Harin's breath fogged the glass as the city glimmered far below, Seoul's lights oblivious to the chaos spinning inside her office. Her blouse hung open, one bra strap slipping low, her hair wild from his hands. The only thing that filled her mind was the heat of Joon-ho's body pinning her to the edge of her own desk, the ache of need tearing through every defense she'd built.

He swept the remaining papers and her laptop aside, barely glancing at the avalanche of falling pens and files. Harin pulled him in by his shirt, voice ragged, desperate. "Don't you dare leave me alone tonight."

Joon-ho's eyes burned, jaw set, and the look he gave her left no room for protest. "I'm not letting go until you beg, Harin. So don't think for a second you can just boss your way out of this."

She bared her teeth, a half-crazed grin. "Make me."

He gripped her thighs, lifted her with no warning, and slammed her down onto the cold, gleaming desk. Her skirt rode up; he yanked her panties aside, exposing her soaked heat, and buried his face between her legs, inhaling her scent, biting softly at the inside of her thigh.

She choked out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a dare. "If you want to fix everything, start with this—don't fucking stop."

He didn't. His tongue found her clit, his mouth ruthless, one hand locking her hips still, the other sliding up to knead her breast through her half-off bra. She writhed, thighs trembling, fingers tangling in his hair as her moans filled the empty room. There was no pretense of romance—just raw, messy need, years of pent-up longing and office tension burning off in sweat and friction.

He licked and sucked, relentless, until she arched and shattered, the first orgasm ripping through her so hard her heel banged against his back and she nearly sobbed. "More, Joon-ho. I want more."

He rose, mouth slick with her, cock hard as steel, and shoved his pants and boxers down. His eyes never left hers as he pushed inside, splitting her open, filling her with one deep, claiming stroke. She let out a howl, knees coming up, heels digging into his ass, arms locked around his shoulders.

"Harder," she ordered, voice breaking. "Fuck me harder, give me everything."

He obliged, slamming into her, the desk rocking beneath them, his hands everywhere—one in her hair, one on her throat, pressing just enough to make her vision spark and her cunt clamp down.

Her fingers scrabbled for purchase, knocking over a photo frame, glass shattering on the floor. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, nipples dark and hard, her face flushed and wild. "That's it," she panted. "Show me you're not just a pretty face—make me forget everything."

He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, leaning in to bite her lip, leaving a smear of red as she cried out, back arching, completely at his mercy. The city lights flickered off the glass behind her, making them both into silhouettes—just two bodies, sweat-slick, locked in war.

He pulled out, flipped her over, bent her forward, and forced her hands to the far edge of the desk. Her ass was a perfect target—he slapped it, left pink handprints, then slid back inside her, fucking her from behind with savage, rhythmic power.

The windows steamed up from their heat. For a split second, Harin met her own reflection: eyes glazed, mouth open, hair a storm. She grinned, then laughed, breathless and feral.

"You like being watched, CEO?" Joon-ho taunted, rutting deeper, his grip unforgiving.

She met his gaze in the glass, teeth bared. "Let them see. Let them know I don't break easy."

He yanked her upright, locking her arms behind her in a brutal full nelson, his forearms pinning her head back hard onto his shoulder. Her hair spilled wild down her back, her body stretched open and helpless, tits thrust high and proud, every inch exposed to the cold sweep of Seoul's midnight skyline. The windows fogged around their heat, city lights blinking back at them—hundreds of stories below, a thousand eyes blind to their filthy spectacle.

Joon-ho's grip was iron—his biceps bulging, her wrists caught in his fists above her head, his chest pressed to her back. Harin couldn't move, couldn't even twist away; the helplessness drove her mad, every muscle taut, nipples tingling, cunt slick and swollen and wide open. He bent his knees, squatted lower, and then started driving up into her from below—hard, relentless, the thick, wet slap of flesh echoing off glass and marble.

Each thrust sent her toes off the floor, her whole body bouncing, neck arched, mouth open in a silent, shaking scream. His cock battered her from below, slamming into her again and again—so deep the pressure in her guts threatened to break her, so hard the pleasure blurred into sharp, delicious pain. She could feel every inch of him, feel her pussy clamping, fluttering, leaking down her thighs, each stroke scraping her cervix, the stretch just this side of agony.

She screamed—raw, hoarse, absolutely unashamed—letting it rip from her throat, her nails raking his shins as she spasmed in his grip. Sweat slid down her ribs, down her belly, smearing her breasts against the glass. Every movement was on display: the obscene arch of her spine, the jiggle and bounce of her tits, her glazed eyes reflected in the black city beyond.

He leaned in, voice dark and filthy in her ear, panting. "You want to be ruined, Harin? You want Seoul to know who's fucking you open, who owns you right now?"

She sobbed, the sound desperate, guttural. "Do it—please—fuck me, fill me, claim me. I want it. I need it. I need you—" Her words dissolved into broken gasps as her climax tore through her, violent and hot, pussy clenching and gushing, spraying down over his cock and balls, slicking his thighs and making the desk beneath them a mess of her pleasure.

Joon-ho snarled, hips snapping up, pace savage as he pounded her through her release, relentless. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, body a string pulled tight. He slammed into her once, twice, then stilled—cock jammed as deep as it could go, balls flush to her ass, his entire body shuddering. She felt the first hot spurt inside her, then another, and another—pulse after pulse of thick heat flooding her womb, filling her so full it leaked out with every twitch.

Her eyes rolled back, lips slack, neck stretched and bitten. The city lights blurred, the world spun. His arms didn't loosen; she sagged boneless in his grip, her body a conduit for every last drop he pumped into her. She could feel it trickling down her thighs, soaking her, the sticky warmth leaking with each shallow thrust as he milked every aftershock.

When he finally released her arms, she collapsed forward, sweat and cum streaming down her legs, her breath coming in ragged sobs. Utterly spent, completely alive, shattered and glowing in the glass, the world forgotten except for the heat of him pulsing through her, marking her inside and out.

They collapsed onto the desk, Harin sprawled face-down, Joon-ho's body draped over hers, both of them shaking with aftershocks.

When he finally pulled out, cum trickled down her legs, pooling on the polished wood. She pushed herself upright, legs trembling, and dropped to her knees in front of him. He leaned back against the desk, breath ragged, cock glistening with her juices and his cum.

Without a word, Harin took him in her mouth, cleaning him with slow, languid licks, sucking him back to hardness, swallowing everything, savoring the taste of their mess. She looked up, eyes locked on his, her mouth full, hair stuck to her cheeks, and he felt his cock twitch with renewed hunger.

She pulled off with a wet pop, licking her lips. "That's my protein shake. Don't you dare say I never eat."

He snorted, nearly collapsing into laughter, and pulled her up into his lap, both of them naked, sweat drying on their skin, the night pressing close around them.

For a moment, there was nothing but the steady rise and fall of their chests and the warm, heavy silence of satisfaction.

Harin twisted around, still straddling him, and grabbed the takeout he'd brought earlier from the mess of the floor. She opened the box, fished out a piece of dumpling with her fingers, and fed it to him with a wicked grin.

"New rule," she murmured, mouth close to his ear. "All post-crisis dinners are naked. CEO's orders."

He groaned, accepting the food and the joke, arms wrapping around her waist, hands roaming her bare back.

She leaned her forehead against his, letting herself relax for the first time in days. "You know they'll talk about this for weeks."

"Let them," he said, nipping at her jaw. "You run the agency. I just make you come."

She burst out laughing, loud and reckless, and shoved another bite into his mouth. "Careful. I might just keep you as my personal stress relief."

He kissed her again, slower this time, hands gentle now, one rubbing circles on her thigh as the other held her close.

Dinner was a blur of dirty jokes, soft moans, and teasing. They fed each other, licked sauce off fingers, laughed when rice spilled down their chests. In between, they traded confessions—her fear of not being enough, his anger at the world's suspicion, their shared stubbornness that kept them fighting when it would be easier to run.

She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, soft and spent. "I needed this. Not just the fucking. All of it."

He tightened his grip, voice soft but unbreakable. "I know. And you'll get it, as many times as you need."

The office was a wreck, but Harin didn't care. She curled up in his lap, her body heavy and sated, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. Outside, the city shimmered—oblivious, uncaring, eternal. Inside, for one brief night, the only world that mattered was the one they built with sweat and laughter, trust and surrender, filth and relief.

Harin tipped her face up, eyes fierce again, lips swollen, hair wild. "Next time, I'm tying you up."

Joon-ho grinned, his cock stirring beneath her. "That's a threat?"

"That's a promise," she whispered, and kissed him hard, claiming him all over again.

For now, they let the world burn. In their fortress of glass and grit, they were untouchable.

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