Infuriating

Your phone buzzes against the coffee table at 9:47 PM, Jo Yuri's contact photo lighting up the screen with that deceptively innocent smile that's fooled absolutely no one who's worked with her for more than five minutes. You're halfway through your second beer, finally enjoying your first night off in two weeks, when her name flashes insistently across the display.

"What now, Yuri?" you answer without preamble, already feeling the familiar tightness in your jaw and pressure behind your eyes that come with managing the industry's most beautiful headache.

"Mmm, hi Manager-nim~" Her voice drips with that saccharine sweetness she deploys like a weapon, all breathy and soft in a way that immediately puts you on guard. "I need you to come pick me up."

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. "You have a driver on standby. Use him."

"But I don't want the driver tonight," she whines, and you can practically see her bottom lip jutting out in that pout that's launched a thousand magazine covers. "I want you to come get me. Please?"

"Yuri, it's my night off. The first one I've had in—"

"I know, I know, but I really need you right now." Her tone shifts, becoming smaller, more vulnerable. It's an act you've seen her perfect over the past six months, and your body still responds to it despite knowing better. "I had such a hard day, and I just… I need my manager to take care of me."

The way she says 'take care of me' sends heat straight to your cock, memories of exactly how you've been 'taking care of her' flashing through your mind. The time in your office after that particularly brutal choreography session. The hotel room in Busan when she'd crawled into your bed wearing nothing but one of your button-downs. The storage closet at Music Bank when she'd dropped to her knees between takes.

"The driver will get you home safely, Yuri. That's what he's paid for."

"Fine." Her voice goes cold, all pretense dropped. "Then I guess I'll just walk home. It's only like… what, forty minutes? In this short dress you like. In this neighborhood. At night. Alone."

Your blood runs cold. You both know exactly what kind of neighborhood the studio is in – the kind where even seasoned industry veterans don't walk alone after dark, let alone one of Korea's most recognizable faces. She's manipulating you, and she knows you know she's manipulating you, but she also knows you'll never call her bluff when it comes to her safety.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me, Manager-nim." The smugness in her voice is palpable. "My driver just left actually. Funny how that worked out. So my way home is going to either be you or these cute little heels I'm wearing. Your choice."

You're already reaching for your keys before she finishes speaking, and the satisfied little hum she makes tells you she knows she's won. Again.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay inside the building."

"Mmm, I knew you'd come for me~" she purrs before hanging up, leaving you staring at your phone and wondering how the hell a twenty-three-year-old idol has you wrapped so completely around her finger.

The drive to the studio feels longer than usual, anticipation and frustration warring in your chest. You know this game by now – Yuri doesn't call you for innocent rides home. She calls you when she wants something specific, and that something usually ends with her screaming your name while you fuck her senseless in whatever location strikes her fancy.

She's waiting in the lobby when you arrive, and the sight of her makes your mouth go dry. Her makeup is still perfect, all sharp winged eyeliner and glossy lips, but she's changed out of whatever performance outfit she'd been wearing into something that should be illegal for someone with her proportions. The black mini dress clings to every curve, the neckline dipping just low enough to hint at the cleavage you've had your mouth on more times than you can count. Her legs look endless in those red-soled heels she'd mentioned, and when she spots you through the glass doors, she gives you a smile that's pure sin.

"Hi Manager-nim~" she sing-songs as she slides into the passenger seat, immediately filling the car with her perfume – something expensive and floral that you associate with sweat-damp skin and breathless moans. "Miss me?"

"It's been four hours since I left you at the venue, Yuri."

"Four hours too long," she says, settling back in her seat and letting her dress ride up just enough to show the lace edge of her stockings. "You know I get restless when I don't see you."

You try to focus on the road as you pull out of the parking lot, but it's impossible to ignore the way she's watching you with those dark eyes, like a cat sizing up a particularly interesting mouse. Her fingers trail along the edge of her neckline, a gesture that appears absent-minded but you know is entirely calculated.

"How was the radio show recording?" you ask, attempting to steer the conversation toward safer territory.

"Boring," she sighs dramatically. "All the MCs kept asking the same stupid questions. 'What's your ideal type?' 'What's your skincare routine?' 'Do you have a boyfriend?'" She laughs, low and knowing. "If only they knew the answer to that last one."

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel. This is exactly the kind of territory you've told her repeatedly to avoid, but Yuri has never been good at following rules – especially the ones designed to keep both your careers intact.

"Yuri…"

"What? It's not like I said anything. But it was so hard not to tell them about how my manager takes such good care of me." Her hand drops to her thigh, fingers tracing patterns against the stockings. "How he works so hard to make sure all my needs are met."

The double entendre is so blatant it might as well be written in neon, and from the corner of your eye, you can see her smirking at your obvious discomfort.

"You're playing with fire."

"Mmm, am I?" She shifts in her seat, angling her body toward you. "I thought I was just talking about how dedicated my manager is. How he always comes when I call, no matter what time it is. How he never says no when I really need something."

Her voice drops on that last word, turning it into something filthy, and you feel your cock twitch in response. Six months of this back-and-forth have conditioned your body to respond to her voice like a Pavlovian trigger.

"We're not doing this in the car, Yuri."

"Doing what?" she asks innocently, but her hand has migrated to your thigh now, fingertips tracing light patterns through the fabric of your jeans. "I'm just sitting here being a good passenger. Very well-behaved."

The word 'well-behaved' coming from Jo Yuri's mouth is laughable, and you both know it. In the six months since this thing between you started, she's been anything but well-behaved. She's been demanding, bratty, insatiable, and absolutely fucking addictive.

"Tell me about your day, Manager-nim," she continues conversationally, even as her hand inches higher. "Were you lonely without me? Did you miss having me around to brighten up your boring meetings?"

"I was trying to relax," you grit out, hyperaware of how close her fingers are getting to dangerous territory.

"Relax? That doesn't sound like you." Her palm presses flat against your thigh now, thumb brushing dangerously close to the growing bulge in your jeans. "You're always so tense, so wound up. Someone should really help you with that stress."

You reach down and grab her wrist, stilling her movement, but the damage is already done. Your cock is half-hard already, and the knowing smile on her face says she's well aware of the effect she's having.

"Yuri, I'm warning you."

"Warning me about what? About how if I keep touching you like this, you'll pull over and fuck me senseless in the backseat like you did last month outside that restaurant in Gangnam?" Her voice is pure honey and poison. "Or maybe you're thinking about that time in the parking garage when you bent me over the hood and made me scream so loud the security cameras probably caught everything?"

The memories hit you like a physical blow – Yuri's face pressed against cold metal, her dress bunched around her waist as you fucked into her from behind, her broken moans echoing off concrete walls. The way she'd looked back at you with mascara smudged and lips swollen, begging for more even as she shook from her orgasm.

"Fuck, Yuri…"

"There's my manager," she purrs, squeezing your thigh. "I was wondering when you'd stop pretending you don't want this as much as I do."

She's not wrong. Despite every professional boundary you've crossed, every ethical line you've obliterated, you want her with an intensity that borders on obsession. Want her bratty mouth wrapped around your cock, want her perfect body writhing beneath you, want to hear her gasp your name like a prayer while you make her forget everything but the feeling of you inside her.

"You're going to get us both fired," you say, but your voice lacks conviction.

"Maybe," she agrees cheerfully. "But think about how much fun we'll have until then."

Her hand slides higher, palm pressing directly over your erection now, and you barely suppress a groan. The car swerves slightly as your concentration wavers, and Yuri's delighted laugh fills the space between you.

"Careful, Manager-nim. We wouldn't want to crash because you were distracted by your passenger."

"You're the one distracting me," you growl, but you don't move her hand away.

"Am I? I'm just sitting here innocently." She gives you a squeeze through your jeans that's anything but innocent. "Though I have to say, you seem pretty worked up for someone who was 'trying to relax' tonight."