The apartment was quiet after Jungkook and Yoongi left, but the air still vibrated with their voices, their smirks, their filthy laughter. Tae sat on the edge of the bed, hands fisting the hem of her dress, her thighs pressed together, still wet from how openly the men had ogled her.

Jiho paced the room, running a hand through his hair. His chest rose and fell fast. He finally stopped, staring at his wife with an intensity that made her squirm.

“They liked you,” he said suddenly, his voice low and rough.

Tae’s eyes widened. “Jiho—don’t.”

“They did,” he insisted, stepping closer. “Did you see the way they couldn’t take their eyes off you? The things they said? They… they wanted you, Tae.”

Her cheeks burned. “That’s disgusting. They were humiliating me, Jiho. Calling me names like I was some cheap whore.”

But her voice faltered, betraying her. Because deep inside, the way they called her slut, doll, whore had made her nipples ache and her pussy drip.

Jiho leaned down, his lips almost at her ear. “What if… what if that’s how we repay them?”

Her breath caught. “W-what?”

“You heard them. They’re tired of waiting. They want something else. Tae…” He swallowed hard, ashamed of the words spilling out, yet unable to stop. “What if you give them what they want? Just once. Let them… fuck you. In exchange for more time.”

Tae jerked back, gasping. “Jiho! How can you even say that? I’m your wife!”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, grabbing her hands. His palms were sweaty. “But think about it. You saw how they looked at you. They’d pay anything to have you. And maybe…” His voice dropped lower, dangerous. “…maybe it doesn’t stop with them. Maybe we could make money. A lot of money. We could turn this apartment into something else. A private house. Exclusive. Just you, my gorgeous slutty wife, taking men and making them pay.”

Tae’s heart slammed against her ribs. Her mouth opened in shock. “You… you want me to be a whore?”

The word hit her harder than she expected. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to scream. But her thighs rubbed together, betraying her, because her panties were already soaked.

Jiho cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His voice was low, hoarse. “You’re so beautiful, Tae. You’re made for it. The way they stared at you tonight? You loved it. Don’t lie. You were wet. Weren’t you?”

Her lips trembled. “N-no—”

But Jiho’s hand slid down her thigh, fingers pressing against the damp fabric of her panties. She gasped, caught.

“Liar,” he whispered. “You’re dripping.”

Tae let out a shaky moan, torn between outrage and arousal. Her husband’s words were filthy, degrading — and yet the idea of being desired, of being watched, of being used like that… it lit a fire deep inside her belly.

“Think about it,” Jiho murmured, kissing her ear. “One night with Jungkook and Yoongi. Then more. Men lining up, paying for a taste of you. You’d be worshipped, slut. Desired. Our debt gone. And we’d be rich.”

Tae closed her eyes, trembling. Out loud, she whispered, “You’re disgusting…”

But inside, her pussy clenched at the thought.