Steam still clung to Tae’s body when she stepped out of the studio shower. Her skin glowed pink, her hair damp and loose, clinging to her shoulders. She slipped into a tiny summer dress she had packed, the fabric thin and barely covering her curves. No bra, no panties. Every movement threatened to expose her soft tits or the glistening folds between her thighs.

The producer, Mr. Yoongi—a good looking guy, gold rings on each finger, and the lazy confidence of power—was waiting in the hallway. His smile was wide, greedy eyes devouring her.