CHAPTER 136: CHAPTER 136: AFTER THE FIRE

Night in Jeju poured in through the hotel windows, city lights painting silver lines along the sheets. The air was heavy with exhaustion and something hotter, coiled tight between the two figures tangled atop the bed.

Mirae lay beside Joon-ho, the blanket barely covering her bare legs, her cheeks still flushed from all that had happened. Her breath came in tiny, uneven bursts—neither sleep nor rest, but something electric and restless. Every so often, she’d glance at him, then away, as if uncertain what she needed more: to speak or to act.

Joon-ho turned, propping himself on one elbow. The look in his eyes was soft but hungry, shadows and candlelight glinting in his gaze. He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His voice was low, teasing but edged with real affection.

"You were holding back all the way here, weren’t you?" His hand moved down, slow and patient, tracing her jaw, then her collarbone. "Couldn’t wait to get me alone?"

Mirae hid her face in his shoulder, the heat in her skin betraying her. She tried to play it coy, but her reply came out as a trembling whisper, equal parts confession and plea.

"You... you looked so strong. When you punched Do-jin, I just..." She swallowed, breath catching. "My heart wouldn’t stop. I wanted you so bad—"

Her words faded as her hand slid down, fingertips tracing the ridge of his chest, then flattening over his heart as if to feel the strength pulsing there. Joon-ho’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile, the kind that always made her dizzy.

"You should have told me," he murmured, his voice now rougher, deeper. "I could have pulled over..." His thumb brushed her lower lip, lingering as she shivered beneath his touch. "But now that we’re here, I’m not letting you rest until you’re satisfied."

Her only answer was a shaky inhale—then a nervous laugh, eyes shining.

He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that started gentle, then grew urgent. Their bodies moved together as if by instinct—her back arching to meet him, his hands already sliding under her shirt, up her waist, thumbs circling the swell of her breasts.

She gasped when his palms closed around her, the sensation sparking along every nerve. He pressed her back into the mattress, lips trailing down her throat as he whispered praises—soft, dirty, adoring, all for her.

Her legs parted beneath the sheets, her hips lifting in silent invitation. Joon-ho sat up, gaze roaming her flushed skin, and for a heartbeat she forgot everything but the dark hunger in his eyes.

"You’re still—?!" she blurted, seeing the outline of his cock, thick and hard, pressing against the fabric of his briefs.

He only grinned, voice a promise: "I told you. Tonight, you’re mine. Over and over."

He slid between her legs, one hand guiding himself, the other holding her hip steady. In a single, slow thrust, he pushed inside, stretching her open, filling her in a way that made her breath break into a desperate moan.

She clung to his shoulders, nails digging in. Each stroke was unhurried but deep, each movement a claim and a comfort, as if he was chasing away every leftover fear, every ghost of chaos.

The room filled with the sounds of skin and sighs, his name on her lips, her gasps rising with every thrust. He leaned in, teeth catching the shell of her ear as he murmured, "Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need."

She could only whimper, body trembling with too much feeling, too much need. "You make me feel safe," she managed, words tumbling out between panting laughter and tears, "and you make me want everything."

He answered with kisses—on her lips, her jaw, her neck—until she melted beneath him, arching up, taking all of him in, desperate for more, for everything he could give.

And in the hush that followed, all the pain and panic and adrenaline of the day faded, leaving only the wild, sweet ache of being seen, wanted, and loved in the space between breaths.

Moonlight spilled through the sheer curtains, painting the tangled sheets and bare skin in cold silver. The city outside was hushed—Jeju’s traffic thinned to a distant lull—leaving the room wrapped in a haze of spent energy and aching need.

Mirae lay back, limbs loose, her chest still rising and falling from their first storm. Sweat clung to her skin; her hair spread wild against the pillow, lips swollen from kisses. Joon-ho hovered above her, a silhouette made of muscle and midnight, his gaze so fierce and full that she felt every inch of her body burn under it.

She blinked up at him, eyes glossy with afterglow and hunger that had only grown sharper. Her hands reached for him, needy, but he caught her wrists, pinning them gently above her head. She gasped, a soft plea escaping.

He leaned down, mouth claiming hers—slow at first, tongues teasing, lips bruising, until her body arched up, desperate for more. His grip tightened on her wrists, a silent reminder that she was safe, but he was in control now.

"Don’t move," he whispered against her lips, voice dark and honey-thick. She whimpered, nodding, and he smiled—a dangerous, loving thing.

He slid inside her again, this time slow, every inch a deliberate stretch, filling her so perfectly she could only gasp and shake. His hips began to move, rolling deep and rough, the friction inside her mounting with every thrust.

Mirae’s world narrowed to the rhythm of his body—every stroke dragging a moan, every deep plunge pressing her wide open, her legs spread and toes curled. The room filled with the wet sound of their bodies, the slap of skin, the ragged symphony of their breath and need.

He bent, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking hard until she arched, then biting just enough to make her cry out. He lavished her breasts, moving between them—sucking, licking, teasing, his teeth scraping tender flesh, marking her as his own.

Her hands writhed against his grip, her whole body straining. "Joon-ho—please—harder—don’t stop—"

He groaned into her skin, releasing her wrists only to slide his palms down her sides, gripping her hips, guiding her to meet each thrust. His cock drove into her, bottoming out with every roll, her cervix quivering each time he pressed so deep.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, nails biting into his back, her legs climbing his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. He caught her up, shifting, rolling them so she straddled his lap, his cock never leaving her.

Now upright, bodies pressed chest to chest, he drove upward, hands fisted in her ass, guiding her as she began to ride him—wild, desperate, her hair swinging, sweat sliding between their bodies. Mirae’s hips rolled in frantic circles, grinding down as he thrust up, the pressure mounting with each pass.

He captured her mouth again, devouring her moans, then pulled away to mark her—kissing her jaw, sucking hickeys down her neck, along her collarbone, down to her breasts, tongue swirling, teeth nipping until her skin bloomed with red.

Their rhythm built, rougher, hungrier, her moans turning to sobs, the pleasure too much to contain. Mirae clung to him, fingers tangled in his hair, her whole world breaking into pieces of heat and blinding ecstasy.

He stared up at her, sweat beading on his brow, eyes fierce and open. "Look at me," he rasped. "I want to see you when you come."

She did—her gaze locking on his, pupils wide, lips parted, tears welling from the intensity. "Joon-ho... I can’t—oh god—please—"

He thrust up, slamming deep, his hands never letting her go. "You can. Come for me."

She shattered, pleasure detonating in a flood—her pussy clamping around him, her back arching, head thrown back, cries spilling raw and broken from her throat. Her body convulsed, grinding desperately against him, every nerve alight.

Joon-ho rode her through it, the sensation tipping him over the edge. He thrust one last time, holding her down as he spilled inside, groaning her name into her shoulder, his body shuddering, cock pulsing, filling her with heat.

They collapsed together, still joined, Mirae’s tears slick on his skin. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, not letting her fall.

She buried her face in his neck, still shaking. "Don’t let go yet," she whispered, her voice hoarse and soft as a promise.

He stroked her hair, kissing her temple, murmuring fiercely: "Never. I’ll never let you go."

They stayed like that—tangled, breathless, the world reduced to the slow syncopation of heartbeats and the distant hush of city lights.

After a while, Mirae’s sobs eased into laughter, the relief sweet and silly. She traced circles on his chest, eyelids heavy, exhaustion finally settling in.

Joon-ho kissed her brow, his voice thick and sure. "Rest now. I’m right here."

She nodded, and they drifted into sleep, limbs entwined—safe, sated, and wholly each other’s.

Outside, the city glowed on, but in this room, nothing could reach them.