The door swung open. Koo stood framed in the hallway light. No coat. Raindrops glistened in her dark hair, clinging to her skin. The dress was a whisper—barely-there black lace clinging wetly to every curve. Fabric thin as smoke stretched taut across high, heavy breasts. Her nipples pressed against it, dark and hard. The hem hit high on her thighs, barely covering the swell of her ass. Below the hem, the shadowed cleft of her pussy pressed visible, plump lips outlined against the sheer fabric. Water trickled down her pale neck. Pink lips curved into a practiced smile, sharp as a knife.

Taehyung froze. Pictures hadn't done her justice. She wasn't just beautiful; she was a weapon. Delicate. Dangerous. Utterly exposed. "Mr. Kim?" Her voice was low, honeyed smoke. He stepped aside, wordless. The scent of rain and something floral—jasmine?—hit him as she glided past.

He locked the door. His throat felt tight. He gestured toward the bar, forcing his voice even. "Drink?" She drifted deeper into the penthouse, bare feet silent on marble. She tilted her head, black hair sliding over one shoulder. "Whatever you're having."

Her gaze lingered on him, tracing the broad shoulders straining against his crisp white shirt, the sharp line of his jaw. A flicker of surprise touched her eyes—he was even more imposing in person than in the tabloids. She deliberately arched her back as she leaned against the bar counter, making the sheer lace swell taut against her nipples, the damp fabric clinging obscenely to the plump mound between her thighs. Water still dripped slowly from her hair onto her pale shoulder.

Taehyung poured two fingers of amber whiskey into crystal glasses. Ice clinked. He handed hers. Their fingers brushed. An electric jolt. He watched her take a slow sip, her pink lips molding to the rim. Her throat moved as she swallowed. The lace was so thin he could see the precise shade of her darkened areolas.

"Cold out?" he managed, sounding ridiculously mundane. Koo smirked, setting the glass down. "Warmed up quickly. Your penthouse view is... impressive." Her eyes raked him slowly, head to toe, deliberately insolent. "Though I prefer inspecting views closer up." She traced a fingertip along the wet lace near her hipbone, drawing attention to the damp curve revealed there.

He took a sharp gulp of his drink, the burn doing nothing to cool the heat pooling low. Her boldness was jarring. Annoying. "I've heard plenty about your views, Koo," he countered, gaze deliberately dropping to the sheer material stretched over her breasts. "Jihoon showed me... highlights." He gestured vaguely with his glass toward his own bedroom. "He said your specialty involves obscene tightness. Claims he nearly broke his dick." Her smile widened, unperturbed. "Kyung-soo said something similar. Before he screamed."

She shifted, letting the light shine directly through the lace, outlining the swollen pink folds beneath clearly. "Many men talk big. Few deliver." She paused, eyes locking with his. "Your turn, CEO Kim. Tell me how badly you want to know just how tight I am."

Taehyung set his glass down hard. The clatter echoed. Her filthy confidence scraped his nerves raw. He stepped closer, looming over her. The floral scent mixed with rain intensified. He could smell the faintest trace of soap beneath it. "The stories don't do you justice," he growled, eyes fixed on her damp neck. "The videos showed you moaning around Kyung-soo's fat cock. Saw you dripping Minwoo’s load onto Jihoon's couch."

His hand shot out, fingers brushing the wet lace over her hipbone. Her skin was cool beneath. "Tell me, Velvet," the name was a sneer, "how many rich bastards shoved their hands down your slutty little throat today before you came here? How many dicks plug your hole before walking into my suite?" His touch lingered, demanding an answer. She didn't flinch. A slow, knowing grin curved her wet lips. "Counting?"

Her eyes dropped pointedly to the front of his trousers. A distinct bulge strained against the fine fabric. "Looks like I’m the one plugging your mind tonight." She pushed off the bar, ignoring his hand. Her hips swayed deliberately as she walked toward the sprawling leather sofa. The sheer dress clung obscenely to the full curve of her ass with each step, outlining every curve. Water drops slid from her hairline down her spine, disappearing beneath the low back. Taehyung tracked her, heat crawling up his throat. Her arrogance was like gasoline thrown on a flame. He followed.

She sank onto the leather couch, legs parting slightly. The sheer skirt rode high. In the penthouse’s dimmed lights, through the damp lace, the plump pink cleft of her pussy was unmistakably clear, the folds visibly swollen. Her gaze locked on his.

"Jihoon cried like a baby when he came," she purred. Her fingers traced the hem of her tiny skirt, lifting it an inch higher. "Minwoo came so fast he ruined my fee." A challenge glittered in her eyes. "You seem... tense." Taehyung stood before her. The scent of her skin – rain, jasmine, and something darker, muskier – filled his nostrils. He gripped the back of the sofa, leather creaking beneath his fingers. The proximity was unbearable. The sheer material stretched taut over her nipples, dark circles visible. His thumb brushed her collarbone, tracing rainwater. "Those men are weak."

His voice was a low rumble. He leaned down, his shadow engulfing her. His gaze dropped to her damp mouth. Her pink lips glistened. "They paid for a fantasy." His knuckles trailed down her arm, feather-light. "Tell me, Koo," he breathed, his face inches from hers now, "did any of them make you scream?" His thumb traced the plump outline of her lower lip.

Her breath hitched. Tiny. Almost imperceptible. The practiced smirk faltered for a split second. Taehyung saw it. The flicker of surprise. Of something else. Sharp satisfaction sliced through him. He pressed his thumb harder against her lip. "Did. They." He demanded. Her pink mouth trembled slightly under his touch.

Behind the confidence, deep in her widened pupils, he saw a tremor. Saw her throat work as she swallowed. Silence stretched. Thick. Electric. Only the frantic hammering of his own pulse filled his ears. He’d rattled the weapon. Now, he wanted to wield it.