Joon-ho never fully softened inside her, not even when their bodies finally stilled and sweat began to cool on their skin. He hovered over Yura, his face just above hers, their breath mingling, cock still deep in the mess he'd left in her pussy and womb. Her arms were loose around his neck, her chest heaving, nipples peaked and skin flushed a luminous pink. For a moment, everything was hushed—nothing but the muted sounds of their hearts, the low hum of Seoul through the penthouse glass.

She blinked up at him, exhaustion and satisfaction mixed in her gaze. "Don't you dare move yet," she murmured, her legs locked tight around his waist, refusing to let him slip away. Her hands traced slow lines over his back, fingers memorizing every ridge, every scar.

He brushed sweat-soaked hair from her face, and she leaned into his touch, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of his throat. "I love this," she whispered, the words breathless, still vibrating with what they'd just done. "I love being full of you. I love being fucked so hard I forget everything. All the shit out there—the noise, the lawsuits, the idiots circling—I can't think about any of it when you're in me like this."

He smirked, letting his hips nudge a little deeper, making her gasp. "If you can still remember your troubles, maybe I didn't fuck you hard enough." His voice was teasing, but his eyes burned as he looked down at her—possessive, protective, worshipful, filthy.

She laughed, tired but bright, and cupped his face, pulling him down for a slow, searching kiss. Their lips tangled, tongues flicking, the taste of sweat and sex between them. His cock twitched, thick and half-hard inside her, the sensation drawing a delicious shudder from her body. She broke the kiss, panting, her nose brushing his. "Do it again," she whispered. "Don't stop. Make me forget everything. Make me yours, all over again."

He groaned, rolling his hips, grinding inside her as her walls fluttered, over-sensitive and greedy. He watched the way her eyelids fluttered, the way her body responded—never fully sated, always wanting more. He pulled back, cock dragging against her slick, swollen folds, then stopped, savoring the way her cunt clung to him, the way her insides tried to suck him back in.

Yura's hand traced down his arm, fingers squeezing his wrist. "Don't let it drip," she said, voice slurred with exhaustion and need. "Plug me. I want you to fill me again. Keep it all inside. I want to feel you leaking out of me all night."

He grinned, slowly easing out. The sound was filthy—wet, obscene, a rush of slick and cum slipping from her stretched pussy, dribbling down her ass to stain the sheets. She hissed at the sudden emptiness, her body flexing, desperate for him to return. He watched the mess, mesmerized, cock twitching back to full hardness.

She moved first, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cool floor. Her whole body trembled, but she used her last reserves of strength to rise, then leaned forward, pressing her chest and hard, aching nipples against the cool leather of the massage table. She turned her head, glancing back over her shoulder, eyes dark and wild. "Look at me," she said, spreading her legs wide, knees locked, ass tilted high. His cum oozed out of her, shining on her thighs, painting her folds. "Plug me up. Fill my womb again. I want to be ruined for you, over and over."

He could barely breathe. He knelt behind her, hands sliding over her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He lined his cock up with her ruined, gaping pussy, rubbing the head up and down, teasing, making her moan and push back. "So fucking greedy," he murmured, pressing just the tip inside, making her shudder. "Does it hurt? Being this full of me?"

She laughed—a raw, broken sound. "Hurts so fucking good. Give me all of it."

He slid in, slow and relentless, letting her feel every inch as he buried himself back in her warmth. The fit was impossibly tight, even after all they'd done, her body squeezing him, milking him, hungry for more. She moaned, deep and guttural, head falling forward, back arching to take him deeper.

He started moving, slow at first, grinding his hips in circles, the head of his cock nudging her cervix with every roll. She trembled, another light orgasm flickering through her, walls fluttering around him. He stilled, leaning over her back, kissing the nape of her neck, sucking hard until he left a dark hickey blooming over her spine.

She whimpered, loving the mark, loving how he made her his in every way. He began to thrust again, each stroke deep and deliberate, the angle just right to press against her cervix, to grind inside her until she was babbling, lost in the sensation.

He reached up, rolling her nipples between his fingers, tugging and pinching, making her shudder and gasp. "You want it rougher?" he asked, voice thick.

"Yes—please—don't hold back, fuck me harder—" Her voice was breaking, every word a plea, every breath a surrender.

He started to pick up the pace, hands gripping her waist, slamming into her harder. The table rocked beneath them, her tits and nipples rubbing against the cool leather, sending shivers through her body. Every thrust sent his cockhead battering her cervix, her womb opening for him, greedier than ever.

He bent, biting her ear, then turned her head, capturing her mouth in a filthy, desperate French kiss. Their tongues tangled, teeth clashing, spit and moans filling the air. He groaned into her mouth, squeezing her tits, loving the way she melted under him, needy and ruined.

"Take it," he whispered. "Take every inch. Milk me dry."

She broke the kiss, sobbing with need. "Never stop—please, don't ever stop—"

He kept going, slamming into her, making her bounce against the table, making her scream. She came again, shaking, her cunt gushing, the mess dripping down her thighs, onto the floor. He didn't stop—he wanted to fuck her through every orgasm, every wave of pleasure, until she was nothing but a quivering, mindless mess.

He gripped one of her legs, lifting it high, then twisted her body, never pulling out, turning her to face him as he sat at the edge of the massage bed. He pulled her into his lap, impaled on his cock, arms wrapped around her waist.

She straddled him, tits pressed to his chest, sweat and spit mixing as they kissed again. He held her ass, guiding her movements as she started to ride him, grinding her clit against his pelvis, rolling her hips in slow, grinding circles.

He matched her rhythm, thrusting up into her, their bodies slapping together, the room filled with the sounds of sex and love and desperation.

She buried her face in his neck, biting down as her orgasm built again, her voice muffled but desperate. "I'm gonna cum—I'm gonna cum—fill me, please, please—"

He hugged her tighter, biting her shoulder, whispering filthy promises in her ear. "Milk me, baby. Squeeze every drop out of me. I want to fill you again, want you dripping for me all night."

She came, body locking up, pussy clenching, milking him, her whole body shaking with the force of it. He followed, groaning, hips jerking, cock pulsing as he emptied himself deep inside her, filling her womb with another load, the heat and mess overwhelming.

She clung to him, sobbing, laughing, utterly spent, her body boneless, all tension drained away. He held her close, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, rocking her gently as they both came down, the world fading into a haze of afterglow and bliss.

He slid out slowly, careful, not wanting to lose the connection, but eventually gravity won, and his cock slipped free, cum leaking out in thick, creamy ropes down her thighs. She whimpered, loving the feeling, the mess, the proof of what they'd just done.

He guided her down onto the bed, tucking her into the warm, soft sheets, pulling a blanket over both of them. He spooned her from behind, arm wrapped around her waist, hand splayed over her belly, holding her close.

She sighed, utterly at peace, fingers lacing through his. "I want to wake up like this every day," she whispered, eyes drifting closed. "Safe. Loved. Full of you."

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, murmuring, "Always. You're mine, Yura. Always."

She smiled, sleep finally claiming her, body heavy and sated, skin still tingling from his touch.

Joon-ho watched her for a long time, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, the beat of her heart, the warmth of her body pressed against his. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift, knowing that no matter what chaos waited outside their door, here, in this bed, in this moment, everything was perfect.

As dawn crept in, the city's noise far below, they slept tangled together, bodies marked by each other—sweat, spit, cum, and the kind of love that left bruises and hickeys and the promise of more, always more, whenever they needed to forget the world and remember only each other.

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