Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The private room in the Korean BBQ restaurant was already thick with the mouthwatering scent of sizzling beef and charcoal smoke. A copper vent hung low above the table, pulling up the haze as Joon-ho flipped slices of marbled hanwoo sirloin on the grill. The meat hissed, fat dripping and sparking against the flame.

Beside him, Harin poured out three small green shot glasses of soju, her cheeks already pink from the heat of the grill. Madam Seo sat opposite, her blazer folded neatly on the seat beside her, her silk blouse undone at the collar. The weariness she carried into the room had begun to melt, replaced by the faint flush of drink.

"Eat before it burns," Joon-ho said calmly, sliding a perfectly seared piece onto each of their plates.

Harin scooped it up with her chopsticks, dipped it lightly in sesame oil, and moaned around her first bite. "Mmm—oh my god, oppa, this is heaven. I swear you were a chef in another life."

"Don't exaggerate," he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched faintly.

Madam Seo followed suit, savoring the bite before chasing it with a sharp shot of soju. She exhaled slowly, then poured herself another. "I needed this. God, I needed this."

Harin leaned forward, topping off Seo's glass with a grin. "Of course you did, unnie. You've been working yourself into the ground."

At that, Madam Seo snorted bitterly. "Work is the least of it." She tipped back her glass again, swallowing hard before setting it down with a sharp clack. "That bastard husband of mine—he just came back from overseas parading some new chick. A European model, of all things. He had the nerve to tell me she should be the centerpiece at Korean Fashion Week. Can you imagine?"

Her voice rose, sharp as the soju burn in her throat.

Harin's eyes widened. "What? Seriously? After all your work?"

"After all my work," Seo spat, her tone dripping venom. "Months of preparation, dealing with incompetent agencies, stubborn sponsors, logistics nightmares… and he strolls in with some blonde bimbo on his arm and thinks he can just demand she be the star." She reached for the bottle again, her hand trembling slightly.

Joon-ho, wordless, moved another batch of beef onto the grill. He didn't interrupt. He knew this wasn't about solutions—this was about release.

Harin leaned across, gently touching Seo's arm. "Unnie… he's disgusting. You've built everything yourself. Everyone knows it's you making Lumina what it is, not him."

Madam Seo laughed bitterly. "You think that matters to the old families? To the board? They see his face and his name and they think he's the genius. Meanwhile, I'm the one cleaning up every fucking mess."

She swallowed another shot and slapped her glass down again, her eyes burning. "If it weren't for that damn marriage contract, I'd have thrown him out years ago."

For a moment, the table was heavy with her fury. Joon-ho silently turned the beef, the meat crisping at the edges, and served fresh slices onto their plates. The rhythm of cooking steadied the air.

Harin picked up her chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully before grinning mischievously. "Unnie, you know what I think? You should just ditch him and join us instead."

Seo blinked at her. "…Join you?"

"Mm-hm." Harin raised her soju glass, eyes sparkling. "Join the harem. Be the main wife. Leave the bastard in the dust and let Joon-ho spoil you instead."

Joon-ho arched an eyebrow but said nothing, calmly rotating the meat.

Madam Seo stared at Harin for a moment, then let out a short, surprised laugh. "The harem, huh?"

"Why not?" Harin teased, clinking her glass against Seo's. "You'd look amazing sitting on a throne with the rest of us lined up behind you."

Seo's lips curled into a half-smile. The soju was softening her edges, the stress unwinding into reckless amusement. "A throne, is it? And what, I'd have to share him with you brats?"

"Of course," Harin said without hesitation, her grin wicked. "But you'd get first rights. We'd just sneak in when you're done with him."

Madam Seo let out a real laugh then—sharp, tipsy, but genuine. "God help me, you're shameless." She reached for her glass, downed it in one gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "Fine. When the divorce comes through, I'll join your so-called harem. Let's see how long this bastard can handle us all."

"Cheers to that!" Harin crowed, clinking their glasses again. "To the harem, and to getting ruined on Joon-ho's cock."

Seo choked on her drink, bursting into laughter. "You little witch."

Across the grill, Joon-ho watched quietly, his expression unreadable as the flames danced in his eyes. He said nothing, only placed another perfectly seared cut onto their plates.

The two women laughed louder, leaning against each other, cheeks flushed with smoke and liquor. The soju flowed, the beef sizzled, and the private room echoed with messy, tipsy warmth.

For the first time in weeks, Madam Seo let herself laugh without restraint.

By the time the last slice of hanwoo was gone and the final bottle of soju drained, Madam Seo was slumped back against the wall of the booth, her blouse collar loose, her lipstick smudged from the rim of her glass. Her laughter had faded into soft murmurs, the exhaustion of weeks of work and stress finally dragging her down.

Harin was tipsy too, but she was the cheerful kind—still giggling as she dabbed her mouth with a napkin, her cheeks glowing. Joon-ho, as usual, was steady, paying the bill at the cashier outside the private room while the two women lingered.

When he returned, Harin was half-holding, half-shaking Madam Seo, who had her eyes closed and was mumbling something unintelligible.

"She's gone, oppa," Harin said, puffing her cheeks. "Totally knocked out."

Joon-ho crouched, brushing a knuckle against Seo's cheek. She stirred faintly, blinking up at him. "Mmm… I'm fine… just… tired…"

Her words slurred into silence again.

"She's not fine," Harin muttered. "She's been holding all that stress in for weeks. Husband, work, family, everything… of course she crashed like this."

Joon-ho slid his arms beneath Seo's legs and back, lifting her in one smooth motion. Her body yielded instantly, her head dropping against his shoulder. The faint scent of her perfume lingered under the sharpness of soju.

"Princess carry, huh?" Harin teased weakly, grabbing Seo's bag and blazer. "You better not make a habit of this, oppa, or you'll have women lined up pretending to pass out."

Joon-ho didn't answer. He shifted his grip, steady and protective, and nodded toward the side door. "Come on. Let's take the private exit."

Together, they moved through the dim hallway into the basement car park, the quiet echo of footsteps bouncing off concrete. Harin walked close beside him, her fingers brushing his arm as if to steady herself. Seo nuzzled faintly against his chest, half-asleep, sighing like a child who'd finally let go of a burden.

The ride back to the apartment was silent. By the time they reached, Harin fumbled with the keys, pushing the door open while Joon-ho carried Seo inside. He lowered her carefully onto the sofa, adjusting a cushion under her head.

Her lashes fluttered, but she didn't wake fully. Harin fetched a glass of water and coaxed her to sip; Seo obeyed hazily, then drifted back into a light sleep, her breathing soft and steady.

Harin sank into the armchair opposite, exhaling heavily. "She's tougher than she looks," she murmured, watching Seo's peaceful face. "But when she cracks… it's bad."

Joon-ho leaned against the sofa arm, studying Seo for a moment before replying. "Even the toughest need somewhere to break down."

The words hung between them. Harin's eyes softened, then turned toward him. Maybe it was the soju, maybe it was the warmth of the night, but she pushed herself up and crossed to him.

"Oppa."

The way Harin said it was different this time—her voice husky, almost trembling, as though the alcohol had lowered the walls she usually kept up.

He looked down at her, brows lifting.

She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his jaw, her tone soft but laced with something demanding. "Tell me you'll take care of us properly. Not just… collect random women because they melt under your hands."

Her words were half-plea, half-accusation, but her eyes were shining, wide and vulnerable.

Joon-ho's lips curved, calm and steady as always. "I'll take care of the ones I choose. Not anyone else."

The simple conviction in his voice hit her harder than the soju had. Her chest tightened, her pulse racing. For a moment she just stared at him, then her heart lurched, overflowing with warmth and a sharp, greedy need.

"Prove it, then," she whispered, almost daring him.

Before he could reply, she seized his lips. The kiss wasn't careful—it was hungry, messy, her mouth open against his, her tongue pushing in with a needy whimper. Her arms looped tight around his neck as though she'd fall apart if she let go.

He caught her automatically, one broad hand sliding down to cup and squeeze her ass, his strength lifting her with ease. She gasped into his mouth, her thighs tightening around his hips, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist like she belonged there.

In two steps he shifted them, lowering himself onto the sofa across from Madam Seo's sleeping form. Harin ended up straddling him, her knees pressing into the cushions, her body grinding down against the hard line growing beneath his jeans.

Their kiss deepened, lips bruising, tongues tangling. Harin's breath grew frantic, her chest heaving. She moved against him as though she couldn't get close enough, her hips rocking, skirt riding higher up her thighs.

A sharp tug at her shoulder and her shirt slipped loose. She didn't hesitate—she grabbed the hem and dragged it over her head, tossing it blindly aside. Her bra strained to hold her breasts in place, the thin lace doing little to hide how stiff her nipples had become.

Joon-ho's gaze dropped immediately. His hand slid up her back, fingers splaying wide, pressing her closer until her breasts pushed into his chest.

Harin moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Oppa… I need you… I can't hold back…" Her voice cracked with both desire and desperation, as if this was less about lust and more about proving her place at his side.

She arched her back, shoving her chest forward, silently begging for his hands, his mouth, his claim.

Behind them, on the other sofa, Madam Seo stirred faintly, her lashes fluttering, her breathing shifting. Not fully awake, not yet—but her body tensed, as though her subconscious was already sensing the heat building in the room.

Harin didn't notice. Her world had narrowed to the man beneath her—the man she couldn't stop craving, no matter how many other women hovered at the edges of his orbit.

"Prove it…" she whispered again, breathless, her lips brushing his ear. "…prove I'm yours."