The afternoon sun had dipped low by the time Hana burst out of Koo Designers’ HQ, cheeks still burning like brands, clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield. Her prim bun had loosened in her haste, a few dark strands sticking to her sweat-damp forehead. Ms. Koo—bent over her own desk like that? Tits out, moaning like a whore, that huge cock slamming into her from behind? And the guy… young, ripped, not even turning to look. Hana’s thighs clenched involuntary as she slid into her car—pussy giving a traitorous throb at the memory. But professionalism (and the fat envelope of hush money from Namjoon Kim every quarter) won out. She was his eyes and ears in Koo’s empire—had been for six months, ever since he’d caught wind of “unusual closeness” between his wife and her best friend. Time to earn that cash.

Her thumbs flew over her phone screen, text to Namjoon crisp and anonymous: Saw K today. Afternoon “meeting” in her office. Young guy—tall, muscled, back to door. Fucked her hard over desk. She was begging. Ass red from slaps, tits swinging. Thought you’d want to know. -H