The summer heat in Seoul clung to everything like a second skin, thick and unrelenting even after midnight. Jeon’s off-campus flat was supposed to be a sanctuary—cheap rent, decent AC, and most importantly, privacy. But privacy had never really been part of the deal between him and Y/n.

They’d met in their second year at university, thrown together in a group project for a film studies elective. She was sharp-tongued, effortlessly hot, and carried herself like someone who already knew the world owed her better than the hand she’d been dealt. He was the quiet chaos—tattoos creeping under his sleeves, a smirk that promised trouble, and a reputation for disappearing after parties. One late-night editing session turned into heated arguments, which turned into even hotter make-out sessions against the library stacks.

Neither of them wanted a relationship. Commitment was a cage they’d both sworn off—Jeon after watching his parents’ messy divorce, Y/n after a string of exes who tried to clip her wings. But their bodies? Their bodies spoke a different language. What started as a one-time stress-relief hookup became a regular thing. They tried everything—blindfolds, light choking, risky public teasing, toys, roleplay that left them both wrecked and laughing breathlessly afterward. No strings. Just pleasure. Just need.

Tonight had been one of the best yet. Jeon had fucked her so thoroughly she’d passed out mid-afterglow, pussy still throbbing and slick from how many times he’d made her cum. Now she slept in the guest room (technically his room, but they kept up the pretense), wearing nothing but a tiny pleated skirt pushed up around her waist and a black lace bra that barely contained her breasts. The AC hummed lazily, but the heat still made her skin glow with a faint sheen of sweat. Her thighs were slightly parted, bare pussy exposed—pink, puffy, and still a little creamy from earlier. She looked obscene. She looked perfect.

The door creaked open.