Bohyun kicked the door shut behind him that evening, tie already loosened, the faint smell of whiskey and expensive cigar smoke clinging to his suit. Koo was on the couch in nothing but one of his oversized dress shirts—unbuttoned to her navel, legs tucked under her, scrolling her phone. The shirt rode up just enough to show the curve where thigh met ass, and Bohyun’s eyes went straight there like a heat-seeking missile.

“Baby,” he said, voice low and smug as he dropped onto the couch beside her. “Got something for you.”

Koo glanced up, eyebrow arched. “Better be good. I’m bored out of my mind.”

He smirked, pulling her legs across his lap without asking. His hand slid up her thigh, thumb brushing the edge of her bare pussy—she never wore panties at home anymore, not since he’d ripped the last pair off her and told her they were pointless. “That lingerie brand? The big one. They want a face. I told the team only one woman could sell it right.” He squeezed her inner thigh hard enough to make her gasp. “My slutty little wife.”

Koo’s breath hitched. She sat up straighter, eyes lighting up in a way they hadn’t in years. “You’re serious? You’re letting me model again?”

Bohyun laughed, dark and possessive. “Letting you? Fuck, Koo, I’m begging the universe for it. No one else has tits like these—” He cupped one roughly through the shirt, thumb flicking her nipple until it peaked. “—or an ass that begs to be fucked on camera. That fat pink cunt of yours? Wrapped in lace? They’ll sell out in hours. Only you can pull it off, baby. Only my dirty little trophy.”

She flushed deep pink, heat crawling up her neck. Part shame, part thrill. She hated how he talked about her like property in front of other people, but here—alone, with his hands on her—it made her clit throb. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” He yanked the shirt open completely, exposing her. Breasts heavy, nipples tight. “Look at you. Already leaking just thinking about strangers staring. You were born for this shit.”

Koo bit her lip, then swung a leg over his lap, straddling him. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice husky. “For letting me.”

He gripped her hips, grinding her down onto the bulge in his slacks. “Show me how thankful you are, whore.”

She didn’t need telling twice.

She rode him like she was trying to break him. Shirt hanging off her shoulders, tits bouncing with every roll of her hips. Bohyun groaned, head thrown back, hands bruising her ass as he thrust up hard. “Fuck—tight little pussy still grips me like the first time. Ride it, Koo. Ride your husband’s cock like the slut you are.”

She moaned loud, shameless, nails digging into his shoulders. “Harder—fuck me like you own me.”

“I do own you,” he snarled, slapping her ass so hard the sound echoed. She clenched around him, coming with a broken cry, soaking his pants. He followed right after, spilling deep inside her with a guttural curse, holding her down so she couldn’t move until every drop was claimed.

They stayed like that for a minute, panting. Then he kissed her neck, almost tender. “You’re gonna kill it, baby. And I’m gonna watch every second.”

The next morning, Bohyun’s office smelled like fresh coffee and ambition. Tae stood in front of the desk, trying not to look too eager.

“You’ve got a good eye, Kim,” Bohyun said, leaning back in his leather chair. “And you’re responsible. I want you managing Koo’s shoot. Every detail. Wardrobe, lighting, poses—handle it. She’s my wife, so no fuck-ups.”

Tae’s throat went dry. His pulse hammered in his ears. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

Bohyun waved him off, already turning to his phone. “Good. She’ll be there this weekend. Don’t disappoint me—or her.”

Tae walked out of that office half-hard and dizzy. Managing Koo. Touching her. Directing her. Watching her body move in lace he’d get to pick. Bohyun had no fucking clue the college kid who used to save her leaked photos was now in charge of her comeback.

The weekend came fast.

The studio was massive—white walls, softboxes already set up, racks of lingerie glowing under the lights like forbidden candy. Tae and Namjoon—his photographer friend, tall, quiet, always smirking like he knew too much—stood by the monitors, pretending to check settings.

Namjoon nudged him. “You okay, man? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Shut up,” Tae muttered, adjusting his pants. “Just… focused.”

The door opened.

And there she was.

Koo walked in wearing a tiny black dress that hugged every curve—hem barely covering her ass, neckline plunging so low her tits threatened to spill out with every step. Heels clicking, hair loose and shiny, lips glossy red. She looked like sin wrapped in silk.

Namjoon let out a low whistle under his breath. “Jesus.”

Tae couldn’t speak. His cock twitched painfully against his zipper. She was more beautiful in person—bigger, softer, more alive. The air smelled faintly of her perfume—something sweet and musky.

Introductions were quick. Handshakes. Smiles. Koo’s voice was low, a little husky, like she’d just rolled out of bed after being fucked senseless.

“Nice to meet you both,” she said, eyes flicking over Tae for a second longer than necessary. Or maybe he imagined it.

Tae led her to the rack he’d personally curated. Tiny pieces. Barely-there lace bras that wouldn’t cover her nipples, thongs so thin they disappeared between her ass cheeks, garters, sheer bodysuits with crotchless panels. He’d spent hours picking the sluttiest ones, telling himself it was “for the brand.”

“These are the direction they gave us,” he lied smoothly. “High impact. You okay with… minimal coverage?”

Koo’s lips curved. “Baby, I used to walk runways with less on. Let’s do this.”

She disappeared into the changing room.

Came out in the first set: black lace bra, cups so small they framed her nipples instead of hiding them. Matching thong that rode high on her hips, the front panel sheer enough to show the plump outline of her pussy lips.

Tae’s mouth went dry. His dick surged to full hardness in seconds, straining against his jeans. He had to turn slightly, pretending to check the monitor.

“Perfect,” he managed. “Let’s start.”

The shoot began.

“Arch your back a little more,” Tae said, voice rougher than he meant. “Push those tits forward—yes, like that. Good girl.”

Koo obeyed instantly, dropping to her knees on the white seamless, ass up, looking back over her shoulder. The thong disappeared between her cheeks, her pussy lips visible through the lace, already glistening.

Namjoon snapped away, muttering “fuck” under his breath every few shots.

Tae stepped closer. “Here—let me adjust.” His hand landed on her hip, fingers brushing the underside of her ass. He squeezed—just a little. “Tilt more. Open your legs wider.”

She did. The thong pulled tight, outlining her fat clit. Tae’s thumb “accidentally” grazed the edge of her thong, right over her slit. She sucked in a breath.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not sorry at all.

He moved behind her for the next pose. “Hands on the floor, ass higher.” As she complied, he pressed against her—his hard cock grinding subtly against her ass through his pants while he “corrected” her posture. “Like this. Hold it.”

Koo whimpered softly—barely audible. But Tae heard it. Felt the way her body trembled.

She was soaked. He could smell it—sweet, aroused, needy.

Another pose: on her back, legs spread, one hand cupping her breast, the other sliding down her stomach toward her thong. Tae knelt between her thighs to “fix” the garter. His fingers slipped under the lace, brushing her slick folds. She bit her lip hard, eyes fluttering.

“Perfect,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You’re fucking perfect.”

The camera clicked. Namjoon pretended not to notice how Tae’s hand lingered.

By the third outfit—a sheer white babydoll with open cups and no crotch—Koo was dripping down her thighs. Every pose Tae instructed was dirtier: bend over the prop chair, spread your legs on the stool, arch so your tits spill out. Every “adjustment” was a grope—palming her ass, tweaking a nipple, pressing his thumb against her clit through the lace just long enough to make her moan.

She never stopped him.

She just got wetter.

Tae was losing his mind. Bohyun’s wife. His fantasy. Dripping for him while he directed her like the slut she used to be on every magazine cover.

And the shoot was only halfway done.