Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The air between them was thick—hazy with breath, desire, years of unspoken tension.

Harin lay on her back, blouse already open and forgotten. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, nervous gasps. Her skirt was still bunched around her hips, panties clinging damply between her legs.

Joon-ho sat up beside her, watching.

He didn't pounce.He admired.

"You're beautiful, Harin," he murmured, voice soft but charged.

She looked away, a little shy. "Don't tease me..."

"I'm not teasing," he said, trailing a finger along her bare collarbone. "I've wanted to see you like this since you used to sit two rows in front of me, pretending not to notice me staring at your legs."

She flushed.

He leaned in, kissed her forehead, then her cheek… then down her jawline, whispering between each one:

"Pretty face...""Perfect skin...""Soft lips...""And these…" His hand cupped her breast again, thumb grazing the nipple. She gasped.

He slid her skirt down slowly, inch by inch. Her panties came next, already wet, sticking slightly before peeling off. She was fully nude now, legs curling instinctively—but he gently guided them apart.

Then he stood.

And undressed in front of her.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She'd always wondered what was under those calm, rolled-up sleeves during lectures. She'd seen glimpses, sure—but now? Now she stared.

Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Veins along his forearms. Every muscle toned, not like a gym rat—but like a man who worked with his body. Firm. Functional. Built.

Then she saw his cock.

She bit her lip.

She'd assumed he was big—based on how he carried himself, how Mirae glowed that day at brunch—but she hadn't been prepared for this.

"...Fuck," she whispered. "You're huge."

He smirked, stepping closer, letting it throb in front of her face for a second before leaning back down over her body.

"You'll take it," he whispered, brushing his tip over her inner thigh. "Every inch."

He kissed her again. This time, slow. Deep. Tongue pushing into her mouth, hands sliding along her hips.

Then came the teasing.

His fingers found her nipples, rolled and pinched until she gasped.

"Sensitive," he whispered. "Good."

His hand moved down. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, lower—trailing all the way to her cunt.

She moaned when his tongue met her clit—warm, slow, drawing lazy circles.

"Fuck, Joon-ho—" she gasped.

"Shhh," he teased between licks. "Don't scream yet. I haven't even started."

He pushed two fingers inside her—crooked just right, pressing her soft spot—and his tongue never stopped.

Her body shook.

She gripped the sheets.

"You're gonna make me—"

And then she did.

Her first orgasm rippled through her, soft and wet, thighs trembling, her mouth open in a silent moan as her eyes rolled back.

When she finally caught her breath, he kissed his way back up her body, wiping her slick off his lips with the back of his hand.

She stared at him, dazed.

"…I want you."

"You sure?"

"I've been sure since midterms."

He chuckled, lined himself up at her entrance, cockhead thick and waiting.

"Then say it."

"I want your cock," she whispered, spreading her legs. "Fuck me, Joon-ho."