The rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse apartment in Gangnam, Seoul. It was the kind of downpour that turned the city lights into blurry streaks, like some forgotten K-drama scene. Min-jae stood at the entrance, shaking water from his black hair, his college backpack slung over one shoulder. At 22, he was tall, athletic from years of soccer in high school, with sharp jawline and those dark eyes that always seemed a little distant.
He kicked off his sneakers and padded into the living room, the marble floors cold under his socks. The place smelled like fresh kimchi jjigae and something sweeter—Ji-eun's perfume, that soft floral scent she always wore. It hit him every time he walked in, a reminder that this wasn't the home he'd grown up in.
Not really.
His real mom had died when he was 12. Cancer, the doctors said. Quick, brutal. One day she was there, laughing in the kitchen, braiding his hair while he did homework. The next, the house was empty except for the echo of his dad's voice on the phone, always somewhere else—Tokyo, New York, Shanghai. Business trips that stretched into weeks.
Min-jae had learned to be alone. He'd sit in his room, staring at old photos, the ones where his mom smiled with that gentle curve to her lips. School became his escape. Friends. Games. Anything to fill the silence.
Then, three years later, his dad came home one weekend with her. Ji-eun. 38 now, but back then she'd been this elegant whirlwind—long black hair, eyes like polished obsidian, and a smile that could light up the whole damn apartment. She had a daughter too, Yumi, just a year younger than Min-jae. A ready-made family, his dad had called it. "You'll love them, son. They'll make this house feel alive again."
And they had. At first.
Ji-eun had been patient. She'd cook his favorite dishes—bulgogi on weekends, tteokbokki when he was stressed from exams. She'd help with his homework, her hand brushing his shoulder as she leaned over the table. Yumi was the wild one—always dragging him out to arcades or late-night convenience store runs. They became siblings in every way that mattered. Laughing, fighting over the remote, sharing secrets in the dark.
But now... things were different.
Min-jae dropped his bag on the couch and headed to the kitchen. The lights were dim, just the under-cabinet glow casting soft shadows. Ji-eun was there, at the counter, stirring something in a pot. She wore one of those thin silk robes she favored at night—pale lavender, tied loosely at the waist. It clung to her curves in all the wrong ways. Or right ways. Her large breasts strained against the fabric, the outline of her nipples faintly visible in the cool air. Her hips swayed as she moved, that round ass shifting with each stir of the spoon.
She was 38, but she didn't look it. Korean skincare routines and yoga kept her skin glowing, her body toned yet soft in the places that made a man's mouth water. Big tits, a slim waist that flared into those wide hips—God, she was a walking temptation. And she knew it. The way she carried herself, sophisticated on the outside, like the perfect CEO's wife. But Min-jae had caught glimpses over the years. The way her eyes lingered a second too long when he came out of the shower in just a towel. The little smiles when he complimented her cooking.
"Min-jae-ya," she said softly, not turning around yet. Her voice was like honey—warm, a little husky from the steam. "You're home late. College keeping you busy?"
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, trying not to stare at the way the robe rode up her thighs as she reached for a bowl. "Yeah, exams next week. Professor's a slave driver." He paused, watching her. "Smells good. What're you making?"
"Samgyetang. Chicken soup for rainy nights." She finally turned, and there it was—that smile. Full lips, perfect teeth. Her eyes met his, and for a split second, something flickered. Not motherly. Something deeper. Hungrier.
She set the spoon down and wiped her hands on a towel, stepping closer. The robe shifted, the V-neck dipping just enough to show the swell of her cleavage. Min-jae swallowed hard, his cock twitching in his jeans. Fuck, not now. He was supposed to see her as Mom. The woman who'd raised him for the last decade. The one who'd bandaged his knees and cheered at his soccer games.
But his body didn't care about that.
Ji-eun reached up, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. Her fingers lingered, warm against his skin. "You're soaked. Go change before you catch a cold." Her voice dropped a notch. "Or... I could help you dry off."
It was light. Playful. But the way her thumb grazed his temple sent a spark straight to his groin. He forced a laugh, stepping back. "I'm good, Eomma. I mean—Ji-eun." He corrected himself quickly, but the slip hung in the air. Eomma. The word he'd started using years ago, when she first moved in. It felt right back then. Now? It felt dangerous.
She tilted her head, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder. "Eomma's fine, Min-jae. You've called me that since you were 15." She stepped closer again, her body heat radiating. The scent of her—jasmine and something earthy—filled his lungs. "You've grown so much. Strong. Handsome. Your father would be proud if he ever came home long enough to notice."
Dad. Always gone. Another trip to Singapore this time. Two weeks, minimum. The apartment felt bigger when he was away. Emptier. But also... freer.
Min-jae nodded, his eyes dipping involuntarily to her chest. The robe had loosened a fraction, one breast nearly spilling out. He could see the faint outline of her areola, dark against the pale silk. His cock hardened fully now, pressing against his zipper. Shit. He shifted, hoping she wouldn't notice.
But she did. Her gaze flicked down, then back up, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips. "Cold?" she teased, her voice softer now. "Or something else?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught. Instead, he reached for a glass of water, his hand brushing hers as he grabbed it from the counter. Electricity. Her skin was soft, manicured nails grazing his knuckles. She didn't pull away. If anything, she pressed in, her hip bumping his thigh.
"Min-jae," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear as she leaned in to grab the salt shaker from behind him. Her tits brushed his arm—full, heavy, the nipples hard now from the chill or... something more. "You know, Yumi's staying at her friend's tonight. It's just us."
The implication hung there, thick as the steam from the pot. Just them. In this massive apartment. Rain pounding outside like a heartbeat.
He turned his head slightly, their faces inches apart. Her lips were parted, eyes half-lidded. For a moment, he imagined it—kissing her. Tasting that mouth he'd watched smile at him for years. His hand on her waist, pulling her close, feeling those curves melt against him.
But guilt slammed into him like a truck. She's your mom. Step-mom. The one who held you when you cried for your real mother. He stepped back, heart racing. "I... I should study. Thanks for the soup."
Ji-eun's smile didn't fade. If anything, it deepened, a spark of something wicked in her eyes. She turned back to the stove, but as she did, the robe's belt slipped just a little more. The fabric parted at her thigh, revealing the smooth, shaved skin high up—dangerously close to where her pussy would be.
Min-jae fled to his room, cock throbbing, mind spinning.
He slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. What the hell was that? She was teasing him. Or was he imagining it? No. That look. That touch. The way her body moved.
His phone buzzed on the bed. He grabbed it, expecting a text from a classmate.
It was Dad.
Son, trip extended. Be home in three weeks. Take care of your mother and sister. Love you.
Min-jae stared at the screen, the words blurring. Three weeks. Alone with her. With them.
And as the rain continued to fall, he heard the soft click of heels in the hallway. Ji-eun's voice, low and inviting, from just outside his door.
"Min-jae? The soup's ready. Come eat... before it gets cold."
To be continued...
What happens when the soup isn't the only thing heating up tonight?