Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The scent of toasted rice, garlic, and softly scrambled eggs filled the air.

Harin sat at the small table, curled in one of Joon-ho's oversized shirts—bare-legged, hair damp, nipples brushing the thin cotton. Her cheeks were still flushed from the night. Her thighs still sore.

He sat across from her, casual, shirtless, still watching her like he hadn't just emptied himself into her womb six hours ago.

She took another bite, then glanced up through her lashes.

"Hey…"

"Hm?"

"…What are we doing?"

His brow lifted.

"Having breakfast?"

She smirked. "I mean… this. You and me."

He leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his bare chest. "You tell me."

"I like you," she said softly, pushing her rice around. "A lot. I've always liked you. But you… I know you're not just mine."

He paused. The silence stretched warm between them.

"No," he said finally. "I'm not."

Her heart thumped—but she didn't flinch.

"I have a few… clients," he said, choosing the word carefully. "Women I treat regularly. The kind that don't just come for muscle therapy."

"Do you fuck them?"

He met her eyes. "Yes."

She breathed in. Let it settle.

Then she smiled. "Honestly, I'd be more surprised if you didn't."

He blinked.

"No girl can resist you," she said, sipping her tea. "I sure as hell couldn't. Your hands are dangerous. Your voice? That fucking smirk? You're a walking aphrodisiac."

He chuckled.

"But," she added, eyes narrowing playfully, "if I'm going to keep seeing you—and I will—I want to meet these women."

He tilted his head. "Why?"

"To know if they're good for you. To see if they're clingy or psycho. If they're a threat. If they can't keep boundaries."

He laughed. "You want to vet them?"

She nodded, serious now. "Yeah. If I'm going to love you… I need to know the whole picture."

His face softened.

They ate in silence for a moment.

Then she sighed, leaning back in her chair, rubbing her thigh. "Fuck, I don't wanna go back to work."

"What's your office like?" he asked.

"Toxic," she said instantly. "The CEO's fucking all three of his secretaries. Everyone knows. HR doesn't care."

"And you stay there?"

She scoffed. "The pay's insane. But I'm working 12-hour days for a man who treats women like cum receptacles."

His eyebrow arched. "You say that like you didn't scream through six orgasms last night."

She threw a piece of egg at him.

He caught it with his mouth, grinning.

"Why don't you quit?" he asked. "You're too good to waste in that place."

She raised an eyebrow. "And do what? Be your personal pet? Lie on your massage table all day with your cock in my mouth?"

He shrugged. "Could be worse."

She laughed—then paused.

"…Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"I need a receptionist. Someone to handle bookings, screen clients, run logistics. Someone who can keep secrets and knows how to read people."

"You want me to work with you?"

"Why not? You're smart. Gorgeous. And after last night, I know for a fact your moaning voice can hypnotize a room."

She bit her lip. "You can't afford me."

He smirked.

Without a word, he reached for his phone, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward her.

Her eyes widened.

"What the fuck…"

"Per session," he said. "Some pay more. Especially the discreet ones."

She looked at the number again—then again. Her half-year salary. In one single client visit.

Her jaw dropped.

"You're telling me this comes from massaging horny rich women?"

"…High-end clinical wellness and discreet personal care."

She laughed, almost choking on her tea.

"You're a fucking demon."

"I'm efficient."

She looked up, still smiling, something hungry in her eyes now.

"I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long," he said, rising from his chair and walking toward her.

He stood behind her chair, leaned down, and whispered in her ear:

"Because if you say yes… you won't just be my assistant. You'll be the one who watches when I fuck them. Approves them. Maybe even joins."

She shivered.

He kissed her neck—light, promising.

"Still want the job?"

She turned her head slowly.

"…I want everything."