Season Two: Part IV

The morning sun reflects off the black, white striped hood of your Mustang as you pull up to the beauty salon’s entrance. You turn the engine off and step out to open the passenger door.

Karina steps out and stretches for a second in the warm light. She looks gorgeous even in her casual, loose clothes. Her hair is tied in a loose ponytail with no makeup and your hoodie hanging off her shoulder. Her eyes brighten for a moment at the unexpected warmth in the air during this time of year. She leans in, giving you that small smile that always makes your chest tighten.

“Thank you for the ride.”

You reciprocate her smile and then turn to the backseat door and open it for Giselle.

She steps out, her hair falling over one shoulder, her crop top riding up just enough to flash a hint of skin. She mumbles a quiet “Thanks,” and you still wonder if she’s actually into you, or all these awkward moments are just a coincidence. Trying not to read into it too much, you step closer to Karina again, slipping a hand to the small of her back and bending down to kiss her gently. She melts into it, her fingers curling into your shirt for a second before you pull away.

It’s soft and warm normal. For a moment the two of you are in love without trying to make each other fail your bet. The kind of routine kiss couples have every morning.

But behind you, someone is watching.

Giselle stands on the pavement, one hand in the pocket of her jeans, the other holding her phone, pretending to scroll through it. But her eyes flick upward again and again as the two of you share each other’s intimacy. Her lips part. Then she bites down on her bottom lip, hard enough that her teeth press into the soft flesh.

God…
why does he have to kiss her like that…
why does he have to look so good doing it…

Your hand finds your girlfriend’s ass and you give it a playful squeeze.

Giselle’s breath catches. Her heart thumps. Her thighs press just slightly together.

She swallows hard.

She should walk inside. She should not even think about it. You’re Karina’s boyfriend, her friend’s boyfriend.

But the longer she lives under your roof…The more she sees you in tank tops, with messy hair in the kitchen, half asleep and shirtless in the morning…The more she watches you teasing Karina, kissing her neck, touching her waist, whispering things she can’t hear…the more she wants you. Needs you. Craves you.

She forces her gaze away before either of you see the hunger in it.

You give Karina’s waist a final squeeze and step back.

“Have a good day.”

Karina beams.

“You too. Don’t overwork yourself.”

You lean against the car as Karina slings her bag over one shoulder.

“Oh, I might not be able to pick you up early today.”

You say and Giselle hears the softness in your voice which you only use with Karina.

“I have that concert coming up next month, so we’re stepping up choreography practice. I might be running late.”

Karina smiles, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“That’s fine. We’ve got a fan meeting, so I don’t know when I’ll finish anyway. I’ll text you the address and time when I know.”

You nod, step in, and give her another gentle kiss. This one is a little longer, making Giselle, still standing by the curb, shift her weight and stare hard at her shoes.

Just then, another car pulls into the space behind yours. A sleek, company van. The doors open and out steps Winter, her face masked but her eyes mirror the warm smile playing around her lips. Their manager follows.

“Oppa!”

Winter greets you brightly, waving as she walks up to the three of you. You’re surprised she greets you first.

“Ningning came early. She’s already inside.”

Her eyes flicker briefly to Giselle, and for half a second, you see something sharp pass between them. There’s a truce, maybe, but no warmth yet.

Karina greets Winter and the manager with a quick nod and a smile. The manager leads the way inside, and Karina and Giselle trail after, falling into a quiet conversation. Giselle looks back at you and Winter for a second and you wonder if she’s looking at you or her.

Winter doesn’t follow them immediately. She stays back, watching the others walk off. Then she steps closer to you, her voice suddenly quiet and genuine.

“I’m sorry about all the drama lately.”

She says, her eyes locked on yours.

You almost tell her it’s fine, but before you can speak, she leans in and gives you a quick hug. Except this one isn’t like the friendly hug from a few days ago. Winter presses her body a little closer, lingering just a fraction too long. You feel the heat of her stomach against your shirt, the press of her chest, the bare skin where her top rides up as she wraps her arms around you.

She pulls back, mask hiding her lips but not her eyes. There’s mischief in them. A glint, a challenge, a memory of her bare midriff in your car and the kisses she left on your cheek.

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble…”

She purrs, probably with a grin on her face, seeing your reaction. You try your best, but you doubt you can hide how she’s affecting you when she’s this close.

“…letting Giselle stay with you. She’s always been a handful.”

You catch the teasing double meaning instantly and a cold shower runs down your back. Does Winter know how you look at Giselle?

Before you can answer, Winter gives your arm a squeeze and flutters after the others, her ponytail bouncing, her hips swaying, leaving you with the scent of her that oddly familiar perfume and the memory of her bare skin pressed against you.

For a moment, you just stand there, collecting yourself as you watch after her.

Winter pushes through the glass doors of the beauty salon, the bell chiming softly above her. And right on cue, another figure steps out as she walks in.

Wendy.

Her hair is styled neatly from the salon visit, her makeup is soft and flattering, and just like in your dream, she’s wearing a cropped top. Today it’s a white one with short sleeves, partially covered by a blue jacket, that shows off her perfectly toned midriff. Smooth, tight, as amazing as you remember.

Winter and Wendy greet each other with a quick hug before the younger one slips inside. Wendy watches her go, adjusts her bag on her shoulder, then turns…and sees you standing there beside your car.

Her face lights up instantly. She waves, walking toward you with confident little strides, every movement making her stomach flex beautifully under the golden morning light.

And it hits you.

Yeri’s voice in the back of your head.

“Wendy told me herself. After your radio show together. She said you must be packing.”

You swallow hard.

Then another memory overlaps with it from the dream from the other night. Wendy in that little top. Panties pushed aside. Her tight tummy under your hands. Her voice begging you to breed her.

You straighten against the car, trying not to let anything show on your face.

Wendy finally reaches you.

“Hey!”

She says cheerfully.

“Haven’t seen you in a moment.”

You promised her during your appearance on her radio program you’d take her out for a coffee. You force a smile.

“Hey. Didn’t know you’d be here today.”

“Oh, just a quick salon appointment.”

She answers with a shrug, completely unaware that every tilt of her hip sends the hem of her crop top shifting upward.

“We’re filming something later, so our stylist wanted to do a look test.”

Your eyes flick down for half a second.

Her stomach is even better up close. Flat but soft. Perfectly shaped…Inviting.

You don’t notice how her smile twitches. Just a little, almost teasingly.

“So,”

She says lightly, brushing hair behind her ear.

“What are you doing hanging around down here? Waiting for someone? Or just avoiding work?”

You let out a short breath.

“Dropped off Karina and Giselle.”

“Ahh.”

Wendy nods.

“Your little girlfriend. How is she?”

Her smile looks genuine to you, but you can’t help but catch the slightly belittling use of the word little. Or are you just being sensitive?

“She’s fine.”

You manage to say and Wendy nods, then shifts her weight, hands sliding behind her back and pushing her chest forward slightly. It’s subtle. Just enough to look natural, but obvious enough to make your throat tighten.

Her eyes study your face for a moment too long.

“You look tired.”

She says, her voice gentler now.

“Rough week?”

If only she knew.

Winter’s exposed stomach in your passenger seat. Irene and Seulgi in the elevator. Giselle biting her lip watching you kiss Karina. Yes, you saw that.

The caffeine of your morning coffee barely masks the flood of thoughts about everyone you recently spent time with. And Wendy - real, not dream-Wendy – is standing in front of you in a crop top that makes your temperature spike.

“Something like that.”

You reply.

Wendy smiles again, soft and sincere.

“Well, if it helps…”

She leans in slightly, lowering her voice.

“You look good today.”

Your pulse jumps.

And she sees it. Her eyes flick briefly to your throat, like she can spot the swallow. Then she steps back, still smiling. She shifts her bag higher on her shoulder as if she’s about to leave you just like that but then pauses as if she suddenly remembers something.

“Oh! Before you go. Next time you drop Karina off at the company… do you want to grab that coffee together?”

Your brain stalls. You can’t help but think she’s trying to seduce you. Just like everyone else. Are you just this paranoid because of NNN? Or are you not just seeing things?

You answer before thinking too long.

“Uh - sure. Yeah.”

Wendy’s smile is immediate and bright. Far brighter than a simple reaction to coffee.

“Great. Text me when you’re there.”

She gives you a small wave, turns, and heads toward her own car. You watch the sway of her hips with every step.

Coffee? Is that all she wants?

You doubt it.

But you don’t have the mental strength to figure it out now.

You unlock your car, slide inside, and let your head fall back against the headrest with a groan. You’re barely five minutes into your day and Winter, Karina, Giselle, and now Wendy have all somehow gotten into your head like they’re competing in their own hidden challenge.

You pull out your phone. One new message.

Irene.

Your stomach tightens as you open it.

Two days ago, when you dropped Winter off and ran into Irene and Seulgi in that elevator, your phone buzzed while you were home. A number you didn’t recognize.

“It’s Irene. Seulgi gave me your number.”

You weren’t sure if it was real or some prank, but you replied anyway.

Then came her second message.

“Joy told me about your little dance session.”

Your heart had slammed in your chest. You remembered the way Joy pressed against you, grinding, guiding your hands lower, the way her hips moved…Definitely not part of your choreo.

Did Joy tell Irene all of that? Or just the “innocent” version?

“She said you’re an incredible dancer. I’m looking for someone for my special stage at my next concert.”

A special stage? Yeah, right.

You had typed back.

“If you want, we can meet to talk about details. Practice. Scheduling. Whatever works.”

Now, sitting in your car, you read her latest response.

“Come over to my place. I don’t have schedules today and I don’t feel like going out. Just a simple, casual meeting.”

You stare at the message.

“Casual”?

At her place?

You run a hand through your hair and exhale sharply.

Winter flirting her way through your car ride. Wendy asking you out for coffee like it’s a date. Giselle barely containing her hunger every time she looks at you. Yeri almost riding you in her car. Ningning practically losing her mind over you. And now Irene… inviting you to her apartment.

You close your eyes for one second. This week is a problem. And you haven’t even replied yet.

You sit there in the driver’s seat, phone in hand, coffee untouched, except for the part Karina drank on the way earlier, engine off, and your mind is an absolute warzone.

Irene.

One of the most respected idols in the industry. You should be honored she even remembers your name, let alone wants to perform with you. Dancing with her could be huge for your career, apart from the fact she herself is an amazing dancer.

And yet…You can’t shake it. That feeling, that twitch in your spine. That certainty that this isn’t about dance at all. Because Irene isn’t subtle. Not with her looks. Not with her smirk. Not with the way she texted “casual meeting”. Not with the way she stared at you in the elevator.

And definitely not with the way she acted in your dream. The kind of fantasy your brain only creates when the real person already affects you far too much.

You rub a hand over your face. You should say no and claim you’re busy. You should tell her you’ll meet at a practice room or at one of your companies.

But before you can type anything, your phone buzzes again.

One new message. From Irene. Just an address. Her address.

You stare at it. Your heart picks up.

If you refuse now, it’s over. No special stage, no one-on-one practice, no chance to get closer to one of the most influential performers in the industry. You’d kill the entire opportunity.

And the truth is…You do want this.

Not just because she’s beautiful or because of that impossible dream.

But because this stage could be a turning point for you.

So, you breathe in slowly. A third of fear.A third of temptation.A third of ambition.

You type back.

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

You hit send.

Then you place both hands on the steering wheel, stare straight ahead, and try to prepare yourself for whatever the hell you just agreed to walk into.

You take a slow breath and press the doorbell.

You need to be prepared for anything. Even if she tries something, you will not fail NNN. You promise yourself that.

Footsteps approach from the other side of the door. Then it opens. And whatever mental preparation you had evaporates instantly.

Because Irene isn’t just pretty. She isn’t just her usual elegance. She’s wearing…

Jeans. And a pink butterfly top.

The same one from your dream.

Not a similar one. Not the same color. The exact same top.

Your mouth goes dry.

Her hair is down, long and glossy. Her skin glows even in the dim hallway light. And that tiny, sweet butterfly top leaves her shoulders, collarbones, ribs, and her back completely exposed.

Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself.

Irene notices, but she only smiles gently.

“Hi. Come in.”

You somehow remember how to move and step inside. Her apartment smells faintly like vanilla and jasmine. Far too comforting for your nerves.

“Thirsty?”

Irene asks as she heads toward the kitchen.

“I can get you water, tea, juice, anything.”

“No thanks, I’m alright.”

You manage.

But you’re absolutely not alright. Because when she turns around, walking toward the living room, you see her back. Smooth, exposed, her butterfly top tied behind her neck. Her jeans sit low on her hips, not highlighting her ass but making the bare dip of her lower back stand out beautifully.

You look away, but too late. The image is burned into your skull.

“Sit anywhere you like.”

Irene says, gesturing gracefully toward the couch.

You sit.

She sits beside you, close, but not suspiciously close, crossing her legs effortlessly, posture perfect, eyes fully focused on you like you’re the only person who exists.

“Let’s start simple.”

She begins.

“For the stage… I’m thinking of something elegant. Powerful. Not too sensual, unless you’re comfortable with that.”

You swallow.

“I can handle whatever you need.”

Her lips curl slightly. Just a bit. You pray she didn’t hear the subtext.

“Great. Then we’ll discuss formations, transitions, rehearsal schedules, and which parts you’re most confident with.”

She’s speaking clearly and professionally. No flirting. No teasing. No hints of anything else.

But her clothes, her top, her exposed back, her voice from the dream…

All of it is disrupting every attempt at concentration.

You’re nodding along, agreeing where appropriate, answering her questions. And part of you is genuinely relieved. Irene isn’t making a move. No seductive stares. No leaning into your space. Just work. Just dance. Just professionalism.

And you cling to that like a lifeline.

But the other part of you? The part that keeps remembering her whispering in your dream? The part that sees her in that exact same top?

That part is terrified. Because if Irene wanted to seduce you…If she wanted to make you break NNN…She wouldn’t need to try. Not even a little.

But for now?

She’s all business.

“We’ll get the choreographer’s drafts tomorrow.”

She says.

“But I want us to brainstorm concepts together. It’ll flow better that way.”

You nod, relieved you’re keeping it together.

At least until she shifts her position, leaning forward to grab a folder off the table.

Her top dips. Her back arches. Her ribs flare softly. Her waist pulls taut. A tiny bit of the side of her tits becomes visible for half a second.

You stare straight at the floor, gripping your knees, as you try to focus on something else.

“I mean… if the choreographer doesn’t give us something solid, I can just make something myself. I’ve done choreo before.”

Irene’s lips curve into a smile.

“Oh, I know.”

You blink.

“You do?”

She tilts her head slightly, eyes gleaming with a teasing warmth.

“You lift your shirt in half your stages.”

She teases.

“You think I wouldn’t do research on a potential dance partner? I’ve seen your fancams.”

Her tone dips, light but undeniably flirtatious.

“You can throw in as many shirt-lifting moves as you want.”

Your breath catches. The room suddenly feels much smaller.

“I-uh-didn’t think you’d pay attention to that.”

You admit.

“Oh, please.”

She waves her hand dismissively, though her smile doesn’t fade.

“Everyone pays attention to that.”

Your eyes widen. Irene laughs softly, like she’s enjoying every second of watching you fluster.

You clear your throat, trying to steer the conversation back to work.

“So… uh… rehearsal spots. Should we book a studio at your company? Or mine?”

“We can.”

Irene says casually.

“But if the schedules clash, we can just practice here.”

She gestures around her living room.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh? And you’re okay turning your place into a dance studio?”

She shrugs, playful.

“If it’s you? Maybe.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. You try to defuse the tension with humor.

“Well, if we start practicing here, just don’t blame me when your sofa ends up broken.”

Irene laughs, genuinely this time, her head tipping back slightly. Without even thinking, without hesitation, she reaches out…and rests her hand on your thigh.

Your breath stutters.

Her fingers stay there, lightly curled against the fabric of your pants. She leans in just a little, still smiling, still close enough that you smell her perfume.

“Don’t worry.”

She says quietly.

“If something breaks… I’ll take responsibility.”

She squeezes, barely, but enough.

Your pulse spikes.

This is no longer subtle. It’s longer an innocent, casual meeting.

Irene is comfortably flirting.

And the worst part?

You don’t want to stop her.

You freeze for a heartbeat, barely breathing as Irene’s hand lingers on your thigh, her thumb giving the smallest, unmistakable squeeze.

She leans in, her lips close to your ear.

“Why don’t we work on some moves right now?”

She murmurs, her fingers brushing your knee.

“Joy told me…”

She pauses, letting the implication hang in the air.

“…that you’re worth the ride.”

Your heart hammers. You stare at her, stunned, finally understanding what’s happening. This isn’t about dancing. This isn’t about a concert.

The entire meeting is a perfect excuse. Maybe there’s no stage at all.

You try to open your mouth, to speak, but Irene only smirks. Slowly, she swings one knee over your lap and lowers herself onto you, straddling your thighs. Her butterfly top is right at eye level, soft fabric pressed tight over her chest, her waist bare and flawless.

She studies you, her breath brushing your cheek, a wicked smile curving her lips.

“Irene, I-”

But she cuts you off, pressing her lips to your ear, her hair falling across your face. Her voice is a low, intoxicating whisper.

“Touch me.”

She grabs your wrists, guiding your hands around her waist. Warm, smooth, skin is stretched over perfect curves. Her back is bare under your palms. You marvel at her body, her skin almost unreal in its perfection.

For a split second, your mind flashes back to that first day in the company cafeteria. The way she looked at you when Seulgi introduced you as Karina’s boyfriend. The spark in her eyes, the curious tilt of her head. Had she already decided to make a move on you, even then?

You barely have time to wonder. Because Irene’s hips start to move.

She grinds against you, slow, purposeful, rolling her body so her waist arches under your hands. Her breath hitches as her chest presses into you. Her thighs tighten around your hips, holding you in place.

You feel yourself grow impossibly hard.

Irene shifts, making sure you feel every inch of her body, every flex and arch, her butterfly top threatening to slip further as her grinding intensifies. She presses her chest to yours, her mouth near your ear again.

“Do you want to dance with me, or do you want to fuck me?”

She whispers, grinding a little harder, her voice sending shivers down your spine.

You know you shouldn’t answer. You know you’re in deep. But with Irene straddling you, her skin burning under your hands, and her lips at your ear…it’s already too late.

Your throat is tight when you try again.

“Irene… I - I have a girlfriend.”

For a moment, you expect her to pause. To pull back and to laugh it off.

She doesn’t.

Instead, her smile becomes… dangerous… devilish.

She leans in until her nose grazes yours, her lips barely brushing your mouth as she whispers.

“In this industry… when a senior tells you she wants to fuck-”

Her hips grind down onto your lap with a strong, claiming pressure.

“-you fuck.”

Your heart stutters.

Her words slam through your mind like a shock, and instantly Yeri’s voice flashes back into your head.

“Girlfriend is just a title for the person you fuck the most.”

And then Joy’s breathy voice in your dream. Wendy asking you for coffee. Seulgi’s friendliness.

A horrifying, dizzying realization hits you.

Are they talking? About you? About your dick? About wanting you?

You barely have time to process the panic and the ego rush twisting together in your gut before Irene takes your jaw between her fingers and forces you to look at her.

“That little girlfriend of yours…”

She murmurs, her breath warm on your lips.

“…only makes this more exciting.”

Her nails drag lightly down your neck, leaving a burning trail.

“Forbidden things…”

She says, rocking her hips slow and deep against your lap.

“…taste better.”

You swallow, hard. She feels every twitch of your cock through your pants and smiles as if she owns it.

“You think Karina will ever do the things I can do to you?”

Irene whispers.

“You think she’ll ride you on her couch with the lights on and let you watch yourself ruin her?”

Your hands clench at her waist, but you don’t push her off. Not really. Especially not when she shifts again, grinding down so hard you almost gasp.

Irene sees everything on your face. Your conflict. Your arousal. Your fear of losing NNN.

She cups the back of your neck, thumb stroking your skin.

“You came here to dance, but you’re going to leave knowing exactly how it feels to have an older woman use you.”

Her lips hover over yours, close enough that you can feel her breath.

“Say it.”

She whispers.

“Say you want me.”

Your heart slams into your ribs. Your mind is screaming. But your body…your body is already answering for you.

Your thoughts spiral, one on top of the next, fast, dizzy, desperate. You want Irene. You want her badly. She’s right here, on your lap, all but commanding you to give in.

And it’s Irene, Bae Joohyun, the woman every guy probably has jerked off to at least once. The one you never thought you’d have a shot at. How many people could say they’d turn this down?

But then…Karina.

Your mind latches onto her for a heartbeat. The way she looks at you, the way she kisses you, her little morning kisses, her teasing, the way she trusts you, her laugh, her-

But she let you sleep with other women before. It was her rule, not yours. As long as you’re honest, she never cared. Right?

And what about NNN? The deal you made, the whole challenge…if you lose, you lose to her, and she gets to tease you all year. But what if you don’t lose? What if you fake it, just like you planned with Yeri and Ningning? What if you take what Irene is offering, right now, right here, and still keep your pride?

You get everything. She gets everything. Everyone wins.

You look up at Irene, her lips so close, her eyes dark and demanding, her breath sweet and warm. You can’t keep pretending you don’t want this.

So, you finally nod.

“Yes. I want you.”

Irene’s mouth curves into a wicked, satisfied smile. Her hands tighten on your neck and jaw, and she wastes no time. She presses her lips to yours, slow at first, letting you taste her, before biting softly at your lower lip, teasing you. Her body grinds down on your lap, her warmth sinking into you through the fabric of both your jeans. Your hands dig into her waist, marveling at how perfect her skin feels, how real this is, how insane it is to even hesitate.

Irene breaks the kiss, her breath quick, her lips pink.

“Good boy.”

She whispers.

“Now let’s see if you can keep up.”

And she starts to move again. Her mouth is on yours, this time hungrier. Her body presses you into the couch. The butterfly top is nothing but a soft barrier between your bodies, her bare stomach hot beneath your hands. Every slow grind, every subtle twist of her hips is designed to test your resolve.

Her tongue slides against yours, leaving no room for hesitation. She pulls back, breathing heavier now, eyes burning as she sizes you up.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

She drags your hands higher on her waist, up to the edge of her top, letting you feel every inch of flawless skin.

You don’t fight her. Not anymore. You hold her tightly, your hands roaming her sides, her back, the small of her waist. She leans in again, her lips brushing along your jaw, down to your neck, nipping at your skin. Her hips rock harder into you and she grins when she feels just how hard you are for her.

She lifts herself just enough to slide her fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, tugging it up.

“Show me. Don’t you always love showing off on stage?”

You let her peel your shirt away, muscles tensing beneath her touch, feeling every second of her slow, greedy exploration. Irene’s hands wander your chest, her lips following, tasting your skin, dragging her tongue up to your ear.

“You’re not going to last.”

She teases, her breath hot against your skin.

“I can ride you the whole day, until you beg me to stop. You won’t be able to stop me. But I want to see you try.”

Before you can even breathe, her hands cup your jaw and she tilts your head back. Your mouth falls open on instinct.

Then she spits.

A warm, heavy drop lands on your tongue.

You jolt in surprise, a sound caught in your throat, but Irene doesn’t give you a second to react. She grabs your face tighter and crashes her mouth onto yours again. Her spit mixes into the kiss, hot, messy and hungry. Her tongue curls against yours, her fingers sliding down your neck to your chest, dragging across your abs like she’s mapping out what she’s about to take.

Your breath stutters. Her hair keeps falling forward, brushing your cheeks and forehead as she devours your mouth, and you feel like you’re drowning in Irene. In her scent, her weight, her heat, her nails scraping lightly over your stomach.

Then she pulls away, her lips grazing yours as she sits upright again on your lap.

You watch, speechless, as she reaches for the hair tie on her wrist. Her arms lift. Her shoulders roll back. Her top stretches, riding just slightly higher on her chest. Her armpits, smooth, pale, perfect, are inches from your face. Her skin is flawless. Soft-looking. Clean. And she notices exactly how your eyes lock onto them.

A slow, wicked smile blooms on her lips as she gathers her hair.

“Oh?”

Se purrs, voice laced with mock innocence.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Your face burns instantly. You try to look away, but Irene grabs your chin again and forces you to keep watching her tie her hair up into a high ponytail. Her biceps tense, her top shifts, and your self-control crumbles.

“No need to be shy.”

She teases, releasing your chin with a light pat.

“Older women notice everything.”

Her ponytail snaps into place. She looks breathtaking, hair pulled back, neck bared, face glowing with confidence and hunger.

Then she leans forward, putting her mouth right next to your ear.

“If you’re a good boy during all our practices…”

Her fingers trace the line of your jaw.

“I’ll let you clean my pits after our stage together.”

Your breath leaves your lungs. Your cock throbs so hard it hurts. She pulls back slightly, just to watch your reaction.

“Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about it. I can feel how much you want it.”

Her hands slide down your torso once more, nails grazing your skin.

“So…?”
Her eyes darken. Her hips roll slowly into you.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?”

You manage to say yes, your voice barely more than a breath. Irene smiles like she knew you’d say that.

Gracefully, she lifts herself off your lap and stands in front of you. Without breaking eye contact, she pops open the button of her jeans and begins sliding the zipper down. The slow rasp of metal sets every nerve in your body on fire.

You hesitate, just for a second, before she shoots you a single look. One sharp, expectant, commanding look. You obey instantly, your hands moving to your own waistband. Her jeans hit the floor first. And you freeze, your own just around your knees.

Pink thong and matching pink butterfly top. Smooth hips, toned thighs, nothing but the barest scrap of fabric hiding what you want most.

Your jeans are stuck halfway down your legs when Irene steps forward and crouches between them. She doesn’t say a word. She just grabs the denim, drags it all the way off, and tosses it aside before straightening up again.

She stands over you, hands on her hips.

“Do you like what you see?”

You swallow hard.

“…yes.”

Her lips curl upward.

“And do you want to take them off?”

The question short-circuits something in your brain.

“Yes.”

Irene laughs, a gorgeous, amused sound, as she climbs back into your lap, her knees bracketing your hips. Her skin is hot, her scent dizzying. She drapes her arms loosely around your shoulders as your trembling fingers slide under the waistband of her thong.

You pull it down. Slowly. Savoring the anticipation and excitement. The fabric peels away from her hips, then her mound, revealing a neat strip of trimmed hair… and then all of her. Her bare, soft, wet, perfect pussy glistens in the dim light, flushed and glistening from grinding on you.

“Does my pussy look better than Karina’s?”

Her voice is sweet, but you can teel she’s only accepting one answer. You nod before you even register what you’re doing. Whether it’s true or not, you don’t know. You don’t care. Not right now.

Irene smirks, visibly pleased. Then she lowers herself onto your lap again. Your cock, still trapped inside your boxers, presses up between her folds. The heat of her pussy envelopes you through the thin fabric. She grinds down slowly, once, twice, smearing her wetness over your length, soaking into your boxers.

You’re rock hard and your breath stutters. And Irene watches every twitch of your body with a smirk on her face.

“Good boy.”

She murmurs, rolling her hips again, your boxers darkening beneath her.

“You’re going to make such a mess for me.”

Irene slips her fingers beneath the waistband of your boxers, curling them around your length and guiding you free of the damp cotton. The air is cool on your skin for half a heartbeat before the heat of her palm closes around you. Her grip tightens just enough to make you suck in a sharp breath, right at the edge of pain but still pleasureful enough.

She hovers over you, knees spread, the soft heat of her slick folds suspended just above your tip. Every small roll of her wrist makes your cock throb, begging to push up into her, but she keeps her hips lifted, teasing you with the promise of contact she refuses to give.

“Look how hard you get for me.”

She murmurs, her thumb gliding over the sensitive ridge just beneath the head, making you twitch.

“I barely touched you, and you’re already aching.”

Her hand stops. She drags her fingers between her folds, gathering a sheen of wetness, then returns to your cock, slicking you with her arousal. The slide of her hand is smoother now, every pass coaxing a helpless pulse from deep inside you. She squeezes just a hint tighter again, enough to make your jaw clench.

“Does it hurt?”

She asks, tone half mocking, half soothing as her strokes slow to an agonizing crawl.

“You can handle it. Good boys can handle anything for their seniors.”

She pauses, smearing another layer of her wetness along your length, then resumes the firm, steady rhythm, each stroke a heavy reminder of how close her body is and how little control you have.

Your hips lift instinctively, chasing her heat, but Irene only smirks. She keeps you right where she wants you, her grip and her distance orchestrating the ache.

“So needy. But you’ll wait until I’m ready, won’t you?”

Her hand glides down, with that same just-too-tight pressure, then up, twisting slightly at the tip before releasing. She repeats the torturous pattern, occasionally stopping to drag her fingers through her pussy again, bathing your shaft in her slick. The rhythm turns into a slow burn: stroke, tighten, smear, stroke, each cycle winding the pressure tighter in your gut.

“You feel how wet I am?”

Her slick thumb circles the head of your cock.

“That’s what you do to me just by sitting there, trying so hard to behave.”

Another stroke, another hard squeeze. Your breath shudders. She laughs softly, enjoying every flinch and every pulse.

“Not yet, but soon. And when I sink onto you…”

Her hips lower fractionally, just enough for her pussy lips to kiss the tip of your cock before lifting away again.

“When I finally decide to take you… you’d better be ready to last.”

She pumps once, slow, from base to tip, coating you thoroughly in her warmth, then pauses, thumb teasing another slick circle.

“Because I’m not stopping…”

She finishes, eyes locked on yours.

“…until I grow tired of you.”

Irene’s grip doesn’t let up, if anything, she slows down when she sees a drop of your precum on your tip as she drags her slick hand up and down your aching cock, her words curling hot against your ear.

“You’re leaking already.”

She whispers, thumb pressing into the sensitive underside of your dick.

“And I haven’t even let you inside. Maybe you’re not as tough as I thought.”

You try to answer, but your voice dies in your throat as she leans in, her lips ghosting over your jaw.

“Should I just use my hand? Or do you want my mouth first, like a rookie who needs a little help?”

Before you can answer, her phone explodes with a loud ringtone, slicing through the tension like ice water.

Irene lets out a groan, rolling her eyes and letting go of your cock, leaving you painfully hard and twitching as she twists around, still straddling your thighs.

She stretches for the phone, her body dipping forward, bare ass high, her pussy gliding along your length without taking you inside. Your cock slides right between her cheeks, heat and slickness pressing into you as she searches for the table.

You bite back a moan, hands gripping the couch, fighting not to buck up into her. She finally grabs the phone, glances at the screen, and her whole face turns annoyed.

“Seulgi.”

She mutters, as if the very idea is blasphemy.

She turns back toward you, her ass and hips brushing your shaft again, making your vision blur with need, then flashes you a warning look, thumb sliding to answer the call. Without another word, she sets the phone on speaker, pressing it into your palm and mouths “hold it” before she sits up straight on your lap, thighs squeezing around your hips.

You barely have time to brace yourself before the call connects.

“Unnie?”

Seulgi’s voice comes through, clear, bright, and completely oblivious to the scene she’s just interrupted.

“Are you home? I wanted to talk to you about the concert in Busan next month.”

Irene’s eyes don’t leave yours. Her lips curl into a private, wicked grin as she settles fully against you, her wetness smearing onto your skin and your cock trapped between her thighs.

She answers, her voice perfectly steady.

“Mmhmm, I’m home.”

Seulgi keeps talking, none the wiser, as Irene begins to rock her hips almost imperceptibly, tiny, teasing movements that have you seeing stars.

She mouths to you silently.
“Don’t make a sound.”

Then, eyes locked on yours, she continues the innocent conversation with Seulgi, grinding against your cock and daring you to break.

Eventually, Irene shifts her weight just slightly, just enough for you to feel the slick heat of her entrance line up with the head of your cock. Your breath freezes. Her hands go to your shoulders for balance, her thighs tightening around your hips. She gives you one last look, one last wicked smirk…and then she lowers herself. Slow. Torturously slow.

Your tip parts her pussy, sinks into her, and Irene’s eyes flutter shut as she covers her mouth with one hand to muffle the sound she almost makes.

“-and I was thinking maybe for the second track, we can-”

Seulgi’s voice continues on the phone, bright and clueless.

You grip the phone tighter to keep from dropping it as Irene sinks deeper. Her pussy squeezes around you, pulling you inch by inch inside her, her walls unbelievably tight and hot. You suck in a sharp breath, but Irene’s other hand shoots up, covering your mouth too. Her palm presses to your lips. Her eyes dare you not to make a noise.

She sinks all the way down and you’re completely inside her. Her lashes tremble. Her hips twitch. A tiny whimper breaks from her throat, but her hand smothers it against her own palm.

“Unnie? Did you hear me?”

Seulgi asks and Irene forces her voice to stay steady.
“Y-Yes… I’m listening.”

Then she starts to move.

Slow rises. Slow drops. Her pussy milks you every time she comes down.

Your grip on the phone is shaking now. You’re sure she can feel how deep she has you, how your cock throbs inside her.

“-so, if the stylists can adjust-”

“I’ll check with them.”

Irene breathes, barely keeping the strain out of her voice.

She lifts her hips. Drops again. Her free hand splays on your chest as she rides you, soft at first, then faster. Her thighs slap lightly against yours. Her breathing breaks. She presses harder over her own mouth, trying not to let any sound escape.

Your eyes lock. Her expression says everything.

“Don’t you dare cum yet. And don’t make a sound. I’m not done with you.”

She speeds up. Her hips roll. Her pussy tightens greedily around your length.

Every downstroke pushes you deeper into her until your vision blurs. The wet heat, the tight squeeze, the way she moves. She’s riding you like she’s trying to ruin you while carrying a casual conversation.

“-and maybe we should try a darker shade for the-”

“Yes… mm-yes, that’s fine.”

Irene chokes out, barely catching herself.

She lifts one hand from your mouth to steady herself on your shoulder. Her other hand is still covering her own lips tightly. Her breathing is ragged as she bounces on your cock, faster now, harder, the wet sounds dangerously close to audible.

Your control is slipping. Irene feels it. She leans in close, her forehead pressed to yours, eyes blown wide as she rides you silently, almost desperately, her body trembling as she fights not to moan into Seulgi’s call.

And then…

“Unnie, are you okay? You sound… out of breath.”

Irene’s hips freeze for a fraction of a second. Her eyes widen. Then she slams down on you again, hard enough that you nearly gasp.

“I’m-fine.”

She manages with a shaking voice.

“Just… doing yoga.”

Her nails dig into your shoulder. Her pussy tightens as she keeps riding you. Her pace is quick, tight and relentless, but she’s still clamping her hand over her mouth, desperately trying not to make a sound while Seulgi rambles on.

You’re holding on by a thread. You’re so close to giving up.

But then Irene tightens around you. Too hard. Uncontrollably hard.

Your hips jerk. Your breath snaps. And before you can stop yourself-

“F–fuck…”

It’s barely a whisper, barely a breath, but the phone is still on speaker…and Seulgi hears it.

There’s a pause. Then a soft rustle.

“…Unnie? Was that a guy? Who’s there?”

Irene freezes. Her hand flies off your mouth, and she shoots you a murderous glare. Her eyes are sharp and furious, burning with embarrassment. She tries to keep riding like nothing happened, but her voice cracks as she speaks.

“It’s… it’s just-”

She exhales sharply, trying to keep another moan from escaping as your cock throbs inside her.

“It’s him.”

You can barely think through the pre orgasm fog in your brain. How often do Seulgi and Irene talk about you where they don’t even have to mention your name anymore for the other to understand.

Seulgi gasps.

“Jin-wol? He’s there? Now?”

You try to sit up straighter, but Irene slams her palm into your chest to keep you beneath her as she answers.

“He’s here for the performance… practice.”

Her voice wavers as she rises on your cock again.

Seulgi laughs, cheerful and oblivious.

“Oh! Hi! Sorry if I interrupted something!”

You try to respond, but Irene’s pussy squeezes again, dangerously tight, and the only sound that leaves you is a choked grunt.

“Y-Yeah.”

You force out.

“Hi.”

It sounds pathetic and weak.

Irene’s glare sharpens.

Seulgi just continues talking to Irene, saying something about schedules, something about stylists, but Irene eventually cuts her off, her voice trembling.

“Seulgi. Call me later, I need to finish hi-this.”

You catch her slip up and you pray that Seulgi didn’t.

“Oh! Uh sure! Bye-”

The call ends. Irene doesn’t wait a second. Her hand flashes.

SLAP

Her palm cracks across your cheek. Not enough to hurt, but enough to sting. Your head snaps slightly to the side, and the shock only makes your cock twitch harder inside her. She snatches the phone out of your hand and tosses it onto the couch with a sharp flick of her wrist.

“You idiot.”

She hisses, leaning down, her forehead nearly touching yours.

“Getting caught like that…are you trying to ruin everything?”

You swallow hard, barely able to respond.

“I-I’m sorry. You squeezed so hard, I-”

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

She snaps.

You hesitate, but honesty spills out before you can stop it.

“Yes. I’m-really close. If you keep going like that, I… I won’t be able to stop.”

Her eyes narrow. But now she looks less angry.

“Good.”

She slams her hips down on you, hard enough that you grab her waist instinctively, your breath breaking.

Her eyes glint with pure satisfaction as she grinds down hard one final time, her pussy gripping your cock with each twitch.

She leans in, her lips grazing your ear, her voice a sultry whisper.

“I can feel you… You’re twitching so much inside me.”

Her breath is hot against your skin, her tone teasing and hungry.

Then she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, her face a mask of wicked delight.

“Tell me…do you want to cover my face in your cum?”

The image slams into your mind. Irene kneeling, skin glowing, eyes looking up at you, your cum painting her face. Your hips jerk at the thought, and you have to grit your teeth, desperate not to let go.

Irene smiles, reading you like a book.

“I love it when a guy cums all over my face.”

Her fingers trace your jaw.

“Makes me feel so powerful… so beautiful.”

She kisses you again, her pussy tightening around your cock once more.

“You’re going to paint my face now, aren’t you?”

You nod, unable to form words, more than just breathless.

She finally stops riding you completely. She rises up on trembling thighs, your cock sliding free, sticky with her slick. You gasp, half relief, half agony, as the cool air hits you.

Irene slips down off the couch, never breaking eye contact. She kneels between your spread legs, her butterfly top still covering her chest and nothing more.

She rests her left arm along the seat beside you, while her right hand wraps around your cock again. This time, her grip is not as punishing, just slick, quick and skilled. She pumps you from base to tip, each stroke confident and hungry. The slide is effortless, her own arousal slicking your shaft as she works you closer and closer to the edge.

Her eyes drop to your cock, watching it throb and twitch, and she licks her lips.

“You’re such a good boy.”

She purrs, stroking you faster.

“Holding out this long for me… But you’re ready now, aren’t you? I want to feel it. I want you to cover me.”

You shudder, unable to stop the buck of your hips. Her words, her hands, her hungry eyes…it’s too much. But you fight yourself. You fight your body. You fight your urges. You have to fake it before she actually makes you cum. You can’t lose.

“I-I’m about to-”

Irene opens her mouth wide, eyes fluttering shut. Her tongue rolls out, eager, as she brings her face closer, ready and waiting.

“Give it to me.”

She whispers, breath ghosting over your tip.

Her hand goes faster now, stroking up, twisting, teasing your most sensitive spot. She strokes you through the final, dizzying build.

Her eyes crack open, meeting yours, dark with anticipation and victory.

You force yourself to break. Your whole body tightens…Your stomach contracts…Your hips jerk forward in the way they do when you really cum. You let out a loud, deep groan. You make your cock twitch in her grip. You thrust shallowly into her hand, mimicking the uncontrollable movements of an orgasm.

Then you collapse back against the couch, chest heaving, face strained like you just emptied every drop inside her fist.

And you pray it worked.

For a moment, there’s silence. Irene blinks. Her hand stills around your shaft. Her mouth, still open, slowly closes.

A beat passes.

Then her brows pull together in the most baffled, irritated confusion you’ve ever seen on her perfect face.

“…What?”

She mutters.

She lifts her hand slightly, your cock still stiff, slick and full with your cum absolutely not painted across her face. She stares at you like you’ve just spoken an alien language.

“You…”

She gestures vaguely to your very obviously loaded length.

“…didn’t.”

You pretend to still be catching your breath.

“Sorry.”

You pant, sitting up slowly.

“I-I should’ve warned you. I have this… condition.”

The word sounds ridiculous. Irene’s eyes narrow dangerously. You continue quickly, trying to stick to your mental rehearsed lie.

“Sometimes when I climax, I don’t… uh… shoot. It’s like… retro…something? It’s rare, but it happens. Karina knows, she can tell you.”

You hold your breath.

There’s a moment, one terrifying, eternal moment, where Irene’s expression shifts through suspicion, disbelief, irritation, and the urge to murder you with her bare hands.

She looks you up and down. You are painfully hard. Obviously still full. Obviously capable of cuming. Obviously lying.

But you invoke Karina’s name. And that stops her.

A tense silence hangs in the air.

Then Irene scoffs under her breath, rolling her eyes upward.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

She cusses.

“Of course. Of course this would happen to me.”

She wipes her slick covered hand on her thigh, shakes her head, and sits back on her heels, irritation radiating from her goddess-like face.

You nearly sag in relief, but you don’t dare show it. Irene shoots you a look sharp enough to cut glass.

“So that’s how it is, huh?”

Her voice is cold and edged with challenge.

“You’re one of those men.”

You swallow.

“Those?”

She leans forward, close enough that her breath hits your lips again.

“Men who think they can cheat me out of what I want.”

Your heart stutters.

She rises slowly, towering over you from her kneeling position.

Then she points a finger at your chest, tapping it once.

“Listen carefully.”

Her voice drops into a threatening growl.

“The next time we meet… I’m going to get it out of you.”

You freeze.

“I’m going to sit you on this couch, right there-”

She taps the cushion beside you.

“Or the dance practice room wherever that might be or whatever and I’m going to give you a handjob until you paint my face with every drop you owe me.”

You exhale shakily.

She smirks darkly.

“You won’t even get to be inside my pussy again.”

Irene adds.

“Not until you give me what I asked for like a good boy.”

Your cock twitches helplessly at her words.

Irene notices.

Her smirk widens.

“That’s right.”

She stands up and adjusts her butterfly top, her ponytail swaying.

“Be frustrated. Be desperate. Because next time? You’re not getting out of it.”

She leans down, her lips grazing your cheek.

“I always get what I want.”

Then she turns away, dismissing you with a flick of her ponytail as she walks toward her hallway, leaving you hard, aching, still full of everything she tried to take from you.

Still not out of the woods. But alive. Barely.

You’re driving. Karina sits in the passenger seat beside you, scrolling through her phone, humming softly from exhaustion after the fan meeting. And behind you sits Giselle.

Barely ten minutes have passed since you picked them up. But for Giselle, each one feels like an eternity.

She can smell you. The faint, salty scent clinging to your skin and clothes tells her exactly what you’ve been doing. You trained hard. You sweated. You pushed yourself.
Your gym bag sits next to her, carrying the same warmth of your body, the same breath of your effort.

God… he smells so good.

Karina wasn’t fond of it. She made a face when you picked them up, asking why you didn’t shower. She’s still keeping her window cracked open, tapping her nails, pretending not to be bothered.

But Giselle?

She’s thriving on it.

Every inhale feels like a drug. Every breath of your scent hits the back of her throat and sinks down her spine. She’s been trying to behave for ten minutes. Trying not to stare at the back of your head, your neck, the faint sheen on your skin. Trying not to remember the way your eyes roamed her body that morning in the kitchen. Trying not to picture the way you must’ve looked dancing until you were drenched.

But she can’t. Not anymore. Because the smell, your smell, is everywhere around her. And it’s making her thighs press together and making her pulse throb.

She glances at Karina. Still on her phone. Distracted.

Good.

Giselle’s breath stutters as she slowly, quietly slides one hand into the waistband of her grey sweatpants. Her fingers slip past the soft cotton of her panties. Today they’re a soft white, little lace trim, the kind she hopes you would find cute. She parts her folds gently, her breath caught in her throat.

Her touch is careful. Slow. And silent. But desperate.

Her eyes drift up to you again. To the sweat dampened shirt clinging to your back, to the way one hand loosely shifts the gearstick. She bites her lip as she imagines that hand pinning her wrists above her head, holding her down, fucking her until the sweat drips off you onto her.

Her breath grows shaky. She leans slightly to the side, letting the fabric of her sweatpants fall a bit looser so her movements are hidden. Her fingers circle her clit in slow, small movements. Enough to give her relief. Not enough to get caught.

Her thighs squeeze together. Her hips shift just barely. She swallows a whine.

Up front, Karina doesn’t notice. She’s watching a video of the fan meeting, laughing softly at a clip.

But you-

You glance in the rear-view mirror for half a second.

And Giselle freezes.

Your eyes meet. Briefly. Barely a second. But enough.

Enough to make her pulse explode. Enough to make her bite her lip harder. Enough to almost make her stop.

But then…You look back to the road, unaware.

And she exhales silently, her fingers pressing deeper into her pussy, her slick growing, the scent of you only fueling her filthier imagination.

You… sweaty, exhausted, grabbing her by the hips. You leaning on her from behind, panting into her neck.You shoving your cock into her with your shirt still on, dripping onto her back as she claws at the sheets.

Giselle’s breathing grows uneven. Her thighs tremble. She gently, gently grinds her hips into her hand, trying to chase the pressure discreetly.

Karina’s voice breaks the silence.

“Hey.”

She says to you, still scrolling.

“You wanna get something to eat before we go home?”

You answer casually.

And Giselle…She muffles a gasp into her own shoulder as her fingers slip deeper, brushing where she’s achingly sensitive.

She’s going to lose it. Right here in the car. Right behind you. Quiet, needy, getting off to the scent of your sweat while your girlfriend sits not two feet away. Her legs tense. Her breath shakes. She bites down on her lip hard enough to sting.

Giselle’s heart thuds in her chest as the car rolls on without you and Karina knowing what’s going on in the backseat. The air is heavy with the scent of your sweat, thick and addictive, making it almost impossible for her to breathe quietly. Her fingers are slow and trembling beneath the cotton of her sweatpants, circling her clit, gathering slick, teasing herself while every muscle in her thighs burns with the effort of keeping still.

Your voice breaks the silence.

“Giselle, what do you wanna eat?”

The sudden attention nearly makes her cry out. Her voice catches in her throat. She has to swallow a moan before she can answer.

“I, um-what-”

She fumbles, blinking hard, trying to focus.

“What place did you guys have in mind?”

Karina glances at you and shrugs.

“I was thinking sushi. Sound good?”

Giselle nods, forcing her voice steady as her fingers keep up their slow, torturous rhythm.

“Sushi sounds good.”

She manages, her words a whisper.

“Can I have… salmon, avocado, and… maybe spicy tuna?”

Karina is already on her phone, opening the app to preorder.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you a roll. Want anything special on it?”

Giselle can barely hear the question. Her mind is spinning, lost in the haze of arousal and fantasy. All she can picture now is the three of you at home, Karina distracted and herself, completely naked, lying on the cool sheets of the guest bed.

She imagines her body is the serving plate. A spread of glistening salmon on her belly, cool avocado slices cupping her breasts, sushi rice lined up along her thighs. You lean over her, picking up the rolls with chopsticks or, better yet, your fingers, trailing wasabi across her nipples, licking a stray grain of rice off her inner thigh, your warm breath raising goosebumps on her skin. Sometimes you bend low, tongue hot and slow as you lick wasabi right off her trembling stomach, not caring that she’s squirming, not caring that she’s already desperate for more.

The mental image is so vivid, so filthy, that Giselle feels her orgasm rushing up on her faster than she can control. Her hips start to rock in tiny, almost invisible movements, chasing her release. Her hand covers her mouth, teeth sinking into the flesh to keep from making a sound.

You pull into a parking spot, the gentle jerk of the brakes nearly sending her over the edge. Giselle blinks. She’s barely aware of the world outside, barely registers the neon sign of the sushi place, barely hears Karina murmuring something about heading inside to pick up the order.

Then it hits her. A hard, hot wave rolling up from her toes, through her core, into her chest. She bites into the back of her hand, teeth sinking in to smother the desperate, trembling whine that wants to escape. Her legs shake. Her muscles clench and shudder, her pussy tightening around her own fingers. She can’t move, can barely breathe, her head falling forward so her hair hides her face.

She cums with a silent, desperate, needy cry in the backseat, the scent of you filling her lungs and the thrill of getting caught sending sparks dancing behind her eyes. Her body is limp as the aftershocks pass. Her hand is wet and shaking, her face flushed. She forces herself to straighten up, to breathe, to blink and look normal. She wipes her fingers on her thigh, heart pounding, praying neither you nor Karina noticed anything.

Karina looks over her shoulder, phone in hand and smiling.

“Let’s go, Aeri.”

Giselle manages a nod, her eyes still burning with her own, secret orgasm.

She’s never wanted you more.

All three of you walk through the apartment door. You set the sushi on the dining table, the savory scent drifting through the air, making your stomach grumble.

You stretch, muscles tight from dance practice, and glance at the women over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower before we eat.”

You announce, grabbing a fresh shirt and towel from the bedroom and then heading down the hall.

Giselle is still and silent, barely out of her shoes, when she notices Karina’s eyes flick with a playful, almost conspiratorial spark as she watches you disappear. Without a word, Karina follows, feet soft on the wood, lips curling into a sly smirk as she slips into the bathroom behind you.

The door clicks shut. A few moments later, the hiss of the shower echoes down the hall.

Giselle stands frozen in the hallway, one hand pressed to her chest. She should go unpack the sushi. She should maybe start eating. She should do something. But all she can do is stare at the closed bathroom door, her mind painting images too vivid to ignore.

Karina pressing herself against your back, sliding soapy hands over your shoulders and chest. You pinning her to the tile, steam swirling around your bodies, the sound of her soft moans lost in the spray. Her giggling as she teases you for being hard, your hands cupping her ass, lifting her into you, both of you grinning, lost in each other, not caring if anyone else in the apartment can hear…

Giselle can’t help the frustrated, needy sound that slips past her lips. It’s a half moan, half sigh. She crosses her arms tight over her chest, as if that could muffle the ache now pulsing between her thighs. For a moment she stands rooted, caught between envy and desire, the echo of her orgasm from the car still hot on her skin. Then the need to touch herself, to chase the relief she only just found, becomes too much. She bites her lip, turns, and heads to the guest room. Her heart pounds as she closes the door softly behind her. Alone in the quiet room, she sits on the edge of the bed, eyes closed, picturing what she wishes was happening in that shower. Her hand drifts under her sweatpants again. And this time, she doesn’t need to stay quiet.

Steam curls through the bathroom, fogging the mirror and turning the bright lights soft. Water runs hot from the showerhead, pattering down onto the tile and over your bodies as you and Karina slip under the spray together. You’re both naked, pressed close in the narrow stall, slick with water. Karina grins up at you, her hair already damp, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

She picks up the bottle of body wash, squirting a generous amount into her hands. She lathers it up slowly, her touch lingering, then starts with your chest, her palms massaging the soap into your skin, sliding down your abs, purposefully slow.

“You must’ve worked really hard today.”

She teases, her fingers curling around your sides.

“You’re all sweaty and tense. Let me take care of you.”

You laugh, letting her touch you, but you don’t make it easy. As she works her way lower, you reach for her, one hand sliding over her hip, squeezing the curve of her ass, the other hand gathering up suds and slipping across her back. You trail your hand around, under the water, up to her chest, thumbing across her nipple until it hardens in your palm. Karina squirms, biting her lip to keep from making a sound.

“I thought you were supposed to be washing me.”

She whispers, but she leans into your hand anyway, her back arching.

You grin.

“Multitasking.”

You lean down to press your mouth to her shoulder, kissing the slick skin, breathing in her scent through the steam. She retaliates by pressing her soapy hand lower, fingers grazing your cock, cupping your balls, then massaging soap into your thighs.

“I’m just making sure you’re clean everywhere.”

She purrs, glancing up at you through dark, wet lashes.

You try not to react, but your hips push forward, seeking more of her touch. Karina laughs quietly, satisfied with your response. You trade spots, switching places so you can lather her up, palms sliding up her arms, across her shoulders, down her back and ass, making sure you pay extra attention to the spots that make her shiver. She giggles, fingers digging into your sides when you linger between her legs, your thumb brushing her clit under the cover of soap. She gasps, stifling it by biting your shoulder, her body quivering under your touch.

You move closer, letting the hot water rinse you both off, hands still roaming, always teasing, always careful not to let things tip over the edge. The challenge you’re both facing is clear: Who will give in first? Who will push too far and lose the bet?

Karina looks up at you, cheeks flushed, breathless but smiling.

“If you keep going, you’re going to lose, you know.”

She whispers, her fingers drifting up your shaft, just barely touching, just enough to make you twitch. You grit your teeth, determined not to let go.

“Not today.”

You murmur back, brushing your lips over hers, your hands gentle but relentless as they slide over every inch of her body.

Steam fills the bathroom as you and Karina keep testing each other’s limits. Every touch is a little too long, every breath is a little too shaky. She’s rinsing shampoo from her hair when you step behind her, sliding your hands slowly up her waist, letting the water run down both your bodies. Karina inhales sharply, her back brushing your chest, her ass brushing your cock. You know she’s close to losing it. You’re dangerously close too. But neither of you wants to lose.

Giselle is already naked, sprawled across the bed with her thighs open and one hand buried between them. Sweat is clinging to her skin even though the room is cool. Her eyes are squeezed shut. Her breath is shaky. Because in her mind, she’s not in the guest room at all. She’s in the shower with you.

She imagines your body behind hers, water streaming down your shoulders, your hands grabbing her hips and pushing her against the cold tiles. She imagines your voice low and rough in her ear.

“Stay still. I’m not done with you.”

Her fingers push deeper at the thought. She imagines you soaping her up the way you’re doing to Karina right now, rough, slow, claiming touches sliding over her tits, your hands gripping her hips, your cock rubbing between her ass cheeks before you sink into her from behind.

A whine escapes her lips as she arches into her own hand.

Karina gasps when you tug her back gently by her waist, pressing her lightly against the wall, not enough to slip, just enough to tease her.

“Easy.”

You mumble, brushing your lips against her shoulder. Her breath stutters. She turns around, cheeks flushed pink, water sliding between her breasts as she wraps her arms around your neck. You kiss her once, but the moment your tongues meet she moans and her hips roll against yours. Something she immediately regrets because your cock twitches between you. You break the kiss, both of you breathing too hard.

“Let’s finish washing.”

You say, almost sounding like you’re begging yourself as much as her. She nods, smirking. But you both know you’re both on the edge.

When the water stops, you grab a towel and gently wrap it around Karina’s shoulders. She blinks at you, surprised.

“You’re being nice… That’s suspicious.”

You smirk and start drying her off. Slowly. Too slowly. Every time the towel brushes her nipples or glides down her thighs, she shivers. When you’re done, she snatches the towel from you.

“My turn.”

She steps close and dries your chest, her hands lingering, then your abs, her breath catching, and finally, she kneels to dry your legs, inches from your cock.

You swallow. She looks up at you through wet lashes, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You almost lost.”

“So did you.”

You help her up, both of you laughing at your stupid dance in the shower.

Giselle is gone.

Her moans are barely being contained. Her body shivers as she imagines you gripping her hair under the spray, forcing her to her knees, your cock sliding into her mouth as water splashes across her back.

She cums hard. Her legs tremble. Her hand is soaked. Her breathing is ragged.

Her fantasy ends with you pulling out of her mouth and painting her face, warm water washing down her cheeks as she stares up at you.

She lets out a shaking moan as she orgasms again, her back arching off the mattress. Then she collapses into the sheets, gasping for air.

You step out of the bathroom with Karina, towel around your waist while hers covers her upper body as well.

“Where’s Giselle?”

Karina shrugs as she heads toward the kitchen.

“She’s probably changing or something. You can help me set up the sushi.”

You nod, but something feels… off. You head toward your bedroom to plug your phone in and the moment you step in, you hear it. A faint gasp. A muffled moan. The unmistakable sound of someone having a really good time. For a second you wonder if you’re hearing correctly. Is Giselle actually…

The screen of your phone lights up. The notification immediately captures your attention.

Winter.

“Oppa, which should I post on IG?”

Two photos attached.

You sigh, expecting harmless selfies…but when you open the chat, you freeze.

Winter stands in the center of an empty stadium stage, arms raised above her head while her hands form V signs, pink crop top matching her pink sweatpants. Her smile is cute, her pose relaxed.

But the second photo…You tap it. And zoom in.

Her sweatpants sit just low enough on her hips to hint that she isn’t wearing panties at all. The dip of her pelvis visible. The curve of her lower belly perfect. And her crop top? Lifted so high, you can see the soft under curve of her small breasts, pink fabric barely covering anything.

You stare at the screen, reminding yourself to breathe.

There’s no way she sent this by accident. Winter must know what she’s doing. But why is she doing this? Two days ago, she was rubbing her bare tummy against you during a hug. Today she’s sending you this?

You wonder if Karina put her up to it. Like Chaewon and Minju and Yena. Those three had been her “secret weapons” last time, tempting you on purpose.

You can’t tell if this is the same thing…or if Winter is playing her own game.

Either way…Two can play.

“You should post the second one.”

You don’t send an explanation or anything. Just enough pressure to push her one step further. Right before you put your phone on your nightstand, another thought hits you. Is she really going to post a picture showing she’s not wearing underwear… and basically her underboobs… to millions of followers?

You swallow. You really, really hope she does.

You step out of the bedroom…and someone rushes past you in a blur of dark hair and grey sweatpants.

You halt, confused. The bathroom door slams shut. You glance toward the kitchen. Karina is still there, setting plates. Giselle is missing.

Oh.

You shake your head, lips twitching. Giselle must’ve practically sprinted to the bathroom. But why?

You walk over to Karina, just in time for her to turn toward you with a mischievous smile.

She picks up a piece of salmon nigiri.

“Open.”

You obey, leaning down so she doesn’t have to stretch. She feeds it to you, her fingers brushing your lips.

“Taste good?”

You chew slowly, trying not to think about Winter’s picture… Giselle sprinting away… or Karina’s damp, glistening hair and the cleavage under her towel.

“Save something for me.”

She whispers, brushing past you to get changed.

You nod, forcing yourself to focus on the table…but your mind is racing.

Yeri’s cheek is pressed hard to the cool metal of your Mustang’s hood, her breath fogging the paint with every ragged exhale. The faint echo of traffic and the deep, rhythmic slap of your hips against her ass cut through the darkness of the underground garage. You knew it’d be a wise idea to park in a spot without any cameras when you arrived to the script reading earlier.

You grip Yeri’s waist tightly with one hand, your fingers digging into the softness of her skin. With the other, you keep her pinned, her hair fanned over her face, her short black dress bunched high around her hips. The black socks just below her knees frame her bare thighs perfectly. Her back arches, pushing her ass higher for you as she whimpers, eager and shameless.

“Harder.”

She begs, voice muffled against the hood.

You answer her with a sharp thrust, burying yourself to the hilt. Her nails scrape at the metal, hips bucking into you.

“Fuck-yes, just like that.”

She gasps, her words dissolving into broken moans.

You slam into her, rough and relentless, sweat dripping down your spine. Every time you sink into her, her body clenches around you, slick and hot, making it nearly impossible not to lose yourself completely.

But you’re desperate to hold on. Yeri wants you to be wild and ruin her, but you have to fake it again. Irene’s threat lingers at the back of your mind. If she and Yeri compare notes, you’ll have to pray your act is good enough.

You bite your lip, eyes squeezed shut as you focus on the feel of her. How wet she is, how tight she squeezes, the way her ass jiggles with every thrust. Your pace gets rougher, your grip bruising, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the garage.

Yeri tries to look at you with her cheek still pressed against the hood, a wicked grin flashing on her lips.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

She doesn’t even get a full breath out before your hand leaves the back of her head. In one smooth motion, you slide your fingers around her throat.

She gasps, short and sharp, half surprised, half aroused, right before you pull her upright. Her palms slide off the hood with a scrape, her back arching as you haul her up by her neck alone. Your other hand stays locked around her waist. Her dress rides even higher, practically bunched against her ribs now. Her socks, her thighs, her ass…it’s all on display as you keep pounding into her from behind.

“W-wait-”

She chokes out, a little startled…but her hips push back into you anyway.

Her whole body presses against yours as you keep her upright by her throat. Her head tilts slightly back onto your shoulder. Her lips part, her eyes flutter, but then she finally focuses. Straight ahead of her is the faint, dark reflection in the Mustang’s windshield. Her reflection. Your hand wrapped tight around her neck. Your hips slamming into her ass, making her tits shake in the dress in the reflection with every thrust.

She watches herself break apart on your cock.

“Oh my… god…”

Yeri whispers, staring at the ghost image of her own ruined expression. Your grip on her throat tightens, not enough to hurt, but just enough to make her body melt into yours.

“Soon.”

You growl against her ear.

“But you are going first.”

Yeri’s lips fall open wider. Her eyes in the reflection are glossy, pupils blown out. Her lashes flutter as she watches her own mouth tremble when you squeeze her throat a little harder.

“You look good like this.”

Your breath is hot against the side of her neck.

“Look at yourself. Look at how desperate you are.”

She whines, actually whines, and her hand shoots back to grab your thigh, hanging on as her hips push back with frantic little jerks.

“F-fuck, wait-”

“No.”

You cut her off with another hard thrust that makes her entire body jolt.

“You’re cuming first.”

Your hand slides from her throat down to her sternum, then back up again, controlling her posture like she’s nothing but a doll for you to use. The reflection shows all of it, your fingers around her neck…her head tipping back…the way she helplessly grinds back onto you.

Her breath becomes erratic. Her thighs start to tremble. Yeri tries to brace herself on your car, fingers brushing the hood but failing to find stability as you keep her upright by her throat.

“Fuck-fuck-”

“Come on.”

You murmur into her ear, watching her reflection with her.

“Let go.”

“Ah-ah-ah-”

“You’re gonna cum on my cock while you watch yourself.”

Her eyes lock on the reflection. Her body clenches around you.

Yeri’s orgasm hits hard and fast. Her thighs shake as a strangled moan tears out of her throat. Her body melts against yours, collapsing back as you hold her up, your hand still firm on her neck. Her pussy tightens violently around you, squeezing and milking your cock as it pulses in random intervals. You fuck her through every second of it, watching the way she falls apart in her own reflection, her back arched, her lips parted, her eyes rolled up. Her entire body trembles until she slumps fully against you, visibly dizzy from that very intense high.

Only then do you loosen your hold on her throat, guiding her back down against the hood. You’re still hard inside her pussy and still throbbing. But you know better. You’re not finished with her yet.

You keep fucking Yeri with slow and controlled thrusts, just enough to sell the act of you fighting your climax, but not enough to actually push yourself over the edge. Yeri is still trembling from her orgasm, collapsed against the hood, her hair sticking to her cheek.

When you groan, it’s only half a lie.

“I’m close now too…”

Your body is tight, wound up, pushed to the limit, but not so far that you can’t rein it back in.

Yeri lifts her head, still dazed.

“Then-then pull out. I want it on my face.”

Your heart slams in your chest. A facial? Again? Irene’s voice flashes in your head.

“You’re going to paint my face… I love feeling a man cum all over me…”

Is this normal? Do they talk? Compare notes? Or is this just some insane coincidence?

You slowly pull out of Yeri, your cock shining with her slick. She lets out a shaky breath as she turns around, her knees hitting the garage floor, her black socks scrunching slightly as she squats. She’s eye-level with your cock now, her dress bunched around her waist, her makeup already a little ruined from how hard you fucked her.

She looks up at you with big eyes.

“Come on. I want to feel it. Right here.”

She taps her cheek with two fingers.

Your breath catches. You could fake it again. But you need to tell her first. Otherwise, she’ll notice when nothing hits her face.

“Yeri… wait.”

She blinks, thrown off.

“Huh? You said you’re close.”

“I am. But before I finish, you should know something.”

Her brows pinch slightly.

“…What?”

You can’t even believe you’re going through this conversation twice in one week.

“I have a… condition.”

You say carefully.

“Sometimes when I orgasm, I don’t… shoot.”

Yeri stares. Expression flat. Eyes unblinking.

“…What?”

“It’s rare.”

You mutter, trying to sound annoyed more than ashamed, just like with Irene.

“I still cum. I still feel it. But I don’t always…”

“No.”

She holds up a hand, cutting you off.

“No. You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Yeri’s mouth falls open. Then slowly closes. Then opens again.

She sits back on her heels, squinting at your cock like she’s inspecting it for answers.

“So, you’re telling me that you just blew my back out over the hood of your Mustang… and now you’re gonna cum…without cumming?”

You nod, helpless.

Yeri wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

“…You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

When you say nothing, she sighs sharply, pushes her hair behind her ear, and stares up at you with a resigned expression that says she’s making peace with this disaster.

“Well… whatever.”

She rolls her eyes but then looks at your cock with renewed focus.

“As long as I get to see your face when you cum, I’ll take it.”

She grips your shaft with one hand, stroking slow and firm. The exact opposite of Irene’s sharp, punishing pace.

“Go on. Show me… even if I don’t get the mess.”

Your pulse spikes. Your stomach tightens. Your thighs tremble. You’re too close already anyway. Right on that razor-thin line between control and disaster. You grit your teeth, inhale sharply, and force your body into the familiar pattern of release. The breathy grunt. The twitch in your hips. The shudder down your spine. You fake it as best as you can, letting your head tilt back and your body jerk once, twice, three times.

Yeri’s eyes widen. She stares up at you like she’s witnessing some kind of glitch in reality.

“…Seriously?”

She whispers, still stroking, waiting for the inevitable…but nothing happens.

Your cock twitches in her hand, your body convulses with the last bit of your act. Then you slump forward, your hands on the Mustang’s hood, panting like a man who just painted someone’s face with everything he had.

Except you didn’t. And Yeri knows it now.

She keeps stroking for a few more seconds in stunned silence until the truth is undeniable. Slowly, reluctantly, she lets go. Her hand drops to her thigh. Her expression is a mix of disbelief, frustration, and something that looks dangerously close to fascination.

“…holy shit.”

She says finally.

You wipe fake sweat from your brow and try not to look as relieved as you feel.

“Like I said. It… happens sometimes.”

“How often?”

She demands, tugging her dress down and adjusting it over her hips.

“Every time? Half the time? Is it random? Is it stress related? Hormones? Do you-”

You lift a hand.

“Yeri. I don’t know. It’s just… a thing. Sometimes there’s a mess, sometimes there isn’t.”

She stares at you for several seconds, her brain clearly trying to make sense of this. Then she stands up, leans against the hood, and exhales a long, defeated sigh.

“Well…”

She says finally, brushing her hair back.

“That was still some of the best sex I’ve had this year.”

You open your mouth to reply, but she cuts you off with a finger to your lips.

“But.”

Her eyes narrow. A dangerous smile forms.

“The next time we meet for the drama…”

She steps closer, close enough that her breath tickles your chin.

“…I’m going to make you give me real cum. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what I have to do.”

She pokes your chest.

“I’m not letting you walk away again without giving me something.”

Then she turns, fixes her hair, taps ash off her knee-high socks, and walks away without another word. Her heels echo across the parking garage.

You watch her leave and groan, dragging your hands over your face.

Great. Perfect. Amazing.

Now you’ve got Irene, who swore she’ll give you one handjob after another until you paint her entire face and Yeri, who wants the same thing and refuses to stop until she gets it. You can’t fake it forever.

You buckle your belt, lean on the hood, and sigh.

You need Karina to lose first.
Or…your mind flashes to Winter’s exposed waist in the car, the random photo she sent, the way she hugged you, the way she lowered her sweatpants, the way she kissed your cheek twice…

Maybe, just maybe, Winter might be your one chance to flip the game.

Because if you don’t outmaneuver these women…you’re doomed long before the month ends.

Two days later, you’re walking through the hallway of the SM building. Karina at your side. Giselle trailing behind you. Winter and Ningning are probably waiting inside the practice room already.

The moment you step inside, you feel the tension snap across the air like a rubber band pulled too tight. Giselle and Ningning both go rigid the second they see each other.
Winter tries to act neutral, but her eyes flick toward Giselle, then Ningning, then back to you. Karina doesn’t notice a thing, humming softly as she takes her jacket off. Or maybe she’s just pretending not to notice. You roll your shoulders once, ready to push them all a step into the direction of your victory.

You said you’d push especially Karina forward. And you meant it. So, when she turns to you with her usual goodbye smile, hand lifted for a soft peck on the lips, you grab her by the throat. Not painfully. Just possessively enough that her breath catches.

Karina gasps, her lips parting in shock, and you pull her in for a rough, hungry kiss that has her stumbling a little against your chest. Winter takes a sharp breath. Ningning actually freezes mid blink. Giselle’s knees almost press together on instinct.

You pull away slowly, your thumb brushing Karina’s lower lip. Her eyes are wide.

“What… was that for?”

You smirk, leaning in close to her ear, but still speaking loud enough for everyone else to hear.

“Have fun.”

Your free hand slides down her waist. Lower and lower. And then you grab a full handful of her ass, squeezing her cheeks hard enough that she rises onto her toes and lets out a tiny, involuntary whine.

Karina turns pink. Winter and Giselle both forget to breathe. Ningning looks like she wants to throw something and kiss you at the same time.

You let Karina go, leaving her flushed and confused and turned on, and turn toward the exit like nothing happened. You walk past all three of the other girls without a word, their gazes burning into your back.

Next stop: your meeting with Wendy.

You return from the counter balancing both coffees and a small plate of pastries Wendy insisted she didn’t want but absolutely meant yes to. She’s already seated in a quiet corner booth, her white shirt slipping off one naked shoulder, her phone face down beside her.

She brightens the moment she sees you approaching. You set her drink in front of her.

“Thanks.”

You slide into the seat across from her. Wendy wraps both hands around her cup, blowing lightly across the lid before taking a careful sip.

For a moment, neither of you speak. You don’t feel the same tension you feel with all the other girls. Wendy seems to be… calmer.

“So,”

S finally says, resting her chin on her hand, elbow propped on the table.

“Busy day?”

You huff a soft laugh.

“You could say that.”

Her eyes curve like crescent moons.

“You look tired.”

She said that a couple of days ago too.

You stir your drink just to keep your hands busy.

“What about you?”

You ask.

“Fan meet preparations?”

Wendy shrugs lightly.

“We’re almost done for the day. I just needed a break, and… you said you’d be nearby. So.”

So she chose you instead of any of her members. So she’s sitting here right now, wearing a light off shoulder top with no bra strap visible. You’re trying very hard not to stare.

“You’re good company.”

She adds.

You cough once into your cup, your eyes tearing themselves off her exposed skin. Wendy laughs quietly.

“You get flustered easily for someone with your reputation.”

You narrow your eyes a little.

“My what?”

Wendy pretends to think, tapping her finger on her coffee lid.

“Well… Joy says you’re a good dancer. Yeri says you’re fun. Irene says-”

She stops. Smiles.

“That you’re… interesting.”

Your stomach dips. They definitely talked. About you. Maybe about more than dancing.

Wendy watches your expression.

“Don’t worry. They only said good things.”

You’re not entirely convinced.

She leans back, crossing her legs beneath the table, and her gaze softens.

“You looked a little stressed the other day as well. At the beauty salon. Everything okay?”

You blink.

“It’s just… a busy month.”

Wendy stirs her drink slowly.

“Then it’s good you’re here. Sometimes… you need a place to breathe and relax.”

You wonder if she needs a place to breathe, too. Instead of asking her, you pick up your cup again, letting the steam warm your face.

“What’s really going on with you? You seem… distracted. Come on, you can tell me.”

You almost laugh. Distracted doesn’t even cover it. Giselle barely holding it together around you. Winter suddenly acting like seduction is a hobby. Irene promising to wring you dry the next time she sees you. Yeri determined to drag an actual orgasm out of you. Karina playing mind games. Ningning one video message away from begging.

And now…Wendy, watching you from across the table.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Wendy tilts her head.

“Anyone I know?”

You meet her eyes for a moment too long.

Her lips curl into a deeper, but soft smile.

“Oh.”

She whispers.

“I see.”

She doesn’t press you. She doesn’t have to. She already probably understands more than she’s letting on.

You sip your coffee, she sips hers.

“You know…”

Wendy says after a moment, tapping her nail against her cup.

“If you ever need to get something off your chest… you can talk to me.”

Her eyes soften.

“You have a lot of people wanting pieces of you.”

A pause.

“Just make sure you’re not letting them take too much.”

You stare at her, unsure what to say.

Then Wendy suddenly lifts her hand in a small wave, her face brightening.
You turn to see who she’s greeting…and the fragile calm you just managed to build shatters instantly.

Joy and Seulgi. Both holding coffees. Both staring directly at you. Both smiling.

They cross the cafeteria toward your table, every step tightening something in your chest. Wendy leans back in her seat, as if she’s been expecting this.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Joy sings as she arrives, hips swaying like she’s trying to make you remember what happened between you two.

Seulgi stands beside her, offering you a polite nod before her eyes drop to your chest, then back up.

“Didn’t think we’d run into you again so soon.”

Seulgi says.

“Hi.”

Wendy gestures at the empty side of the booth.

“Sit with us. We’re just talking.”

Joy slides in without hesitation, sitting right next to you. Seulgi sits beside Wendy, across from Joy, placing her coffee down neatly.

Joy crosses her legs, the denim of her jeans stretching tight across her thighs.

“Small world, isn’t it?”

She says, eyes locked on you.

“First, our… dance practice session- “

She smirks when she says it, not even trying to hide the double meaning.

“-and now we find you on a coffee date.”

Wendy rolls her eyes.

“It isn’t a date.”

“It looks like one.”

Joy replies.

You cough into your drink.

Seulgi watches you with soft curiosity.

“You okay? You look a little… jumpy.”

You snap your head up.

“I’m fine.”

Wendy’s lips twitch, holding back a smile. Joy leans her elbow on the table, chin in her hand, gazing at you openly.

“You’re sweating.”

She points out. You curse internally. Of course you are.

Wendy raises her cup.

“Maybe he’s hot.”

Joy smirks.

“Maybe he feels guilty.”

You give her a look. She just shrugs, eyes sparkling.

Seulgi giggles softly, brushing hair behind her ear.

“Do we interrupt something?”

Wendy shakes her head.

“We were just talking about stress.”

Joy’s eyes flicker down you again.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s stressed. Probably needs help… winding down.”

You stiffen.

Wendy nudges Joy’s knee under the table.

“Stop teasing him.”

Her tone is light, not scolding.

Seulgi sips her drink, mostly watching the dynamic between the two women and you.

“Actually,”

She says softly.

“Irene told me you’re going to talk to her again soon.”

Your heart stops. Wendy freezes mid sip. Joy’s eyebrows lift in interest.

“Oh?”

Joy says, leaning forward.

“Going back to Irene’s place, are we?”

You try not to choke.

“Work.”

You say quickly.

“For her concert.”

Wendy hums under her breath. Joy nods with a too friendly smile. Seulgi tilts her head.

“That’s good. Irene likes… reliable partners.”

Wendy snorts softly into her cup. Joy smirks.

“Oh, she likes him for a lot of reasons.”

Wendy scoffs under her breath again but doesn’t deny it.

Then Joy reaches out and taps your wrist.

“You really do attract trouble, huh?”

Wendy sips her coffee.

“Maybe trouble attracts him.”

Seulgi laughs.

“Either way… it’s fun to watch.”

You stare at all three of them.

Joy’s mischief. Wendy’s warmth and hidden hunger. Seulgi’s innocent curiosity.

“Poor thing.”

Joy says, touching your shoulder lightly.

“Breathe. We won’t eat you.”

Wendy and Seulgi laugh.

“…unless you want us to.”

Now Wendy chokes on her coffee. Seulgi hides her laugh behind her hand. And you know you’re in deep, deep trouble.

Joy is the first to break the next silence yet again. She leans back, stretches her arms above her head, knowing exactly what that does to her chest, and sighs dramatically.

“So…”

She says, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What’s it like?”

You blink.

“What’s what like?”

Wendy nudges Joy with her knee again, but she’s already grinning.

“What’s it like living with two hot girls?”

You go still. Seulgi glances up with sudden interest. Joy smirks wider.

“Oh, come on. You thought we didn’t know?”

You stare at her.

“How-?”

Joy shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Karina told Taeyeon unnie.”

She says casually.

“Taeyeon unnie told Yeri.”

She lifts her cup.

“And Yeri tells everyone.”

Wendy covers her mouth to hide a laugh. Seulgi’s brows rise slowly, her expression polite but undeniably curious.

“We only heard bits.

 Seulgi adds gently.

“But… enough.”

Wendy sets her coffee down, leaning in.

“So you really have Giselle staying with you. Full time.”

You nod cautiously, suddenly aware that all three women are now leaning in your direction, like you’re telling a story and they want every word.

Joy wiggles her brows.

“And Karina’s fine with it?”

You try to shrug like it’s nothing.

“It’s temporary.”

Wendy chuckles, soft and warm.

“I don’t know… Giselle seems pretty comfortable. Didn’t she say your place smells… nice?”

The last word has teasing weight.

Seulgi tilts her head.
“She also said you cook well.”

She adds with a tiny smile.

“And that you drive her around.”
Joy sucks in air through her teeth.

“That’s… very boyfriend behavior.”

You choke.

“Oh, don’t look so guilty.”

Joy says, patting the back of your hand.

“It’s cute.”

Wendy hums.

“Or concerning.”

Seulgi taps her straw against her cup quietly.

“Or dangerous.”

You rub your forehead.

“Sunbaes, please-”

But they’re already spiraling with Joy leading the way

“So, which one of them flirts more with you?”

And Wendy following.

“Karina or Giselle? Or is it actually one of the other two?”

And Seulgi adds something as well.

“Do you… prefer Giselle staying with you over the others?”

And it continues.

“Yeah, do you like waking up with two pretty girls in your apartment?”

“Or is it stressful because you’re… easily distracted?”

“Or exciting?”

You look at them helplessly.

Joy leans in closer, chin in hand.

“So? Come on. Confess. We won’t judge.”

She grins wickedly.

“We’ll just tease you a little.”

Wendy smiles.

“It must be… interesting. Having all that temptation around.”

Seulgi sips her drink delicately.

“And very… stimulating.”

You exhale through your nose, trying to keep your composure.

“Karina trusts me.”

You manage. You don’t know what else you’re supposed to say.

Joy snorts.

“That’s not what we asked.”

Wendy shakes her head, laughing softly.

“You poor thing. You look so overwhelmed.”

Seulgi leans forward a little, voice soft.

“You can tell us. What’s the hardest part? The attention?”

She smiles.

“Or resisting it?”

Joy drags her straw against her lips as she stares at you.

“You know…”

She says lightly.

“If I lived with you, I wouldn’t let you sleep.”

Wendy’s eyes flick to you, your face, your throat, your chest, before she hides behind her cup again.

Seulgi’s voice is almost a whisper.

“It must be exhausting.”

Your pulse jumps.

You unlock the door with one hand, shifting the grocery bags in the other. Giselle’s shoes aren’t by the entrance. So, she’s out. You expect Karina to be in the living room scrolling on her phone, but as you pass the hallway, you hear her voice.

Through the cracked bedroom door. You don’t want to eavesdrop. You really don’t. But then you hear your name.

You freeze.

“…yeah, I know.”

Karina whispers.

“But he hasn’t cracked yet.”

You feel your pulse thump. She’s talking about you. You take one step closer without meaning to, heart pounding in your throat.

Karina laughs softly. A little frustrated.

“Aigo, Minjeong-ah… I am trying. I really am. But he’s being impossible this year.”

Your eyes widen.

Winter. She’s talking to Winter.

You hold your breath.

“Hey-don’t laugh! I’m seriously about to lose it.”

Karina’s voice drops lower, a little whiny at the end.

“If he kisses me like that again in the morning, I swear I’m gonna fold first.”

Your mouth goes dry. You almost smile…until Karina says the next sentence.

“That’s why I need you to try harder.”

You blink. Harder?

Karina sighs into the phone, sheets rustling as if she’s rolling onto her back.

“You’re doing good, I promise. But you need to step it up a little. He’s not cracking as fast as last time.”

Your spine stiffens. Karina put Winter up to it. All the pictures. All the innuendo. All the “accidental” teasing. It wasn’t Winter acting on her own. Karina wanted her to seduce you. You feel heat crawl up your neck, a mixture of realization, disbelief… and something else.

Karina continues, voice soft but serious.

“If you make him lose before I do… I’ll treat you to whatever you want. Anything. Just please…help me.”

A nervous laugh.

“Before I fuck up and climb him like a tree.”

Your grip tightens around the grocery bag. You swallow hard.

Winter’s sweet words. The exposed waist. The no-panties pictures. The kisses on the cheek. That one entire car ride. All planned. All intentional. All with Karina’s blessing.

Your girlfriend sighs again, almost pouting.

“I’m dying here, Minjeong-ah… I want him so bad.”

You can feel the frustration in her voice.

“I’m trying to win. Really. But if he touches my waist again like that-”

She groans into the phone.

“I’m doomed.”

There’s a pause. A small laugh.

“So please… seduce him harder. I know you can.”

Your heart stops.

Karina is asking Winter to actively push you off the edge. Karina. Your girlfriend. Plotting against you. Again. And Winter…Winter saying yes.

You stand there, stunned, groceries forgotten in your hand, heartbeat slamming in your chest.

What do you do now? Confront Karina? No. You’re at an advantage now. If you play your cards well, you can win this. But how?

Your mind wanders, back to Irene and Wendy. You faked your orgasm, so you don’t cum. How about you do the same with Winter and let her tell Karina?

No, knowing Karina, she’d probably ask Winter for some kind of proof. Like a picture of your cum, or a full video of you fucking her.

But maybe…

You walk into the kitchen.

Maybe if you don’t just fake your orgasm, but also fake your cum?

You set down the bags of groceries and take out your phone.

A simple online search should help you out.