Joon-ho never fully softened inside her, not even when their bodies finally stilled and sweat began to cool on their skin. He hovered over Yura, his face just above hers, their breath mingling, cock still deep in the mess he'd left in her pussy and womb. Her arms were loose around his neck, her chest heaving, nipples peaked and skin flushed a luminous pink. For a moment, everything was hushed—nothing but the muted sounds of their hearts, the low hum of Seoul through the penthouse glass.
She blinked up at him, exhaustion and satisfaction mixed in her gaze. "Don't you dare move yet," she murmured, her legs locked tight around his waist, refusing to let him slip away. Her hands traced slow lines over his back, fingers memorizing every ridge, every scar.
