guys my age (don't know how to keep me)

The first time Minjeong calls him daddy, he nearly pops an aneurysm. Not because she’d said it during sex, no, that would've been a whole different thing. No, she says it while they're standing in the produce aisle of the store arguing over avocados.

"You need the ripe ones."

"We're eating them tonight."

"Exactly."

He stares at her, and Minjeong stares right back, neither of them budge. "You realise you’re not making any sense right now, right?"

She looks at him for a long moment, almost like she’s studying him, wondering if he’d always been this stubborn. Then she sighs, rather dramatically, at that. "Whatever you say, daddy."

For one long second, the world seems to stop around him as his brain completely short-circuits with the realisation of what she’d just said. No, he must’ve imagined it, she definitely hadn’t just said that, right?

He blinks slowly, the avocado in his hand suddenly forgotten. "What did you just say?"

Minjeong doesn't even blink, just calmly reaches past him and plucks a softer, darker avocado from the pile and drops it into their basket.

"I said, whatever you say," she replies, her tone entirely too innocent compared to the smirk on her face.

His eyes narrow. "That's not what you said."

"Isn’t it?"

"Minjeong," he whispers, glancing around nervously, half-convinced the elderly couple examining oranges a few feet away had heard every word. "You can't just say things like that in the middle of the store."

"Things like what?" She glances at him, eyes wide and completely innocent. "I'm just deferring to your superior wisdom, daddy. Since you clearly know everything about produce."  

His eyes narrow. "I'm serious." 

"So am I."

"Minjeong."

"Yes, daddy?" she replies, words leaving her mouth with a kind of confidence he wasn't really prepared for right now.

A nearby shopper immediately looks up from examining a bunch of bananas. He notices, and Minjeong catches him noticing, which only seems to make her smile grow even bigger.

He drags her away from the produce, one hand around her wrist, the other aggressively pushing the shopping cart along into an empty aisle. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?" he demands, his voice a frantic whisper. "In public? In front of a bunch of pensioners?" 

"Well, isn’t that quite the escalation," she teases, voice full of joy. "I’d be more than happy to give you a stroke, but I’m not sure anyone but us would appreciate it, daddy."

"For the love of God, please stop talking." 

Minjeong pretends to consider his words, a small smirk on her lips, completely unrepentant. "No." 

He closes his eyes. "Minjeong."

"What?"

"You know exactly what you're doing."

"I genuinely don't."

"You absolutely do."

She tilts her head. "Daddy, are you accusing me of being manipulative?"

Further along the aisle, a middle-aged woman is clearly pretending not to listen as she reads the label of the same cereal box for the third time.

"You're unbelievable."

"Hey, that's exactly what you called me last night when I was rid-" 

He clamps his hand over her mouth. "And we are not finishing that sentence in the cereal aisle," he hisses, his face burning a shade of red that rivalled the organic tomatoes they’d passed two minutes ago. 

The problem, unfortunately, is that she's smiling. He can feel it against his palm. Not a normal smile, a victorious one. The smile of a woman who had just discovered a button and intended to press it repeatedly for the rest of her natural life.

Slowly, deliberately, she licks his palm. He immediately jerks his hand away. "You did not seriously just fucking lick my hand?" 

Minjeong has the audacity to look scandalised at his words. "Language, daddy." 

The drive home is torturous. Not because of traffic, or anything else particularly unusual. But because Minjeong spends the entire journey looking unbearably pleased with herself.

She sits in the passenger seat with one leg tucked beneath her, occasionally glancing out the window before catching his eye and smiling to herself. The kind of smile that says she knows exactly what she’s done, and that she'd probably be doing it again and again. 

By the time they reach his building, he's already exhausted. "Just, don't."

Minjeong looks up from her phone. "Don't what?"

He points at her. "You know exactly what I’m talking about." 

She smiles as she looks back down at her phone again, opting not to reply this time. For now, anyway.

The second the elevator doors open onto the penthouse level, Minjeong immediately perks up. Her favourite place in the world. Well, second favourite. The first is probably his bed. The moment they step inside, she immediately forgets about tormenting him.

Well, mostly.

Every single time those elevator doors open, she feels exactly the same. A little impressed, a little jealous, but mostly? A little turned on. Admittedly, it’s probably a ridiculous response to architecture, but she can’t help it. Success looked incredibly sexy on him.

"You're doing it again." 

Minjeong blinks, his voice bringing her out from her thoughts. "What?" 

"Staring."

"I’m not staring, I’m appreciating."  

He snorts. "It's just an apartment, Minjeong." 

"You know," she says, wandering deeper inside, "if somebody broke into this place and stole everything, I think my first reaction would be jealousy."

He drops the grocery bags onto the counter. "My first reaction would probably be calling the police."

"See, that's why you're successful and I'm a graduate student."

He shakes his head and begins unpacking the groceries. Minjeong watches him from across the room. Sleeves rolled up, watch still on, moving comfortably around a kitchen that probably cost more than her future student loan repayments.

God.

There’s something unbelievably attractive about watching a man who has his life together.

He glances over his shoulder and immediately catches her staring at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

She wanders over to the kitchen island and hops onto one of the stools. "You know what I think is really sexy about you?" 

He sighs. "No."

"I wasn't asking."

"I know."

Minjeong smiles. "I think it's the competence."

"Uh huh." 

"The emotional maturity is nice too."

"Thank you." 

"And don’t even get me started on the financial stability."

"Minjeong."

"What?"

"Stop talking."

Minjeong rests her chin in her palm. "It’s just so incredibly hot."

He stares at her for several seconds before returning to unpacking the groceries. "The fact that you're saying all this unironically should probably be concerning for me."

"It should be incredibly flattering for you." Minjeong watches him place a carton of eggs into the refrigerator. Organised, methodical, competent. Honestly, she was beginning to suspect he could make filing taxes look attractive. "You’re just really good at existing in an extremely appealing manner," she says. 

For a moment he simply stares at her before shaking his head and returning to unpacking. "You're completely ridiculous."

"You're forty-three."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you're at the perfect age."

He points a cucumber at her. "Stop."

Minjeong's smile grows. God, she loved this.

The man had survived a divorce, built a successful career, managed entire teams of people, negotiated contracts worth more money than she would likely see in her life, and yet somehow a twenty-five-year-old graduate student sitting on his kitchen island had him looking flustered.

She slides off the stool, the movement immediately catching his attention.

"What are you doing?"

Instead of answering, she walks around the kitchen island - slowly and deliberately - until she's standing directly in front of him. She reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck. "You know, watching you is making me feel really turned on right now, daddy." 

"Minjeong," he says, voice stripped of the embarrassment he’d felt earlier when she’d used that word. "We are in my house. There are no senior citizens to shock. There is no audience. Stop playing." 

"I'm not playing," she murmurs, her fingers tangling gently into the hair at the nape of his neck. She loves the texture of it. Thick, perfectly cut, with just a few subtle strands of silver near the temples that he secretly hates and she absolutely adores. "I told you, watching you handle things makes me want you to handle me."

A lesser man would have crumbled instantly, but he has twenty years of corporate negotiation and a messy divorce under his belt. He deliberately removes her arms from around his neck and takes a step back.

The rejection doesn't sting. If anything, it only makes her blood run hotter. Because he isn't actually rejecting her, he's resisting. And those are two very different things.

Slowly, he folds his arms across his chest and sighs. A deep, tired sigh that sounds suspiciously like a man reconsidering every decision that led him to this exact moment.

Minjeong immediately perks up, smile growing bigger. "Ooh, he’s about to say something serious."

"Minjeong." 

"Yes?"

"You need psychological help," he says, tone completely neutral, eyes not breaking contact with hers. "You’re romanticising stability, calling me daddy. It’s just not right, it’s not normal."

Minjeong lets out a soft, delighted laugh, stepping right back into his space. "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." 

"I'm serious," he says, arms still crossed in an attempt to create a physical barricade against whatever nonsense was about to leave her mouth. "It’s textbook, Minjeong. You're a graduate student. You're smart enough to know what a Freudian field day this is." 

"Oh, it's totally textbook," she agrees easily, closing the distance he’d just created. She doesn’t put her arms back around his neck, settling for standing close enough so he could smell her perfume, something expensive that he’d definitely paid for. "But what you should know is that most men your age would be flattered to have someone as hot and young as me dying to have sex with them." 

For a moment, he simply stares at her. Not because she's wrong. Quite the opposite, actually, which unfortunately seems to be the problem.

Minjeong knows she's attractive, knows she's intelligent, knows exactly what effect she has on him. But maybe the scariest part of all is that she knows all of this without a trace of insecurity.

The woman was trouble in a way that defied argument.

"That's not the point."

"I mean, it kinda feels like the point," she says, hands reaching up to his shirt in an attempt to undo the buttons.

His hand shoots out, wrapping firmly around her wrists to stop her fingers from undoing a third button. "Minjeong," he warns, voice lacking the authority he would’ve wanted. "I am trying to have a serious conversation with you about boundaries." 

"And I'm trying to have sex with you," she counters effortlessly, not even trying to pull out of his grip. "You're so rigid. Did you inherit that from the divorce, or have you always been a killjoy?"

He flinches. It was a low blow, but she delivers it with such an affectionate, teasing pout that it lacks any real malice. 

"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about," he sighs, not even bothering to try to stop whatever she was doing. "Normal people hear the word boundaries and don't immediately start removing clothing or talking about someone’s divorce." 

"Normal people don't own apartments with wine fridges bigger than my bedroom." 

He sighs. The problem with arguing with Minjeong was that she approached every conversation like a lawyer who already knew the verdict. While he was distracted by that thought, her fingers succeed in undoing another button.

"Minjeong."

"What?"

"You're impossible."

Her smile widens. "No," she says. "I'm young and sexy. There’s a difference."

Before he can formulate a response, she reaches for another button. His hand grips hers tighter. Then, before she can launch another attack, he grabs her by the waist and lifts her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. 

Minjeong sits on the counter, hands braced beside her, studying him carefully. "You know," she says eventually, "that was really sexy, daddy."

For a moment, he just stares at her. Then he does something Minjeong isn't expecting. Instead of arguing, or sighing or talking about psychology again, he kisses her. He kisses her hard, one hand settling against her waist as the other grips the edge of the marble counter.  

Minjeong lets out a muffled gasp against his mouth, her fingers instantly wrapping around his neck. This is exactly what she wanted, but the sheer, sudden weight of his compliance catches her entirely off guard. 

"You talk too much," he murmurs against her lips.

Minjeong can’t help but smile at his words, her voice comes out softer, a little breathier than she intended. "But I thought you liked my mind, daddy."

A slow smile finds its way onto his lips. Because, yeah, that was the problem. He did, probably more than was reasonable, and definitely far more than was logical. But he couldn’t give her that satisfaction right now. 

"You know Minjeong, you're proof that intelligence and good decisions are two different things," he says, fingers sliding slowly up the bare skin of her thigh before stopping at the hem of her skirt. "Now, are you going to walk to the bedroom or am I gonna have to carry you?"

Minjeong’s smile transforms into something entirely mischievous. For all her talk about his financial stability and his penthouse, this is the exact version of him that makes her knees go weak. 

Before she can reply, he slides an arm around her waist and lifts her off the counter. Minjeong lets out a surprised noise, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The apartment is quiet as he carries her through it, his steps not faltering as she presses soft kisses against the side of his neck. 

"You're very pretty, you know that?" she murmurs. 

A sigh escapes him. "Pretty?"

Minjeong presses another kiss beneath his jaw. "Mm." 

"I’m forty-three years old."

"Mm, still pretty," she replies, voice muffled in his neck.

He shakes his head gently as he pushes the bedroom door open. He throws her onto the mattress, her skirt riding up her thighs. 

He doesn’t follow her down. Instead, he stands at the foot of the bed, slowly unbuttoning the rest of his shirt with the kind of deliberate, unhurried ease of a man who is entirely done rushing his life. 

Minjeong props herself up on her elbows, watching the shirt part to reveal the lean, solid build of a man who actually takes care of himself. He is, without a doubt, the most magnificent thing she has ever seen. 

"I'm entirely too old to be dealing with someone this spoiled," he says, tossing the shirt over the back of a nearby chair. "You know that, right?"

"But you're so, so good at it," she murmurs back, pulling her shirt over her head leaving her breasts completely exposed. 

For one long, agonising second, he doesn’t move. His gaze drops from her eyes to her chest, tracing the line of her throat down to where her shirt now lays discarded on the mattress. 

"You’re the kind of girl people warn men like me about," he says eventually.

Minjeong laughs, a low, entirely delighted sound that vibrates through the quiet of the bedroom. She doesn't hide, doesn't try to cover herself. Instead, she slowly shimmies out of the skirt she’d been wearing, throwing it across the room leaving her in just her panties.

"The kind of girl who makes you make terrible decisions?" she teases. "I think those people just lack a little spontaneity in their life, wouldn’t you say?" 

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he unbuckles his belt with that same excruciating, unhurried precision he’d used on his shirt. "Spontaneity is buying a sports car, Minjeong," he says, stepping out of his shoes, pants following swiftly. "You aren't spontaneous, you're a liability."

"A liability," she repeats, almost savouring the words as she watches him walk toward the bed. "Mm, that sounds expensive."

He finally leans down, pressing one knee into the mattress right between her calves as he climbs over her until they’re face to face. His gaze drops briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes, and suddenly the room feels very quiet.

Slowly, Minjeong leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Her hands push gently against his chest in an attempt to flip their positions, and he lets her. "You’ve done enough heavy lifting for one evening, daddy. Let me take care of you."

She doesn’t let him settle into the mattress completely. Instead, she straddles his thighs, sitting back on her heels just long enough to look down at him. Then, she leans forward, trailing her hands down his chest as she lowers herself. Her long hair drapes across his stomach just before she presses a soft, lingering kiss on his cock through the fabric of his underwear.

"Minjeong," he groans, hands clenching into a fist. "Don’t tease me."

She doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she kisses him again before tracing him with her tongue, deliberately slow, completely unhurried. She looks up through her lashes, her eyes locking onto his - a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips. She likes him like this, breathless and a little desperate. 

"I'm not teasing," she murmurs, slowly sliding his underwear down his hips. "I'm just taking my time, daddy, like you always say. Actually, I think the exact words were ‘I’m done rushing life’."

He stares at her, watching to see what she would do. He couldn’t bring himself to plead - his pride and his ego keeping his mouth shut - but at his side, his fists tighten until his knuckles turn white. 

"You're shaking there, daddy," she murmurs, her voice a soft, vibrating purr against his skin. "I thought you said I was the one who needed help."

"That's enough," he eventually says, hand moving from his side to her hair, his fingers tangling in it as he pulls her head back. "Stop playing, Minjeong." 

Minjeong lets out a soft, pleased breath as he tilts her head back, her throat exposed, her eyes locking onto his. "I'm not playing," she whispers, her voice still carrying the same teasing edge.

With practiced ease, she slips free from his grasp, letting her hair spill back over her shoulders. Her eyes never leave his as she wraps her fingers around his cock, tapping the head against her tongue. 

Minjeong knows exactly what she’s doing. She doesn't break eye contact for a single second as she takes him into her mouth, moaning and purposely letting the slick, wet heat of her mouth sound entirely too loud in the quiet of the bedroom. She doesn't go fast; she keeps it slow and teasing, tongue swirling around the head before sucking him down deep, letting him feel the warm, tight squeeze of her throat.

She pulls back just enough to let the air hit him, a trail of saliva glistening in the dim light. She watches the way his jaw tightens, the way his head sinks back into the pillow, his throat bobbing as he tries to maintain control.

Minjeong pauses for a fraction of a second, a small smirk returning. "You like that, huh, daddy?"

He doesn’t even get the chance to answer because before the words can form a thought, Minjeong drops back down, completely destroying whatever fragile grip on composure he had left.

She picks up the pace instantly, finesse replaced by hunger and an urge to please. She sucks him in deep, her throat clamping down tight, before pulling back just far enough to swirl her tongue aggressively around the head. Minjeong could already feel her jaw begin to ache, but the need to make him unravel only seems to encourage her more.

"God, Minjeong," he breathes out, his hands finding her hair again, but this time it isn't to pull her away. His fingers dig firmly into the strands, guiding her movements.

With her mouth still full of his cock, she feels him begin to tense and twitch. The tension in his thighs and the hitch of his breath is unmistakable. She knows the exact moment he’s about to break.  

He comes undone completely, his hips lifting off the mattress as she swallows him whole, thick, hot ropes of cum spilling into her mouth. She keeps her promise, her eyes don’t leave his as she swallows deliberately. Like she enjoys watching him break under her touch. 

As the frantic pacing comes to a stop, she slowly slides off him. A faint, glistening line of cum trails down her chin. Completely unbothered, her eyes stay locked onto his blown-out, dazed stare. She lets out a soft, satisfied breath, tasting him on her lips before slowly licking her mouth clean with a triumphant smirk.

He lies there for a long moment, his chest heaving, head firmly against the pillow, gaze fixed on her with a mixture of dazed disbelief. Minjeong remains perched on his lap, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

After a moment, she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, the gesture unexpectedly sweet considering what she’d been doing just moments ago. When she pulls back, she's smiling. "You look a little overwhelmed there, daddy."

He lets out a breath that is part laugh, part ragged exhale as he lies staring at the ceiling, one arm thrown over his eyes as though he's attempting to recover from some sort of natural disaster.

"Overwhelmed," he repeats, voice rough and completely wrecked. "That is a spectacular understatement, Minjeong." 

Minjeong rolls off him and sprawls across the mattress, looking entirely too pleased with herself. 

"You know," he says eventually, voice still rough, "this is why people warn me about you."

Her eyes light up instantly. "Oh?"

"Don't."

"What do they say?"

"I'm not telling you."

"What do they say?" She repeats, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

He points at her. "You're proving my point right now."

"What point?"

"Exactly."

Silence settles between them momentarily, both of them just happy to exist in each other's company. 

A few minutes later, just when he thinks she might’ve drifted off to sleep, she tilts her head to look at him. "You know I'm never going to stop calling you daddy, right?"