Unseen, Untouchable, Unmade (preview)

[Minho's POV]

The mattress absorbed our combined weight with a groan suggesting expensive furniture wasn't designed for someone who'd just been carried up a staircase while using my dick as a handrail. I caught myself on my forearms at the last second, hovering over Yeji as she bounced once against the pillows, her soaked hair fanning out in a dark halo across the Egyptian cotton we were actively destroying. She let out a laugh that couldn't quite decide if it was a gasp.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," I managed back, acutely aware I was dripping chlorinated pool water onto her collarbone.

Somewhere between the deep end and the outdoor shower, the thing that had been crushing my chest for two days had stopped crushing quite so hard. She'd looked at me in the pool with water in her lashes and said you make me feel real like it was the most obvious fact she'd ever stated, and something in me had exhaled for the first time all trip. She was warm, and real, and things made sense again, and the nightmare was over.

So naturally, I decided to be a complete asshole about it.

Her legs found the backs of my thighs on pure muscle memory, hooking around me the same way they had a thousand times over five years - arms behind my neck, hips tilting up, the heat at her entrance making its demands very clearly. My cock was right there. Her body was opening for me. Both of us were soaked and ready.

I pulled back instead. Hovering one agonizing inch above her, I let the tip brush against her soaked entrance and refused to do anything further.

Her face did the thing. That extremely specific Yeji thing where her expression moved from warm to lethal in the span of a single frame, and I watched it happen with enormous, unearned satisfaction.

"Minho." She moaned, already wrecked from the shower. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop being a dick and hovering there." She narrowed her eyes. "And stop doing the aegyo thing with your eyes."

"I'm not doing an aegyo thing," I said, and widened them a fraction, making them deliberately tragic. "Besides, I've seen yours. Every time that guy makes you do the 'Ottoke' song on Weekly Idol, you look like someone's being held hostage."

The visceral disgust that crossed her face at the mention of it was deeply gratifying. We'd spent the last five years sitting naked on my couch eating cold ramyeon after those broadcasts while she scrolled through Naver comments and ranted about every single person who'd made her perform something she hated. Secret hookups weren't supposed to accumulate routines like that - post-show debriefs waiting for the sweat to dry, opinions on which MC was the worst, her stealing my ramyeon because she'd claimed she wasn't hungry and then eaten most of it anyway. But here we were.

"I fucking hate that guy," she muttered.

"I know."

"He always ambushes me right after the performance section when I'm already sweaty and overstimulated and then the cameras are all right there and the angle is -" She drove her heels into my lower back mid-complaint, using genuinely terrifying core strength to haul all my body weight forward. The ambush shattered my resistance. I sank one slow inch into slick, warm heat and my smugness immediately had to compete with my nervous system going catastrophically offline.

Her breath caught. Her eyes lit up. Her walls fluttered triumphantly around just the tip.

Then I locked my triceps and pulled straight back out.

The noise she made should not have been as satisfying as it was.

"Excuse me," she huffed, squirming now in a way that was doing things to my willpower. "My aegyo is highly professional and everyone knows it."

"It's seriously terrifying."

"At least I don't weaponize it to cockblock someone." She stared up at me barely contained indignation. "And you do this every single time, by the way."

"Do what every time?"

"This," she snapped, keeping her arms locked behind my neck but gesturing vaguely at the empty space between us with her free hand. "The hovering and the teasing and the whole song and dance. We were just in the pool. We were just fucking in the pool and then we were fucking in the shower and you were inside me exactly five minutes ago, and somehow we're back here doing the whole -" Her hips shifted restlessly. "Why?"

"Two minutes," I corrected.

She frowned. "What?"

"The stairs," I said, letting a slow, unapologetic smirk take over my face as I kept the tip brushing just barely against her slick entrance. "When I stumbled. You really expect me to believe you didn't tilt your hips on purpose?"

"I was losing my balance," she insisted, a violent flush hitting her cheeks to instantly betray her.

"I went in to the hilt, Yeji, and you giggled into my neck and crossed your ankles behind my back." I just stared her down, parting her wetness but refusing to sink in while she squirmed and tried to physically pull my waist deeper. "Admit it."

"I was trying to hold on -"

"You laughed," I said. I pressed the tip barely inside her, just enough to watch her eyes lose focus and her mouth go slightly open, and then I held still. "Into my neck. You giggled while it was happening."

Her nails dug into my shoulders, her whole body engaged in a tug-of-war she was already severely losing as physical demand overtook her pride.

"Fine," she managed, voice strained. "Yes. I moved. I wanted it. Happy? I've wanted it consistently for the past hour and it's right there and if you could please, for once in your life, just -" She stopped and reassembled what was left of her dignity. "Please?"

I held still and widened my eyes innocently.

"Don't." Something between devastated and homicidal moved across her face. "Don't do the sad puppy thing on top of the aegyo thing. That's even worse." She tried to physically haul me down but I braced against it, and she groaned with pure exasperation. "Yesterday morning, you did this EXACT thing. Made me beg for it while I had a Pilates class to get to."

"You loved it."

"I was LATE," she said, with real complaint now. "And you know I am NEVER late. She kept asking if I was okay all through the warm-up because I couldn't concentrate. Do you know how embarrassing that is? It's the only reason she figured out you were here - if you hadn't been such a menace about the whole Pilates thing, she wouldn't have interrogated me in the sauna afterward, and then she wouldn't have set up the -"

She cut herself off.

A suspended pause stretched between us while her brain caught up with her mouth.

I watched the realization travel across her face. My own brain stuttered and rearranged the timeline: no morning teasing meant no distracted Pilates. No distracted Pilates meant no interrogation. No interrogation meant no confession. No beach date. No threesome.

I'd accidentally edged my way into a threesome with Karina.

My lips pulled into the slowest, most unearned grin of my life.

"Set up what?"

Her jaw went tight. "Don't."

"I'm just -"

"You don't get credit for that. You were just being difficult and you didn't know that was going to happen." She tried to look at the ceiling instead of me, which she couldn't quite manage with her arms still locked behind my neck. "You were just being a dick."

"I'm a visionary," I declared, practically levitating with unearned pride.

What a pussy it'd been, too. Outrageously, catastrophically soft - the kind that just swallowed you and you understood immediately why people wrote poetry about it. A fact Yeji would murder me in cold blood for if I ever said out loud, which I wouldn't, because I was many things but suicidal wasn't currently one of them.

"I was playing the long game," I added.

"You're an idiot." No heat in it, which was worse. Her thighs were trembling slightly against my hips, betraying the whole performance. "And you're doing it again. We've been at this for over an hour, I want it, your dick is right there, you obviously want to be inside me, can we please for once in five years just skip this part?" She softened her grip against the back of my neck, went coaxing instead. "Please?"

"Where's the fun -"

"The fun is that we could be fucking right now instead of having this conversation." Her hips shifted, dragging her soaked entrance deliberately against my tip in a way that nearly ended this very quickly. "Don't pretend you're not dying too. Your face is giving you away."

I pressed forward just enough to let the tip slip barely inside her. Her whole body jolted, walls fluttering with immediate, indignant demand, and then I pulled straight back out.

"I'm going to kill you," she said, and she sounded like she meant it.

"You're being dramatic."

"I'm being completely reasonable and this is psychological torture and I don't know why I keep -" She was vibrating with frustration now, the collected demeanor fully evaporated. "You're the absolute worst and I -"

I leaned down to kiss that frantic pulse point on her neck, fully intending to drag this out for at least another minute and make her break, and I made it approximately four seconds before her whole face changed.

The pout flattened out. Those cat eyes moved from warm to something with teeth in a single frame, the exact shift I'd learned to recognize over five years - the moment Yeji stopped asking and started making executive decisions.

"Did I say please?"

She hooked her legs behind my thighs and used that shocking core strength to haul all my body weight forward in one brutal motion that drove me home to the hilt and knocked the air clean out of my lungs. My smug grin disappeared into a breathless groan that was definitely also a laugh.

Smack.

Her walls clenched around me, hot and tight and uninterested in giving me a moment to recover.

"And that," she breathed, looking enormously satisfied, "is why I never skip Pilates."

The irony nearly gave me a stroke. Her morning Pilates was what got me out of the villa on day one and straight into Yuna's trap by the pool. I shoved the thought under before it could fully form. You just don't win physical battles against Hwang Yeji when she's made a decision; she had thighs that could crack walnuts and five years of practice using them on me.

"Well?" Her nails pressed into my hips. "Are you going to fuck me or just sit there looking reverent?"

I started moving with slow, deliberate thrusts and let my brain wander in the spaces between them, which was a mistake I kept making and apparently had no interest in correcting.

"Ryujin said you changed." I said idly. It'd had been sitting in my teeth since the pool.

"I did change." She rolled her hips to meet the next thrust and pulled my face down until our foreheads nearly touched, her eyes open and defiant. "Because of you."

Yeji was stripped of her guard down here, honest in the way she only got when I was inside her, with her fingers threading through mine against the mattress, her body open and unhurried in the slow rhythm we'd found.

She held my gaze, squeezed my fingers. "We have the bonfire tomorrow," she continued, her voice staying carefully level despite the motion between us. "Everyone together. I'll pull Ryujin aside then - one campfire, some soju. She'll cry, I'll cry. That's how we work." A small smile crossed her mouth, but the edges of it trembled.

Right. The bonfire. What had started as Chaeryeong's innocent kdrama fantasy at lunch yesterday, apparently now responsible for holding the whole group together. Yeji was going to drag her fractured members around an open fire and fix them with sheer willpower.

I dropped off my forearms, lowering my chest flush against hers and shifting the rhythm down to something agonizingly shallow, grinding slow rotations instead of real thrusts. My hands came up to frame her face.

She blinked as the brittle smile faltered. "What?"

"You don't cry," I said quietly.

"I -"

"You hate crying. You especially hate doing it in front of your members." I kept my voice deliberately soft while my hips maintained the slow, torturous pace that wouldn't let her escape into urgency. "I know you better than that, Yeji."

Her nails dug hard into my lower back, trying to demand a faster, deeper rhythm - desperate to derail the conversation through sheer will - but I held the pace. The frantic grip said everything her voice was trying to bury.

"Ryujin is on the terrace right now," I breathed against her neck.

"I know exactly where she is." The collected leader in her voice finally broke, her hands shoving into my wet hair and pulling me closer until she could press her face against my skin and hide. "I walked out on my best friend for you. I might have permanently - " She let out a breath that wasn't quite steady. "I - I don't know how to fix it right now."

My rhythm faltered. Just a half-beat, but she felt it, her grip tightening in my hair like she was afraid I'd pull away.

She had no idea what I'd actually done.

You're clinging to the thing that broke you. And you don't even know it yet.

"Don't make me think about her right now," she whispered into my skin, her thighs locking around my waist hard enough to bruise. "Please. Make me forget it."

My hips snapped back into motion before my brain had any say in the matter. I abandoned every attempt at slow or deliberate, driving deeper and accelerating into a pace that was wildly reckless. She unlocked her legs and let them fall open, arching up to meet the change in depth, and I dropped my weight until we were chest to chest.

Then she surprised me by extracting her hands from my hair. I hesitated for half a second, reading it wrong, and she brought both palms up to frame my jaw and redirected until my eyes locked with hers. The panic that had been in her face was gone. Something sharp had replaced it.

"Stop holding back," she said, breathless but carrying complete authority. "You know I hate bad dick, Minho. I didn't blow up my life today only to get pity-fucked into the mattress tonight. If both of us are stuck in our own heads, you need to at least fuck me like you mean it."

That was all I needed.

The last tender beat between us. Her next breath was knocked out of her as I dropped my weight and drove forward hard enough to slide the bed frame across the floorboards.

"Yes." The word punched out of her on a gasp.

Five years of muscle memory dedicated to keeping her comfortable evaporated. She locked her legs high around my waist and used that terrifying dancer's core to haul my hips deeper with every stroke, pulling me in with a strength that was kind of absurd and kind of the hottest thing I'd ever experienced. The heat was obscenely, overwhelmingly wet - she was still full from the pool, and I was driving it back into her with every thrust, catching brief, ruinous glimpses of my shaft coated white each time I pulled back before her thighs dragged me home.

Great strategy, Minho. Just pour the guilt out through your hips. Fill her up with your atonement. Very Catholic of you.

The headboard found the wall on the third thrust and didn't stop, slamming a rhythmic, relentless thud through the villa's structure. If I couldn't fix what I'd broken outside this room, I could at least break something expensive inside it, and she'd asked me to start with her.

Her voice fragmented into high, stuttering gasps every time I bottomed out. "Fuck. Yes. Harder - don't you dare -"

I caught myself mid-thrust, hips locking. "Yeji, they're going to hear the wall -"

Her nails tore into my shoulders, dragging me deeper with a sharp cry. "Good." Her voice cracked on the next stroke. "Let them hear. I'm done hiding."

I drove back in, and she clocked the remaining hesitation in my body the same way she clocked everything about my body after five years.

"Are you actually pacing yourself right now?" Pure disbelief in her breathless voice.

"I'm trying not to break you in half."

The laugh that shot out of her immediately dissolved into a ragged gasp as my hips snapped forward again. "I bend for a living." Her eyes were challenging and certain. "Don't hold back."

Something in my chest came loose. "You're insane," I managed, half-laughing, barely coherent. "You're actually going to kill me."

"Then die properly," she said. "I'll make it worth it."

I dropped until we collapsed chest to chest, faces disappearing into the tangle of her damp hair, and I stopped trying to manage any of it - just threw everything into the motion, into the rhythm of it, channeling the nightmare and the guilt and Ryujin's face and Yuna's voice and the weight of knowing what I'd done to the people who trusted me and what Yeji didn't know yet and couldn't know, all of it going the only place it had left to go.

Her commands blurred into something frantic and breathless looping against my neck. Minho. Oh my god, Minho. Exactly right there. Her nails guaranteed bruises by morning. The bed frame continued its march across the floor and I was shoving her up the mattress with every thrust and she was losing her grip.

"Minho - wait -" Her hands scrambled for purchase on my shoulders, slipping. "Ah - hold me down, I'm -"

But I was too far gone. Face in her neck, breath wrecked.

"I can't stop." The truth of it came out without any performance. I meant the physical drive, and I meant everything underneath it too, and we both knew it.

Her hands anchored in my wet hair and held herself against the mattress. "Then don't," she breathed.

I broke.

The orgasm hit and I dropped onto her chest like something had been cut - dead weight, the room crashing from violent to silent except for my breathing. Her legs locked around my waist and milked every aftershock with focused, ruthless efficiency.

"Give it all to me," she whispered fiercely against my ear. "Every single bit of it."

There was a problem, though. She'd been right at the edge, and now that my hips had gone still she'd lost the drive she needed to tip over. Her body had been chasing that for the last several minutes and I'd just pulled the floor out from under her.

She started grinding against me, desperately working her hips to recreate the connection that wasn't there anymore. I was dead weight and she knew it, but she tried anyway, her breath going ragged with effort. A sharp, frustrated sound tore out of her when it wasn't enough.

"Don't stop," she said, voice cracking with genuine need. "I'm right there, I just - Minho, please -"

I tried to pull free to relieve the pressure building in my spine, but her body fought me for every inch, walls still clamped stubbornly tight in angry little pulses that were actively trying to drag me back in to finish what I'd started.

"Where are you going?" Her voice cracked, heels locking behind my back to trap me. "I'm right there, I just need one more second."

"My back," I rasped against her collarbone. "My back is cramping."

Every bit of her physical grip released the second she understood I was in pain - legs dropping wide, hands moving to let me go - and I will say this about Hwang Yeji, who is ruthless in most contexts: she clocks injury over her own frustration without even having to think about it. I pulled free with a heavy, obscenely wet resistance and rolled onto my side with a groan, taking a second to just exist and breathe.

I felt it the second I pulled out, everything I'd left inside her sliding out warm and heavy to ruin the sheets in a way that felt pretty much permanent.

She was already moving. She'd shoved herself up onto her elbows before I'd finished exhaling, her fingers pressing urgently between her thighs, glaring absolute daggers at me across the pillows.

"I'll make it up to you," I said, my voice still wrecked.

I caught her hips, flipped her flat onto her back, and pulled myself back between her thighs before she could argue about it.

The room smelled overwhelmingly of both of us - chlorine underneath, sweat underneath that, everything else layered on top of everything else. I pressed my mouth against her, still swollen and wrecked, the short, precisely maintained hairs brushing the bridge of my nose, and stopped thinking about anything except this being the most sincere apology I knew how to offer. The manic energy that had been driving my hips transferred directly to my tongue, and I didn't pause over the mess of it, just swept through everything she had with the same punishing rhythm she'd been demanding from me for the last several minutes. This was atonement for what she knew and what she didn't, and I didn't really care about the ratio.

Her dancer hips took over on pure instinct, clamping around my ears and rolling up against my mouth to find the contact she needed. Her hands tangled in my hair and dragged my face harder against her.

"Yeah," she said, and the dirty authority in her voice eliminated whatever remained of my hesitation. "Eat it out of me. Fucking do it."

I drove two fingers inside her and felt her walls clamp immediately around my knuckles, so desperate for pressure that the grip was almost angry, and the taste flooding my mouth was both of us mixed together in a way that should have been disgusting but instead felt like the most honest thing that had happened between us all night. I set a hard, relentless pace and she lost her composure fast, hips stuttering against my face, voice filling the room, sounds that belonged to no one but us floating through the open window out into whatever Jeju night was happening beyond these walls.

She came screaming, a full-body crash that bowed her spine off the mattress, thighs clamping hard enough around my head to cut circulation while her walls crushed rhythmically around my fingers in long, rolling waves. I stayed through all of it, working through the oversensitivity, swallowing every last thing as a depraved and private act of penance.

She dragged me up by my hair. "Stop," she panted, chest heaving. "Minho, stop. I love it, but you're actually going to drown."

The casual weight of love hung there for one unguarded second - not said to me, said about the act, slipping out in the steam of a ruined orgasm that had erased her filters. She didn't hear herself say it. I did, and I filed it in the part of my brain that kept all the things I wasn't allowed to name yet.

She hauled me up the mattress and crashed her mouth against mine, aggressive and messy, her tongue unapologetically tasting herself off my lips, making these small, pleased sounds low in her throat like she was swallowing the moment before it could become something she'd have to think about. Before I could settle my weight or figure out what to do with what I'd just heard, she broke away.

"My turn," she said, pushing at my shoulder to roll me flat onto my back.

She swung one leg over my chest and kept climbing, dragging herself up my torso until she hovered over my face in reverse.

Oh.

Oh.

We'd never done this. Five years and we'd somehow always avoided it - too much happening at once, neither of us willing to give up that much control. And Yeji had never been enthusiastic about blowjobs. They were always a means to an end with her, something she did quickly and got over with on her way to what she actually wanted.

There was nothing quick about the way she was positioning herself now. I tried to prop myself up on my elbows and she shoved me flat and pinned me with her knees, and I realized with dawning horror that I was about to have a very different kind of problem.

Her slit hovered swollen and open above my mouth, thick cream still sliding out to drip warm onto my cheek.

Then she dropped her weight, shoving her hips down to bury my nose in that slick, leaking heat while taking my cock straight to her throat in one single, brutal, continuous motion.

"L-look ah mhh," she ordered, her jaw forced wide open and her lips stretched so taut around my shaft that the words came out as a wet, filthy slur vibrating directly against my cock. She forced her airway to accommodate the full length of me while a low, muffled snort of air whistled through her nose, and I pushed back up into her with equal aggression, driving two fingers deep inside her wet heat and trapping her clit between my lips until the tight, deafening violence of the earlier round dissolved into the wet, echoing sounds of mouths sliding over flesh.

The contrast with the last ten minutes was almost funny. This was the quietest the room had been all night.

Her breath control was honestly unsettling. She'd spent years building throat endurance in our trainee era on my cock, a fact she brought up whenever she wanted to make me feel guilty for her career choices, and feeling her deploy it now with her throat swallowing me to the base while her lungs stayed regulated through her nose hit somewhere between pride and horror. No wonder she could belt the high notes in Tears at karaoke for ninety straight seconds without passing out. She'd literally trained her diaphragm for this on me for years. That was either the most romantic thing anyone had ever done or completely batshit, and I was in no position to judge with her throat doing what it was doing.

She came first, her thighs crushing around my ears and her walls seizing around my fingers, her moan trapped in her throat and vibrating directly through my shaft, nearly makig me black me out. A rush of wet heat spilled across both my cheeks and a bubbly, deeply satisfied laugh escaped her - she was delighted with herself, with this, with the absolute mess she'd made on my face - and that laugh traveled down her throat and hit the base of my cock and nearly ended everything right there.

The moment her body registered my thighs locking up, she cut it off. Pulled her mouth off with a messy, decisive smack and scrambled backward over my chest, mounting me in one seamless, dizzying continuous slide that sank her all the way down. The mess eliminated any resistance as her walls clamped hard around my base.

"My, my. Someone's excited." She leaned down until her damp hair curtained our faces, dropping her voice into a wicked purr against my lips. "Can't get enough, huh? Look how desperate you are."

And then she just sat there, the pace flatlining.

Fuck.

Of course. She was getting even for earlier. She knew exactly which angles made my spine short-circuit. Five years meant she had my exact breaking points memorized, and she was currently weaponizing her dancer's core to hit every single one with agonizing, isolated little grinds, keeping me stranded - enough heat to make my vision blur, and absolutely zero movement to actually finish anything.

Yuna had pulled something similar in the pool when she kept yanking my cock away and physically blocking me until I begged, but that was just being locked out. This was being locked in, Yeji swallowing me to the hilt and sealing the exits to use her memory for maximum damage.

I reached up blindly to grab her hips and force the pace into something I could survive, but she slapped my hands away before I made contact.

"No you don't," she breathed, grinning down at me, cashing in a massive debt. "You had a great time using your little puppy dog eyes to make me beg earlier, and you thought it was hilarious keeping me away when I was desperate, so we are going to do this my way." She rolled her hips in another slow, murderous circle that dismantled whatever remained of my pride. "It's my turn."

"Please," I heard myself say, and the word had absolutely no dignity left in it. "Yeji. I need - I'm literally -"

"Mmm?" She kept up the torturous micro-movements and tilted her head, considering me with enormous satisfaction.

I was making embarrassing sounds and had genuinely lost the ability to stop. The irony of this wasn't lost on me. I'd started this with minutes of deliberate denial and I was now being dismantled by the most competitive, ruthless girl I knew, and I couldn't even beg for mercy without her mocking me for it.

Yesterday, Yuna had physically yanked my cock away in the pool and made me beg to put it in. This was infinitely worse. Yeji had swallowed me to the hilt and sealed all the exits, and she knew every single one of my breaking points from five years of meticulous research.

Mid-ride, her eyes locked on mine, she reached blindly toward the nightstand. Her fingers found the phone without looking, dragged it back, and unlocked it one-handed.

Ice hit my veins. Lia’s voice from behind that door slammed into me like a punch: “Every. Fucking. Second.” The footage. The knowledge that something existed - something I hadn’t seen, didn’t want to see, but couldn’t stop imagining. Me, Ryujin, Yuna, caught on someone’s drive, without permission.

Yeji aimed the camera down at me, grinning like she’d just won something. The panic cracked under the sheer absurdity of it.

Of course. This wasn’t surveillance. This was Yeji being Yeji - vain, competitive, and unselfconscious. She just wanted to look hot while she ruined me.

She started filming, checked the screen, and the wicked dominance in her expression immediately deflated into genuine frustration. "Ugh," she groaned. "This angle makes my tits look completely flat. What the hell." She frowned at her chest and back at the screen with real grievance. "It's not fair. Jimin has enough chest to suffocate someone from literally every angle and from up here I look like a kid."

I couldn't help it, the tension breaking into an exhausted laugh. Reaching up to cup both her bare tits, I squeezed the soft weight to feel them fitting into my palms. "They're perfect," I told her, meaning it. "You're perfect."

She glared suspiciously through the phone screen. "You spent half of Karina's dinner staring at her cleavage. Don't think I didn't notice."

Shit. I had been staring. But Karina's tits spilling out of that silk robe was impossible to ignore, and I'd apparently been about as subtle about it as I feared.

"I was being polite," I tried, uselessly.

"You were being an absolute pervert." She was grinning, though, very much enjoying watching me squirm with a camera pointed at my face. "Every time she leaned forward to pour the wine, your eyes went straight down. So embarrassing. I was right there, you know."

"Okay, yes, I looked." I squeezed slightly harder, thumbs brushing over her nipples. "But I'm here right now. With you. Inside you. Filming with you, not her."

"Because she's not here," Yeji shot back instantly. "If Karina walked through that door right now, you'd forget how to breathe."

I laughed despite the dangerous territory. "I wouldn't."

"You absolutely would." She was fully committed now, one hand holding the phone steady while the other stayed braced against my chest. "I'd have to explain to the paramedics that you stroked out over another girl's tits while I was the one riding you."

"Just tell them you fucked me to death. Much better for my pride."

"Where's the fun in that?" she retorted. But she was visibly fighting a smile.

I pulled her down until our faces hovered inches apart, my thumbs pressing into the weight filling my hands. "Listen. Karina is hot. Obviously. I have eyes. But these are mine, Yeji. They fit my hands perfectly. Five years of knowing exactly where to touch you. You think I'd trade that?"

She bit her lip, the bratty energy faltering. "You're just saying that because I'm on top."

"I'm saying it because they're perfect." I dragged my thumbs heavily over her nipples, pinching hard enough to draw a sharp gasp out of her. "And because I know exactly what they do when I squeeze them."

The bratty dominatrix act just dissolved. She let out a breathless, unguarded laugh, her whole face lighting up with that happiness she didn't give to the cameras. "I'm definitely keeping you."

Then she looked at the screen and cackled.

"Oh my god, we look absolutely insane. Look at your face right now -"

She snapped right back to business, sitting straight up despite still vibrating with amusement. "Okay wait. We need a different angle, this isn't working."

Before I could process what was happening she was already moving, lifting herself off me with a wet, decisive sound and turning around to settle back down in reverse cowgirl. "There. Now you can see more of me on camera, right?"

I fumbled with the phone she'd shoved into my hands. "I mean... kind of? But now I'm just filming your back."

"What? No." She craned her neck aggressively to check the screen over her shoulder. "Tilt it more. Get my - no wait, that's just filming the ceiling."

"I'm trying! You're moving too much."

"I'm not moving, you're just terrible at this," she laughed, unable to commit to being annoyed.

We gave that angle maybe thirty seconds before she abandoned it. "Okay no, this is stupid. Different position."

She yanked my arm around her waist and arranged us into spooning, hiking her top leg over my hip and thrusting the phone out in front of us. "Okay," she breathed, hyper-focused on the tiny screen. "Push in. Nice and slow."

The words barely left her mouth before her free hand dove between us, clamped around my shaft, and yanked me inside her. Nice and slow had never once been a real part of Yeji's vocabulary.

Everything was impossibly slick and I slid into her with a heavy, wet drag against her front wall that made her head drop back against my shoulder. I started moving, and it began as performance but the sheer physical reality of the position hijacked us almost immediately - pressure relentless, my hips accelerating from deliberate to reckless, her body curving exactly right against mine, both of us approaching the edge where performance stops mattering.

Then she opened her eyes to check the screen and her face scrunched.

"What's wrong with this light?" she demanded, killing the whole rhythm.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I'm serious." She shifted, dragging herself off me by an inch just to fix the phone angle. "The lamp is throwing weird shadows. My stomach looks weird. And your arm is completely covering us - move your hand, I want the camera to catch exactly how deep you're stretching me out."

"I'm inside you right now. How am I supposed to lean out of the shot?"

"Just arch your spine or something. Give the lens some clearance." She thumped the phone against my chest until I took it, and I propped it against a pillow, where it slid immediately and fell face-down on the mattress.

We both stared at it.

Then we both started cracking up.

"We're so bad at this," she managed between giggles.

"Objectively terrible," I agreed, retrieving the phone.

"No okay, okay - I have an idea. Give me the phone."

We wrestled over it, still laughing, and in the chaos I grabbed her waist and pulled her back on top of me. She yelped, surprised, and the phone nearly went flying.

"You're going to break it!"

"You're going to drop it again!"

"I didn't drop it, it fell!"

"That's the exact same thing!"

She was laughing so hard she couldn't stay in character anymore. The whole production had devolved from sexy filming into complete disaster, and somewhere in the wreckage the last of the Lia-video tension just evaporated. Just us being stupid together again, comfortable enough to try and fail and laugh about it.

She wrestled the phone away and held it up triumphantly. "Okay. New plan. We're doing this properly."

"We just tried like four different -"

"Shh." She put a finger on my lips. "Trust me. I'm a professional."

"You're a professional idol, not a professional porn director."

"Same skill set." She grinned, turned back around to face me, straddled my hips, and aimed the phone down at my face with the energy of someone who had planned exactly what came next. "And here we have Minho," she said, like she was narrating some behind-the-scenes documentary, "giving it his absolute best effort despite having already come once tonight -"

I bucked my hips upward, hard, driving deep.

The narrator voice shattered into a real, sharp, breathless gasp. The phone wobbled dangerously.

"Oh, you want to play?" She recovered instantly, grinning as the comedy shifted back to something charged. She pointed the camera down at where we were joined, grinding deliberately hard just to draw an embarrassing sound out of me. "Look how deep you are. Tell the camera how it feels."

"Yeji -"

"Say it." Her voice dropped into that cruel edge, laughter still behind her eyes. She shifted just enough to let me feel the exact depth she was withholding, her free hand tracing slowly up my jaw. "Where do you want to cum?"

What she was doing to my nervous system had to be illegal somewhere. "Inside you," I managed. "I want - Yeji, please, just put the phone down and let me -"

"Louder." Another roll. "Say it like you mean it."

I covered my eyes with my forearm. "I want to cum deep inside you. I want to -" She ground down just a fraction harder and the sentence dissolved. "I'm genuinely begging right now. I am on my knees -"

"You're on your back."

"Metaphorically on my knees. Yeji. Please."

She dropped flat against my chest, her free hand crawling slowly up my face and tracing my jaw, and brought her mouth right up to my ear. Her hips were still moving, still the exact same two centimeters of controlled, ruinous motion.

"Breed me," she said. Casual. Conversational. Like she was reading the weather forecast.

She'd complained about period cramps ruining her choreography years ago and casually mentioned getting an IUD so we wouldn't have to worry about condoms - practical, a convenient life hack that meant we'd never bothered with barriers. I'd always assumed whichever actors she took home from award show afterparties got the exact same access. But hearing her strip away every polite euphemism and just call it what it was landed somewhere I hadn't braced for.

Something behind my eyes went offline.

My hips launched upward involuntarily, chasing the release she'd been denying me for the last fifteen minutes, and her hand shot between us and wrapped tight around the base of my cock in the same breath. The orgasm choked off right as my body tried to release it, and I shuddered underneath her, helpless and furious, my vision going static at the edges.

"I didn't say you could finish yet," she said softly, still pressed against my ear, still outrageously pleased with herself.

Then she tried to sit back up quickly to capture my destroyed expression on camera, moved too fast, her hand slipped on sweat, and the phone dropped directly onto my face.

"FUCK -"

She collapsed onto my chest laughing so hard she made no sound, the whole cruel dominatrix persona simply gone, and then: "Oh my god, babe, I'm so sorry -" trying to check my face while still laughing, her hands pressing to my nose, "- did that hurt, let me see, I didn't mean to -"

Her hips were still moving. She was apologizing and still grinding on me without stopping, like her lower body had opinions independent of her concern for my nose.

Babe. She said it in English. Not jagiya. Jagiya was for real couples. Jagiya was terrifying. "Babe" was just something cool girls said in Western pop songs, casual English she'd probably picked up from Julie or Giselle from that end-of-year Britney stage they were practicing for. Ironic coming from someone who hated studying English so much she once gave herself a nosebleed over it and happily let Lia do all the talking on US tours.

Then again, Lia had sat out their last one on hiatus. I found myself wondering, while trying not to burst, if Yeji had absorbed Western pet names out of pure survival instinct.

That made me start laughing too, despite the phone-to-face situation.

If this had been Yuna, she would have panicked about ruining the aesthetic. But Yeji just laughed, like it didn't matter.

That realization, combined with the word breed and the fifteen minutes of blue-balling I'd been enduring, tore straight through the last of my restraint.

I grabbed the phone out of her hand and flipped the camera to face her.

The second that lens turned in her direction, it happened - spine snapping straight, shoulders rolling back, chin lifting. Years of idol conditioning overriding her nervous system in under a full second. She went from laughing disaster to performance mode so fast it was slightly scary.

She sat up tall, arched her back, and swept her damp hair over one shoulder. Her eyes went heavy-lidded as she stared into the lens and started riding me, basically directing herself, tilting her hips on pure idol instinct to catch the best angle. She knew exactly how devastating she looked, and was putting on the filthiest fancam of all time for my personal collection.

I gripped her waist with my free hand and drove my hips up to meet her. "Damn. Look at you."

"You like that?" She was staring dead into the lens but the question was all for me. She sank all the way down, rolling through it, and her hips were doing things to my ability to form sentences. "You like watching me ride you, babe?"

She used babe deliberately this time, aimed directly at the microphone while her walls clenched around me, and the deliberate intimacy of it dismantled everything I had left. I unloaded deep inside her, the phone capturing all of it: the broken groan tearing out of me, the violent arch of her spine, the shudder moving through both our bodies as she got exactly what she'd asked the camera for.

She collapsed forward against my chest, the phone slipping from her fingers face-down onto the soaked sheets, still recording audio, and I kept my hands heavy on her waist as I maintained a slow, winding rhythm just to feel the drag of it while we both leveled out. Three loads inside her now - pool, missionary sprint, this one. Every lazy thrust squeezed thick warmth back out of her, coating my shaft, soaking into the sheets below us for good.

We laid there in the humid wreckage, her hair plastered to my neck, the window letting in warm Jeju night air that did nothing for the temperature in the room. Her lungs worked against mine. My hands were still on her waist.

Then she slowly lifted her head and found the phone, still recording against the pillows, and the exhausted satisfaction in her face sharpened into something else.

"Let's get a wider angle," she said.