Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The soft hum of the clinic's diffuser filled the room, mingling with the faint notes of sandalwood and citrus. Afternoon light slipped through the blinds, striping across the massage table where fresh linens had been laid out. Joon-ho stood at the counter, pouring a thin stream of warm oil into his palms, rubbing them together to ready the session.

The door opened, and Harin guided Yoon Hye-jin in with a friendly smile.

"You're getting used to this place now, right?" Harin teased.

Hye-jin gave a faint, almost self-conscious smile. "A little. At least I know what to expect this time."

Last week she had walked into this room nervous and stiff, clutching the edges of her kimono like a shield. Today, though, she was more composed. Her hair was tied neatly in a ponytail, her skin fresh from morning training stretches. There was still shyness in the way she moved, but the hesitation had softened into something closer to anticipation.

Harin slipped away after helping her undress and settle on the table. When she returned, she left the door cracked slightly—her usual silent signal to Joon-ho that the client was ready.

Joon-ho entered with the same calm presence as always, his voice steady. "How's your shoulder feeling since last session?"

"A lot better," Hye-jin admitted. "The pain is less sharp. I could even do some light bow training without it flaring immediately." She turned her head on the cradle, meeting his eyes briefly before glancing away. "That's why I came back. I… want to be sure."

"You're on the right path," he said simply. "Let's work deeper today, then."

She gave a small nod, gripping the sides of the table briefly before forcing her fingers to relax.

Joon-ho's hands pressed down first at her shoulders, warm and firm, mapping the knots. Hye-jin flinched slightly at the first touch, then exhaled when he didn't stop.

"Still some tension," he murmured. "You're carrying too much in your upper back."

"I… I tried to relax this week," she said, embarrassed. "But maybe it's habit. My posture always stiffens."

"Your body remembers the pain," he explained. "We'll retrain it."

He kneaded deeper, fingers pressing into the muscles that bound her shoulder blades. Hye-jin's breath caught, then slipped out in a low moan before she could stop it.

Her ears burned instantly. "S-sorry. That just… it hurt, but it feels…"

"It's normal," Joon-ho interrupted gently. "Don't apologize. Just breathe."

His thumbs rolled along her spine, and the muscles loosened under his touch. Each release brought another sound from her lips—half groan, half sigh. The shame she felt for making noise dissolved slowly into the relief flooding her nerves.

He moved lower, oil-slick hands sliding to her waist and hips. Her body tensed again instinctively.

"Try not to fight me," he reminded.

"I'm… not fighting," she protested weakly, her cheek pressed against the cradle. "It's just—" Her words broke into another gasp as his thumbs pressed into the tight bands of muscle above her pelvis.

Her hips twitched. The sensation was sharper here, almost electric, as though the release of tension traveled deeper than bone. Heat pooled between her thighs before she realized what was happening.

Her nipples, pressed against the linen, hardened involuntarily. She bit her lip, horrified at her body's betrayal, but the more he worked into the knots at her glutes and thighs, the less control she had.

Joon-ho said nothing, his face impassive as always, hands professional. He kneaded her outer thighs, then pushed into the hamstrings, stretching the thick bands of muscle.

Hye-jin's breathing turned ragged. She muffled it into the pillow, but when his palm pressed firmly into the curve of her ass, her hips lifted a fraction on their own.

Her legs parted slightly. Just a little. Enough for the cool air to slip between and for the slickness gathering at her core to make itself known.

No, no… she thought desperately. Don't…

But her body ignored her.

Every stroke downward seemed to melt another piece of her restraint. The sharp edge of pain from her injury was gone now, replaced by waves of release that blurred into arousal.

Her thighs quivered. Her pussy throbbed. And when his knuckles pressed deep into the muscle at the base of her glutes, she broke.

A trembling cry tore from her throat as her body seized and released all at once. Her back arched, her hips lifted, and a gush of wetness seeped onto the sheet beneath her.

Her orgasm ripped through her before she even realized it was happening.

For a long moment, she lay frozen in shock, face buried, body shuddering with aftershocks. Did I just…?

Heat burned her skin, shame battling the strange, floating relief that filled her chest.

Joon-ho didn't comment. He simply adjusted the towel over her hips, continued with steady motions down her thighs as though nothing unusual had happened. His calm was somehow worse than if he had teased her—it left her spiraling inside her own head.

When the final stretches of massage ended, her body was limp, her breathing slow and deep. A wave of exhaustion crashed down, heavier than any training fatigue. Sleep took her before she could resist.

Later, Harin peeked in. The sight made her lips curve faintly: Hye-jin sprawled under the towel, hair sticking to her damp forehead, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. Her kimono lay folded neatly to the side. Harin slipped back out, shaking her head softly. She'd seen it before—how Joon-ho's hands didn't just ease pain, they stripped away defenses, unraveling women until even the toughest of them surrendered without knowing it. For Hye-jin, this might still feel like just therapy. But Harin recognized the signs all too well: once a woman tasted what Joon-ho could do, she always came back, craving more.

The clinic had fallen into a rare kind of quiet. The air still held the faint traces of herbal oils, lavender and ginger mixed with the warmth of skin. The massage room door clicked shut behind Hye-jin, and Harin glanced over from the receptionist desk as the athlete stepped out in her casual training clothes. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her shoulders loose, her steps lighter than when she'd first arrived.

Joon-ho walked beside her, his notepad tucked under one arm, his voice calm and professional as he finished explaining the details of her recovery plan.

"Light training for now," he told her. "Stretching, nothing that strains the shoulder. I'll need to see how your posture holds up after a few more days. We'll schedule another session before the weekend."

Hye-jin bowed politely, her expression a mixture of relief and disbelief. "It already feels better than it has in months… Thank you, seonsaengnim."

Joon-ho inclined his head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Consistency is what matters. Don't push yourself too hard."

Harin saw the spark in Hye-jin's eyes—the same look she'd seen in other women who had walked out of that room after Joon-ho's hands had worked their quiet magic. Grateful, amazed, and… hooked. She knew this wasn't the last they would see of the archery star.

After one last polite bow, Hye-jin gathered her bag, murmured her thanks to Harin as well, and slipped out the door. The clinic fell silent again, leaving only the low hum of the air purifier.

Harin stretched her arms above her head and leaned against the desk. "That's the only client for today, right?"

"Yes," Joon-ho replied, flipping his notes shut. He placed the folder neatly back on the shelf behind him.

"Good." Harin tilted her head, watching him with an easy smile. "Then maybe we can have an early dinner together. Just the two of us for once."

Joon-ho glanced at the clock, then at her. "That sounds fine."

He headed toward the bedroom, loosening the collar of his shirt as he went, clearly intending to change before stepping out. Harin sat back down, reaching for her phone to check messages while she waited.

The vibration startled her hand before she even unlocked the screen. A message flashed at the top—Madam Seo.

I'm coming by in an hour. Don't make plans for dinner. Let's eat together.

Harin blinked at the text, lips quirking. Madam Seo rarely dropped by on short notice, and never before this early in the evening. Something in the clipped tone of the message told her the older woman wasn't in her best mood.

She typed back quickly: Of course. We'll wait for you.

Pushing off the chair, Harin padded toward the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe as Joon-ho pulled a clean shirt from the wardrobe. His back was to her, broad shoulders rolling easily as he tugged fabric from a hanger.

"Change of plans," Harin announced lightly. "Madam Seo's coming over. She wants dinner with us."

Joon-ho paused, half-turned, the shirt draped loosely over his arm. "Tonight?"

"Mm. Said she's on her way. Probably less than an hour."

He considered that with his usual calm, then slid into the fresh shirt, buttoning it up without hurry. "Then we'll take her out. Somewhere private."

Harin crossed the room, folding her arms and watching him as he worked the buttons with steady fingers. "Any suggestions, oh wise one?"

"There's a barbecue place not far from here," he said. "Good beef, good soju, and enough privacy. She can talk without being overheard."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, though her smile never left. "You sound like you've already guessed she wants to vent."

"Doesn't she always come here when she needs to breathe?"

"True…" Harin tapped her lip thoughtfully. "So what's your bet? Another mess at Lumina? Or her useless husband doing something sleazy again?"

Joon-ho gave no answer, only shrugged into his jacket. But the silence was telling enough—he knew as well as she did that Madam Seo never arrived early unless something had pushed her patience past its limit.

Harin slipped her phone back into her pocket and tilted her head. "At least with barbecue, she'll have meat to tear into while she complains."

A faint flicker of amusement passed Joon-ho's face, though it faded as quickly as it came.

The two of them settled into the living room while they waited. Harin sprawled sideways on the sofa, her cheek propped in her palm, eyes half-lidded with lazy curiosity. "You know, sometimes I wonder if we're her secret hideout," she mused. "Like… the one place she can drop all that glamorous CEO armor and just be human."

"Maybe," Joon-ho said simply.

"Not that I mind. I like her," Harin added. "Even if she makes me feel like the little wife every time she walks in."

Joon-ho glanced at her sidelong. "You make yourself feel that way."

Her pout deepened, but before she could retort, the intercom buzzed. The sharp chime cut through the quiet, both of them glancing instinctively toward the door.

Harin bounced up, smoothing down her skirt. "That's her."

She padded to the door and opened it.

Madam Seo stepped inside without waiting for invitation, as if the apartment were already her second home. Her heels clicked against the floor, her coat draped over one arm. Her expression was composed, but the tension in her shoulders was impossible to miss.

"Sorry for barging in early," she said briskly, though her eyes softened slightly when they fell on Joon-ho. "I needed company tonight."

"You're welcome any time," Joon-ho replied evenly, rising from the sofa.

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, then she exhaled, a faint smile breaking through the mask of her business persona. "Good. Because I need a drink and some meat before I strangle someone."

Harin grinned, glancing at Joon-ho. "Called it."

He didn't answer, only reached for his wallet and keys, already prepared to guide Madam Seo out to the one place he knew she could finally exhale.