Jungkook tugged at the collar of his stupidly tight black shirt—the one she'd specifically requested—hovering outside Suite 4001 with his ID clutched like a fucking hall pass. His reflection in the gold-plated elevator doors betrayed him: pupils blown wide, sweat beading under the ink curling over his collarbone. The Luxe Hyatt smelled like money and poor decisions. One meeting, he reminded himself, but then the door swung open before he could knock.

Tae leaned against the frame in a dress that shouldn’t legally qualify as fabric—more like strategically placed ribbon, really—the silk barely containing the swell of her breasts. No bra. The realization punched him in the gut. "Right on time," she purred, gaze dragging down his body with the weight of a physical touch. "Let’s see if you’re as real as your photos, baby boy."

Kook’s mouth went dry. Up close, she didn’t look a day over thirty, honey-blonde hair cascading over one shoulder, lips glossed to a sinful sheen. "ID." He thrust it out like a shield, fingers trembling slightly. Her manicured nails brushed his palm as she took it, lingering just a second too long.

"Mmm, Jeon Jungkook," she murmured, tracing the laminated edge with her thumb. "Twenty-five and very pretty." The way she said his name—like she was already tasting it—sent heat licking up his spine. She stepped back, hips swaying as she walked toward the minibar. "Close the door, sweetheart. Unless you want the whole floor to see what happens next."

Kook exhaled sharply, kicking the door shut with his heel. His phone buzzed in his pocket—*Hana: Are you ignoring me???*—but Tae was pouring two fingers of whiskey without looking up, the dress riding up her thighs as she bent slightly. No panties. Fuck.

"Problem?" She glanced over her shoulder, smirking at his frozen expression.

"No, I—" His voice cracked. Smooth.

Tae laughed, low and throaty, swirling the amber liquid. "Relax. You’re here because I like how you look at me." She took a slow sip, watching him over the rim.

His pulse hammered against his ribs. The envelope of cash on the nightstand taunted him. Five grand for…what exactly? His throat worked.

She prowled closer, the scent of her perfume—something expensive and floral—wrapping around him. "Rules are simple," Tae murmured, tapping a manicured nail against his chest. "You fuck me whenever I want. Raw. No excuses." Her fingertip trailed lower, hooking into his belt loop. "I’ll spoil you rotten. But you don’t touch anyone else without protection. Understood?"

Kook’s flush burned all the way down his neck. "I—I have a girlfriend," he blurted, immediately regretting it.

Tae rolled her eyes, plucking the whiskey glass from his stiff fingers. "And?" She took a sip, her pink tongue darting out to catch a drop. "Fuck her with condoms, then. But me?" Her free hand slid up his thigh, squeezing just shy of where he wanted it most. "I want to feel you." The heat of her palm burned through the fabric. "Every. Single. Time."

Kook swallowed hard, the blood rushing south making it impossible to think straight. Her nails dug in slightly, possessive. "I—" His phone buzzed again—Hana’s ringtone—but Tae silenced it by pressing her body flush against him, the whiskey sloshing dangerously in her glass.

"Ah-ah," she tutted, tilting her chin up. "You're mine right now." Her breath smelled like expensive liquor and mint. "Unless you'd rather leave?" Her smirk was a challenge. "But then you don't get paid."

His jaw clenched. The envelope on the nightstack seemed to glow. Five grand. Enough for rent, tuition, maybe even that bike part he'd been eyeing. Tae watched the war play out on his face, her fingers tracing idle patterns over his belt buckle.

Finally, he exhaled. "Okay."

Tae’s smile widened. "Good boy." She set the glass down with a sharp clink, then grabbed his hand and dragged it up her thigh, under the scandalous slit of her dress. No panties. Just heat. "See what you're getting into?" she murmured, guiding his fingers higher until—

Kook jerked back like he'd been burned. "Jesus Christ—"

She laughed, delighted, and stepped away, letting the dress fall back into place. "Down, boy." She tossed her hair over one shoulder. "Payment first." Sauntering to the bed, she plucked the envelope and waved it teasingly.

Kook's throat worked. The room was too hot, her perfume too thick. His phone buzzed again—Hana’s third missed call—but all he could focus on was the way Tae’s tongue swiped over her bottom lip as she counted out hundred-dollar bills onto the silk sheets.

"Now," she purred, reclining back on her elbows, legs falling open just enough to make his vision blur. "Come prove you're worth it."