Mine

MINHO

My cock was soft. Should’ve stayed soft. Should have been done for the night, possibly for the week. Eleven orgasms. My body had nothing left to give.

But Yeji settled against me, and everything changed.

Her weight pressed familiar and grounding into my lap. Her thighs folded around my waist, then hesitated for just a breath as her body searched for an angle we'd never quite tried before. She found it. Chest to chest, foreheads nearly touching, with nowhere to hide and no desire to.

Her breath caught. I felt her almost pull back, that old instinct surfacing, the one that kept her safer in positions where she controlled what I saw. But she didn't. She settled deeper instead, letting her full weight rest against me.

Her pussy pressed against my spent length, warm and slick and unmistakably hers.

The stirring began. Something deeper than arousal, something my body recognized before my mind caught up. Not from visual stimulus or physical friction but from connection itself, from coming home to a room we'd never been in before but somehow already knew.

The room had gone quiet. The frantic energy of the threesome had dissolved into something softer, gentler. Candles guttered low on the dresser, their flames dancing smaller now, casting warm honey light across the walls in shifting patterns. The sheets beneath us were ruined with sweat and cum and the evidence of everything that had happened, but none of that mattered here.

Just her. Just us. Just this moment stretching out like pulled taffy, sweet and golden.

Yeji's forehead touched mine. Her breath mingled with mine, carbon dioxide and oxygen trading places between our lungs. Our souls synchronizing without conscious effort, finding the same rhythm the way our bodies always did.

Her eyes held mine with an intensity that made my chest ache. So close the flecks of amber in the brown became countable, each one a point in a constellation I wanted to trace with my thumb.

"There you are," she whispered.

Three words carrying the weight of five years. Relief bleeding through every syllable. Recognition. The exhale after holding your breath underwater too long, breaking the surface and filling your lungs with air that tasted like survival.

My throat tightened. Five years of careful avoidance crumbled somewhere behind my chest, warmth spreading where walls used to be, filling spaces I'd kept empty.

"I'm here," I said.

The words came out rough. Honest. Stripped of everything I usually used to protect myself from moments like this.

I felt myself hardening against her, the blood flow returning despite biological impossibility. Slowly. Inevitably. My body responding to her presence the way it always did, beyond exhaustion, beyond logic, beyond the limits of what medical science said should be possible after a day like today.

Yeji felt it too. Her breath caught again, sharper this time. Her hips shifted slightly, adjusting, making space for what was happening between us.

"How," she breathed, half-laughing, half-awed, her voice carrying genuine surprise. "How are you -"

"I don't know," I admitted. The truth. "You. It's always you."

Her smile softened into something vulnerable, something real beneath the performer's mask she wore for everyone else. Something she only showed me in moments like this, when the armor came off and the woman underneath could breathe.

She reached between us without ceremony. Her fingers wrapped around my half-hard cock with the casual ownership of someone who'd held it a thousand times, who knew exactly how it responded to touch, who'd mapped every sensitive spot and cataloged every reaction. Her thumb swept across the sensitive underside and I twitched in her grip, blood rushing faster now, growing harder against her palm.

"There he is," she murmured. That smile playing at her lips, the one that meant she knew exactly what she was doing and was enjoying every second of watching me respond. She positioned me at her entrance and let me feel the heat radiating from her core, the slick promise of what was coming, the wetness already coating my tip.

Then she waited.

Just the tip pressed against her opening, her arousal coating me, her body ready but refusing to sink down yet. The anticipation hummed between us like a plucked string still vibrating. She knew exactly what she was doing, knew how the waiting made everything sharper, made the eventual connection that much more devastating.

"Yeji," I breathed. My voice came out rougher than I expected, strained with want I wasn't trying to hide.

Her smile widened. "I know."

She sank down.

Inch by inch, taking her time. I watched her pussy stretch around me, watched the tight ring of her entrance yield and swallow me deeper, pink flesh parting around my girth like water displaced by stone. The visual was obscene and beautiful and mine, something I'd seen a thousand times and would never stop wanting to see. She was so wet that I heard it, this soft slick sound as her body opened to take what belonged there.

Her breath hitched when she hit the halfway point where I was thickest. Her walls squeezed instinctively, adjusting to the intrusion, and she tilted her pelvis to let me slide the rest of the way home. The angle shifted and suddenly I was deeper, fuller, completely enveloped.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered when our hips finally met, when she'd taken every inch and couldn't take more. "There you are."

I watched her face as she settled. The flutter of her lashes against her cheeks. The way her lips parted just slightly. Her pussy clenched once, twice, three times, adjusting to the familiar invasion, remembering my shape the way bodies remember things minds forget.

We'd done this a thousand times. But never like this. Never with nowhere to hide and no desire to try.

Her walls gripped me with the confidence of muscle memory, of a body that knew exactly how to hold me and for how long. How much pressure to apply. How to angle her hips so the head of my cock pressed against that spot inside her that made her breath catch and her thighs tremble.

We both inhaled sharply at the connection. The pleasure was there, undeniable, but what stole our breath was the recognition vibrating between us like a tuning fork. This is us. This is ours. This is what five years looks like written in flesh and heat and the particular way our bodies fit together.

Yeji began to move.

Slow at first. Her hips rolled in a rhythm we'd developed over five years, a language built from a thousand nights and a thousand positions and a thousand moments of learning exactly how the other moved and breathed and came apart.

Forward and back. A grinding figure-eight that kept me buried deep while her clit dragged against my pelvis with each rotation. Her pussy rippled around my shaft with every movement, warm and wet and holding me inside her like she was afraid I might leave if she loosened her grip.

"Oh Minho, I missed this," she breathed against my mouth, the words warm and damp.

My hands found her waist automatically. Guiding without thinking. Responding to micro-shifts in her weight before she'd consciously made them, before she'd even decided where she wanted to go next. When she rose slightly, I helped lift her. When she sank back down, my hips tilted to meet her descent. Conversation without language, question and answer happening in muscle and bone.

Then she changed the tempo.

She rose higher on the next roll, letting my cock slide almost all the way out until just the head remained inside, stretching her entrance. Cool air kissed my wet shaft and I saw the shine of her arousal coating me, catching the candlelight. She hovered there, pussy clenching around just the tip, forcing me to wait and feel every second of that absence.

"Yeji," I groaned.

"What?" Innocent. Devastating. Her eyes dancing with mischief I recognized from five years of this exact game. "You want something?"

"You know exactly what I want."

Her smile was pure sin. She sank back down in one slow, devastating descent, taking me to the root in a single motion. Her ass settled against my thighs and my cock bottomed out inside her, the tip kissing her cervix, her walls fluttering around the sudden fullness like butterfly wings.

"Better?" she whispered.

"Fuck. Yes."

She did it again. Rose until I almost slipped free, hovered there with a wicked gleam in her eye that promised she could keep this up all night if she wanted to, then dropped. The wet slap of our bodies meeting echoed through the quiet room, obscene and perfect and exactly what we both needed. Again. And again. Building a rhythm that curled my toes against the couch cushions.

Her thighs tightened around my waist, muscles flexing with each movement. Her arms wrapped around my neck, one hand cradling the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair with that possessive gentleness that was pure Yeji. She held me like I might disappear if she let go, like physical proximity was the only thing keeping me real and solid and hers.