship dynamics. If you are sensitive to these topics, please proceed with caution or consider not reading further.

Summary: Minho takes complete control of y/n, whisking y/n away to his luxurious apartment where y/n dances only for his eyes. But will his cold demeanor drive y/n away, or will y/n stay and attempt to break through his hard exterior? Keep reading to find out.

You sat in a sleek black car, its leather seats cool against your skin, that had picked you up from your cramped studio apartment nestled in the bustling red light district of Seoul. As the car glided through the city, you watched the transformation unfold before your eyes. The neon-lit streets, filled with late-night revelers and street food vendors, gradually gave way to tree-lined avenues and sprawling estates. You were on your way to Minho's home, a world apart from your own.

Your heart raced, its rhythm matching the soft purr of the car's engine. You found yourself constantly wiping your clammy palms on your worn jeans, leaving damp patches on the denim. Anxiety coursed through your veins, a feeling so intense and unfamiliar that it threatened to overwhelm you. You'd never experienced nervousness like this before - it felt as if your chest might burst at any moment, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

As the journey continued, the cityscape continued to evolve. Eventually, the car approached a massive wrought iron gate, its intricate designs hinting at the luxury that lay beyond. The gate seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions, encircling a collection of opulent apartment buildings that rose majestically into the sky. Each structure was a testament to wealth and power, their gleaming facades reflecting the late afternoon sun. You couldn't help but feel small and out of place as the car smoothly came to a stop, waiting for the imposing barrier to grant you entry into this world of privilege.

A doorman stood at attention at the entryway steps, his posture as rigid as his perfectly pressed uniform. His eyes, sharp and observant, scanned you as you approached. The driver, with practiced elegance, maneuvered the car to a stop and swiftly moved to open your door. As you stepped out, the air hit you - a subtle blend of freshly cut grass, expensive cologne, and something indefinably luxurious. It was as if even the atmosphere knew it belonged to a different world.

Your nerves, already on edge, seemed to heighten with each cautious step you took. The gravel crunched softly under your feet, each sound feeling like a small explosion in the otherwise quiet surroundings. The doorman bowed deeply as you approached, a gesture that felt both respectful and slightly unsettling. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort, knowing that in reality, you were probably lower on the societal ladder than him, especially considering the moral ambiguity of your profession.

"Follow me, Miss L/N," he said, his voice as crisp and polished as his appearance. The way he pronounced your name, with such familiarity and yet such detachment, sent a small shiver down your spine. As he began to lead the way inside the complex, you couldn't help but marvel at the intricate details of the building's facade - the gleaming brass fixtures, the spotless windows that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, the subtle but unmistakable air of wealth that permeated every inch.

You didn't question how he knew your last name. In fact, you were almost certain that Minho knew more about you than most people did - perhaps even more than you knew about yourself. His connections, his resources, his power - they all seemed to reach far beyond what you could comprehend. As you followed the doorman into the building, you couldn't shake off the feeling that you were stepping into a world where information was currency, and Minho held all the cards.

The doorman guided you into an elevator that was more spacious than your entire living room. Its mirrored walls reflected your nervous expression as he pressed the button for the 15th floor. The ascent was swift and silent, the only sound being the soft hum of the machinery and your own shallow breathing. As you reached the top, the doors opened to reveal a private entrance. Your eyes widened in amazement as the doorman produced a sleek, black key card and waved it over a discreet sensor. A soft beep followed, and the door unlocked with a barely audible click.

Stepping into Minho's apartment, you were immediately struck by its vastness. The space before you was grand, yet somber, reminiscent of its owner's personality. The living area stretched out, seemingly endless, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city below. The décor was a study in monochrome - walls adorned with imposing modern art pieces in shades of black, gray, and white. Sleek, black leather furniture dotted the room, their clean lines and minimalist design emphasizing the apartment's modern aesthetic. A large, abstract sculpture dominated one corner, its twisted metal form casting interesting shadows across the polished concrete floor.

The doorman led you down a long hallway, your footsteps echoing in the silence. He stopped at a door and opened it, revealing a bedroom that seemed almost austere in its simplicity. A king-sized bed with crisp, white sheets dominated the space, flanked by two floating nightstands. A tall, narrow chest of drawers stood against one wall, its dark wood a stark contrast to the pale walls. In the corner, a sleek desk and chair setup hinted at a workspace, though it was devoid of any personal touches.

"Mr. Lee has provided towels and toiletries in the bathroom," the doorman informed you, gesturing to your right. You turned to see a spacious en-suite, all gleaming tiles and chrome fixtures. Your gaze swept back across the room, taking in every detail. "Your outfit for the evening is laid out on the bed," he continued, drawing your attention to a garment bag you hadn't noticed before. "Mr. Lee expects you to be ready and in the living room in one hour." With that, he bowed slightly and exited, the soft click of the door leaving you alone in the imposing space.

As silence enveloped you, the reality of your situation began to sink in. You were in Minho's world now, a world of luxury and power that was entirely foreign to you. The contrast between this opulent apartment and your modest studio was stark, serving as a tangible reminder of the vast differences between your lives. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. In an hour, you would be face to face with the man who had turned your world upside down—and who threatened to shatter it completely.

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After you had showered, you meticulously applied your makeup, opting for a subtle smoky eye and a nude lip that accentuated your natural beauty. You styled your hair in loose, cascading waves that flowed down your back, the soft curls framing your face perfectly. With a deep breath, you approached the bed where the garment bag lay waiting.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unzipped the bag, revealing the evening's attire. You gasped softly as you pulled out an exquisite, soft pink lingerie set. The bra was a masterpiece of delicate craftsmanship - sheer and lacy, allowing tantalizing glimpses of skin beneath. Tiny satin bows adorned the straps, adding a touch of innocent charm. Between the cups, a slightly larger pink bow sat like a delicate centerpiece, drawing the eye.

The matching thong was equally alluring. Made of the same sheer, lacy material, it left little to the imagination. A bow, identical to the one on the bra, sat high on the g-string, positioned to rest just above your exposed derrière. As you held up the lingerie, the soft fabric caught the light, giving it an almost ethereal glow. The color, a pale blush pink, was a stark contrast to the monochrome decor of the room, making it seem even more delicate and feminine in comparison.

You couldn't help but marvel at how Minho had chosen something so perfectly suited to your body type and coloring. The thought made you smile but then you dropped it as soon as you realized what you were doing… a mix of anticipation and nervousness for what the evening might hold.

After slipping on the lingerie, you stood before the full-length mirror, your heart racing. The soft pink lace hugged your curves perfectly, the delicate bows adding a touch of innocence to the otherwise sensual ensemble. You took a deep breath, watching your chest rise and fall, before turning away from your reflection and padding barefoot down the hallway.

As you walked, the cold floor sent shivers up your spine, amplifying your heightened senses. Thoughts swirled in your mind like a whirlpool. How were you supposed to dance for him in his own home? The intimacy of the setting made your pulse quicken. Was this more than just dancing? The absence of shoes made you feel even more exposed, vulnerable. Your toes curled against the chilly surface with each step.

Reaching the entryway of the living room, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. The space before you was vast and imposing. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, offering a dizzying view of the city below, now bathed in the warm hues of sunset. The fading light cast long shadows across the room, adding to the atmosphere of anticipation.

Your eyes were drawn to the large, L-shaped leather couch dominating the center of the room. And there, lounging with casual elegance, was Minho. The sight of him made your heart stutter. He looked more relaxed than you'd ever seen him, yet no less dangerous. His usually immaculate hair was slightly tousled, giving him a boyish charm that contrasted sharply with the power he exuded. His black silk shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing tantalizing glimpses of smooth, olive skin. In his hand, he held a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid that caught the dying light.

As if sensing your presence, Minho's eyes flicked up to meet yours. The change was instantaneous. His pupils dilated, darkening his gaze, and you felt a jolt of electricity course through your body. In that moment, you truly felt like prey caught in the sights of a predator. His lips curled into a small, knowing smile that made your knees weak.

"Come here," he said, his voice a low, velvety command that seemed to caress your skin. The words hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken promise. You swallowed hard, your bare feet moving of their own accord, drawn inexorably towards him like a moth to a flame.

You came to a stop before him, his eyes raking over your body with an intensity that made your skin tingle. His dark gaze lingered on your breasts, causing your nipples to harden instantly to painful peaks beneath the delicate lace. As his eyes descended down the rest of your body, you felt exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely empowered. When his gaze finally returned to your face, you noticed his pouty lips curled into a natural, almost devious smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretched between you, thick with tension. You could hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears, feel the warmth of his gaze like a physical touch. After what felt like an eternity, Minho leaned forward, the movement slow and deliberate. The soft clink of his glass being set down on the coffee table seemed to echo in the quiet room. That small barrier between you two suddenly felt both insurmountable and frustratingly insignificant.

"Dance for me." His command was simple, his voice low and husky, laced with an undercurrent of desire that made your breath catch. You stood there, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure, your usual confidence evaporating under his intense scrutiny. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for something - anything - to ground you.

"How?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "There's no music... are you wanting a lap dance? Or..." The words tumbled out, betraying your confusion and discomfort. Your hands fidgeted at your sides, fingers twisting nervously in the hem of your lingerie.

Minho's eyes flickered with amusement at your uncertainty, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken. He leaned back, his posture relaxed yet commanding, every inch the powerful man you knew him to be. "Use your imagination," he purred, his voice low and sultry, the sound wrapping around you like silk. "Show me what you can do without music... without rules." The challenge in his words was clear, igniting a spark of determination within you despite your nervousness.

Your heart raced as you took a deep breath, summoning your usual confidence. Slowly, you began to move, your hips swaying gently to an imaginary sultry rhythm. Your hands trailed up your sides, fingers ghosting over the delicate lace of your lingerie, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The soft pink fabric contrasted beautifully with your skin, enhancing your natural allure.

As you danced, your movements became more fluid and sensual. Your fingers traced the curves of your body, teasing and tantalizing. You ran your hands through your hair, letting the soft waves cascade down your back. Your hips swayed in hypnotic circles, the motion accentuating the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips. You could feel Minho's intense gaze following your every move, his eyes burning a trail across your skin, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire within you.

Slowly, you turned to face Minho, your eyes locking with his as you continued your sensual dance. Your hands glided up your body, fingers trailing along the edge of the lacy bra, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts. You arched your back, showcasing the delicate curves of your figure, the movement causing the tiny bows on your lingerie to quiver enticingly. Your fingers tangled in your hair as you tilted your head back, exposing the long line of your throat. The intensity of Minho's gaze seemed to burn through you, his dark eyes reflecting a fierce desire that matched your own. The air between you crackled with tension, thick with unspoken promises and barely restrained passion.

You dared to move closer to him, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The desire to see Minho finally lose control, like he had the other night but in a completely different context, burned within you. It was a challenge, one that made your skin tingle with anticipation. You knew the risks, but you never backed down from a challenge, especially not one as thrilling as this.

With deliberate steps, you approached him, each movement calculated to draw his attention. You came to stand between his splayed thighs, the heat from his body radiating towards you. Minho remained motionless, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His face remained an impassive mask, betraying no emotion save for the slight flaring of his nostrils - a telltale sign that your proximity was affecting him.

A small thrill of victory ran through you. You were getting to him, slowly but surely chipping away at his ironclad control.

Emboldened by this realization, you decided to push further. Your confidence grew with each passing moment, fueled by the palpable tension in the air. With tantalizing slowness, you began to lower yourself onto Minho's lap. Your movements were deliberate and teasing, designed to provoke a reaction. As you straddled him, the heat of his body enveloped you, sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the slight tremor that ran through him as you settled your weight onto his thighs. His carefully controlled exterior was beginning to crack, and the knowledge that you were the cause sent a rush of power through you.

Your hips began to move in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding against him with deliberate pressure. You could feel the heat building between you, the air thick with tension and desire. Minho's hands twitched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the couch cushions, fighting to maintain his composure.

You could feel his cock slowly hardening beneath his black trousers, the growing bulge pressing against you with each subtle movement. You arched your back languidly, your breasts now mere inches from his handsome face. The delicate lace of your bra brushed against his cheek, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. You smiled to yourself, a mixture of triumph and desire coursing through you as you felt him shift beneath you, his muscles tensing with barely contained need. When you leaned back up to connect your eyes with his, you saw the battle raging within him - his iron control wavering, threatening to snap at any moment.

Emboldened by his reaction, you slowly leaned forward, your lips grazing the shell of his ear. Your hot breath tickled his skin as you whispered, "Touch me." Those two words seemed to shatter the last of his restraint. His warm hands were suddenly on you, sliding over the curve of your hips with a possessiveness that made you shiver. His touch trailed up your back, fingers tracing the line of your spine before tangling in your hair. His eyes stayed sharply focused on your face, dark with desire as they took in your features. You watched as his gaze lingered on the perfect curve of your lips, the pretty glint in your eyes as they locked onto his.

The moment his hands made contact with your skin, it was as if a dam had broken. The already present slickness between your folds seemed to intensify, a rush of heat and moisture that threatened to drench your inner thighs. As Minho's fingers tangled in your hair, he gripped hard, the slight pain sending a jolt of pleasure through you. With a firm tug, he pulled your head back, exposing the column of your neck. His lips hovered just above your pulse point, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin. You could feel the rapid beating of your heart, matching the frantic rhythm of his own that you felt beneath your palms splayed on his chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" Minho mumbled slowly against your neck, his lips barely grazing your skin. The vibration of his deep voice sent shivers down your spine, making your breath hitch. Your fingers, which had been working their way down his shirt buttons, froze mid-motion. The sudden stillness amplified the tension between you, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. All you wanted was to touch him, to peel away the layers of his carefully constructed facade. To make him feel good, to help him unwind from the constant tension that seemed to radiate from him. The urge to explore every inch of his body was overwhelming, your fingertips tingling with the need to caress his skin.

When you didn't answer immediately, Minho's grip on your hair tightened, causing a sharp pain to bloom across your scalp. You winced, a small gasp escaping your lips. The mix of pain and pleasure sent a jolt of arousal straight to your core, making you squirm in his lap.

"I-I just wanted to touch you," you finally managed to stammer out, your voice breathy and unsteady. "What's so wrong with that? I know you want me." To emphasize your point, you rolled your hips deliberately, grinding against the unmistakable hardness trapped beneath his pants. The friction sent sparks of pleasure through your body, and you could feel the heat building between your thighs.

Minho hissed in response, the sound low and primal. His grip on your hair tightened further, yanking your head back with more force. The sudden movement elicited a soft yelp from your lips, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The position exposed the long line of your throat to him, your pulse visibly racing beneath your skin. You could feel his hot breath fanning across your neck, his lips hovering mere millimeters from your sensitive flesh. The anticipation was maddening, every nerve in your body on high alert, waiting for his next move.

Minho's teeth grazed your neck as he spoke again, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "My little dancer wants to feel me?" The vibration of his words against your skin sent shivers down your spine, your body trembling with anticipation. Without warning, he bit down hard on the sensitive juncture where your neck met your shoulder. The sudden sharp pain mixed with pleasure, causing a loud, breathy gasp to escape your lips. Your fingers instinctively tightened their grip on his shirt, your body arching into his touch.

Just as quickly as he had pulled you close, Minho suddenly pushed you away. The abrupt movement caught you off guard, and you landed unceremoniously on your ass at his feet. The plush carpet cushioned your fall, but the shock of the transition left you breathless. You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of surprise, fear, and undeniable arousal.

"What my dancer wants, my dancer gets," Minho drawled, his voice dripping with dark promise. The timbre of his words was both sultry and ominous, sending conflicting signals through your body. A shiver of fear ran down your spine, but it was quickly overshadowed by the intense throbbing between your legs. Your pussy clenched around nothing, aching to be filled, your arousal only intensifying under his predatory gaze.

With fluid grace, Minho lowered himself to his knees before you. His movements were slow, deliberate, like a panther stalking its prey. His hands reached out, long fingers wrapping around your ankles. The touch of his skin against yours sent sparks of electricity through your body. With a swift, powerful motion, he yanked you towards him, dragging you across the carpet until his muscular thighs were nestled between your spread legs.

The new position left you breathless, your chest heaving as you looked up at him. Minho towered over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the light, casting you in his shadow. His dark eyes raked over your form, taking in every curve, every trembling inch of exposed skin. The heat of his body radiated against yours, the proximity making your head spin with desire. You could feel the hard planes of his thighs pressing against your inner legs, the contact both thrilling and maddening. Your body screamed for more, every nerve ending on fire, waiting with bated breath.

Minho's hands moved with a ferocious intensity, his fingers hooking under the delicate straps of your lingerie. With a swift, powerful motion, he tore the fabric apart, the sound of ripping lace filling the air. The sudden violence of his action made you gasp, a mixture of shock and arousal coursing through your body.

The tattered remains of your bra fell away, exposing your breasts to the cool air and Minho's hungry gaze. His hands didn't pause, moving down to grasp the waistband of your panties. With another brutal yank, he shredded the fragile material, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

You lay there, breathless and trembling, your skin flushed with desire and the thrill of his rough treatment. Minho's eyes raked over your naked form, dark with lust and something more primal. The intensity of his gaze made you feel utterly exposed, vulnerable, and impossibly aroused.

Minho's hands gripped your hips tightly as he leaned down, his hot breath fanning across your skin. "You're mine," he growled, his voice low and possessive. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you."

His lips crashed against yours in a bruising kiss, teeth nipping at your lower lip. As he pulled away, he trailed kisses down your neck, pausing to suck hard at your pulse point. "Every inch of you belongs to me," he murmured against your skin.

Minho's tongue traced a path down to your collarbone, where he bit down hard enough to leave a mark. "I'm going to mark every part of you," he said, his dark eyes meeting yours. "So everyone knows you're taken."

His mouth moved lower, capturing one of your nipples between his teeth. As you gasped, he growled, "These perfect tits? Mine." His hand kneaded your other breast roughly as his tongue swirled around the sensitive bud.

Minho continued his journey downward, leaving a trail of bites and kisses across your stomach. "This gorgeous body? All mine," he said, his voice husky with desire. His hands spread your thighs wide as he settled between them.

You felt his hot breath against your core as he spoke. "And this sweet pussy? It's mine to taste, to fuck, to make come whenever I want." Without warning, he dove in, his tongue lapping at your folds hungrily.

As pleasure coursed through your body, Minho's words echoed in your mind. You were his, completely and utterly, and the thought only heightened your arousal.

Minho's tongue delved deeper into your folds, exploring every inch of your slick heat. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring every taste, every texture. The sensation was maddening, pleasure building steadily but never quite reaching its peak.

"Minho," you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against his face, seeking more friction, more pressure. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging sharply as another wave of pleasure washed over you.

He growled against your sensitive flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he continued his relentless assault. His tongue flicked over your clit before diving back into your entrance, fucking you with a fervor that left you breathless.

You could feel yourself getting close, the coil of tension in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter. "Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. More? Release? Both?

Minho seemed to understand. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking hard as two of his long fingers plunged into your dripping core. The dual sensation was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your back arched off the floor, your body trembling as you chased your impending orgasm. Until it finally rushed over you. An all enthralling heat rolling through your body from head to toe.

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, Minho pulled back, his mouth glistening with your juices. His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face.

Then, his voice low and commanding, he ordered, "Get on all fours."

Without hesitation, you complied, turning away from him and positioning yourself as instructed. The plush carpet beneath your hands and knees was a stark contrast to the tension in your body, anticipation coiling tightly in your core.

The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the room, followed immediately by a stinging sensation on your upturned ass. You gasped, the pain quickly melting into pleasure as Minho's hand gripped the flesh he'd just struck, kneading it roughly.

"You were made for me," he growled, his voice husky with desire. "Every curve, every inch of this perfect body was crafted just for my pleasure."

Unable to resist the temptation, you turned your head to look over your shoulder. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight of Minho's exposed body. His chiseled torso was a canvas of scars, each one telling a story of pain and survival. The long, jagged line that ran from his left shoulder to his right hip stood out starkly against his pale olive skin.

Your eyes traced the constellation of smaller scars scattered across his chest and abdomen, some faded with time, others still pink and raised. The circular burn marks on his right side, a memento from a cigarette wielded by a cruel hand, made your heart ache. Despite the marks of violence etched into his skin, Minho's body was a masterpiece of lean muscle and raw power.

As your gaze traveled lower, you noticed even more burn marks scattered along his muscular thighs. The juxtaposition of his physical strength and these vulnerable marks made your chest tighten with a mix of desire and protective instinct.

Minho's eyes met yours, dark and intense, as he caught you staring. There was a flicker of something - vulnerability, perhaps - before it was quickly replaced by a predatory gleam. "Like what you see?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine.

Now you understood why he wouldn't allow you to touch him. The scars that marred his skin were more than just physical marks; they were emotional barriers, built over years of pain and mistrust. Each scar told a story of betrayal, of hands that hurt instead of healed. Minho had learned to push people away, to keep them at arm's length, afraid of the vulnerability that came with closeness.

Despite the pain etched into his skin, you found him achingly beautiful. Your eyes lingered on the map of his scars, wanting to trace each one with gentle fingers, to show him that touch could be tender, loving. But when he commanded you to put your face down, you obeyed, your cheek pressing against the plush carpet.

You felt him move behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your exposed skin. His hands, calloused yet surprisingly gentle, gripped your ass, kneading the flesh before spreading your cheeks. The cool air against your most intimate parts made you shiver, a mix of anticipation and vulnerability coursing through you.

Minho's hands slid up your back, his touch feather-light yet leaving trails of fire in their wake. His fingers traced the curve of your spine, pausing at each vertebra as if memorizing your body by touch alone. "Such smooth skin," he mumbled softly, his voice a mix of wonder and desire. The tenderness in his tone contrasted sharply with his earlier roughness, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.

You throbbed with anticipation, your arousal evident in the slick wetness coating your inner thighs. Minho positioned himself behind you, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance. Without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside you in one swift motion.

A gasp tore from your throat as he filled you completely, the sudden stretch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Minho didn't give you time to adjust, immediately setting a punishing pace. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust hard and fast, driving you forward on the plush carpet.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you back to meet each powerful thrust. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by your breathless moans and Minho's low grunts of pleasure.

The intensity of his movements left you dizzy with desire, your body aflame with sensation. Every nerve ending seemed to come alive under his touch, your pussy clenching around him with each deep stroke. You could feel the tension building within you, a familiar coil of heat tightening in your lower belly as Minho continued his relentless assault on your senses.

Minho's grip on your hips tightened as he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back. His hot breath fanned across your ear as he growled, "You feel so fucking good. So tight, so wet for me."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel your climax building, the coil of tension in your core winding tighter with each powerful thrust.

"Minho," you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a desperate prayer. "Oh god, Minho!"

Your orgasm crashed over you in waves of intense pleasure, your body shuddering beneath him as your inner walls clenched around his length. Minho's rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming erratic as your climax triggered his own.

To your surprise, Minho's arms suddenly wrapped around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he came. His body trembled against yours, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he spilled himself deep inside you. For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, bodies intertwined, breath mingling as you both came down from your highs.

As you lay there, still intertwined with Minho, a fierce determination welled up inside you. You were resolved to break through the walls he had built around himself, to shatter the hardened mask he wore like armor. His vulnerability in that moment of climax had given you a glimpse of the man beneath the scars, and you yearned to see more.

You knew it wouldn't be easy. Minho's defenses were strong, fortified by years of pain and mistrust. But you were equally stubborn, equally passionate. You wanted to show him that he could be vulnerable without being weak, that opening up didn't always lead to pain.

With every touch, every kiss, every shared moment of intimacy, you were determined to chip away at his barriers. You wanted to be the one he could trust, the one he could show his true self to without fear of judgment or betrayal. It was more than just physical attraction now; it was a mission to heal the wounds that ran deeper than his scars.

As Minho's breathing steadied, you made a silent promise to yourself. You would be patient, persistent, and unwavering in your efforts to break through his defenses. No matter how long it took, no matter how hard he pushed back, you were committed to showing him that he was worthy of love, vulnerability, and genuine connection.

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Over the next few weeks, you were relentless in your pursuit to break down Minho's walls. After your performances, when he would take you with his usual passion and intensity, you would attempt to cuddle him, to simply lie close and be with him in the afterglow. Initially, he resisted, sending you away to the room he had designated for you. But gradually, he began to soften, allowing you to stay in his bed overnight.

Still, there was a barrier. While you could share his bed, he maintained a physical distance, avoiding prolonged skin contact outside of your intimate encounters. You yearned for more, for the simple comfort of his touch without the urgency of desire.

One night, emboldened by the progress you'd made and driven by a deep need to understand him, you decided to take a risk. As you lay beside him in the dim light of his bedroom, you turned to face him and softly asked, "Minho, will you tell me about your scars?"

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with tension and unspoken emotions. You held your breath, wondering if you had pushed too far, too soon. But then, to your surprise, Minho began to speak, his voice low and hesitant as he started to share the stories etched into his skin.

Minho's voice was steady, almost detached, as he began to explain. "These knife marks," he said, tracing a finger along the jagged scars on his torso, "they're from fights. Nasty encounters with the scum I had to deal with while working for my father's business." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if recounting mundane daily events rather than violent altercations.

He paused, his hand hovering over the circular burn marks scattered across his skin. "And these," he continued, his voice maintaining its even tone, "these are from my father. His favorite way to teach a lesson when I disappointed him." The words were delivered without inflection, but you noticed a slight tremor in his hand as it hovered over the burns.

Throughout his explanation, Minho's voice remained devoid of emotion, as if he were discussing someone else's life rather than his own. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a storm of emotions swirling in their dark depths. Pain, anger, fear, and a deep-seated vulnerability that he struggled to keep hidden were all there, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior.

His eyes, usually so guarded, now told the story his voice wouldn't. They spoke of nights filled with terror, of a childhood marred by cruelty, of battles fought not just on the streets but within the very place he should have felt safest. In that moment, you understood the true depth of the scars Minho carried - not just the physical ones etched into his skin, but the emotional wounds that ran far deeper.

You hesitated, your eyes tracing the map of scars on his skin. Softly, almost reverently, you asked, "Can I... touch them?"

Minho stiffened, his eyes clouding with uncertainty. "I don't... I've never let anyone..." he trailed off, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable.

You waited, patient and understanding, as he wrestled with his internal struggle. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

With gentle, trembling fingers, you reached out. As your fingertips grazed his skin, tracing the raised lines of his scars, you felt Minho's sharp intake of breath. His eyes, usually so guarded, now held a storm of emotions - fear, vulnerability, and something else... something deeper.

As you continued your careful exploration, Minho felt an unfamiliar ache blooming in his chest. It was more than his usual obsession with you, more than the physical desire that usually consumed him. This was something new, something that both terrified and exhilarated him - a connection that went beyond the physical, touching a part of him he thought long dead.

Snapping out of it, Minho suddenly shoved your hands away. "That's enough," he said sternly, his voice regaining its usual cold edge. "It's time for you to go. I'll be sure to leave your usual pay with you tomorrow."

His words were nothing new to you, but this time they cut deeper than ever before. As you've become more attached to him, the dismissal hurt worse than anything that's ever been done to you. The emotional connection you thought you were forming crumbled in an instant, leaving you feeling hollow and used.

You slowly got up from the bed, your body feeling heavy with disappointment and rejection. As you gathered your things, you couldn't help but steal glances at Minho. His face had returned to its usual mask of indifference, all traces of vulnerability gone. It was as if the tender moment you had just shared never happened.

Walking towards the door, you felt a lump forming in your throat. You wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the sudden chasm between you, but words failed you. With a final look back at Minho, who was now pointedly avoiding your gaze, you left the room, the sound of the closing door echoing with a sense of finality.

—————————————————————————

That night, you packed your things, the few possessions you had acquired during your stay at Minho's home. Your hands trembled as you folded each item, memories flooding your mind with every touch. The silk robe he had gifted you, the expensive perfume that sat untouched on the dresser - all reminders of a connection you thought was growing, but now seemed nothing more than a fantasy.

With a heavy heart, you penned a short note, your handwriting unsteady as emotions threatened to overwhelm you. The words were simple, yet they carried the weight of your pain and disappointment:

“Minho, I will no longer be your whore and I will never be your dancer. Goodbye.”

You placed the note on his coffee table, where you knew he would find it in the morning. For a moment, you stood there, your eyes sweeping over the luxurious apartment that had been your home for the past weeks. Then, with a deep breath, you turned and walked out, closing the door silently behind you.

The next morning, Minho found the note as he was leaving for work. His initial reaction was anger, a familiar emotion that surged through him like wildfire. How dare you leave? How dare you reject what he offered? But as the initial rage subsided, unfamiliar feelings began to surface - worry, sadness, and a deep, aching pain he couldn't quite understand.

He stood there, note in hand, his usual morning routine forgotten. For the first time in years, Minho felt lost, the carefully constructed walls around his heart beginning to crumble. As he stared at your handwriting, he realized that somewhere along the way, you had become more than just an obsession or a plaything. You had become someone he cared for, someone whose absence left a void he didn't know how to fill.

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