Ji-hye dumped her backpack on the reception couch and shook the last of the winter air from her hair, eyes glinting with that feral edge she always brought back from a tournament. The clinic was still, lights dimmed for closing, only the low hum of a heater and the drifting, herbal scent of clean sheets lingering in the air. She stretched, spine popping, a contented sound escaping her as she took in the unfamiliar space.

"So this is the famous lair," she teased, glancing around. "Where you work all your magic and ruin the self-esteem of Seoul's finest?"

Joon-ho watched her from the hallway, lips twitching, letting her have the moment. "Not all of them, just the ones who ask nicely."

She flashed a grin, toeing off her sneakers. "That's not what Harin said. I heard you practically make people cry with those hands."

He stepped forward, hands sliding into his pockets, the shadows playing across his face. "You came all this way for a massage?"

"Maybe," she said, her voice coy but edged with honesty. "Maybe I just missed you."

That slipped something loose between them—something soft and earnest, easily hidden beneath her usual bravado. She drifted from room to room, grazing fingers over treatment tables, pausing to look at a wall of oils and creams labeled in crisp, professional script.

He watched her as she lingered at the door to his office, curiosity in every movement. "Come on. You want the full tour?"

She shrugged, feigning disinterest, but there was a brightness to her eyes that gave her away. He led her through the clinic—showing her the compact therapy room, the supply closet crammed with plush towels and heat packs, the tiny break room where he sometimes slept between late clients.

Ji-hye touched everything with the reverence of someone who understood the grind, who'd built her body in gyms and locker rooms, who respected any place that could bring relief after a day spent pushing limits. She paused at the massage table, running her palm across the vinyl, imagining for a moment what it might feel like to be worked over here—muscles unwound, tension bled out.

She caught him watching. "You ever get tired of taking care of everyone else?"

He shrugged, leaning in the doorway. "Not when I have the right reason."

She smiled, a little wistful. "I used to think I wanted someone soft, you know? But now I get it. You need someone who's tougher than you are. Someone who pushes back."

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Is that what you're here for? To push back?"

She didn't answer—just smirked, sidling past him to the private stairwell. "I want to see your place. Unless you're hiding more secrets down here?"

He chuckled, following her upstairs. His apartment was warm, a scattering of books and old records on the shelf, city lights glowing soft beyond the windows. Ji-hye took it in, hands on hips, head tilting as she noted the details—two coffee mugs, a woman's hair tie on the counter, a half-finished puzzle spread across the dining table.

She dropped her voice, leaning into him as he closed the door. "It's weird. Feels like I know all these rooms from group chat photos, but it's different in person. Feels…real."

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You want something to eat? Drink?"

She shook her head, eyes locked on his mouth. "I want to shower. Flight sweat is not sexy."

He grinned, already moving for the bathroom, flipping on the light. The mirror fogged instantly from the warmth; Ji-hye stripped with practical efficiency, peeling away layers of athletic clothes until she stood bare and unapologetic. He joined her, letting the silence wrap them in intimacy.

Under the spray, Ji-hye pressed her back to the tiles, pulling him close until their bodies aligned—her nipples taut, skin flushed from the sudden heat. He cupped her jaw, kissing her hard, water streaming down their faces.

She gasped, lips parting, and he gripped her hips, pinning her with a wrestler's ease. She tested him, muscles coiling, but he held her fast, mouth trailing down her neck, biting gently at the curve of her shoulder.

"God, I missed this," she muttered, her voice thick. "Missed you."

He answered with a growl, one hand sliding between her thighs, two fingers teasing her open, stroking slow and deep as she bucked into his palm. Her hands fumbled for his cock, wrapping around the base and stroking with deliberate, practiced force.

Steam filled the room, the world outside erased to nothing but the pulse of skin on skin. He worked her, thumb circling her clit, other hand bracing her thigh as he pressed in closer, pinning her completely. She whimpered, nails dragging along his back, pleasure and frustration mingling.

He caught her eye, lips brushing her ear. "You're shaking."

She met his gaze, breath hitching. "Not from weakness."

He grinned, pride in every word. "Never thought you were weak. Just hot as hell when you lose control."

She laughed, a wet, broken sound, and crashed her lips to his, tongue demanding, body arching. His praise made her bold, and she twisted, trying to get the upper hand, but he held her there, strength and tenderness in every movement.

He whispered to her as he fingered her, praise tumbling out in rough, adoring bursts. "God, look at you. All that power, all that fight, and you let me have you like this. You're beautiful, Ji-hye. Fucking perfect."

She whimpered, her hand squeezing him tighter, hips grinding desperately. "Harder. Don't let up. I need it."

He obliged, pace relentless, the slick heat between her thighs growing with every stroke. She could barely stand, legs trembling as he worked her, making her feel both unstoppable and completely undone.

He didn't rush. He kept her on the edge, building her up and up until she was whimpering into his shoulder, forehead pressed to the cool tile. When she finally came, it was a full-body thing—her legs locking around him, a guttural cry muffled by his mouth.

He let her ride it out, gentling his movements, then scooped her into his arms, holding her steady as she caught her breath. The water beat down on them, soothing, washing away every bit of tension except the pulse that still throbbed between her legs.

She clung to him, shuddering with aftershocks. "Fuck, I forgot how good you are at that."

He laughed, voice soft. "Better than any trainer?"

She looked up at him, panting, cheeks flushed, body still twitching from the orgasm. "Better than all of them…" she whispered, barely believing her own voice.

He caught her mouth, kissing her slow—deep, devouring, the kind of kiss that didn't promise comfort, only more trouble. His thumb brushed her lower lip, smearing it open, making her shiver. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "that was just warm-up."

Ji-hye went still, heart hammering, a bolt of nervous energy shooting through her tired limbs. She felt him—thick, impossibly hard again, the head of his cock hot and insistent as it slid against her thigh, catching in the slick mess between her legs. The ache inside her sharpened, hunger spiraling up anew.

Her voice broke, half-laugh, half-moan. "You're kidding."

He leaned in, teeth grazing her ear, hands bracing her wrists against the cold tile. "No. I haven't even started, Ji-hye. You're not leaving this shower until you forget every single mile that kept you away from me."

A shudder rolled through her, need spiking all over again. Her legs wrapped around him on instinct, calves locking behind his hips, heels digging into the hard muscle of his back, desperate for friction.

He pressed forward, pinning her body with his, cock sliding along her slit, teasing but not giving in yet. The tile was cold, the water beating down on their tangled bodies—hot enough to sting, steam swirling up around them, blurring everything beyond the glass.

Ji-hye gasped, arching into him, nails scraping down his shoulders. "Then what are you waiting for?" she challenged, a wild spark lighting her eyes.

He grinned, dark and hungry. "For you to beg, athlete. Show me how much you want it."

She bit his jaw, tugging him closer, her hips rolling shamelessly. "Take it," she demanded, her voice nothing but raw want.

The last thing she remembered before everything dissolved into sensation was the way he looked at her—like every part of her belonged to him, and tonight, he was going to prove it.

The tile was cold. The water was hot. And what he was about to do to her—hotter.

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