Days bled into each other, each one a fresh torment. Tae paraded around the neighborhood in skirts so short they were more like glorified belts, bending over to pick flowers or “accidentally” dropping her phone in front of groups of men. Jungkook watched from his porch, cane digging into the floorboards, as she giggled and twirled for anyone who’d look. She knew he was watching. The way she’d glance his way, lips swollen from biting them, told him everything.

Nightfall brought no relief. The humid air clung to Jungkook’s skin as he sat by his bedroom window, curtains parted just enough. Tae’s room across the way glowed like a damn neon sign—and then, salvation. Her silhouette appeared, fingers tugging at the straps of her dress. The fabric pooled at her feet, revealing her creamy skin. Jungkook’s breath stuttered. No bra. No panties. Just Tae, fully naked, stretching her arms above her head, tits bouncing with the movement.

She turned, ass jiggling as she bent to pick something up—a hairbrush?—and the old man’s grip on his cane turned vicious. The window was a frame for sin: Tae shaking her hips to some silent rhythm, palms skimming her own curves, tweaking her nipples until they pebbled. When she spun, facing him fully, the pink slit between her thighs glistened under the lamplight. Jungkook’s throat clicked dryly. She knew. She had to know.

Tae’s tongue darted out, wetting her lips as she cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples. Her hips rolled in slow, filthy circles, one hand trailing down to stroke herself. Jungkook’s pulse hammered in his ears, cock straining against his pants.

The old man couldn’t tear his eyes away. Tae’s fingers slid between her thighs, her chest rising with each exaggerated gasp, and Jungkook’s knuckles cracked as he gripped the windowsill harder. She arched her back, presenting her tits to him—full, heavy, nipples stiff peaks in the lamplight—and pinched one between her fingers while the other hand worked lower, disappearing into the slick folds of her pussy. A whimper escaped her, loud enough to carry through the cracked window, and Jungkook’s cock twitched violently in response.

She was putting on a goddamn show. For him. Every roll of her hips, every bounce of her tits as she stroked herself—all for the wrinkled bastard watching from the shadows. Tae threw her head back, moaning loud enough to make the old man’s toes curl, and then—eye contact. Direct, searing. She smirked, slowing her fingers just to watch his face twist with desperation. "Like what you see, grandpa?" she mouthed, voice too low to hear but the words burned into his skull nonetheless.

Jungkook’s cane clattered to the floor as he fumbled with his zipper, freeing his aching cock. The damn thing was stiff as iron, veins straining against paper-thin skin. He spat into his palm, gripping himself roughly, eyes locked on Tae’s writhing form. She turned around, presenting her jiggling ass, and bent over to press her tits against the windowpane—smearing the glass with sweat and slick. Her fingers worked faster now, her moans turning breathless, and Jungkook groaned as his own strokes matched her pace.

Then, disaster. A floorboard creaked outside his room—someone was coming. Jungkook froze, cock throbbing in his fist, just as Tae straightened up with a wicked grin. She blew him a kiss, then turned off the light, plunging her room into darkness. The old man barely had time to tuck himself away before the door creaked open—his nosy housekeeper, asking if he needed anything. Jungkook waved her off with a growl, pulse still pounding in his ears. Outside, Tae’s laughter floated through the night air—soft, mocking. That little tease would be the death of him.