Chapter 5: Lap Dance and a Slow Strip
The first pale light of dawn found them tangled in the futon, a mess of limbs and quiet breath. Hyukjae woke first, as he always did, his internal clock set by years of dawn rehearsals. For a long while, he just watched her sleep. In the gray silence, with the performance stripped away, the fear crept back in. It sat cold in his stomach. He saw the text notifications from Manager Kim glowing on his silenced phone across the room—three of them. He didn’t move.
Instead, he traced the line of her spine from the nape of her neck down to the dip of her waist, his touch feather-light. She stirred, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and pressed back unconsciously into his touch. The cold knot in his gut loosened, just a fraction.
By the time she opened her eyes, the room was washed in the gentle gold of morning. He was gone from the bed. She could hear water running, the soft clatter of dishes. The scents of brewing coffee and something savory—scrambled eggs, maybe—wove through the pine air. She pulled on his discarded shirt, the fabric swallowing her, and padded out to the main room.
He stood at the small kitchenette, focused on a sizzling pan. He’d pulled on fresh sweats, but his back was bare, the muscles of his shoulders moving with a relaxed efficiency she’d never seen in the studio. He looked young. He looked like just a guy making breakfast.
“You cook?” she asked, her voice rough with sleep.
He glanced over his shoulder, a shy, almost proud smile touching his lips. “I can burn eggs without setting off the fire alarm. It’s my one domestic skill. Don’t get excited.”
They ate cross-legged on the floor by the low table, knees brushing. The silence was comfortable, filled with the rustle of trees and the clink of chopsticks. He watched her with an unnerving intensity, as if committing the way she tucked her hair behind her ear to memory.
“What?” she finally asked, a blush warming her cheeks.
“Nothing.” He looked down at his plate. “I just… I’ve never done this. Had morning-after breakfast. It’s nice.”
The word ‘nice’ hung between them, terribly fragile. It was too small for the storm that had brought them here.
The day unfolded in a lazy, sun-drenched bubble. They walked a forest path, his hand solid in hers. He pointed out birds she couldn’t see, his dancer’s eyes missing nothing. They didn’t talk about the group, or contracts, or make-up. They talked about stupid things—terrible movies, foods they hated, childhood pets. He laughed, a real, unguarded sound that made her heart clench.
As afternoon bled into evening, a different tension began to hum. A deliberate, anticipatory current. He caught her looking at him as he washed the lunch dishes. His eyes darkened. He dried his hands slowly, methodically.
“You watched me last night,” he said, his voice dropping to that low register that made her stomach flip. “I think it’s my turn to watch you.”
He took her hand and led her back to the bedroom. He lit the single candle on the low table and a few of the paper lanterns, bathing the room in a pulsing, golden glow. He put on music from his phone—not the pounding pop of his stage, but a slow, sensual R&B track with a deep, throbbing bassline that seemed to vibrate up through the tatami mats.
“Sit,” he instructed, nodding to the futon.
She sat, curling her legs beneath her. He poured her a glass of red wine from a bottle he’d brought, placing it in her hand. His fingers lingered on hers. Then he stepped back into the center of the room.
He began to move.
It wasn’t a practiced routine. It was slower, more fluid, a private translation of rhythm. His hips swayed in a languid, hypnotic circle, his eyes locked on hers. His hands slid up his own torso, fingers tracing the defined lines of his abdomen, down to the loose waistband of his gray sweats. He turned, giving her his back, and bent forward just enough, the fabric pulling tight over the sculpted curves of his ass as he rolled his pelvis in a slow, deliberate grind.
Gaby set the wine down, untouched. Her mouth went dry.
He faced her again, a teasing, wicked grin playing on his lips. He dropped to his knees and crawled toward her, a predator in the candlelight. He didn’t stop until he was straddling her thighs, his weight settling into her lap. She could feel him, hard and urgent, through the thin fabric of his sweats, pressed insistently against the seam of her jeans.
“You like watching me, noona?” he murmured, his voice a velvet rasp. He took her hands and placed them on his hips, guiding her to grip him. He began to rock, a slow, grinding friction that made her breath hitch.
“Hyukjae…”
“Touch me,” he breathed, pulling his shirt off over his head in one swift motion. He took her hands again and placed them flat on his bare chest. “Please.”
Her fingers obeyed, tracing the smooth plane of his pectorals, the bumps of his nipples, the ridged landscape of his ribs. He shuddered under her touch, a violent, full-body tremble that seemed to surprise even him. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a deep, searching kiss, all teasing gone, replaced by raw need.
He pulled back, his eyes blazing. “My turn.”
His fingers went to the buttons of her blouse. He worked them open with a frustrating, exquisite slowness, bending to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to each new inch of skin he revealed—the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast above her bra. When the blouse was open, he pushed it off her shoulders. His fingers found the clasp of her simple bra. A flick, and it loosened. He peeled the cups away, his breath catching as her breasts spilled into his hands.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, almost to himself.
He lowered his head and took one peaked nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue lashing the sensitive tip. His other hand kneaded her other breast, thumb rubbing rough circles over the areola. Pleasure, sharp and electric, shot straight to her core. She cried out, her back arching, pushing herself deeper into his mouth.
He switched sides, giving the same ruthless attention to her other breast until she was writhing, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. With a groan, he slid off her lap, pulling her to her feet. He knelt again, his hands going to the button of her jeans. He popped it, dragged the zipper down, and peeled the denim and her damp cotton panties down her legs in one firm motion, making her step out of them.
He pressed his face against her mound, inhaling deeply. “You smell like heaven,” he growled, his breath hot through her curls. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugged them down her thighs. “I need to taste you. Now.”
He lifted her right leg, draping it over his shoulder, opening her completely to the hungry heat of his mouth. He didn’t tease. His tongue stabbed into her, a deep, claiming lick from her opening to her clit. She gasped, her hands flying to his hair. He groaned against her, the vibration ricocheting through her.
“So fucking sweet,” he slurred, and then his mouth was on her in earnest. He ate her like a man starving, his tongue plunging deep inside her, fucking her with it, then swirling tightly around her clit, sucking the swollen bud between his lips. He licked and sucked with a frantic, focused rhythm, one hand gripping her ass to hold her steady, the other reaching up to pinch and roll a nipple.
The dual assault was overwhelming. Pleasure coiled tight, a spring ready to snap. “I’m gonna… Hyukjae, I’m so close…”
He pulled back, leaving her throbbing and empty. He surged to his feet, shoving his sweats and boxers down in one violent push. His cock sprang free, fully erect, the head flushed and slick with precum. He was breathing hard, his eyes wild.
“Not like that,” he panted. He grabbed her hips, lifted her effortlessly, and wrapped her legs around his waist. He guided himself to her soaked entrance. “Like this.”
He drove up into her in one smooth, powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The air left her lungs in a punched-out groan. He carried her, impaled on him, to the nearest wooden wall, pinning her against it. The ancient beams held firm.
He fucked her there, with a deep, rhythmic intensity that stole thought. Each thrust was a masterful calculation of angle and depth, the base of his cock grinding perfectly against her clit with every inward stroke. The slap of their bodies was a sharp, wet counterbeat to the music.
“Is this what you wanted?” he grunted, his forehead damp against her temple. “When you watched me? You wanted this?”
“Yes! God, yes!”
He bit her shoulder, not hard enough to break the skin, but a claiming, possessive mark. His pace quickened, turning frantic, desperate. The controlled dancer was gone, replaced by a raw, needy boy. “Gaby… shit… I can’t… I’m gonna…”
His orgasm ripped through him, a series of ragged, broken cries against her neck as he pulsed inside her, his hips stuttering with the force of it. The feeling of him coming, hot and deep, tipped her over the edge. Her own climax seized her, milking him through his, a wave of blinding release that left her limp and shaking in his arms.
He held her there, still lodged inside her, both of them slick with sweat, breathing in ragged unison against the wall. Slowly, his grip softened. He lowered her gently until her feet touched the floor, his arms staying around her to keep her upright as she trembled.
They ended up back on the futon, a tangle of spent limbs in the candlelight. The music had stopped. The only sound was their slowing breath and the endless sigh of the forest.
Her head was on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. His fingers were tracing idle patterns on her bare arm.
“What happens after this week?” she asked the quiet room.
His hand stilled. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
“I don’t know,” he said finally, the words hollow. “I don’t want to know.”
Outside, the dark was complete. The hanok felt less like a sanctuary and more like a beautifully crafted cage, the walls beginning to whisper of the world waiting just beyond the treeline.
The hanok felt less like a sanctuary and more like a beautifully crafted cage, the walls beginning to whisper of the world waiting just beyond the treeline. Hyukjae felt it too. He shifted suddenly, sitting up. "It's too quiet in here," he declared, his voice straining for lightness. "And it's hot. Stifling."
He stood, pulling her up with him. "Come on. There's something else here."
He led her through a different soji door she hadn't noticed, sliding it open to reveal a stone path illuminated by subtle ground lights. It wound through a thicket of bamboo. The night air was cooler here, carrying the rich scent of wet earth and chlorine. The path opened onto a stunning, secluded courtyard.
A large, black-bottomed swimming pool glimmered under the moonlight, its surface still as glass. It was flanked by a wide teakwood deck and a raised lounge area with deep-cushioned daybeds and hanging curtains. It was painfully romantic, unbearably private.
"Manager’s idea of a 'wellness retreat' perk," Hyukjae said, his tone flat. "I’ve never used it."
He walked to the edge of the pool and stood, staring into the dark water. The moonlight carved his profile into something sharp and lonely. Gaby watched the tense line of his shoulders. This was the conflict, personified. The idol in the curated paradise, aching to be something real.
Without a word, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweats and pushed them down, stepping out of them. He was naked, his body a pale, graceful statue against the black water. He didn’t look at her. He just walked down the steps into the pool, the water swallowing his ankles, his calves, his thighs. He submerged entirely, disappearing.
A moment later, he broke the surface further out, slicking his hair back with both hands. He finally looked at her. "It’s free of paps. And managers. And fucking everything else. Get in."
It wasn’t a request. It was an invitation to his rebellion. Gaby pulled his shirt over her head and let it fall on the teakwood. The night air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps. She walked down the same steps, the cool water a shock that quickly turned into a silken embrace. She waded out until it lapped at her breasts.
He was there in an instant. His hands found her waist under the water, his skin slick and cool. "I can't think in that house," he confessed, his forehead resting against hers. The water made everything feel weightless, dreamlike. "All I can think about is the end of the week. In here, I can just think about you."
He kissed her, and the taste of him mixed with the clean, chemical tang of the pool. His hands slid up her ribs, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. He broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Turn around. Hold onto the edge."
His voice was low, commanding. A shiver that had nothing to do with the water went through her. She turned, gripping the cool coping of the pool. The black water stretched before her, reflecting fractured stars. She felt him move behind her, his body displacing the water.
His hands spread her thighs apart under the surface. The buoyancy made her feel open, exposed. He pressed close, the hard length of his cock sliding between her cheeks, not entering, just a hot, promising pressure. One of his hands left her thigh and came around her front, dipping below the waterline. His fingers parted her folds, finding her clit with unerring accuracy.
"Already wet for me," he murmured in her ear, his voice thick. "Even in the cold water. You’re always ready."
He began to circle the sensitive nub, his touch firm and knowing. The contrast of the cool water on her skin and the heat of his hand between her legs was dizzying. She moaned, her head dropping forward. His other hand clamped on her hip, holding her steady.
"I want to fuck you right here," he said, his words a hot scrape against her neck. "I want to feel you come around me with this water trying to push me out. I want to win."
He positioned the blunt head of his cock at her entrance. With a slow, relentless push, he filled her. The water did create a strange, yielding resistance, making the penetration feel even more deliberate, more owned. A choked cry ripped from her throat, echoing across the courtyard.
"Quieter, noona," he chided, but his breath was hitching. "The forest has ears."
He set a deep, fluid rhythm, his hips pumping in a slow, powerful cadence that sent ripples across the pool. Each thrust was a conquest. His fingers kept working her clit, syncing with the drive of his cock. Pleasure built, a coil of pure tension in her gut, tighter and tighter with every inward stroke.
"I'm not going to last," he gritted out, his rhythm faltering. "The way you grip me… fuck… it's too much."
"Don't stop," she begged, pushing back against him. "Please."
He swore, a filthy, beautiful word, and his hand on her clit pressed harder, moved faster. His thrusts became shorter, harder, a frantic punctuation. The world narrowed to the slap of water, the scent of chlorine, the exquisite friction of him pistoning inside her.
She came with a silent, shattered scream, her body clamping down on his in a series of violent spasms that milked his orgasm from him instantly. He groaned, a raw, broken sound, and buried himself to the root, pulsing hot jets of cum into her depths as the water swayed around them.
They clung to the edge of the pool, gasping. He nuzzled her damp hair, his body still trembling. After a few minutes, he pulled out. A warm cloud dissipated into the cool water between them. He turned her around, kissing her softly, languidly.
"Out," he said. "You'll prune."
He helped her up the steps. Water sheeted off their bodies. He grabbed a pile of thick, sun-warmed towels from a cabinet and wrapped one around her, rubbing her arms vigorously. He led her to the largest daybed, pulling her down beside him. They lay tangled in towels, skin cooling, watching the real stars above.
His phone buzzed, a harsh vibration on the teakwood table. They both flinched. He didn’t reach for it. He just stared at the ceiling, his jaw tight.
“You should check it,” she said quietly.
“I know what it says,” he replied. “Practice schedule. Dietary notes. Reminders to be a good boy.” He turned his head to look at her. In the low light, his eyes were bottomless pits. “I don’t want to be a good boy right now.”
He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. The towel fell away from his hips. His gaze traveled over her body, the look not one of satiation, but of renewed, desperate hunger. The phone buzzed again, insistently. He ignored it.
“You’re so beautiful here,” he whispered, his fingers trailing down her sternum, over her belly, through the damp thatch of curls below. “Like this. Real.”
He kissed her navel, then lower. He hooked his hands behind her knees, spreading her wide open to the night sky. The air was cool on her most intimate skin. He didn’t use his mouth this time. He just looked, his expression one of pained awe.
“Mine,” he breathed, the word a barely audible crack in his voice. He leaned down and licked a slow, possessive stripe up her center, tasting their mixed release. He growled, a low sound in his chest. “Still mine.”
He shifted, kneeling between her legs. He was hard again, already. The phone buzzed a third time, a long, angry vibration. Hyukjae glanced at it, a flash of pure fury crossing his face. He looked back at her, his need naked and terrible.
“Fuck them,” he snarled.
He surged forward, pinning her wrists above her head on the cushion with one strong hand. He didn’t guide himself. He just pushed, entering her in one brutal, deep stroke, reclaiming her. She gasped, arching off the daybed.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his thrusts hard and punishing, a physical defiance of the buzzing world. “Even when we leave. Say it.”
Tears welled in her eyes, from pleasure, from the sheer hopelessness of it. “I’m yours,” she whispered.
He fucked her like that, under the stars, on the pool lounge, a relentless, rhythm.