Chapter 9: The Fourth Girl
Mina’s sobs softened into hiccups, then into a shaky, rhythmic breathing against his neck. She didn’t move to get off him. Aidan could feel the faint, aftershock tremors in her thighs where they bracketed his hips.
“Time, Mina-ya,” Ji-hyun said, her voice low but firm. She was sitting cross-legged on the rug now, a towel in her lap, watching the digital clock on the cable box flip to 12:07 AM.
Mina nodded, a wet movement against his skin. She pushed herself up, wincing as she lifted off him. The separation was messy. She stumbled to her feet, one hand instinctively pressing low on her abdomen. She looked down at the mix of fluids and blood on Aidan’s stomach, her own inner thighs smeared with it. Her face, puffy and tear-streaked, crumpled again. “It’s so messy.”
“It’s biology,” So-mi said, standing up. She stretched, her spine popping. She approached with a kind of pragmatic detachment, handing Mina a clean, damp towel from a stack they’d prepared. “Clean up. Sit down. Drink some tea.”
So-mi then turned to Aidan. She didn’t meet his eyes. Her gaze was fixed on his erection, which was still rigid, glistening with the evidence of Mina’s passage. “Efficiency is key,” she said, more to herself than anyone. “We’re behind schedule.”
She wasn’t like the others. There was no nervous ceremony. She knelt beside the sofa, not on it, and guided him to the edge of the cushions. She positioned herself on her knees on the floor, pushing her hair behind her ears. This was a technical operation for her.
“So-mi—” Aidan began.
“Quiet,” she said, not unkindly. “I’ve studied the angle.” She leaned forward, not taking him in her mouth first. Instead, she pressed the head against her entrance, already slick from watching the others. She took a controlled breath, exhaled, and pushed her hips forward in one steady, assertive motion.
There was no cry. Just a sharp, bitten-off gasp as her body opened, a hiss of air through her teeth. Her eyes were wide, alert, analyzing the sensation. She took him in three determined increments, her fingers digging into his thighs. When she was fully seated, she paused, her brow furrowed.
“Report,” Ji-hyun said softly from the shadows.
“Full depth achieved,” So-mi whispered, her voice tight. “Significant stretching. Burning sensation at the median point. Pressure… considerable.” She began to move, a calculated rise and fall, her movements efficient and precise. It was unnerving. She was mapping him.
Aidan lay back, letting her work. Her cool focus was a strange contrast to the hot, gripping reality of her body. He could see her thinking, adjusting the tilt of her pelvis, experimenting with the speed. She was treating her own virginity like a mechanical puzzle to be solved.
“Does it feel good?” Eun-ji asked, her voice small from the corner.
So-mi paused, mid-stroke. She looked at Eun-ji, then down at where they were joined. “It feels… full,” she said finally, the clinical edge softening by a degree. “It’s an intense data stream. Overwhelming the nervous system.” She resumed moving, her rhythm faltering slightly. Her breath started to come faster, losing its measured pace. “The… the data is becoming… less structured.”
Her precision broke. A moan, raw and surprised, leaked out of her. Her hips stuttered, lost their scientific rhythm. She clutched at him, her nails biting into his skin, her head dropping forward. “Malfunction,” she gasped, and then her body seized, going rigid as a silent, powerful orgasm slammed through her. It was a short, sharp event. She trembled violently for a few seconds, then went completely still, forehead resting on his knee, breathing hard.
When she pulled away, it was with the same methodical intent. She stood, her legs unsteady, and cleaned herself with a towel, her movements brisk. But her hands were shaking. She avoided everyone’s eyes. “Procedure complete,” she muttered, walking to the window and lighting a cigarette with unsteady fingers, staring out at the neon.
Two left.
The room felt heavier. The candle was now a stub, wax pooled and hardened on the table. Ji-hyun looked at Eun-ji. “Your turn.”
Eun-ji uncurled from the sofa. She was pale. She’d been silent through Mina’s tears and So-mi’s clinical breakdown. She walked over to Aidan but didn’t get on the sofa. Instead, she sank to the floor in front of him, resting her cheek on his knee. She looked up at him, her dark eyes liquid in the low light.
“I’m scared,” she said, simply.
“I know,” Aidan said. His voice was hoarse.
“It hurt them.”
“Yes.”
“Will it hurt less if I like you?” The question was a child’s logic, devastating in its simplicity.
Aidan’s throat tightened. “I don’t know, Eun-ji.”
She nodded, as if she’d expected that answer. She stayed there for a long minute, her face against his skin. Then she moved. She didn’t straddle him. She turned around, presenting her back to his chest, and lowered herself slowly into his lap. He could feel her heart hammering against his arm as he encircled her waist.
She reached behind herself, guiding him. Her entrance was already wet—from fear, from anticipation, from the long, tense hours of watching. She took the head inside with a sharp, shaky inhale.
“Talk to me,” she whispered, her head falling back against his shoulder. “About anything. Not this. Tell me… tell me what the sky looks like in England.”
Aidan held her, feeling her body slowly, slowly opening as she sank down. He looked over her head, through the sheer curtains at the electric Seoul night. “It’s lower,” he said softly, his mouth near her ear. “Grey, often. A soft, woolly grey. And when it rains, it’s a fine rain, like mist. It smells of wet grass and old stone.”
Eun-ji moaned, a sound of pain and profound effort, as she took another inch. “Keep going.”
“In the countryside, near where I grew up, there are fields that turn yellow with a flower called rape. It looks like sunshine spilled on the ground. And the clouds are huge. They have shapes.”
She was halfway now, shaking, her fingers gripping his forearms. “What shapes?”
“Whatever you need them to be.” He felt her relax a fraction, a deliberate unclenching. She sank deeper. “Dragons. Castles. Ships.”
“Ships,” she breathed out. She was nearly there, her body stretched to its limit. A tear traced from the corner of her eye back into her hairline. “I’ve never seen the sea.”
With a final, surrendering sigh, she settled the last millimeter, her body fully accepting his. They were joined, a locked puzzle. She was so tight it was almost painful. She didn’t move. She just breathed, listening to his voice, her eyes closed.
“You’re seeing it now,” he whispered. “In the clouds.”
She turned her head, her lips brushing his jaw. Then, with a fragile courage that hollowed him out, she began to move.