Archive of Our Own

Jumin's gaze zeroes in on the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He looks through narrowed eyes as if the fixture has done something to offend him—and in Jumin's eyes, it has. The chandelier is nine centimeters too far to the right, and where there should be luster, there lies a considerable layer of dust instead. 

Jumin stares at the fixture and into its light until the corona burns his eyes like ash to a fossil. His mouth tenses into a tightly drawn line as he recalls the chandelier in C&R's capital building. Jumin furrows his brow as he tries to remember its country of origin. Perhaps the Philippines? he wonders. Then ruminates over how the radiance searing his focus would look much better with acanthus leaves and crystal Swarovski details.

“Jumin,” V says, his voice as pleasant as the gentle sway of the previous night's low tide. V places his hand on the delicate curve of Jumin's shoulder, then squeezes gently. “You're in a brooding mood again. You've tuned me out.”

“I am not.” Jumin turns his watery gaze away from the ceiling to look at V directly. “I heard everything you said.” He catches movement in the dark reflection of V's sunglasses and frowns. “I wish you'd let me buy you a trendier pair of glasses. You wear those to every event. And, strictly speaking, you should have a minimum of twenty-four pairs to alternate between.”

“How did you come up with that number? V questions through a huff of laughter. “You know what, never mind. It hardly matters.” V waves his hand to dispel what he knows will be a long-winded exposition he doesn't need to hear. The odds of him understanding Jumin's deduction are slim, anyway, so he shrugs and carries on. “I'm not interested in making a fashion statement through my poor eyesight.”

“It has nothing to do with your eyesight. It's a matter of being well-groomed, sleek, and soigné. If you won't let me buy you a designer suit, the least you can do is allow me to buy you one pair of sunglasses. What will it be? Bulgari? Cartier? Chopard?”

Jumin stares at V intently, and if it were anyone else, the severity of his scrutiny might be enough to drive out any further resistance, but with V, Jumin's wiles are not quite as effective.

“For someone who holds gold diggers in contempt, you're sure keen to throw away your money. Perhaps it would behoove you to procure a woman who cultivates personal relationships to attain wealth.” V pokes Jumin in the shin with his cane, biting back a smile as Jumin responds to the playful gesture in kind.

“Purchasing gifts for my friends has no price limit policy. I'm hardly throwing my money away. You know me better than that. You may have lost most of your sight, but I know you haven't lost your memories.” Jumin emits a huff of air and turns his head from V with haughty disdain.

“That's true. Please excuse my negligence and oversight. I shouldn't be so insensitive when you're using my impaired vision to sharpen my appearance,” V needles.

Jumin slants his gaze in V's direction and exhales a heavy sigh that visibly shifts his ribs. “I only want what's best for you. If you would only agree to have the surgery—”

“We've talked about this,” V interjects. “I have my reasons, just as you have your opinions. We're going to have to agree to disagree on this. Now, let's stop wasting the night on petty discussions. I have something more pressing I want to talk to you about.”

Jumin looks unconvinced, but after a brief moment spent weighing potential outcomes, he concedes to curiosity. “What is it?”

“There is a woman here who I think could use your company,” V begins, and this time, Jumin interjects.

“No, thank you. I do not need to subject myself to...” Jumin trails off, deciding what he prepared to say is too insensitive. He takes a brief moment to collect his thoughts, then finally settles on: “I have Elizabeth the 3rd. She's all I need.”

“Will you please hear me out?” V sighs. “First and foremost, Elizabeth is a pet, not a secure and long-standing option for a companion. I have always acknowledged your love for her, but she can't fulfill your basic human needs. You need someone you can talk to.”

V recognizes the look on Jumin's face and quickly rectifies his statement. “You need someone who can converse with you in the local vernacular. Not meowing or purring or the occasional hiss,” V adds to break the gravity of the situation with humor.

“You seem to be forgetting that I speak to many people every day. When it comes time to bask happily in my few moments of solitude, I like to do so with Elizabeth the 3rd.”

V fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Must you always be so obstinate?” A note of submission creeps into V's tone, but he stands firm. “Look, I just– I think it would be good to lower your walls sometimes. I'm not suggesting that you go out with her. I'm only asking you to talk to her. You have some things in common, and she could use someone who understands what she's going through right now.”

“It takes one to know one,” Jumin deadpans. “You're as headstrong as I am. Don't even think about denying it. If you do, I'll have my graphics team make a lifesize standee of Rika that I can flash at you anytime you deny being willfully obtuse.”

V parts his lips as confusion registers on his face. “I think it's fair to say that being amenable is how I arrived at my current position.”

Jumin plucks his phone out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and begins moving his slender fingers across its screen like a figure skater on ice.

“What are you doing?” V asks, his brow puckering to underscore the question.

“I'm having that cutout printed,” Jumin responds.

V issues the sound of a broken man and reaches out, pushing at Jumin's hands. “Will you stop? That's quite unnecessary. Besides, I already have one.”

Jumin whips his head up and regards V with a look of sheer horror. “You can't be serious.”

“Of course, I'm not. I just want you to listen to me.” V pauses. He tilts his head a fraction in a way that emulates a curious pup. “Did you actually believe me?” V looks unaffected, but his voice lilts with disbelief.

“You've done more than a fair share of questionable things, V. I wouldn't put it past you. You are a photographer, after all.” Jumin slips his phone back into his pocket and offers V his full attention. “I'll make you a deal. I'll speak with this woman if you get the surgery.”

V closes his eyes and runs his hand through his hair. “Jumin Han, you exhaust me.” He catches the bottom line of his mouth between his teeth and bites the tissue to an angry rose.

“I'd also like to note that I won't be held accountable for the result of my charity. In other words, if engaging with her somehow makes matters worse, I won't be taking the blame.” Jumin holds his hand out and waits for V to take it.

“You don't know when to give up, do you?” V exhales a long, slow breath and hangs his head in a gesture of defeat. “Fine. But at least try to be sympathetic.” V extends his hand, and Jumin is quick to take it, his grip tight and practiced from years spent in the polished shoes of a successful executive.

“Now, explain why you think I'm the right man for this job.”

V nods and clears his throat. He looks at Jumin head-on before he carries forward, only to find Jumin's expression bare-faced and inscrutable.

“Her name is ____. She's proficient in several business structures and web technologies. She impressively powered her way up the corporate ladder despite her young age and lack of work experience necessary for her current position. She tends to keep her personal life out of the office, but word slipped that she was in a relationship with the proprietor of her establishment.” V slides his tongue across his lips, moistening the cracks that line them. He tries to gauge what Jumin is thinking, but Jumin's face remains impassive.

“I don't know how long they maintained their relationship, but the corporate heir decided to wed a woman who could preserve his wealth and endorse his reputation. He wanted ____ to assume the position of his mistress, but she refused.”

After a pregnant pause, Jumin's features morph into an expression of doubt, and V feels as if he's witnessing a presage of the future, reflecting in Jumin's grave and silent countenance.

“So you want me to accompany this woman because she lost her chance to espouse some heir's values to evolve? Am I supposed to feel remorse for her because she fell short to an individual better suited to his needs? Excuse me for being callous, but neither of these people means much to me.”

Jumin looks genuinely confused by V's request and the information he's just received. For this, V wishes he was at liberty to imbue Jumin with the empathy he lacks in these situations.

“It sounds trivial when you put it that way, but she's not naive. Rather, she's exceptionally knowledgeable. She merely got caught up in something beyond the bounds of her control. It's a matter of circumstance and something that could just as easily happen to us,” V supplies, attempting to refute Jumin's undue insinuations. “She's still quite raw about the whole thing, yet she still showed up tonight to support the cause. I think that is worthy of your compassion, isn't it?”

“I have to disagree,” Jumin admits breezily. “However, I made a deal with you, and I'm a man of my word. Have no doubts that I will see this through. Though, I must ask, how do you know all of this? Did you meet this woman on one of your trips?”

V appears momentarily taken aback, but he's quick to recover. “She's a close friend of Jaehee's. They went to college together. I guess they recently rekindled their friendship after stumbling into each other at Jaehee's go-to coffee shop.”

“Assistant Kang? Why didn't she tell me any of this?” Jumin scoffs, appearing nonplussed.

“Why would she have any reason to? You know better than anyone that she does what she can to keep her personal matters to herself, especially when it involves you. I wouldn't know any of this if not for Zen. While he and Jaehee were working on the party's preparations, she shared the details with him. Being a romantic at heart, Zen came to me in hopes that I might be able to offer my assistance.”

Jumin glances at Zen, standing across the room, his arms wrapped tightly around his partner's waist. Jumin watches him briefly, noting how the laughter on his lips spreads to light in his eyes. It's a budding relationship, not even established enough to break in the soles of newness. But Zen looks happier than Jumin has ever seen him.

Zen says something that makes Yoosung go red in the face. The blond hides behind his hands as Zen's new girlfriend pats him on the shoulder. Zen is laughing, but his gaze shifts toward Jumin, the perception of being stared at initiating the response.

Jumin quickly averts his gaze, but he can easily picture the expression sketched across Zen's face in shades of new irritation.

“You know, if Zen had even the slightest inclination that you were going to choose me for this task, he never would have approached you,” Jumin says, fighting a strange sensation that tugs at his chest like honey on a vine.

“Actually, I think that's exactly why Zen spoke to me. I think he knew how this was going to pan out. You may have your differences, but Zen has other things on his mind now.” V smiles softly. “Let's move forward. Would you like me to show you the woman in question?”

“That would be helpful. But don't point. It's rude.”

“I do hope you're enjoying yourself at the expense of my visual handicap,” V deadpans, heedless of the censored laughter shaking apart in his throat.

“If I don't make light of the situation, you'll be stuck forever in the dark,” Jumin responds cheekily. It's his way of satirizing V's unfortunate condition in a lighthearted manner built on years of friendship. While he disagrees with some of V's past choices, Jumin would never pillory him for something as detrimental as his afflictions, not in earnest. And he would be the first in line to stand up for V should he become the victim of a public lambasting or otherwise.

Jumin bites back a smile and glances sideways at V. “Regardless, we will remedy your vision soon.”

V looks remarkably polite as he waits to see that Jumin has finished speaking. After a brief moment, he says: “I will remember this day, Jumin. And it would do you good to remember that I know you very well. Don't expect me to help you if you have an unexpected encounter concerning diagonals.”

“I can't imagine when such an event would occur or, more importantly, why.”

“Oh, no? Well, anything is possible, isn't it?” V pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then turns to offer Jumin a broad view of the room as if the previous conversation never took place. “She's over in the southeast corner. The woman in the white dress and red heels.”

Jumin's eyes rove over the crowd. When his gaze lands on the woman fitting V's description, a second unusual sensation passes through him, similar to the one that preceded it, but also different, somehow.

“Are you certain?” Jumin asks without forethought. The question is aimless, and Jumin doesn't need to look at V to confirm that V's staring at him with an expression underscoring that cynical wit that comes to him so readily. “Of course you are,” Jumin mutters, waving his hand dismissively. “It's simply—well, she doesn't look like I imagined her to, is all.”

V emits a huff of amusement that rings like an understanding. “I see we still share two parts of the same brain.” V glances at Jumin with a turn of his head. “I don't know if that's worse for you or me.” Jumin hums a note of laughter, and V falls silent, a smile on his lips. The idle chatter punctuating the backdrop of the room fills the void between them, the shared silence a comfortable one.

“He must be a fool if he can cast her aside for something as superficial and fleeting as wealth. She's quite beautiful. Not to mention, if she's good friends with Jaehee, she must have an attractive personality.” V tilts his head and observes you for a moment. “She would make a wonderful model for pictures.”

And without knowing why, Jumin wants to pluck the image of you modeling out of V's mind.

“The hour is getting late, so I think it's time that I take my business elsewhere. V, it was good seeing you. If you decide to take another trip soon, I hope you're not gone for as long. But, if you happen to disappear again, perhaps you could make yourself easier to get a hold of,” Jumin inserts as the sharp and shrewd businessman he has learned to utilize.

Jumin straightens his tie, absentmindedly centering the silk fabric in the stripes lining his winged-collard dress shirt. He says nothing more to V and waits for no response as he moves about the other attendees. He manages to slip through the cracks of chit-chat and finds himself next to where you're standing without a hitch.

“I don't believe I've had the pleasure,” Jumin says, extending a cordial welcome through a handshake. “I'm Jumin Han. And you are?”

The name plucks at the chords of your memory, breeding something familiar despite the champagne that has addled your brain. You take cognizance of the familiarity and the alarm bells it carries with it but graciously accept Jumin's offered hand nonetheless. You shiver when his lips brush the back of your hand. The kiss is chaste but warm and lingers for several seconds after he's drawn away.

“You can call me ____,” you tell him, voice slipping into the still waters of apprehension. “Because that's my name.” You feel your cheeks flush as you shift from one foot to the other, fighting to keep your head above the weight of embarrassment. “Um. It's nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” A crooked smile assumes the shape of Jumin's mouth. “I was hoping you'd be so kind as to join me for a drink.”

Your initial reaction is to tell him that you've already had too much to drink and that you should be getting home. But there's something captivating in his fixed stare—something that makes you want to dive headlong into the temptation of his dark pools—like silk against bare skin.

“I'd be delighted,” is your answer, thick and shot-through with honey. But it's not the answer you held on your tongue, and you can't help but reel at the man's impact on you after only a few words.

Jumin nods sagely and takes you by the elbow, leading you into an adjacent room. Many attendees are still occupying the area, but the crowd has thinned considerably since you arrived. You ignore the idle thrum of chatter and let the voices within earshot fade into soft static. The last thing you care to do is eavesdrop on some journalists' confab about media influences and marketing costs. You've long since completed what you set out to do tonight. Now the only thing that matters is revealing Jumin's true intentions.

You part your lips to speak, but Jumin is frowning at the bar as though it personally wronged him. You shift the words on your tongue, intentionally now, and rest your fingers at the bend of his elbow. “Is something the matter?”

Jumin looks to where your fingers are touching his suit, and you retract your hand as if burned. You feel like you've crossed some unseen boundary, but Jumin assuages the feeling when he says: “I see that my request for the 1787 Chateau Margaux was disregarded. I must report this to Assistant Kang tomorrow.”

A woman to your left begins laughing maniacally, her cackles echoing throughout the room and covering up Jumin's final words. You glance at her involuntarily, comforted by the truth that you're not the only one who spent the evening getting tipsy. When you return your attention to Jumin, he regards you as a wolf who rivets the moon. There's an air of fondness nestled behind the long, dark lines of his lashes. But there's something else, like a separate entity, something almost. . . sinister . The observation sends a chill rushing down your spine, spreading to electricity between your knees.

“This may seem a bit indelicate of me, but I would much rather speak to you without these borders of distraction.” Jumin discreetly slants his gaze toward the particularly boisterous woman, now laughing hysterically between booming hiccups. “Would you join me for a drink at my residence? I will treat you as a gentleman should, with utmost respect and hospitality. I give you my word. I can draw up a contract if you so desire.”

You search Jumin's face for any indication that he's joking, but his seriousness is as transparent as the polished set of crystalline flutes aligning the bar. You consider his offer, weighing your options as you parse the possibility that something could go dreadfully wrong if you accept. Your heart is still in tatters—a shameful excuse for your blissful state of intoxication—and the shelter you've built has no room for strangers. However, your soul is whispering things that your mind can't untangle, and the bones of your reckless desire are screaming for you to indulge in one night of unprincipled freedom.

“I'd like that,” you tell him, settling before you can debate it any longer. You offer Jumin a charming smile. “I don't think a contract will be necessary. I like to believe that I can take care of myself.”

Jumin's countenance shifts ever-so-slightly, but you can't distinguish whether it speaks to confusion or interest. It doesn't matter much, regardless. The expression is gone from his face as quickly as it had appeared.

“Then please, follow me. Driver Kim will be waiting outside.” Jumin offers his elbow, and as soon as you accept it, he begins weaving through those who stipple the path to the exit. It's plain to see that he's no stranger to large crowds.

You feel a sense of relief as you reach the exit doors and stumble onto the sidewalk. You hadn't realized how stuffy it was inside the venue until the evening breeze offered a welcome respite from the overcrowded exhibition. The crisp air that enters your lungs calms the rush of blood in your veins and cools the fine sheen of sweat sticking to your skin. You tilt your head back and gaze at the stars, finding solace in the constellations stippling the dark.

“Are you ready, ____?” Jumin asks.

You start and turn to address him. You're not sure when you separated or whether you should be offended by Jumin's haste to be free of your grip. Nonetheless, he's standing several feet from you, adjacent to a sleek black limousine parked between the two sloping buildings enveloping you in shadow. You don't know how you missed it before, though you pay little mind to your lack of observance and walk toward Jumin. He seems withdrawn, and you wonder if the distance between you is intentional. Yet, you continue to walk toward the limo, your heels clicking against the pavement with each step, the sound eerily loud considering the city's unrest.

Once inside the vehicle, your heart kicks into high gear, and the question of what you're doing hammers away inside your head. You can think of a thousand reasons to forgo the entire exchange, but only a handful of results that have a chance of not ending in disaster. Your hand begs to reach for the door handle, but you curl your fingers into a tight fist and block the egress to your impulses of hyperarousal. You've let your heart get hard to keep away the rot, and while this was necessary, you can't find salvation without dying a little between each stroke of bad luck. You still have a lot to learn between the black and the white, and while it might be impulsive, you're starting tonight—because losing another chance at happiness feels worse than dying.

On the drive to Jumin's, you talk about simple things: the things people exchange when interested in getting to know each other. You don't know what makes Jumin so unique: if it's the elegant way he speaks with his honeyed tone or how he holds himself, but you wish to learn more about him. You want to know about his job. His friends and his family. His hobbies. Everything. It's been a long time since you felt this way—in fact, you haven't felt this way since before the fight of your life.

You shut down your thoughts and turn your attention to the lights passing you by in a blur of color as bright as DayGlo paint. The last thing you want is to brood over your previous relationship. You've come to terms with how you want to escape from the truth, but as much as it hurts to remember, you don't want to forget. You'd sooner get caught talking to the walls than let them cave in because you're already dangerously close to losing your grip. And you can't afford to let go of the only thread you have left.

At last, the limousine pulls up to a stately superstructure. You do a double take when Jumin tells you he owns the entire building, convinced you've misheard him. It's not for his prosperity and affluence but for the realization that you evidently have a type despite your indifference to living a prosperous life. You don't know how you missed it before considering Jumin's state of dress, the private staff, and his penchant for fine wine. There were other signs, of course, but the condition of his status is irrelevant to the outcome, so you swallow your assumptions and accept his hand when he offers it.

You exit the limo and step onto fresh new pavement, not a crack in sight. You inhale a deep breath and work through the tremble in your knees. You squeeze Jumin's hand without thinking as you take a step forward, thinking: Here goes nothing.

The night begins like the wine staining your lips red, rolling on as the aged Cheval Blanc pours into twin glasses. It's complex but straightforward, increasing in intensity as the seconds on the wall tick on. But as the sky paints itself into deeper blues and purples, the feeling recedes into something smooth and pleasant.

You've settled on a chaise lounge with your legs tucked against your body, luxuriating in comfort. You notice that Jumin has plucked apart the edges of his tie, allowing the fabric to hang loosely around his neck. As he talks, you note how you have similar body posture and matching grips on your wine glasses.

Jumin finishes telling a joke that doesn't quite land, but you find that you're laughing anyway. You think the alcohol is to blame for your kittenish tittering and the titillating joys sparking heat in the low of your belly, but it's insignificant because it feels real, and it's nice to loosen up a bit. Furthermore, you can tell that Jumin is unfamiliar with such a positive response, and it sends a strip of warmth through you like lights on a string. It seems like such a trivial matter, but you don't need any guesswork to accurately see that the smile lighting up his face is rare. It's a compelling complement to your company. And you want to hold on to it like an artifact.

“Would you like another refill?” Jumin asks huskily. His eyes are hazy with heat and cast in darkness. He looks mysterious, a touch too dangerous to call a comely presence, but alluring nonetheless.

“I don't think that's the wisest decision.” You giggle reflexively and shake your head. “I think my schoolgirlishness speaks for itself.”

Jumin bows his head in a lazy nod and lowers his hand to the curve of your knee. You jerk at the sudden contact and the heat spreading through your veins like sparks from a burning fuse. If Jumin registered your reaction, he doesn't show it, much to your delight. Instead, he idly drags the pad of his thumb over your exposed knee as he takes a sip of wine.

“This wine is excellence in all facets,” Jumin says as he observes the claret-colored alcohol in his glass and sweeps his tongue across his rosy lips. “The seamless layers of fruit and the alluring hints of incense and black tea dominate this blend. Alongside the tobacco-rich finish, it's quite a seductive wine. Don't you agree?”

You don't register Jumin staring at you until he clears his throat, his grip tightening on your knee. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you tear your gaze away from his lips. You hadn't realized that you'd been staring right back.

“I agree, yes. I think anything can be seductive if utilized properly,” you answer, voice soft and uneven.

“Is that so?” Jumin responds with a contemplative frown. “I suppose one could draw truth from your statement.” He turns to face you with poker-faced pedantry, but he's still less wooden than he appeared an hour ago. “Anyhow, this may seem as malapropos as a swindler or tomcat—and perhaps the wine is partly to blame, but you're quite beautiful.”

Jumin's frown deepens as he slips his hand beneath the flimsy hem of your dress. “Usually, I'm better with words.” The gentle friction of his palm stops at the top of your thigh, then Jumin wets his lips. “What motivates me is not lechery—but since I laid my eyes on you, I've felt extraordinarily unlike myself.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks and spills down the smooth column of your throat. There's sincerity in Jumin's voice, something genuine that makes you believe that you're not another potential bit of fluff in a long line of affairs. You swallow, hoping to add moisture to your dry aperture as you fight to frame your lips on the words you want to speak.

“Thank you, Jumin. That's kind of you to say. I'm flattered.”

You rub your hand down the back of your neck, absentmindedly sucking the bottom line of your mouth between the lipsticked edges of your teeth for lack of knowing what to do.

Jumin's eyes track the motion, and his fingers flex against your thigh. He shifts, but the movement is so slight that you don't feel it in the plush cushion supporting your weight. You wish you could maintain the same level of composure Jumin's exhibiting, but you feel like the binds of your control are seconds from coming undone.

“Your skin is even softer than I imagined,” Jumin says, his voice slipping into the silky waters of temptation. He angles his body just enough that he can set his wine glass down. When he returns to you, there's a glint of devilry in his eyes. He raises his newly-freed arm and cups your cheek in his palm. You close your eyes as he drags his thumb over the swelling tissue of your bitten bottom lip. He draws the delicate skin free from the clutch of your teeth and smooths his warm touch over its center.

“What exactly were you imagining, Mr. Han?”

Jumin's lashes flutter as his gaze drifts to meet your own. His lips are parted for breath, shining under a thin layer of saliva.

“I think that's a conversation for another time. It would be—immodest of me to speak such crude vulgarity this early into...” Jumin trails off, his eyes flickering to your mouth as if exercising discretion is only a mere suggestion. He slides his thumb over your lip and into your mouth, tossing all caution to the wind.

You watch Jumin shudder, and you can't keep yourself from taking advantage of his unguarded position. With your eyes trained on his face, you close your lips around the salty press of his thumb.

Jumin's eyes immediately darken, and his pupils dilate to swallow up his irises. His shoulders draw tight with tension, and his breathing begins to quicken. He exhales a soft breath as he shuts his eyes. Another shiver passes through him, but somehow he looks more collected than he has all night.

You toss aside every grain of rationality you have left and take his thumb fully into your mouth. Your tongue dances over the lines of his skin, salty and warm and teasing. You tighten the seal of your lips and suck on his thumb, intent on painting a clear picture of implicit eroticism.

“This is a terrible idea,” Jumin manages. He removes his hand from your thigh to tug his tie free from his neck. He moves his long fingers down the buttons on his shirt, expertly freeing each catch from its slit. “I promised myself that I wouldn't slip, that I wouldn't fall prey to desire—”

You slide your lips up Jumin's thumb with practiced ease, glancing up at him under the curl of your lashes. You gently nip his skin, then release the welcome intrusion with a soft pop.

“I promised myself the same,” you confess, and the inflection in your voice is unfamiliar to you. You moisten your lips and glance down at your hands, folded in your lap. “Would you like me to leave?” The question escapes your mouth in deference to Jumin, but your mind is racing, running circles around the possibility of Jumin replying in the affirmative.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

The question surprises you, but you find yourself nodding before considering the weight of what he's asking.

“What I'd like you to do is, take off that dress and put your heels back on,” Jumin tells you, his tone scraping low and raw against the back of his throat.

You turn the request over in your mind, but it's hardly any debate because Jumin has his hooks in you as much as you do him. You rise from the chaise once Jumin's voice evaporates into the room's tranquility. Gently grasping the hem of your dress, you lift the fabric, but Jumin quickly closes his fingers around your wrist. His touch forces you to stillness, leaving you to look at him with quiet trepidation.

“Are you fully aware of what this means? If we proceed, there won't be any taking it back.” Jumin slides his thumb across the thrum of your pulse. “I'm not very good at expressing my feelings, but I think it's only fair that I preface this by letting you know that I have no interest in conventional intimacy.”

You furrow your brow and tilt your head, confusion on full display. “What exactly do you” –Jumin drags his manicured fingernails over your palm, and you shudder– “mean by that?” you finish with your words shaking apart on your trembling lips.

“I'm asking for your consent to do as I please, to allow me to explore the limitations of my depravity, or lack thereof.” Jumin releases your wrist and takes your hips in his hands, fingers bunching the hem of your dress. He draws you closer to where he's sitting, knees open wide enough to accommodate your legs. “I want to bind you in my finest ropes, lay you across my lap and flog you until your skin is the shade of strawberry wine. I want you to crawl to me and get down on your knees if I ask it of you. I want your submission.” Jumin's hands tighten at your hips, and he tilts his chin to look up at you with a seriousness that matches the magnitude of his interests. “Above all else, I want you to address me as Sir once I have earned it.”

You blink, and the thoughtless action seems set to slow motion—opposite to the hammering of your heart and the race set between your pulse and the blood rushing to your head. You're dizzy with heat, drunk on the alcohol swimming through your bloodstream and Jumin's salacious petition. You close your fingers on his hands for something to hold on to as your legs quiver with the threat of collapsing.

“I need to—” you begin, short of breath.

“Think things over,” Jumin finishes for you, unable to disguise his disappointment.

You let go of his hands and take a step back. His hands fall from your waist, and you catch the hem of your dress to draw it over your head. You let the fabric flutter to the floor and take great pleasure in how Jumin marvels at your body.

“I was going to say I need to go and retrieve my heels.” And with that said, you return to the front door, where your shoes are neatly paired. “It's rude to make false assumptions, Sir,” you tease as you slip your feet into your glossy heels, one after the other.

“I hardly think I've earned the honor yet,” Jumin rasps, agape in anticipation. “My apologies, regardless,” he finishes, and it's apparent that his throat needs moistening.

The wine encourages you; gives you the confidence to sashay across the room to where Jumin is seated. He watches your hips swing and shamelessly steals a glimpse of your bare thighs. You feel a rush of power surge through you as a summer storm breaks the sky.

“What would you like me to do now?” You bend at the waist and slide your hands up Jumin's firm thighs.

Jumin clears his throat; this seems to sweep away the webs of a momentary quandary. He looks you in the eye, speaking very clearly when he says: “I want you to take down your hair.”

You rake your polished nails along the luxurious stitches of Jumin's trousers as you pull your spine into proper alignment. “Yes, Sir.”

“You aren't familiar with how this works, are you?” Jumin asks, watching you with rapt attention as you untangle the loose chignon at the nape of your neck. You shoot him a warning look, and he chuckles. “Please, don't misunderstand. If you are comfortable using the title, then by all means, do. I certainly don't have any objections. However, titles should never be demanded. They are earned through time and respect. There's a certain etiquette that should be followed in proper scenes. I intend to abide by the boundaries and rules I have set for myself. You are free to do as you wish in return. I will be in control, but your freedom will always be your own. Still, I need you to know that I take these occasions very seriously. I don't want you to treat this as child's play.”

You shake your hair out and comb your fingers through your soft tresses. You stare at Jumin intently, wondering when you last blinked. You finally lower your gaze to the floor, catching a glimpse of the lingerie you debated while preparing for the party. You hadn't been dressing for anyone, but now you're grateful for your choice. You blink slowly and lift your head to meet Jumin's hungry eyes.

“I might not be an expert, but I can grasp the concept.” Jumin's gaze drags warmth down your spine, and you're suddenly made aware that being on display turns that heat into slick between your thighs. “Regardless of my inexperience, I would never treat this like a game. I've played enough of those to last me a lifetime.”

Jumin regards you with a mixture of appreciation and admiration, an amalgam that touches on worship and makes gooseflesh prickle like static against your skin.

“I'm glad we're on the same page then.”

Jumin's eyes drift over every inch of your skin like he's drinking you in. You have become the cynosure of his complete focus, and you long to feel his caress on the natural curves of your hips and the soft bend of your waist. Just the thought of his hands on your skin, the direct contact, makes your breath hitch and your nipples tighten. You close your eyes and try to pin your attention on the tension running through your body. You feel as though you're buzzing, as if your skin is bristling with sheer pleasure. Your legs feel weak, your fingers and toes tingle, and your head feels hazy. Your core feels as though it's going to burn up. Your breasts feel heavy, making you desperate to cup them in your hands for even a second of relief.

“You're so beautiful,” Jumin says. “You would look exquisite on film. Unfortunately, I've been told I'm terrible at taking pictures.”

You open your eyes and return the smile you chart on Jumin's lips.

“I'd like you to indulge me for a moment,” Jumin says, folding his hands in his lap. “I want you to touch your body.”

The green light to do what you please take you by surprise. It's less about Jumin's permission and more about how he's stripped you down enough to see into your mind. Nonetheless, you appreciate his concession as you move your hands along the contours of your blood-warm frame. The friction does nothing to slake your need—but it takes the edge off your thirst. You slide your palms up your stomach, over the curvature of your ribs, and at last, up to the weight of your sensitive breasts.

Jumin exhales a breath that would go unheard if not for the quiet blanketing the room. He shifts slightly on the cushion you shared moments ago, and you can't keep your eyes from zeroing in on the center of his trousers. The faint outline of an erection is beginning to show, rewarding you with a strong sense of accomplishment. You suddenly realize that you want to please this man on all counts. You're no sycophant, but you're not beyond using a little subservience to ingratiate yourself to this man; the notion that submissiveness is for the weak and servile is one you will not buy into. And if you're being honest, being submissive to a man with Jumin's prestige has a nice ring to it.

You brush your thumbs over your stiff nipples, then tug at the sensitive nubs, wishing that the fingers at work were not your own. It seems like your ministrations are having the desired effect on Jumin, and if you weren't getting a rise out of him before, you most certainly are now.

Jumin's eyes have darkened immensely, now almost coal-like in appearance. You bite back a smile and begin swaying your hips. The issue of being a skilled dancer is neither here nor there as you slip into a slow, erotic dance meant to tease. You feel confident and self-assured, hands dragging over your breasts, then drifting lower as textual layers of sound play in your head like the first strains of a seductive melody. Each precise movement causes Jumin's breath to hasten and your skin to rise in temperature. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth and smile as you flirt with the elastic that hugs your hips.

The flirtatious gesture shatters Jumin's brief stasis. He moves one hand to the fabric, stretching like a second skin over his growing arousal, and spreads his fingers into a V-shape, rubbing each side of his cock with measured patience. Jumin is electric, a spark that catches on something in your blood like the light you've been seeking. It jeopardizes the framework of your self-control and makes matching his rhythm an increasingly difficult challenge.

Your mind churns out obscene images and racy scenarios: Jumin making love to you under the moon on some distant shore, fucking you in the rugged beauty of the Badlands on the desert sand, fondling you under the scorching summer sun off a dirty country road. Each scene tugs at the strings of your composure, and when you slip your hand between your thighs, you release a groan that underscores your desperation.

“Have you had enough?” Jumin almost purrs without a hitch in his breathing despite the hard jut of his cock pressed against his fingers.

“Yes,” you hiss, desperately fighting the urge to tug aside the cloth that keeps you from touching your throbbing sex.

“Then, follow me.” Jumin rises from the lounge without further ado and strides toward what you assume to be the bedroom.

Once you reach the threshold of his room, Jumin holds up his hand to keep you from walking any further. Immediately, he begins working the few shirt buttons that remain fastened free of their slits. He faces you as he does this, eyes pinned on your face. “Are you familiar with the art of Shibari?” he asks as his shirt flutters open, revealing hard lines, muscle, and flawless skin.

You nod once, unable to look away from his defined abdomen until he touches your shoulder.

Jumin's mouth twitches into a crooked smile, and as he closes the distance between you, you can make out a single, tiny freckle on his upper lip. “I'd like you to use your voice when answering me,” Jumin says. He reaches out and grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Communication is imperative for a safe environment.” His hand shifts to caress your cheek, then he leans forward just enough to brush his lips against your own—a tentative artist learning the brush for the first time.

You emit a plaintive sound when Jumin draws back. His smile grows at this, giving his expression the impression of loftiness. “I'm going to bind you using several different techniques. If at any time you feel uncomfortable, I want you to tell me using your words. This is simply for pleasure. I have no reason to punish you. And I want this to be a positive experience. Do you have any questions?”

“No,” you tell him, your voice velvety but thick like molasses. And then: “No, Sir.”

Jumin nods sagely in acceptance. “Then I ask that you stay here until I'm ready for you,” he says with a level of restraint you've never been privy to.

“Yes, Sir,” you say as you watch Jumin walk to the other side of the room, tightly swaddled in anticipation and desire. He keeps his back to you as he carefully chooses select items from a drawer. You take a moment to observe your surroundings, eyes stopping on the floor-to-ceiling aquarium in the corner of the room. You watch the fish swimming inside dart around the tank in an artless dance until Jumin's voice calls for your attention.

“Remove your lingerie, but keep your heels on,” Jumin commands. He moves over to the edge of his bed and sets down an assortment of jute and hemp ropes comprised of different textures and colors.

Seeing the ropes lain out on the cloud-like duvet makes your clit pulse for the friction they promise. You strip out of your lingerie hastily but composed, wanting to impress Jumin in every way you know how. Once the network of silk and lace is gone from your body, you place your hands behind your back and wait for further instruction.

“Are you familiar with the dynamics of submission? You appear to be well-acquainted with the fundamentals of obedience and docility.” Jumin begins unfastening his belt buckle, making it difficult to focus on a sensible response to the question posed to you.

“No, Sir,” you say after a brief pause. “I just want to do what I can to please you.” Your cheeks are warm and blossom with color.

“I do hope you understand that my influence works in contrasting degrees, but I will never use my power in ways that promote maltreatment, cruelty, harassment, or any non-consensual forms of abuse or indecent acts. If I cause you pain, it will be for the benefit of your pleasure. If I use humiliation as a tool in an exercise, it will never be to degrade, debase, or discredit who you are. My sole purpose as your master is to guide you while balancing the scales of pleasure, pain, obedience, dominance, and most importantly, trust, honesty, and protection.”

Jumin slides his belt free of his pant loops and works it into a tight coil before placing it on a table beside his bed. “My reward is your submission. Therefore, if you behave as you should, I will repay you with sexual gratification beyond the borders of your previous experiences. When these roles get carried out correctly, sex becomes much more stimulating.” Jumin clears his throat. “Now, this is the last time I'll offer you the chance to leave. Speak now if you wish to do so.”

You shake your head, perhaps too quickly, and say: “I want to stay.”

Jumin looks relieved, but his relaxed mien slips right back into an expression that imitates professionalism. Perhaps it shouldn't turn you on as much as it does, something so simple that it's elementary, but everything from his countenance to his voice leaves you weak in the knees.

“I must admit that I see beauty at its peak when presented in its most naturalistic image,” Jumin says as he shamelessly ogles your naked body. “Crawl to me, ____. I want to observe your body in a state of flux.”

You don't expect the order. Yet, you're eager to heed the command. You drop to your knees and press your palms flat against the floor. You inhale a slow, deep breath, then begin to crawl. You think it silly at first, but as you put one knee before the other, you're stricken with a sense of empowerment through seduction and pride. Your movements are catlike as you move across the floor with feline grace and fluidity. You don't stop until you reach Jumin. But despite being at his feet, you feel powerful and impassioned.

“That's a good girl,” Jumin says in praise. He combs his fingers through your hair, nails gently scraping along the line of your scalp. “Tell me, ____, are you currently aroused?”

You bow your head, chin drawing close to your chest; you nod, knowing it won't be enough. Then: “Yes, Sir.” It serves as a confession, but with you standing at the crossroads between avidity for satisfaction, respect, humility, and submissiveness, it could prove challenging to distinguish honesty from conformity.

“Stand up,” Jumin orders.

It takes every grain of your self-control to forgo rubbing your cheek against the stiff jut of Jumin's cock. You force yourself up from the floor, drawn into standing by invisible strings of anticipation.

“That's good,” he says, grabbing your hands. He runs his fingers over your skin, turning them over several times before releasing you.

You knit your brows together, and Jumin reads the curiosity in your expression. He stills, choosing to answer your unspoken question before proceeding. “I'm checking the baseline temperature of your hands. That way, I'll know if your circulation is compromised after I tie you up. Some dominants judge this by watching for changes in skin color, but that can be dangerous.”

“Oh.” It's all you can manage because despite being a reasonably generic kink, Jumin is exercising care and patience as if he's handling the delicate texture of lace. It's surprising to you, especially considering neither of you is exactly sober. Though, impressively, Jumin seems to be recovering from his spell with wine rather quickly.

“Raise your arms for me, darling,” Jumin says, turning to grab the red rope from the bed. You lift your arms, and Jumin immediately begins artfully binding you. He positions the bight at the center of your back and wraps the rope around you once, just below your chest, snug but comfortable. You think that you could almost certainly get used to the sensation. Jumin brings the working ends of the jute back around the front of your body in the opposite direction. You close your eyes and focus on his fleeting touches, knuckles and nails, skin against skin, and the art he's creating around you.

Jumin reverses direction again. And this time, you feel the rope catch above your chest. Jumin's breath is hot against the curve of your shoulder, and you can't help but start when he speaks again, lost to the unfailing meticulousness of his approach.

“Are you doing okay?” Jumin asks, making several more adjustments and ending at your back. He slides his hand up your waist, fingers glancing the side of your left breast as he awaits your response.

You crack open your eyes and blink him into focus. “Yes,” you answer softly.

Jumin checks your countenance for any indication that you're not being completely honest with him. Once he feels confident you're telling the truth, he returns to his artful craft. He takes the working ends of the rope and brings them over your shoulder to your front; subsequently, Jumin brings them over the anterior portion of the jute, then under the lowest section of the rope.

You watch him as he works, expecting to find careful deliberation on his face, but instead, he appears relaxed and serene. After a short moment, Jumin turns to the bed to retrieve a white rope. Mentally, the process seems like a complex affair, but Jumin's fingers move with the instinctual efforts of jotting down a note. It's fascinating, and you find yourself admiring his work as he extends the rope and forms a new knot—red bleeding into white like blood in the snow.

“Is this comfortable?” Jumin asks, tugging at the newest knot he made.

“Yes, Sir,” you say with half as much breath as speech.

Jumin brings the working ends of the rope over your opposite shoulder and around your back. You can feel him harnessing the cords into their rightful positions, and each time his knuckles occasionally brush against your spine. He tugs on the makeshift harness periodically, but the entire exchange feels as if it's over in a matter of minutes.

Jumin takes a step back to observe his craft, and you can see the cogs of rumination turning behind the shadows that swamp his vision.

“I think this is enough for one evening. I had a different design in mind, but this being your first time, I'm not comfortable pushing your limits.” Jumin's eyes dance over your body, from one breast to the other, down to your navel, then lower. Each place his gaze lingers rises in temperature as if physically touched by warmth. “I must confess, I haven't been with a woman in quite a while.” Jumin raises his hand and drags the backs of his fingers across the hard points of your nipples in succession. You gasp as a shudder threads through you, and your knees threaten to buckle under the weight of unforeseen contact. “You're too tempting,” Jumin adds.

“Does this mean you won't flog me, Sir?”

“Let's see how the night unfolds,” Jumin says, his breath hitching slightly.

You catch motion in your peripheral vision and glance down to discover that Jumin is rubbing his cock through his trousers. You part your lips and exhale a breath before offering him a tremulous smile. With each breath, the ropes surrounding your breasts shift just enough to remind you that you're bound, and it's oddly comforting. You slide your tongue over the seam of your lips; you swear you can taste Jumin's arousal on the stuffy air.

“What do you want?” Jumin asks, gingerly squeezing the head of his cock through his pants.

You're sure he already knows your answer, but Jumin is waiting for your reply. You struggle to tear your eyes away from his ministrations, entranced by his sweet beguiling. You finally manage, but not before a whine breaks in the dark of your throat as you spot a wet patch forming on the material beneath Jumin's fingers.

“Your cock.” The response is weak, scratching at a whisper but not quite making it. You clear your throat and try again. “I would like you to take out your cock.”

Jumin grins wickedly, and the sight of it sends a shiver down your spine and into your toes. Something electric sparks at the apex of your thighs, heating the slick that's gathered between your legs. You resist the urge to rub them together as Jumin opens his trousers, his eyes never leaving your face as he withdraws his cock, stiff and heavy in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, exhaling a breath of relief as his attention offers the remedy his body seeks. You watch a bead of pearly liquid form in his slit, rising to glisten on the flushed head. It grows heavy and slips free, sliding over Jumin's frenulum. He glides his hand up his shaft and catches the slick on his fingers.

“Would you like a sample before we start?” Jumin presents his fingers to you, dampened by the visible effects of his arousal.

You jerk at his voice, blushing as heat floods your cheeks. You open your mouth in answer, hoping it's an adequate response because you don't trust yourself to form a verbal reply. A desperate sound breaks in your throat; it must be satisfactory because Jumin pushes two fingers into your mouth. Salt, warmth, and something heady grip your taste buds, and you throw your disinclination toward taking things too fast to the wind as you suck his skin clean.

Jumin pulls his fingers from your mouth, then traces your lips with his thumb. “I want you to get on your knees and spread your legs.”

A line of saliva catches on your bottom lip. It breaks as you heed the command, lowering yourself to the floor and onto your knees. You smear the moisture into your skin, relishing how Jumin tastes on your tongue.

“Cross your wrists behind your back and keep your spine properly aligned. I want your breasts on full display,” Jumin says, reaching out to tug gently on your erect nipples as if to underscore his desire.

You nearly lose sight of Jumin's command but quickly fold your hands behind your back before it can slip into the abyssal waters of distraction. You part your knees and hungrily await further instruction.

“Very good.” Jumin gently caresses your temple with his fingertips as he tucks a stray section of hair behind your ear. Then he returns his hand to his cock. The room's aureate light paints his skin with the luster of the stars and gold dust. He moves to stand between your spread knees, and you part your lips in an open invitation. You relax your throat in preparation and look up at Jumin under the thick, dark lines of your lashes. Jumin exhales a breath that sounds like sacrilege and slides the weight of his cock over your lips and into your mouth.

You close your eyes and give yourself over to the dark. You let its shadows flow through you like the contagion of vice and relish the dangerous waters you're treading. You circle the head of his cock with your tongue, then lap at its slit as if you have something to prove. Jumin keeps a firm grip on the base of his cock, while simultaneously using his free hand to wrap your hair up in a knot at the crown of your head. You relax your jaw and stretch your mouth wider, moaning when the ropes shift against your skin. The vibration in the back of your throat makes Jumin recreate the sound, and his hand draws tighter against your skull. He guides you forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth in tandem. You inhale a measured breath and focus on the length of his cock as it sinks deep into the shade of your throat.

“You're quite exceptional at this,” Jumin says after several moments. His fingers flex against your scalp as he tightens his fist around your hair. It pushes you to the threshold of discomfort, but before you can address the issue, Jumin slides his cock free from the velvet seal that's your mouth.

“Is something the matter?” you ask, lips damp with saliva and Jumin's arousal.

“Quite the opposite,” Jumin replies. He hooks his fingers around the rope at your shoulder and guides you up and onto your feet. “I'm afraid I won't last as long as I'd like to, should that continue. You're quite skilled with your mouth.”

“Wow,” you say, wishing you could call back the tone of astonishment when Jumin's forehead creases with concern. “It's just—unusual behavior.”

“What is?” Jumin slides his fingers down your upper arm, and you can feel his touch even after it's gone.

You shiver reflexively before continuing. “I've never been with a man whose primary concern isn't self-satisfaction,” you say, trying to muzzle a cough as the ghost of Jumin's cock scratches the back of your throat.

“A decent man knows how to give and receive in equal measure. If he knows how to balance pleasure and patience, the outcome is far more rewarding than a hasty one-sided affair. Climaxing is the capstone of a good session, without a doubt, but I would much rather spend quality time with my partner than submit to the pernicious effects of sexual intemperance.” Jumin takes your hand and kisses the heart of your palm. “You deserve to be treated with more respect and patience than your previous companions have offered you.”

Jumin guides you to his bed and gestures for you to sit down.

“I bet you're quite the womanizer,” you say teasingly. “It's not easy to come by men like you.”

“In all honesty, I tend to keep a safe distance between women and myself. I've had one too many—unfortunate experiences.” Jumin gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he speaks. He lightly strokes the line of your neck to the shiver in your throat. “But for some reason that I can't quite explain, I suspected you would be different from those women.” The shape of his mouth pulls down into a frown, and he shifts his gaze to your eyes. “Please don't misunderstand. I don't mean that as a slight to you. It's simply a matter of personal history.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” You think it might be inappropriate to ask in light of the situation, but you can't help but slip from the velvet binds of obedience and into the sandy shores of consideration. With the look on Jumin's face, it's only natural that you should care.

Jumin smiles softly and shakes his head in kind objection. “Thank you for the offer, but I have more pressing matters at hand.” Jumin draws nearer, wetting his lips and eyeing you as if you're his last meal. “What I'd like is to taste you. We can save my tragic past for another time.”

Your heart seems to skip a beat due to the sudden change in direction, and the pulse thrumming through your sex careens into overdrive. You moisten your lips and scoot back on the duvet with slight difficulty. Your eyes are heavy, half-lidded, and hazy with lust; you feel rapturous from the rush of desire flowing through you like sweet Muscat wine.

“How do you want me, Sir?

“On your back with your legs as close to your chest as possible. I want an uninhibited view of your pussy.”

The strain of something so unpolished and crude coming from Jumin's mouth is startling, taking you by surprise. It's undeniable, at this point, that Jumin doesn't miss a beat—so when he addresses your stupefaction, you're unruffled.

“It pleases me that you think so highly of my good taste and decorum, but in the bedroom, I prefer to loosen the chains of conventionality. I believe that honesty is imperative when one is being intimate. If that means being unchaste, then so be it.”

“I can't imagine you talking dirty about anything but your laundry,” you tell him with a smile.

“Then I'll have to put your imagination to rest with something more tangible,” Jumin says with an edge of arrogance that sharpens his tone. “Now, do as I said. I'm not used to waiting, and I'm growing impatient.”

You fall back into a supine position and hook your arms around the backs of your knees. The ropes allow you the freedom to do so, yet the movement doesn't come entirely without resistance. The position screams rash audacity as you put your most intimate details on display. It's as empowering as it is flustering, and the feeling of arousing vulnerability intensifies as the surrounding air skims every inch of your damp skin.

Jumin presses his knee into the edge of the bed and finally shrugs out of his dress shirt entirely. He lays the fabric on the duvet with care, indicative of his many compulsive behaviors. You begin to fight a smile, but it becomes unnecessary because Jumin is already dragging his fingers over your bare cunt. You jolt in response to the touch, your mouth falling slack and your body trembling.

Jumin huffs a quiet breath of laughter. “Every inch of you is beautiful. So beautiful and so very responsive,” he says huskily, as if awed. He slides his fingers over your slick folds, knuckles brushing against your aching clit. “You enjoy being on display like this. I could smell your desire when you lay on the bed, but your arousal has grown stronger since you opened yourself up to me. More impressively is how wet you've become.” Jumin slips a single finger into your gripping heat. “Can you feel that—how wet you are?”

You feel as if your body has been washed ashore and laid to rest under a thousand suns. Sweat prickles your skin, and you would bet your bottom dollar that your complexion has darkened at least two shades. You bite your bottom lip and struggle for some semblance of control. “Yes,” you whisper, drawing the word into a hiss.

Jumin crooks his finger, and you arch away from the bed, breasts thrusting up toward the ceiling. “Oh,” you say as you try to calm the shaking of your legs.

“Tell me, ____, how do you satisfy yourself when alone?” Jumin slides his finger deeper, then retreats with a slowness that tugs at every chord in your chest. “Do you use toys? Do you watch pornography? Perhaps you have a favorite position or place?” Jumin drags his thumb between your slit and adds a second finger alongside the first, working both digits into your slick heat in tandem. “Pardon my meddling. I'm finding that I want to know everything about you.”

Jumin drapes himself over the edge of the bed without a single hitch in motion. You let your head fall back against the bed's support and close your eyes to shut out the twinkle of light that's invaded your vision. In some distant corner of your mind, you marvel at this man and the levelheaded calm with which he speaks to you while manipulating your body. However, the thought is quickly expunged from your mind when you feel the wet drag of Jumin's tongue slip between the petals of your sex.

You desperately want to slide your fingers through Jumin's feathery coiffure to stroke the soft strands that beautifully complement his pale complexion. But you dig your fingernails into the backs of your knees instead—because Jumin hasn't given you permission to touch and you don't think you could form a structured sentence to ask for it if your life depended on it. Jumin's oral skills extend far beyond speech, and with his fingers undeviating manipulation, you're already toeing the edge of syncope.

Jumin flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit before he closes his lips on the hypersensitive organ. The traction draws a mewling sound up the back of your throat and into resonance, and you might be shamed by how desperate it plays if you were in any other position. You pull yourself upright just enough to look past your folded limbs and to where Jumin is taking you to pieces.

Jumin looks at you through the shadows delineating his face, and you can feel his lips curve into a smirk when he catches you staring. He draws away from your heat, allowing himself only enough room to speak. You note the shine of your arousal on his mouth and chin and flush from the sight. Jumin makes a production out of licking the moisture from his lips as a dangerous glint flickers across his dark eyes.

“Have you had enough, darling?” Jumin asks you, his voice low, scraping raw, and entrenched in desire.

“If I say yes, will you fuck me, Sir?” The question splinters in your throat as you strain against the angle of your position and the tension that's collected in your shoulders.

Jumin cocks his head slightly and observes the shifting of his fingers. It takes a moment before he comes to a viable conclusion. “I believe that you've behaved well enough to receive a reward. Is that what you desire?”

You clench your teeth, crushing a whimper amid so much want, and nod your head in affirmation.

“Do you understand the difference between fucking and lovemaking?” Jumin asks, removing his fingers from the warm clutch of your body.

“I do,” you tell him, breath hitching when he drags his fingers over your glossy clit.

“You understand that you're consenting to some forms of aggressive behavior, rough handling, and pain for the sake of pleasure? To name a few.” Jumin places one finger on each side of your cunt, spreading you open to thumb your clit in teasing circles.

“Yes, Sir,” you say, more insistent this time. “Please. I need you to fuck me.”

“I might leave marks on your body,” Jumin says, voice trailing off on a subtle lilt.

You release the hold on your knees and press your heels down on the bed. You smack your palms against the fluffy duvet and tug at the fabric until your hands turn to fists. “If you don't fuck me right this minute, I'm liable to have a fit. I don't care what you do to me. I just want to feel your cock inside of me.” You exhale a huff of air and look up to the ceiling in a poor attempt to collect yourself. “Sir,” you add as an afterthought.

To your surprise, Jumin chuckles on behalf of your outburst.

“I suppose it's inconsiderate of me to be amused at the expense of your suffering,” he says, absentmindedly rubbing his slippery fingers together. “My apologies.” He reaches out to you with his opposite hand, offering an explanation when you furrow your brow. “I'd like you on your hands and knees for this.”

You take his hand with an expression of wary diplomacy but allow him to pull you upright.

“This isn't another one of your dastardly plans to tease me more, is it?” You turn over to heed his request but continue to eye him over your shoulder.

Jumin emits a single hum of laughter as his fingers ghost the delicate protrusion of your ankle bone. “Have I made myself out to be so cruel?” he asks, moving to occupy the gap between your feet. His hands caress the swell of your backside, and you can feel the ends of his hair tickle the dip of your spine when he nips your right buttock gently. “I suppose, considering my current behavior, this would be an unfit time to tell you that you have a very enticing derriere. It would look exquisite patterned with my hand prints.”

You part your lips to contest the comment, afraid that Jumin's planning to prolong his seduction and leave you further lying in wait. While the prospect sounds tempting, you need to be fucked as badly as the dry soil outside needs rain. However, Jumin is shifting, one hand braced at the curve of your hip, the other gripping the base of his cock; this becomes known to you when you can suddenly feel the head of his cock brush against your slick folds, painting you like an artwork taken right out of Phaidon’s The Art of the Erotic.

Jumin teases you briefly before he lines himself up to your entrance, cock pressing against your flesh like he's desperate to dive into your skin. He's losing the battle, now facing his own desperation to be inside of you rather than fight the sands of time.

You resist the temptation to drop down to your elbows and clutch the duvet for something to hold onto. Your arms shake with anticipation as Jumin rocks forward and finally sinks his cock into your body.

“Fuck,” Jumin whispers and the word sounds like the phantom of unleashed passion on his lips. He braces his free hand on the juncture of your hip and thigh, his fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to bruise. He drives a thrust forward, then draws back, repeating the process several times before hastening his pace.

“You feel incredible,” Jumin compliments, his nails catching on your skin.

“I'm glad you think so,” you say in an attempt at flirtatiousness, but it's as weak and shaky as your listless limbs.

Jumin fucks into your roughly. He moves the hand at your hip to caress the curves and angles of your feverish frame. He falls into a fixed rhythm, steady as a heartbeat, and walks his fingers up the staircase of your spine.

You can feel every inch of his cock moving inside of you, pushing the limits of your sex and self-control. Jumin hooks his fingers around the jute adorning your skin and tugs it hard, directing the bondage closer to your chest. Your breasts bounce with each shake of the bed, and the friction of the rope is just this side of pained pleasure.

“You're a worthy submissive, ____. You're making this so good for me.”

Jumin tugs at the harness for a second time, bringing his opposite hand up to the swell of your breast, squeezing the tissue in his palm. Then he pinches your nipple firmly, rolling the sensitive nub between his fingers to tease.

“You're taking this so well. Perhaps you've been fucked like this before.” It isn't a question, and Jumin isn't looking for a response. He releases his grip on your breast, and no sooner than the prickling sensation of heat abandons you, Jumin brings his hand down against the curve of your ass.

You cry out in shock and rapture, raking your nails over the duvet beneath you. The pain is radiant, the pleasure striking, leaving you moaning for more. Jumin's touch has left your skin, but you can still feel the shape of his hand on your ass like a bittersweet brand.

“Perhaps you prefer being opened up and fucked like a strumpet rather than indulging in the delicacies of lovemaking.”

Jumin slams himself home, and the skin-on-skin contact reverberates like a whip crack throughout the room. You feel a bead of sweat roll down the back of your thigh, adding to the tacky perspiration that catches between your bodies each time Jumin grinds himself flush against your anatomy.

Jumin drapes himself over your back and fast-tracks his rhythm, each motion coming quicker through shallower thrusts. “Tell me, my little tart, is what I say true?” Jumin whispers against the shell of your ear, his voice husky and breath hot.

You chew thoughtlessly on your inner cheek before answering. “Yes, Sir.”

You buck back against Jumin's ministrations in hopeless desperation. Jumin nips the tip of your ear and thrusts a hand between your thighs. You feel the electricity on his skin, sparking heat between your legs and melting the tension in the lowest part of your belly. Jumin presses two fingers against your thrumming clit and works the hypersensitive organ with a rough approach that explodes through you like shrapnel.

“Do you want to come?” Jumin asks, slightly breathless.

“Please,” you whine as your body trembles like leaves in an autumn breeze.

“Ask for permission.”

Jumin begins to work your clit faster, a cruel tactic when expecting a verbal response. You attempt to steady yourself, the breath in your lungs compromised by the itch in your veins. You press your nails into your palms and pin your focus on the pain. You take a deep breath and moisten your lips before you speak.

“May I come, Sir?”

Jumin is silent for several seconds, but it feels like an eternity before he finally surrenders and grants you the consent you desire.

It takes nothing more than his concession to throw you headfirst into the surging waters of your thirst. You cry out in a vocal release that shatters the fragmented silence. Your limbs draw tight, and nearly every muscle in your body spasms. You feel as though you can't draw enough oxygen into your lungs, and when Jumin capitulates moments later, you have to battle a wave of dizziness so vibrant that it turns into a kaleidoscope of light behind your eyes.

Delirious and fucked to the nines, you collapse against the bed. Jumin pulls himself free from your sex, breaking the suction of your unity. The feeling of being filled dissolves, leaving you bathing in a wash of disappointment. You turn your head and press your cheek into the duvet, breasts shifting with your heaving breath. You wait for the trickle of Jumin's release, but it doesn't come, and you wonder when he managed to put on a condom. Not that it matters much, the act of responsibility doesn't go unappreciated, and you curse yourself for not being more sensible.

“I will let you sleep if it's what you want, but I need to undo your binds,” Jumin says, his voice soft and as slow as syrup. “I'm going to clean myself up. I'll return in a moment if that's okay with you.”

The query doesn't register at first. You're surprised that the tables have turned, in a sense, now that Jumin's seeking your approval. You roll over and onto your back, finding it much easier to pull yourself into a seated position this way.

“I'll be fine,” you tell him weakly, still finding your way back from the amaranthine fog and the smoke-colored flowers in bloom. “I'll be waiting.”

A smile spreads over Jumin's mouth in a way you haven't seen before. It melts through you like warm chocolate and tingles like cinnamon. You fend off the urge to lower your head as your cheeks flush and return his smile instead.

“If you need anything, call out for me. I won't be far, and I won't be long.” Jumin turns on his heel and steps into an adjoining room you didn't see before. You watch him disappear, and in doing so, you realize that he must have fucked you with his trousers still on. It might make you feel discounted and cheap had it been any other man, but with Jumin, your nerves thrum with interest.

You think about touring the room, but your legs are too weak, and the bed's promise of comfort is too tempting. You want to lie down and wrap yourself in Jumin's sheets, but you wait for him knowing that if you don't, you'll be fast asleep before he returns.

Jumin keeps his word, returning to the room only moments after he abandons it. He's rid himself of his trousers in favor of a hooded robe. It's dark blue, and the breast pocket features an elegant signature to the front, the name of a designer, no doubt. You can't make out the script, but the cotton terry cloth looks as soft as the tousled fall of Jumin's hair.

“You haven't moved,” Jumin notes as he crouches between your feet. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I'm fine,” you say, your voice quieting as Jumin slides his hand down the back of your calf. He finds the ornamental buckle that keeps your heel in place and loosens it effortlessly, removing the shoe with a mien of strict caution. He conducts himself with the same austere practice as he sets the shoe beside the bed. Then he repeats the action with your opposite foot, and once your heels have paired, he begins massaging the soles of your feet.

“Thank you for indulging me tonight. I have a penchant for women in heels.” Jumin says.

Jumin gently kisses the inside of your knee, then returns to standing. “Now for this,” he says, brushing his fingers over the ropes lying close to your skin. “I must confess, I'd love to dress you in other types of bondage.” He begins removing the jute, the harness going looser with each section of rope that's stripped away and collected in Jumin's artistic hands.

“Maybe...” you trail off, not wanting to open yourself up to the pitfalls of heartbreak when the feeling is still so raw. The effects of the wine you consumed earlier are still present, but you're getting too close to sober for comfort. You don't want to face the truth of tomorrow until you're miles away from Jumin's touch.

“Maybe?” Jumin parrots while delicately arranging the jute in his hands.

“I'm sorry,” you say, giggling to bury your blunder. “I'm still a bit tipsy, and after” –you clear your throat while rearranging your thoughts– “I haven't had sex like that in a long time. It seems to have exhausted me.”

Jumin nods in acknowledgment, but the look on his face shows that he doesn't entirely believe you. However, he doesn't press the issue and returns the ropes to their rightful place. “Would you prefer to take a bath or clean up in here? I'm not opposed to either.” Jumin rounds the bed, facing you once again.

Admittedly, a bath sounds lovely, but you can't bear to face consciousness much longer. You rest your hands on your knees and pretend to mull over your options. Then: “If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to stay here. I'm afraid that I might drown if I attempt a bath,” you say, trying for levity despite the ache in your chest.

“There's no such thing as too much trouble.” Jumin drags his knuckle over and down the contour of your cheek. “This part is all about you.” He carries the gentle sensation across your lips and down your chin, fingers brushing against your jaw.

Your heart clenches, and you hate yourself for letting things go this far. What should have been a brief affair turned into something much more intimate, something far too personal.

Jumin retires to the bathroom, and you wonder if the wine is to blame for making you feel like he's putting you on a pedestal. He's treating you as if you possess sovereign ties and royal blood, and it's so far from a feeling you're used to that it trespasses on alien territory.

Jumin returns hastily with a damp cloth and a dry towel. He offers you a consolatory smile and gestures toward your legs. “If you'd be so kind,” he says.

“You don't have to,” you tell him, though your knees fall open readily as if controlled by invisible strings.

Jumin sets the larger towel on the bed and wipes away the drying slick between your legs with the damp cloth. “I assume the position of the dominant. It's my job to care for you after a session. Are you not familiar with aftercare?” he asks, stilling his hand to look at you directly. There's an expression of alarm gracing his features, and it might be humorous if he didn't take his role so seriously.

“My previous relationship didn't share the same–” You let the sentence die in your throat, not wanting to discuss the broken framework of your very recent past.

Jumin bows his head and finishes washing the night's salacious evidence from your skin. “It's none of my business. I only hope that proper measures are being taken to protect yourself from those unwilling or incapable of practicing the art the way it means to be performed.”

Jumin retrieves the towel from the bed and pauses—a thought present right behind his eyes. He slips the soft cotton between your legs and dabs you dry. Setting both cuts of fabric aside, Jumin draws back the corner of the duvet and its accompanying sheet.

“Are you comfortable sleeping nude? If not, I could have something brought up from downstairs. You're also welcome to any of my shirts.” Jumin waits as you shift up the bed and work your feet beneath the weight of the combined linens. “I think you would look beautiful dressed in my clothes, honestly.”

You wiggle down under the bedcovers and smile up at him. “I'm fine like this, thank you.”

Jumin sweeps your hair away from your face, and the burden of exhaustion finally outpaces your ability to stay cognizant. You close your eyes and take darkness by the hand, following the shadows down to the deep apse of slumber.

“Goodnight, darling,” Jumin whispers, stroking your hair one final time before exiting the room.

Jaehee walks over to your table, two identical Styrofoam cups in her hands. She sets one down in front of you and settles into the seat across from yours. She sips the steaming beverage nestled against her palm without concern for the potential burn. She licks her lips, then eyes you in a way you've grown familiar with.

“I know that look,” you say, frowning.

“And I know something happened last night,” Jaehee returns, the scrutiny that shines behind her eyes as bright as the glare on her lenses. “Out with it,” she says. “You know you won't feel better until you talk about it.”

You turn the Styrofoam cup in your hands, enjoying the heat that warms your palms. “You have to promise not to judge me.” With your head lowered toward the table, you lift your gaze to meet Jaehee's stare, guilt and shame tugging at every corner of your expression.

“I never have. Why would I start now?” Jaehee reaches across the table's surface and places her hand over your own. “You're my friend. I'm here for you no matter what.”

You groan and drop your head down against the table dramatically. “Why do things always have to be so complicated?” You exhale a breath, feeling winded even before you straighten your posture. Once upright, you run a hand through your hair and brace yourself for the fallout. “Fine. Here goes nothing. So, as you know, I've been looking for a new job–”

Jaehee nods in acknowledgment, a silent gesture that encourages you to persevere.

“Well, I've also been looking for a new residence. Since things didn't go so well with–” You cringe and pull your features into an expression of distaste. You've washed your hands of that relationship, and their name always tasted bitter in your mouth, so you continue without speaking it, grateful that Jaehee already knows who you're referring to. “You know most of the details, and I'll save the rest for another day because, honestly, I don't think I could go into it now if I wanted to. Not after last night.”

Jaehee smiles behind the rim of her cup and arches an eyebrow. “Am I correct in assuming that you had a one-night stand?”

“Ladies, is this an appropriate conversation to be having in a busy coffee shop?”

You turn your head to acknowledge the owner of the voice that spreads through you like honey and nearly fall out of your seat.

“Jumin!” you shriek. “What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Han,” Jaehee says, drawing his name out into the lilt of an accusatory note. “Are you two familiar with each other?”

“He...he's the...how?” you stammer, tripping over your words and feeling the sting of the fall on your burning cheeks. You groan and slump forward, defeat taking over your posture. “This would happen to me.”

“Assistant Kang, have you made provision for the matter we spoke about last week? And is the monthly expense report finished?”

Jumin appears unaffected by the situation, and for a moment, you wonder if you imagined everything that happened last night.

“ Assistant ?” You lean forward, elbows on the table, and gape at Jaehee. “This is the Jumin? The one you work with?”

“Yes. Mr. Han is my boss.” Jaehee turns to Jumin then, brows furrowed. “The proper provisions have been made, and I finished the expense report last night. Everything you need is already on your desk. I used the new paper you requested as well. Now can someone please explain to me what's going on here? I don't want to make assumptions, but with how you're both acting...”

“Oh, Jaehee, you already know the answer,” you say, waving a hand through the air. “It's obvious, isn't it?”

Jumin looks at you and smiles as he adjusts his tie. He's more attractive than he has any right to be. His appearance—coupled with the memory of last night's tryst—sends heat rocketing to your core.

“I was disappointed to find you already gone when I checked on you this morning. I would ask the reason for your hasty retreat, but it seems you had an important date with Assistant Kang. I was concerned that I'd done something to upset you.” Jumin takes a section of your hair between his fingers and strokes it. “I'm pleased to see that you're doing well.”

Jaehee's gaze flickers from you to Jumin and back again. “So, it's true. I suppose I should take my leave then. As your assistant, I have no right to meddle in your affairs.” Jaehee's voice is even, and there's not a stitch of discontent in her tone. You wonder if this is a common occurrence, but you remember the stupefaction on Jaehee's face when she put the pieces together and think otherwise.

“Actually, I'd like you to stay,” Jumin says, reaching out to put his hand on Jaehee's shoulder.

Jaehee stills and sinks back into her seat, flashing Jumin a curious look.

Jumin retrieves a chair from a nearby table and sits down, his shoulders squared and hands folded in his lap. “After last night's events, when I was chasing sleep, I couldn't catch up to it. On the contrary, I felt wide awake, more animated than I have in a long while. Being as alert as I was, I had plenty of time to think.” Jumin turns to face you directly, and the rhythm of your heart quickens. You can feel your pulse trampolining in your neck and wonder if it's visible to your company.

“I have never experienced anything like I did yesterday. You offered me something I needed and never thought I could have without hardship. I have closed myself off from my emotions for so long that I forgot what it felt like to truly feel . For that, I thank you.” Jumin moistens his lips, and the unremarkable action sparks a vivid memory that sends a rush of blood to the apex of your thighs. “I'd like to present you an offer I believe will benefit you and Assistant Kang both.”

“Both of us?” Jaehee interjects, curious and surprised.

Jumin nods and adjusts the watch on his wrist. “I would like ____ to take over half of your responsibilities, Ms. Kang. It would lessen your workload while granting ____ C&R's work benefits.”

Jumin looks at you with the countenance of a businessman, his expression poles apart from the one he wore last night. “I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard you say you require a new residence. We could discuss a payroll advance after a six-month stint in the company.”

“If you don't mind me asking, what makes you so sure that I'm qualified for this position?” you ask, trying to ignore the myriad thoughts swimming through your head like tiny schools of colorful fish.

Jumin remains impassive and calm for a moment, but a smile takes over the shape of his mouth in the end. “A friend of mine may have filled me in on your capabilities.”

Your eyes flit to Jaehee, who responds by raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “It wasn't me! I've been praying for a decrease in my workload for months. If I had known you were the answer, I would have introduced you ages ago.”

Jaehee glances at Jumin, then, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. “But who exactly was this friend you speak of?”

Jumin holds his silence for several beats. It's visible that he's debating whether he wants to make this person's identity known. Once the crease in his brow smooths, he exhales a sigh. “It was V. He heard some things from Zen and” –Jumin flashes Jaehee a pointed look– “he felt we might be a suitable match.” He lowers his head and grins. “He wasn't wrong.”

Jaehee's cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. She takes a long sip of coffee and says nothing more on the topic.

“What do you think, ____? Are you interested in the job?” Jumin inquires.

It takes you several seconds to realize that he's addressing you. When you slip through the cracks of your reverie, you exhale a shaky breath and absentmindedly rub your hands together.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. I think working with someone I'm familiar with will be the breath of fresh air I need.” You worry your bottom lip between the edges of your teeth, anxious to ask the question that's driving a nail against the forefront of your mind, afraid of crucifying yourself again. “What about us? I mean, I understand that we'll return to our everyday lives, but do you think that after— Aren't things going to be awkward?”

An expression of disappointment delineates Jumin's sharp features as soon as the question leaves your mouth. “Is that what you want?”

The question perplexes you, and you're not sure you fully grasp what he's referring to. “I–” You clear your throat and glance at the table. “I'm not sure I understand what you're asking.”

Jumin brushes a speck of something unseen from his shirt and amends his question. “Do you want to go back to your life before we met? Would you rather pretend that last night never happened?”

You stare at him open-mouthed, choking on the breath you can't seem to catch. “Don't you?” you say, disarmed and knocked for six.

“Of course not. In fact, I was hoping for the opposite. I thought I had made myself clear last night when discussing the terms of our engagement. I never put a limit on the number of sessions we would have, should you want to further our time together, of course.”

Jumin turns to look at Jaehee, who is now openly surveying him. “What is it, Ms. Kang?”

“Are you sure that's a good idea? I know it's not my place to intervene, but you've always advised against interpersonal relations in the workplace. It may come off as hypocritical for the company heir to go against his own belief system. I'm not trying to suggest that you don't see her, but to do so openly, with her as your assistant, could be seen as unprofessional.”

Jumin shifts his legs. “To be quite honest, I couldn't care less anymore. Let them talk. I am fully capable of separating work from pleasure. If the higher-ups have anything to say, they can come to me. The only person I need to answer to is my father, and if he so much as bats a lash at me for this, we will be having a very long discussion.” Jumin looks irritated at the possibility, and you feel like now is as good a time as any to fit yourself back into the conversation.

“I'll take the job,” you say, bringing your palms down against the table.

Jumin and Jaehee share similar expressions of surprise, almost as if they've forgotten about you entirely despite you being the genesis of their discussion.

“I'm pleased to hear that. You've made the right decision,” Jumin says, recovering quickly. “I was thinking up ways I could persuade you should you refuse. Though, I shouldn't so hastily disregard some of those ideas...” he trails off thoughtfully.

“I think now is a good time for me to head to work,” Jaehee says, cheeks darkening. “Mr. Han, I'll see you later. ____, I'm looking forward to working with you. I know you'll do a great job.” With that said, Jaehee gathers up her belongings, offers a cursory bow, and rushes toward the exit.

“You shouldn't have said that,” you tell Jumin. It's apparent that he doesn't share the same sentiment, so you decide to underscore the importance of your statement. “It's uncomfortable to feel like you're trespassing on grounds where you don't belong. I'm sure Jaehee doesn't want to know what her boss gets up to in his spare time.”

“Ah, I believe you're right. I should be more considerate next time. I'll apologize to her later,” Jumin says.

“I'm sure she'll appreciate it.” You're unsure of what else to say, so you focus on your coffee cup and delight in the sun's warm glow on your face.

“I meant what I said,” Jumin declares. “There are many things I realized last night, and one of them was that I don't want to go back to living behind the walls I put up years ago. I know I come off as a man who isn't good at showing his feelings, and perhaps I'm not, but I do have them. It might be trite to suggest that I want to share them with someone I can trust, but I wholeheartedly believe that person is you, and I can't just ignore that.” Jumin raises his hand as if to allay your concerns despite your silence. “I know this is all happening very fast, and I understand if you need some time to digest everything. My only hope is that one day, you will share my feelings and want me as much as I want you.”

“Let's suppose, hypothetically, that I am in a relationship with you. Would you hide me behind closed doors?” The question leaves you without hesitation, but the pain of your last relationship claws at your insides and pours salt into the open wound.

Jumin looks offended by the mere concept. “Why would I do that? You're beautiful, intelligent, and inspiring, among many other things. You're a treasure meant to be displayed. I see no pragmatic contexts that would make keeping you a secret necessary.”

Jumin's watch chirps twice. He silences the alarm without bothering to check the time. “I must be going. I have an important meeting with the KG Chem executives and their shareholders. I have high expectations that the list of stockholders doesn't read like a list of IP heroes this time,” Jumin says in the voice of complaint. “If you'd like, I can give you a tour of the building after the meeting. It should be close to lunch by then. I don't go out often, but I'd like to draw a parallel between today and new beginnings.”

“That sounds nice,” you say, rising from your seat. “Should I stop home and change into something more business appropriate?”

“That won't be necessary. I'll send for my tailor, and they can bring something over. They'll need to collect your measurements, but that shouldn't be a problem. I would have requested them anyway.” Jumin slips out of his seat and returns the chair to its rightful table.

“Why would you need my measurements?” You brush a stray hair out of your eyes and watch Jumin adjust his suit jacket.

“How else will I spoil you?” Jumin looks genuinely confused.

You exhale a huff of laughter and shake your head. You feel as though you've fallen into a rabbit hole and landed on the grounds of good fortune.

“I see, and what kind of spoils should I be expecting, Sir?” you ask him teasingly as you hook your arm around Jumin's.

“Anything you want,” he says, holding open the shop door for you most chivalrously.

“What if I want to cuddle on the couch in pajamas and eat ice cream with you?” You step out into the heat and the sun's radiance, feeling like you've swung out of the low.

“That's a bit unusual. Isn't it? But if it's what you truly want, I'll be more than happy to oblige,” Jumin says.

“Hm. Let's just say that I think there's a lot we can learn from each other.” You pat Jumin on the arm and continue down the short path toward the black limo you rode last evening.

“I think you're right about that,” Jumin says. He stops suddenly and turns to face you, forcing your arm out of his grip to take you by the hand instead. “I'd like to draw up a contract with you after lunch. Thinking about last night is driving me out of my mind, and I want to know more about your interests.”

It dawns on you that he's not referring to a work contract but a sexual one. You involuntarily glance at the people passing you by, wondering who's been privy to your conversation. Your cheeks flush as your heart skips a beat, but Jumin remains unfettered in spirit.

“I want you to come up with a safe word, as well,” Jumin adds, once again, unafraid to be heard.

“Maybe we should discuss this inside the limo,” you suggest while smiling.

“I was hoping that we could engage in other activities during our transport,” Jumin says, poker-faced and intent.

“Jumin!” You tug your hand out of his grip. “I didn't take you for a man with such an indecent disposition.”

“I wasn't. Not until I met you,” Jumin answers honestly. He pauses, pretending to mull something over, then: “Was your opposition to my suggestion sincere or merely out of surprise?”

“I don't recall saying anything definitive on the matter.” You walk around him, and once you're several feet away from where he's still standing, you glance over your shoulder. “Well? Aren't you coming?”

Jumin turns, and you swear you can see the barest outline of arousal behind the dark stitches of his designer trousers. “That was an attempt at humor, but I'd be a fool to disregard your enthusiastic affections.”

“I'm inclined to agree. Besides, if you don't make good on your word to spoil me, I might not believe you.” You turn back toward the limo and feel the hem of your dress rise before you close the last steps to the sleek door. A playful curve takes over the shape of your lips despite the voice in the back of your mind telling you to be cautious. You know your heavy heart can't bear any more anguish, but something promises that Jumin is different from the rest.

Behind you, Jumin is trying not to stare at the backs of your thighs. He fiddles with his cufflinks and steps forward, focusing on keeping the stiffness out of his gait.

“What have I gotten myself into? How can I possibly focus in this state?” Jumin mutters, though not out of earshot.

You smile.

No, he's definitely not like the others.