The penthouse throbbed like a heartbeat on the edge of orgasm. Low, filthy bass vibrated through the marble floors and up into every man’s chest, thick enough to feel between their legs. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering Han River, but nobody gave a fuck about the view. This was their den—private, soundproofed, dripping with money and sin. Tonight the air itself was soaked in lust, heavy and sweet, like sweat and whiskey and the promise of pussy.

They’d just broken the world with Arirang. Records shattered, streams exploding, every headline screaming their names. The high had turned them reckless, loud, and dangerously horny—seven gods drunk on victory and ready to fuck the night raw.