By evening, the mansion smelled faintly of dinner—Tae had forced herself to cook something light, trying to keep her mind steady. But her body betrayed her with every step. Her thighs rubbed together, slickness coating her panties no matter how many times she tried to freshen up. Every corner of the house reeked of what happened earlier: the shower tiles stained with her squirt, the marital bed drenched in Jungkook’s cum, her nipples still sore from his bites.

She wore a modest silk dress for dinner, hoping Jaemin wouldn’t notice the redness of her skin, the slight limp in her walk, the way her body was still trembling.

Jaemin came home right on time, smiling at her with his usual distracted warmth. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, setting his briefcase down. He kissed her forehead—again not her lips—and sat at the table.

Tae forced a smile, plating food for him, her boobs brushing the edge of the table on purpose. Nothing. As always.

But she didn’t care anymore. Because the moment she glanced down the hall, she saw him.

Jungkook.

Standing in the shadows, shirtless, a faint smirk curling his lips. His arms folded, eyes glued to her ass swaying as she moved around the dining room. He made no sound, just stared, reminding her silently: I’m still here. I own you.

Her nipples hardened instantly, pussy throbbing, soaking through her panties. She almost moaned out loud while setting down Jaemin’s plate.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Jaemin said gently, eating without noticing her flushed face.

“I—I’m fine,” Tae lied, pressing her thighs together. Her pussy clenched with every bite her husband took.

Halfway through the meal, Jaemin wiped his mouth and picked up the remote. The big TV across the dining hall flickered on, tuned to the news. Tae turned her head absentmindedly—then froze.

The anchor’s voice was sharp and serious: “Breaking news tonight: convicted serial offender Jeon Jungkook has escaped from federal prison. He is considered extremely dangerous. Authorities urge the public to stay indoors and report any suspicious activity.”

The screen flashed with Jungkook’s mugshot—tattoos creeping up his neck, sharp jaw, those same lust-darkened eyes.

Tae’s fork clattered against her plate.

Jaemin noticed her stiff posture and reached to squeeze her hand comfortingly. “Don’t worry, darling. They’ll catch him. Monsters like that never get far.”

But Tae wasn’t afraid.

Her pussy clenched so hard it hurt.

Images of him pounding her against the shower wall, flipping her onto her marital bed, making her scream his name, flooded her mind. The newsman’s voice only amplified it: multiple sexual assaults, dangerous, a predator.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips parting. She was wet. Soaked. Her husband was calling Jungkook a monster, while her body still dripped his cum inside her.

“Sweetheart?” Jaemin frowned. “Are you okay?”

“I—I’m fine,” Tae stammered, squeezing her thighs tight together under the table. Her nipples poked through the thin silk of her dress, aching to be touched.

From the shadows, Jungkook grinned, tilting his head. He could see it—the way she was squirming in her seat, biting her pink lips, her face flushed. He mouthed silently, so only she could read: Slut.

Tae’s breath hitched. She dropped her gaze immediately, her cheeks burning with guilt and arousal.

Jaemin, oblivious, returned to his meal. “They say he’s obsessed with women,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine how anyone could… enjoy that kind of man.”

Tae swallowed hard, her cunt pulsing violently at the word obsessed. Because she knew. She’d felt it. And the worst part? She enjoyed it.

Her panties were soaked through, juices running down her inner thigh as she sat at the table across from her husband. She was nodding, pretending to agree with him—while all she could think about was Jungkook’s cock stretching her open again.

The dinner dragged on. Jaemin kept talking about his work, completely blind to the way his wife was trembling, nipples straining against the fabric, pussy leaking under the table.

When he finally excused himself to his study, Tae let out a shaky exhale, her fingers trembling around her wine glass. She looked toward the hall.

Jungkook was still there. His eyes gleamed with hunger, his lips curling in a slow, wicked smirk. He lifted two fingers, dragging them through the air, signaling: Come here.

Tae’s heart pounded. Her body was already moving before her brain could protest.