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Four.
The way that dress fall off you is amazing
Love, a miracle, a beautiful creation
Baby, come a little closer let me taste it
You came a little closer, now you're shaking
From the back of the brightly lit auditorium, he watches her step up to the podium, a room full of people away from him; two days ago, it was an impenetrable border.
She makes a breathtaking picture with her ebony hair in artfully tousled curls, whispering across her bare shoulders, caressing the line of her jaw. Across the room, he can tell in detail what her appropriately inappropriate black dress looks like. It hugs her every curve like a well-fitting glove, ending just above her knees, the neckline generously low, cut straight, the valley between her breasts visible enough to tantalize him from a distance. He remembers the span of her waist by measure of his hand and feels his palms warm at the thought.
"To our guests, coaches, instructors and young musicians, a very warm welcome. My name is Yoon Se-ri, and it's my privilege and pleasure on behalf of Queen's Group to welcome you here today. We are delighted to have you with us to participate and share in our Second Annual Talented Youths Program. Thank you for coming." The crowd applauds, and she looks down to where her hands are folded at the base of the microphone, a beautiful smile playing against her lips.
Just this morning, he'd pressed a kiss to the smooth curve of her cheek as she blinked her eyes open at him, those lips plumped with sleep. He'd come bearing coffee, and she rewarded him with a lazy, glorious smile that vanished when her hangover headache made her wince.
"That many of you have traveled long distances to be here serves as a reminder to us all just how important our work is. Music is not a luxury for the affluent. It's a basic need, a right to expression. Each and every one of you has the potential to become a voice in the years to come that shapes the hearts and minds of future generations. Music is one of the ways we make sense of our lives, one of the ways in which we express feelings when we have no words, a way for us to understand things with our hearts when we can't with our minds. Years ago, I was in these very mountains when music saved my life," she pauses to an enthralled audience, and she's utterly regal, her words measured and confident yet heartfelt, her smile contained and kind. He feels a rush of emotion that makes his chest clench.
"We all have a story about that piece or that song that changed everything, and it's because of that in the best of times and in the worst of times, music matters. It changes lives. We're all here for the next couple of weeks to help you become better musicians that make a difference in the world. Prepare yourself to be challenged, excited and inspired." More applause, and her smile grows a little wider. "And before I handover to Niels Hoffman, our program director, who will outline the events of the coming weeks, I want to say once more on behalf of Queen's Group organizing committee, welcome. It's wonderful to see so many of you here."
The crowd erupts into a frenzy of applause, hoots and whistles as she steps from behind the podium, one carefully placed black suede stiletto after the other. The light catches the silver glimmer of rhinestones on her shoes, and he suddenly feels restless in his own skin, his blood coursing hot and thick through his veins, rushing to his extremities until he's physically aching with the need to touch her. She's effortlessly sexy, but everything is so damn complicated. Or maybe it isn't, and he's been making mountains out of molehills. That's the part that scares him the most.
No longer in the limelight, she scans through the crowd until their eyes connect. He nods and gives her a warm smile, full of pride. Her answering smile is shy and grateful, but short-lived because one of the Polish instructors, a blond oafish man, stoops down to speak close to her ear, drawing her attention away. Ri Jeong-hyeok tamps down the surge of possessiveness he feels and tries to listen to the speaker, who describes a recital on the last day of the program, where one winner will be selected and sponsored for classical music studies in Iseltwald.
Niels Hoffman completes his introduction to a polite round of less enthused clapping. Se-ri is a tough act to follow, and she's positively magnetic as she begins making the rounds, meeting every instructor, young musician and coach in each of the twenty participating teams from different parts of the world. When she reaches their little corner of the room, Jeong-hyeok comes to his feet and the two instructors and three teenagers behind him follow suit. He holds a hand out for her to shake, and she stops, looks at it meaningfully before meeting his gaze.
Instead of shaking my hand, can you give me a hug? I won't ever see you again.
He remembers vividly how she looked that night, over three long years ago, standing outside his house at the outpost village, tears shimmering in her eyes, shaking like a leaf. He knows she's thinking about it too when she carefully places her hand in his. He holds it for a moment longer than propriety allows, and she's the first to balk in this game of anonymity, her slender fingers sliding out of his grip and falling back to her side.
"Hello, I'm Ri Jeong-hyeok," he introduces himself with an ironic smile. "Pianist for the National Symphony Orchestra and in charge of the North Korean delegation to this program. Thank you for hosting us."
She returns his smile cautiously. "Nice to meet you, Ri Jeong-hyeok. And who are these young prodigies?"
"This is Kim Hyun-woo, fifteen-years-old; he's our star pianist." The boy comes forward and offers his hand, bowing politely. Jeong-hyeok gestures towards the second, taller boy. "Lee Min-soo is sixteen, and his instrument is the saxophone. Last but not least, this is Park Min-ji. She's seventeen, and when she plays the violin, people are moved to tears." They all shake hands with Se-ri, and the two instructors introduce themselves before slinking back to stand by their chairs.
"It's lovely to meet you all. I look forward to seeing you perform soon." She moves on to the next group, and the only acknowledgement she affords him is a sidelong glance that lingers.
He sighs and turns back to his team.
"Let's go get some lunch."
It's early evening when Se-ri walks into her suite, and she's exhausted. She flicks the lights on to find everything restored to order, no traces of the dent his body left on her couch or the breakfast he'd ordered for her before leaving early in the morning to meet his team. The note he'd scribbled and propped against the plate of avocado toast is tucked safely in her luggage. It's not sprout soup, but I promise it'll make you feel better.
As she hangs up her coat, purse and scarf, a quiet knock interrupts the gentle shuffle of her tired movements.
She swings the door wide open, her excitement at finding him standing on the other side difficult to contain. "Oh, hi," she breathes and takes him in: his dark hair styled so it doesn't fall across his forehead, his charcoal gray blazer heavy against his frame, the crisp white shirt well-pressed and the ash gray slacks tailored to his length. "I literally just got here."
"Hi." He favors her with an easy smile, all dimples and charm as he steps inside and shuts the door. He mimics her actions, hanging up his thick winter blazer next to hers as if it's the most natural thing in the world that they should retire to the same home at the end of a long day, the sleeves of their jackets flirting on a coat rack.
She takes a small step back, conscious of his personal space, wary of the stinging memory of being the aggressor. "How was the rest of your day?"
He turns to face her, and this man has no bad angles, no lighting that diminishes his appeal. He's straight-up gorgeous. No pretenses.
"Not the same without you," he confesses, and it's that voice again, the one that curls in the pit of her belly and says that honorable Ri Jeong-hyeok is having some very dishonorable thoughts. His eyes are trouble as they trail down her body, lingering on every curve like he's trying to memorize her. "That dress should be illegal." Ah, there it is.
She laughs nervously and turns around to walk towards the living room, not in the mood to be teased, but one strong arm snags her around the waist before she can take a second step. He pulls her back flush against his chest, none too gently. Her breath catches in her throat, heart pounding hard against her ribcage.
His lips nuzzle the curve between her neck and her shoulder, and he rests there for a moment, just breathing her in. "What I meant to say is…" His lips travel up to the shell of her ear. "You look stunning," he rasps against her ear. He nibbles at the dangling teardrop of her diamond earring, palm flattening against her stomach, pulling her lower body tighter into his, and she can feel the unmistakable hardening of his body. The sense of power that not-so-little confession gives her is dizzying.
She slides her fingers into his. What game are we playing now? "Do you like the shoes?" she asks instead, deliberately taunting. When he spins her around in one sudden movement, she draws in a sharp breath and grabs his shoulders for balance.
"I've never had such strong feelings for a pair of shoes before." She tries to reconcile the sensible, restrained man from last night with the hungry look in his eyes, but he kisses her and all logic flees her mind. It starts out with soft, airy pecks, and his hands skimming up her arms to cup her jaw like he plans to do this all night. He parts her lips with a sweep of his tongue, and he tastes like coffee and something sweet, maybe a candy cane. Their tongues twine, then he slowly impales her mouth, over and over again, so intimately, showing her what sex would be like with him. Hot and wet, slow and sweet.
Relishing the feel, she curls her hands into his cotton shirt and fumbles with its small round buttons. But she's useless with them, and Ri Jeong-hyeok is evidently feeling patient. He pulls away from her to unbutton his own shirt and shake it off his shoulders, draping it over his jacket, his eyes never leaving hers. Shirtless now, he pulls her back into his arms, their bodies pressed together in one unbroken line from knee to chest as his mouth claims hers again. She melts into him, and the sensation is exhilarating and enveloping.
When their tongues touch, fire burns through her, and his mouth is relentless, bruising and then soft, taking and giving in equal parts. She's vaguely aware that he starts walking her backwards, steadying her along the way, almost carrying her because balancing stilettos and this is not on her list of capabilities. He wraps her against him, consuming her, hands becoming achingly familiar with the shape of her body. Before she knows it, the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. As if on cue, his fingers find the top of the zipper they've been toying with and slide it down smoothly, without interrupting the pattern of tiny kisses he's etching onto her neck. The zipper hits the end of its runner, and he lifts both hands to her shoulders, pushing the straps down her arms. He steps back to watch the dress collapse to the ground in an undignified heap around her ankles. She stands still, her pulse ragged. The heat in his eyes smolders over her matching black, lacy and sheer bra and thong. His gaze snags on her Jimmy Choos, and when he looks back into her eyes, she knows all bets are off.
"You don't fight fair," he groans and pushes her back onto the bed, falling on top of her, catching his weight on his elbows, on either side of her head.
"We're not fighting."
"I am."
Fighting what? Desire? Love? Obligation? She doesn't ask, doesn't want this to stop, and when he kisses her, it feels like a quarrel, rough and demanding. She mirrors the urgency of his kisses with her touch, running her hands over his chest and back, fast at first, desperate like he might stop her, then as his kiss gentles into something sweet and savoring so does her touch. Battle scars tell stories under her fingertips, and the flat manly nipples she scrapes with her nails seem much less sensitive than hers.
Breaking the kiss, he moves down, out of reach, and she almost cries until she feels his mouth open at the swell of her breast. He moistens the skin, his hand reaching between her back and the mattress to unfasten her bra with a snap of his fingers. He eases the garment off her body, lifts his mouth from her skin and looks at her naked chest with blatant desire. Se-ri swallows tightly, self-conscious under his stare, and she touches his jaw with the tips of her fingers, lightly stroking. He looks at her, the fervor in his gaze – tempered by love – taking her breath away.
"Se-ri-ya, you're beautiful, just perfect." He leans down and like he did yesterday, he touches his tongue to her nipple and draws it into his mouth with a fierce tug. Arousal curls in her womb, leaves her feeling painfully empty, her panties wet with need. He cups her other breast in his hand, weighing it, thumb sweeping over the peak until the pleasure turns into a hint of pain, and the pain impossibly intensifies the pleasure. He bites the bud at the tip, and she gasps. He blows a breath of cool air on it, licks it soothingly. His mouth moves from one breast to the other, giving it the same treatment, then he raises his head back to hers, capturing her lips in a tender kiss.
"Please," she whispers.
"Shhh," he soothes, both hands covering her breasts, massaging, pushing them higher. One strong thigh slips between her legs, and the material of his gray slacks feels cool against her fevered skin. He pushes his leg up between hers until it's grinding against her flimsy underwear, putting pressure where she wants it. He pinches one nipple between thumb and forefinger and she makes a keening, wanton sound in the back of her throat.
She rocks against his leg in tight little movements. "Please."
He repositions his leg just outside of hers, and she whimpers at the loss of contact, but his hand is sliding down from her breast over her stomach to the lacy edges of her underwear. He feathers kisses along her cheek, fingers pausing to trace the jagged line of her panties. Then without warning, his hand is inside, and her seeking skin is quivering under his touch. "So soft," he groans, fingers tracing the seam to her core, index and middle finger parting ways to learn each side of the smooth, vulnerable skin. "You're so soft." He parts her and rubs his fingers against her wetness. Her teeth draw blood from how hard she has to bite her lip to hold in a sob. In the confines of her underwear, his hand goes on a gentle exploration, thumb grazing over her clit for a second as he spreads her slick heat across her swollen sex. She thinks she might die if he doesn't end this.
"Jeong-hyeok-ssi," she hisses, but the plea dies on her tongue as he moves down her body again. The next time she feels his lips, they're at her waist, and his hands are pulling down her underwear, finesse forgotten. They rip in two and fall off the face of the earth. His breathing is jagged with arousal, and the warm air from his lips caresses the bare skin at her pelvis. He kisses her there, then lower at the vee between her legs, his palms warm against her thighs, pushing them apart wider, opening her up to him. He presses his nose to the nub of flesh where her universe seems to have contracted and her hips buck involuntarily off the bed on a moan.
She can swear he has a smug smile on his face, but she's wound too tight to call him out on it. His hands move to her hips, pinning her to the bed. He presses closer, his breath chafing every nerve in her body, then he slides his tongue between her folds, deep, an unhurried seesaw motion, avoiding the part of her that aches the most for his touch. He kisses her as he would kiss her mouth, tongue probing, dipping in and out of her entrance. Her body feels as if she were burning in the center of a delicious inferno, conscious thought burned to ash, her very will swirling away in a maelstrom of want. Everything he does to her promises, none satisfy.
"Damn you." Her desperate pleas turn to curses, and he has the nerve to chuckle – chuckle. The rumble vibrates inside her. She lets go of the comforter and fists her hands in his hair, pulling, pushing, but she has no sway over his movements.
He stops licking her, hands still holding her down as he kisses the inside of her thigh on one side, then the other, lest they compare notes and one find itself at a disadvantage. Then he slowly, deliberately flattens his tongue against her clit, and she makes a needy sound, tries to move her hips, but he's too strong. With the tip of his tongue firm against the swollen nub of flesh, he flicks it back and forth, up and down, and it's embarrassing how quickly she crumbles around him, legs shaking with the intensity of an orgasm that tears an inhuman cry from her lungs. Waves of pleasure shudder through her like a thunderbolt, and she goes numb in her fingertips and toes.
She feels him ease away, lift himself up to settle some of his weight against her, his palm cupping her between her legs, pressing her orgasm to a gradual decrescendo, lips tender against her cheek, the corner of her mouth. The warmth of his body seeps like a liquid drug into her loose muscles, and he holds her close for a few minutes until her orgasm spins itself out.
When she opens her eyes, he's staring down at her in awe, his face inches from her own. His expression is one of primal satisfaction, and she likes that her pleasure elicits it. She traces his pouty lips with the tip of her index finger. What an unfairly beautiful mouth.
"Why?" she asks, her confusion at his change of heart shining through her voice. "I mean wow, but why?"
He smiles and smooths a hand over her hair. "This morning, when I left here early to meet the students, Park Min-jee was reading this book she'd borrowed from the hotel coffeeshop." Wow, okay, not the story she's expecting. "It was a collection of notes from a mother to her son, and she read to me this excerpt," he draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes, as if trying to recall the words. "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor," he recites from memory.
"You're sailing away," she realizes.
"The safe harbor is lonely. I want to be with you, in the deep end."
A/N: Thanks for reading. Reviews are love x